minimiance

[minimiance]

hey guys not my usual posts (“what posts youve been awol?” you say just then to which i say 🧚🏼‍♀️) but i am haunted by visions.

i am plagued by visions of getting literally demolished by a butch lesbian. big bulky woman thats gonna hold me still and lap at me until im crying type of thing.

need her to be a bit mean and rough with me too. calls me her princess but its always a bit condescending. likes to grip at my stomach and paw at me and groan about how soft i am compared to her.

drooling for it oh my god save me

[minimiance]

guys this is how i feel but abt myself

stop earning advanced degrees i need you to finish your fanfiction

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not an abandoned blog finals are just killing me

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how i feel knowing i like ghoap but in a bottom ghost way bc while I do think that Scot is getting wrecked, I also believe that hes way too bold and confident to not talk Ghost into letting him tap that

[minimiance]

hey guys i think i might actually start writing on here more actively again :) ive been so swamped with schoolwork and i still am (the woes of a college student) but im mentally a lot better!

I know this doesnt matter much to anyone, just rambling abt my life, but its my blog so ill talk abt whatever i want to talk abt‼️ for a long time i was kinda letting myself stay friends with people i didnt like and letting people push my boundaries often. and i realized i was just miserable. normal lighthearted gossip was treated as if i was so genuinely upset or caught up on something when i just wasnt. every problem i had was so hyperfixated on and it had gotten to a point where the positive parts of my life were being ignored and then like i had just never brought it up. and it was killing me, i felt like so many people that were supposed to be my friend had the wrong perception of me just because they had met me during a point in my life were i was already in a bad mental space.

and at some point i realized that my mental illness wasnt making my life as miserable as i thought it was. everything bad that happened i had pinned or blamed on the fact that im schizoaffective, because it was the reason and excuse that people accepted the easiest. that i was miserable because i was mentally ill. and yes, it definitely played into. coming out of my almost year long depressive episode was difficult. i was grasping with suicidal ideation all the time, to the point where it impacted how i could function. to the point where it DID make being happy hard. but i wasnt just never happy.

this past year ive lived through so many new experiences, and while im so happy to see the friends that were hurting me out of my life i will still miss it, because there were happy memories attached to it. but i realized that the happy moments were becoming fewer and farther between. they only paid attention to the things i told them about that were negative. not that i had gotten a new job, or that i was finally taking my meds again, or that i had found someone that i could move in with and that i was saving for my own place: and never that i was just in a good mood. and i admit, im a gossip, i can understand that not everyone likes that. but to only be told that after i broke away the friendship when ive always only ever asked for honesty kinda sucked. i felt like i was only viewed as everything bad that had happened in my life.

and it kept me down, i felt like my boundaries were always pushed a step too far, that my questions were ignored for a bit too long, that i was dismissed far too easily. and it sucks, when someone who met you right down in the beginning of your slump, someone who helped you grieve, who got you food when you had none in your house, who genuinely did love you just also didnt like you. i dont doubt that i was very genuinely loved, but i wasnt liked, and i wasnt understood. when everything i did was called into critique even when unprompted or asked for, i began to wonder if maybe i just wasnt correct in… being me.

i felt like it was like they thought i had to handled. saved or fixed or something or another. that there was something so inherently wrong with me that they saw me and didnt think of me as me, but as someone who needed to be saved. and i didnt, ive never needed a handler, or a savior, or someone who wanted to fix me. my problems werent ones that could be fixed, but rather what i needed was support to make those problems more manageable.

but i knew it was time to call it quits when i realized that suicidal ideation was getting to a dangerous spot. when i couldnt spend a single night alone without inflicting myself with pain. when fiddling with the idea turned into fiddling with the trigger. it was suddenly so real, what i had become and where my life was at in that moment. and i realized i couldnt die, i didnt truly want to.

death has come into my life twice in very rapid succession in the past couple of years. its insane how close the events feel despite having a year between them. but grief kills, and when my slump had first gotten better it catapulted me straight back down.

but im not down anymore. and honestly, i havent been that far down in a long time. of course my mind still has that haze of grief, and of course the uncontrollable will still happen. but really, ive felt a lot of genuine joy this past few months. and im a lot more at peace now realizing that the people who couldnt see the joy that i had grown into are finally out of my life.

and on the note, im gonna start writing again :) whenever i have some time set aside, and whenever im ready to type something up, i will. and it wont be what i think other people are willing to see anymore, but instead just what i want to write. thank you to the people who follow me who have been with me through this journey, even though you didnt know it :)

[minimiance]

au of this but the only difference is she crashes out like just one good time like she gets one good punch in at least once

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 12 masterlist

-

A false moon dictates the coming of night. 

You set up a cot in the medical unit again, going to your quarters to grab a spare set of sheets before returning, Gaz shadowing you the way there and back. His presence scratches at the back of your head, reminding you that he’s there at your back. You don’t ask him why he insists on keeping up this charade of monitoring your behaviour—his motives are as unclear to you as ever.  

“This isn’t necessary,” you finally manage to get out on the walk back to the medbay, the door within sight. 

“I know,” Gaz says simply. 

The door slides open and you enter with him still at your back. “Then why are you following me?”

“Those were Graves’ orders, weren’t they?”

“And you what? Follow his orders now?”

It’s difficult to determine who you actually feel betrayed by. Gaz owes you no debt—it wasn’t you that let him into the ship. The focus of your anger should be on Graves and the rest of the crew, but yet—

Your chest twinges when the door slides shut and Gaz leans against it, no different than a guard posted at the door. 

He shrugs, unbothered by the reproach in your voice. “He’s the commander.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s right.”

“Maybe not.”

“I had nothing to do with Hadir getting sick.”

“I know that.” Your chest deflates when you can’t detect any insincerity behind his words. “But Graves is in charge of the ship and unless you think you could get the others to agree with you, isn’t it better to toe the line for now?”

It would upset you if it were any less true. The hierarchical arrangement of personnel on board has always been clear, and it’s not lost on you that you’ve always hovered near the bottom, falling further from grace with every passing day. Who apart from Gaz and Hadir have been sympathetic towards you in recent weeks anyway? Nikolai’s friendship is an extension of his disposition, an affection easily given and easily taken away. Farah barely even regards you as trustworthy these days, convinced that you’re teetering on the edge of losing your mind.

She might not be wrong. 

Gaz watches you make the bed, settling into your office chair, a mite more comfortable than the stool by the counter. 

“Do you want me to set up a cot for you?” you ask begrudgingly. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t need one.”

“You can sleep comfortably sitting up like that?” 

His smile verges on patronizing. “I don’t need to sleep, love.”

Your skin crawls. You hate when he does that—when he lets you in on your shared secret, the knowledge that he isn’t as human as he appears. Whatever he is still eludes you. Alien or divine. There’s no point in asking though. That knowledge sits beyond your purview. 

You ignore him to the best of your abilities and finish setting up your cot, his words still ringing in your ears. 

Things take a turn for the worse when Hadir stops responding altogether. 

Though his verbal responses have become less and less frequent over the last couple days, the dropoff is significant. As your only patient though, you’ve been monitoring him closely since he was admitted, and you pick up on the change quickly. It’s like an itch under your skin, a sixth sense from working with sick patients for the better part of your adult years. 

Gaz picks up on the change in your mood, sitting up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you respond through stiff lips. “Something changed.”

The base of your spine tingles when the vital signs monitor suddenly beeps, alerting you to a change in Hadir’s condition.

You flip a switch and press a button on the keyboard, speaking directly to the Ship’s AI. “Ship, what’s the patient’s status?” 

Patient's temperature is unusually elevated

Recommendation to increase fluids and decrease external temperature 

You lift his eyelids and find his pupils irregular, one larger than the other, and they don’t respond properly when you shine a light on them. 

“What can I do?” Gaz asks, as serious as you’ve ever seen him.

“We need to cool him down. His fever is spiking. I’ll get the cooling blanket—there are ice packs in the freezer over there—” You point to a refrigerator on the other side of the room. “—get the ice packs and start packing them around his armpits and groin. We need to get his temperature down while I figure out what the fuck is happening.”

Gaz moves quickly, retrieving the ice packs from the freezer and packing them up against Hadir’s pits and in between his legs under the medical gown. Hadir’s lips flutter reflexively at the cold but that’s as much responsiveness as you get out of him. 

You press the button to speak to the AI again. “Ship, is his temperature coming down?”

Negative

Patient temperature currently: 104°

Even his breathing has changed, his breaths similarly irregular and increasingly shallower. You put in the orders for another CT scan, moving quicker and typing faster than you ever have before. The breathing tube gets put in next to secure his airway and you don’t like the way his gag reflex doesn’t kick in when the tube is shoved down his throat. It signals something dangerous. 

The situation before you doesn’t bode well. Dread clings to the wall in the far corner of the room but you ignore its presence to focus on your work, throwing everything at the walls to see what sticks. 

His labs are all over the place. High fever, low platelets, high D-dimer, high FDPs. An hour passes in a blink with you running test after test to no avail—none of his results that come back make any sense—all while his temperature continues to rise. 

Patient temperature currently: 105°

Plastic backliners flutter to the floor when you rip them off the electrodes, pasting the small metal discs around Hadir’s scalp for the EEG, working as quickly and efficiently as possible. 

“Has his temperature come down yet?” you bark, too preoccupied with your work to chance a glance up at the monitor.

“No,” Gaz says curtly. “Still 105°.”

It’s all happening so quickly that you can’t seem to get your bearings. If it were anyone else on the table, you’d at least have Hadir to assist you; you’re on your own now though, Gaz barely any help to you without any real medical knowledge. 

Your heart pounds against your chest when you notice blood coming up Hadir’s ET tube. A few droplets at first, and then a trickle. 

A horrible, prophetic knowledge falls over you, threatening to collapse you. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Gaz asks.

“I don’t know—” Then his nose starts to bleed and your heart stops. The stain on the front of his gown and what you find underneath it when you lift it up confirms your worst suspicions. “He’s going into DIC—”

“DIC?”

“His blood—”

The AI takes that moment to interject, speaking over you: Patient body has used up all of its clotting factors and will begin to bleed out

Sepsis—a severe infection—an autoimmune response—trauma—cancer—so many different possible answers to explain why Hadir would spontaneously go into disseminated intravascular coagulation, but his labs tell you shit. Nothing makes sense. You can’t explain why he might be hemorrhaging because there isn’t anything in his scans or labs to indicate anything wrong with him.

More blood leaks from his face and nethers, staining the light blue of the bed a dark red. Logical objections halt in the face of the tangible, and blood is tangible. Blood is all you see. 

The final moments are harried, frenzied. You bark orders at Gaz, which he follows militarily, and struggle in vain to keep Hadir’s condition from further deteriorating, but it’s nearly impossible without being able to address the root cause. Transfusions of platelets, fresh frozen plasma, and cryoprecipitate only go so far. 

When his brain activity goes flat on the monitor, your mind goes blank. Static noise fills your head. You slump against the wall, staring at Hadir’s bleeding body on the exam table, still leaking blood from all of his orifices, the sound of the monitor blaring like a siren in your ears. 

“He’s dead,” Gaz says blandly, staring at the body nonplussed. 

“Yeah,” you rasp. Your voice is thick in your throat, devastated. 

There’s blood all over the bed, more in one place than you’ve seen in a long time—not since working in trauma units back on Earth. Every inch of your body aches as the adrenaline recedes, having reached its peak in the throes of Hadir’s final moments, jaw so tight you almost can’t unclench it.

“What happened?” he asks, almost quizzically. 

The curious lack of emotion in his voice doesn’t penetrate through the brain fog. “I don’t know—he just…” 

The weight of all that just happened comes over you swiftly. An hour ago, Hadir was fine for all intents and purposes. Stable. Now, blood stains his chin, the underside of his nose, the front of his gown, and the bed underneath him, the sweat caked on his forehead cooling as the life leaches out of his body. 

Your hands shake by your sides, a violent tremble rolling through you. 

“I don’t get it,” you whisper. 

You should’ve quarantined Hadir from the start, from the very second he was admitted into your care. You should’ve ignored the fact that his labs came back fine that first day and just assumed that the nature of his illness was more severe than it appeared. Shame and dread plunge like a dagger through your midsection.

Protocol should’ve dictated that you initiate a quarantine, but since you didn’t—

You stare at the body on the table, the ET tube streaked with blood.

—your duty now is to ensure that no one else gets sick too. 

You’ll need to seal off the medbay until every surface has been properly decontaminated and then quarantine yourself until you’re sure that you aren’t infected as well. Your eyes flick towards Gaz momentarily before you shoot down the thought of testing him as well. 

Mitigate the transmission. That thought sticks out amongst the rest. The body lying on the bed in the middle of the room is no longer a patient that needs tending to but rather hazardous material that needs to be disposed of lest whatever infected it is transmitted to everyone else on board the ship. 

It’s waste. Filth. And it will contaminate everything on board if you don’t remove it. 

Your body moves on autopilot. You wheel the bed to the ejection chute at the back of the medbay. It takes a series of codes in order to open the door to the chute and you key them in quickly and efficiently. When the door slides open, you raise the bed until it’s slightly higher than the chute, tipping the bed forward in order for the body to slide into it. 

Ejection chute engaged

Hadir’s body disappears into the chute, the reinforced metal and glass sliding shut when the sensors register that the chute door is empty. There’s a thunk from behind the wall as his body is shuttled through the pneumatic tubes towards the back of the ship, and it won’t be more than a minute before the body is projected from the ship entirely. 

Your heart skips a beat when the AI pings awake again.

Object ejected 

“I wouldn't have done that if I were you,” Gaz says, and you flinch at the sound of his voice, momentarily forgetting that someone else is in the room with you. 

Your eyes drift over to him, the room murky for a moment, the air hazy like water, like you’re looking through a film and only just starting to settle back down into your body after watching from overhead. He seems bigger somehow.

“We have to quarantine ourselves,” you say, frantically towards one of the cupboards and ripping it open, pulling out rolls of plastic to plaster over the door. “We didn’t put on any PPE, so we might’ve been exposed to whatever Hadir had.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

His lips are turned up at the corners when you look over, frowning, but noise in the hallway keeps you from following up on his remark. 

The announcement over the intercom must have alerted the others, and you hear footsteps from down the hall seconds before they arrive, boots clanking against the metal flooring. When the door slides open and you see Farah standing there with Alex at her back, her face hauntingly vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before, words fail you. 

“What happened?” Farah asks. 

“I don’t know. He was fine just a second ago and then—”

“Where is he?” she demands, scanning the room for him. “Where’s Hadir?”

“I—” The words get tangled up in your throat, terror and shame making it hard enough to breathe, never mind speak. 

Graves barrels in a second later, flushed and out of breath. He must have been in the cockpit when the intercom alerted him to the ejection chute being utilized. Nikolai is fast on his heels, less winded but just as concerned. 

You realize that from the direction Nikolai came, he must’ve been at the back of the spacecraft, and you morbidly wonder if he heard the sound of Hadir’s body ferrying through the pneumatic tube system.

“Doctor, what did you just throw out of the chute?” Graves asks, his tone hard and uncompromising, softened only by the breathless note in his voice from running halfway across the ship. 

You don’t answer.

His eyes lift to the space over your shoulder, where the patient bed is flush to the wall, the head level with the chute leading out of the ship. Blood still saturates the mattress. 

You watch as the knowledge of what you’ve done dawns on them, realization morphing into distress and horror. From behind Farah, Alex goes ashen, a hand clamping down on her shoulder to hold her in place before she realizes what you’ve done and the inevitable happens. You see it play out in your head like a movie. 

“Farah—” he starts, but any effort to steer her out of the room is thwarted by how quickly she comes to the same conclusion. 

“Where’s my brother?” Farah screams, and you wince, your head aching like there’s something else in there listening to her scream too. 

Alex has to hold her back from lunging at you, fighting to keep her in his arms, her body thrashing wildly. You’ve never seen her like this before. Grief and rage strip her of stoicism, and when her screams turn to tears, it rips a hole right through you. 

“You ejected Hadir from the ship?” Graves breathes, stunned. 

Nikolai just stares, at a loss for words. You’ve never seen any of them so obviously affected, so contrary to the image of them that you’ve carried with you in your mind for months. 

“I had to!” you shout, vocal cords tearing under the strain. “We couldn’t keep his body on board! What if it was some hemorrhagic fever—like ebola? Or worse?”

“You don’t even know what killed—” Graves roars before stopping abruptly, squeezing his eyes shut. He presses his fist to his mouth, the skin around his knuckles bone white. 

“We need to quarantine.” Your fingers tremble when you press them to your temples, flinching when you realize that your gloves are still covered in blood. “I was going to seal off the room to keep it from spreading, but now that you’re all here, we’re probably all been infected—”

“Infected by what?” 

“I don’t know.” 

A shade is falling over you. Everything feels raw, livid—a wound being prodded. The light hurts your eyes when you lift them from the floor to meet Graves’ gaze. Even the air feels caustic against your skin. 

Even your impulses don’t feel like your own, like there is some

insidious rot

fruiting under your skin.

“Are you going to say anything to them?” you finally snap at Gaz, desperation loosening your tongue. “You were here—you saw what happened. Why aren’t you telling them what happened?”

The others turn to look at him, orienting like sunflowers towards the sun. It’s the only comparison that comes to mind. And at the centre of them, Gaz stares back at you, an ersatz approximation of confusion. 

He gives a slow blink, eyes glinting with something unknown. “Tell them what? That you tossed Hadir out into space?” 

You should’ve expected that you’d be left hanging, but the reality of it is unbearable. Humiliating. 

You know what you look like to them: dangerous, erratic. Your paranoia on full display. Even Nikolai’s mouth is set in a grim line.

You can hear the accusations flying through their minds—that you caused this somehow. Overdosed him on anti-clotting medication and let him bleed out, then disposed of the body before a proper autopsy could be performed. That maybe you prolonged his illness, knowing it would lead to this.  

It happens swiftly and without word, as if planned ahead of time. Nikolai and Graves lunge towards you suddenly, grabbing you by the undersides of your arms and nearly lifting you off your feet when they haul you forcibly out of the room. Alex still has Farah trapped in his arms in the corner of the room when they drag you past her. 

“Farah, I’m sorry—I’m sorry—” 

You’re not strong enough to break free of Graves’ and Nikolai’s hold though, so you’re carried off before Farah can say anything. There’s only a split second for your eyes to lock and for you to see something broken beyond recognition there, and then the door cuts you off from her.

“You’re all fucking insane—let me go—” you scream, spittle flying from your mouth. The scream that tears out of you is so animalistic and loud that your throat squeezes up in protest, a cough forcing its way out. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Down the hall and towards the back of the ship. Boots echo against the metal floors, the two men on either side of you in sync with each other. Neither says a word nor responds to your screams. Their patience with your increasingly unhinged behaviour has finally crossed a threshold once thought impossible, your reputation alone no longer enough to save you. 

They all but throw you into the brig, the metal door clanging shut behind you when you’re dropped to your hands and knees, peering over your shoulder to find Nikolai punching in the key to lock and arm the door, a rueful, pained look on his face.

“Nikolai, please—” you beg, crawling to the door and curling your hands around the bar. “It wasn’t my fault—I didn’t kill Hadir. I’m sorry! He could’ve made everyone on board sick if we’d kept the body! Please, Nikolai, please—”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears. The last sound you hear is the brig door slamming shut and then their footsteps gradually recede into the distance.

[minimiance]

retweet or whatever the kids say

soapgaz to me and Gaz is the guy flipping the coin

[minimiance]

sex with gaz where hes trying to be the big bad mean dom and then he stutters. and you’re sitting there giggling and he just groans and puts his face in his hand to hide the fact that he’s laughing too. Takes a good 5 minutes before you both stop laughing and giggling enough to continue, and the scene has to wait until another night because the second kyle tries to get back in character he just breaks out into laughter again. is that anything??

[minimiance]

i got so sad yesterday bc i realized there are barely any fics that portray my fav character the way i headcanon him and then remembered i could write that shit myself, but then i remembered that meant writing it myself so i was still kinda sad by the end

[minimiance]

btw i think its really weird that every time i write for Gaz the notes are exponentially lower than compared to when i write for the white characters. especially when itll be a fic that was fully thought out and planned vs. something i pumped out in 20 minutes on a whim‼️

[minimiance]

Ghost who's hair grew out while he was off duty and right before he has to go back to base he has his pretty bird buzz him again? (and he is gonna be a total unsettling freak about it or else its not even him)

Ghost without a buzzcut is like an angel without wings to me.

[minimiance]

literally had a dream last night and it hit me like a brick let me set the scene for yall EDIT FROM THE FUTURE GUYS THIS GOT SO OUT OF HAND AND LONG AND ITS ALL JUST BAD PORNO PLOT IM SO SORRY... (so this was like weeks ago and I lost the motivation to finish it but hype it up and I might come back to it and add the actual smut)

Going and getting your nipples pierced, no real reason why. Maybe its been on your mind for awhile, maybe it was a spur of the moment, but they’re there and of course you have to show them off a little bit. You don’t really know who to show them to though, not many people that its acceptable to show.

So you go to your bestfriend, obviously. Ask if his boyfriend wouldn’t think it’s weird or anything to make sure.

"Of course not, doll" your best friend practically purrs out. Eyes crinkling at the sides with his grin. Sitting across from you in his living room, with what you can only assume is an innocent smile as you feel guilt seep in.

Here you are sitting in your best friends boyfriends favorite chair, the same one you had seen the man perched on and nursing cigars that smell of heady tobacco and an underlying sweetness as he would welcome you in. And you're talking about showing your tits. God, you could never tell the other man, maybe never see him again if your friend tells him.

"Hello? You still with me?" Suddenly your friend was closer, teasing little chuckle when you jolt back to the moment. "Kyle...." you whine out, awkwardly clutching your shirt. "This is totally weird, you think I'm weird now."

Kyle's laugh is boisterous for a moment, the type of laugh that only falls out around people you are comfortable with. "C'mon love, it's nothing I haven't seen before" he chuckles out with a shake of his head. He wasn't wrong either, going to college together meant he had managed to drag you to a couple of parties. The man has no problems reminding you of the most embarrassing moments from those days.

You huff a bit, a small glare sent his way but not much else. Better to keep quiet when you don't have a case. But finally you sigh, hands at the bottom of your shirt as you look at him for confirmation one last time.

"Lift it up, lets see the new look."

Fair enough.

You lift your shirt up to your collarbones, looking down at the shiny little bar. You hear Kyle giggle and immediately go to yank your shirt back down. "No no, not laughing at you Doll, promise" is thrown out quickly as he grips your arm quickly to keep your shirt up. "Looks like the little balls on them are pinching 'em, cute." Kyle grins up at you after the comment.

You sigh, rolling your eyes at him. They were cute, that's why you wanted to show them off, obviously. "Get your boyfriend to get them, then you can see them all the time," you mutter out, looking down at your own for a moment. They were finally fully healed, a pain in itself, even harder when you kept in mind that you weren't telling people about it. You were finally past the baggy shirt phase of it all.

-----

honestly guys this has been sitting in my drafts for awhile, I just never had the motivation to finish it and get all the way into the smut. But maybe if there's decent reactions or I regain the motivation I'll come back and finish the smut and we'll get freak Kyle and his equally freak boyfriend Price who both are tryna dive in the puss idk

[minimiance]

hey guys sry i havent posted in awhile i have something halfway written up but lowkey im going through crazy bad mental health problems. im struggling, with like everything 😭

[minimiance]

MEOW‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

Soap having a succubus tattoo on his navel

The idea of Soap having a "womb" tattoo makes me dizzy. The kind of tattoo you only get a peak of at the gym when he tugs his sweats down a little to show off his abs to whoever he's talking to on his phone. The sort that just nibbles at his stomach when he leans back in his chair to stretch and his shirt rides up. The sort that you make eye contact with when he's pushing your nose into his pubic hair and making you gag around his cock.

Just absolutely delightfully whore-ish. Single word that says "slut" and he reasons to the rest of the 141 that it's because he wants the folks choking on his cock to know what they are, but it makes him burn to get branded like that. Ooh he's such a fucking toy walking around with his sweats hung low and a crop top, it makes you want to bite down on him just to see if he'll squeak.

[minimiance]

Are you looking for something casual?

does it fucking look like im capable of being casual about anything at all

[minimiance]

i love that this is using a post i made while shit faced drunk to boost their own interactions from thwir followers 😭 let me know if u have better luck than me babe its been rough out here

size difference kink but in the “i grew up being made fun of for being chubby so now the idea of a giant of a man being able to toss me around and tower over me without making my weight a problem makes me really horny” way, you get what im saying?

[minimiance]

and a reblog on this but i hate getting likes with like no other reply, tell me how you felt, send a request, something 😭

this might be me grasping at straws but the way my engagement on this account plummeted when i introduced commissions was brutal 😭 i left for awhile bc i was like “my enjoyment and happiness shouldnt ride on how much engagement i get” and it doesnt! but it also makes me sad that there is none? like i dont make content for engagement but i do post content for people to interact with‼️ if there is no interaction i lose the motivation to post😞

but it also could just be me, ive lost the motivation to do much of anything recently, my art my fics my hobbies just stuff like that 👾