#//(also i've been trying to find a way to phrase this that doesn't shit on people who *do* enjoy and find use in having a lot of labels)

[troublewithvampires-a]

@bxtsence said: 1 (sexuality asks)

(sexuality asks - open)

what do you label your muse as, and how do they label themselves? is there a difference, and if so, why?

//thank you for asking this one, because this is one i actually was kinda hoping to talk about, haha!

so, i label salvatore as a polyamorous greyromantic bisexual trans man (i did originally list him as pan, but i think bi vibes a bit more with him specifically as a label, but honestly i'm not really gonna get into all of that right now because to me personally the minutiae doesn't matter too much. point is, he's attracted to all genders.)

sal labels himself, however, as nothing. he doesn't use any labels for himself for the most part, and in fact he barely understands what any queer labels actually mean. i think he'd call himself queer eventually after he comes to accept himself a lot more down the line, and he may even finally actually consider himself transsexual, but until then if you ask him he'll probably say, "what are you, a cop?"

and this is a bit twofold for salvatore in my intentions. for one thing, i love writing a queer character who doesn't know *shit*. i was joking with a friend recently that there's a good chance that salvatore, at least for a time, thought he was the first and only trans man to exist. that's how much he doesn't know shit. like characters who know themselves super well are all fine and dandy, but i think it's interesting to have a character who doesn't know how to put words to his experiences.

and my other thought is that salvatore gets to be the reflection of the part of me that's kinda tired of trying to label every part of my queer experience. to be clear, there is *nothing* wrong with having a lot of labels or microlabels or anything like that. at the end of the day, if the label serves you and your experiences, that's what matters.

but like........ i'm kinda tired, y'all. part of me likes to joke about being a label hoarder and that's fun, but i'm also like. i just kinda wanna be Just Some Guy. my gender is both complicated and simple and so is my orientation, and sal can be like that too. for me personally, it's not really that useful to stress about finding the perfect labels to define me. i'm just a guy! i'm here, i'm queer, and i'm just a guy.

guess what i'm trying to say is. oh he's just like me fr.

[berryz-writes]

Jealousy

PART 2

Azriel x reader

Summary: Your forced to spend the weekend with Azriel the bane of your existence but little do you realize he doesn't completely hate you

Nfjznxsfdzfdxj this took a while my other WIP’s were distracting me. also ignore any mistakes, enjoy lovelies <33

part 1

It was torture. Downright torture. Pretending like last night hadn't happened was wreaking havoc on my brain. I didn't know how to forget about it. I couldn't.

The memory of Azriel pulling me closer, his face resting in the crook of my neck, the way his gentle hands rested on my waist, his legs tangled with mine pulling me impossibly closer. Gods I was going to go crazy.

Everywhere it went it seemed his reminders were there. The dagger I was using in training was the one Azriel had given me last solstice when mine had been snatched by an Attor. The laces on my boots were from his because apparently mine weren’t sturdy enough. 

“Where do you get your shoes from? These are awful quality” He asked, crouching down in front of me and taking his laces out to adjust them into my boots, all the while muttering about how I could have tripped and hurt myself. 

The coffee the cabin had made this morning on my command was made with a hint of cinnamon. Something Azriel had recommended to make the taste better. He was everywhere I went and it was driving me crazy.

He hadn't even mentioned last night once. Didn't even give me some sort of hint that he remembered or that it actually meant something to him. We had continued the day as if everything was normal, his biting remarks more constant and grating.

***

"We're going back on Monday" Azriel called out to me unwrapping the white gauze from his knuckles. I pulled out my dagger (yes the same one Azriel had gifted me) from the target piece of wood and frowned. Two days later? "Why aren't we going today?"

Azriel didn't look at me, instead he put his daggers in his belt making sure each one was in the proper position before replying "If I've said it there's probably a reason why. Do you have to ask questions every time?"

My frown deepened as I surveyed him from this distance. He had his wings folded together and his expression was foul as if a personal wrong had been done against him. So what if he was in a mood? Didn't mean he had to be so rude.

"I'm not going to follow your orders blindly. Tell me" I moved closer to him and stopped in front of him, the biting cold of the village hitting me now that I had stopped training. I waited for him to explain why we were spending any longer in a place like this. I yearned for the liveliness and warmth of Velaris. The golden sun beating down on me while I sat on the balcony and sipped on something cold.

We had been gone for one night and I know I was being dramatic but Azriel not giving me answers just annoyed the shit out of me even more.

He continued arranging his daggers and straightening his siphons until he deemed them perfect. Finally looking up to meet my eyes I could tell there was something wrong before he even opened his mouth. 

"There's a storm coming. It's not safe to fly tonight" His voice was controlled, as if he were trying to hide his emotions, his eyes not making direct contact with me.

I let out a scoff "And what? Winnowing doesn't exist anymore?" I knew the way I said it would rile him up. Yes I could have phrased it nicely but the way he was acting he didn't deserve it.

Eyes narrowing and his jaw clenching Azriel took a step closer to me. And then another until he was just inches away from me. His warmth radiated to me, my head having to tilt up slightly so I could look at his gorgeous face properly.

His voice was soft, the deadly stillness with which he stood unnerving me. "Velaris's shields have been compromised. Rhys is doing all he can from anyone finding out and if we break that balance. If we winnow in then that means the shield breaks." He scanned my features as if waiting for me to reply "Do you want the safety of all those people in jeopardy because of you?" His voice was quiet now, his breath blowing over me as he spoke.

A million thoughts invaded my mind as I thought of what he had stated. How had Velaris been compromised? And by who? And what was Rhys doing? I wondered if everyone back home was alright.

I took a deep breath trying not to get angry and understand the situation we were in “How long are we stuck here for?” 

It was Azriel’s turn to take a deep breath as if he knew the answer wouldn’t be one I wanted. “Minimum two more days''

Two whole days. I was going to go insane here. Either I would die from arguing with the brainless Illyrians or from hypothermia. A sudden blast of cold air hit me, reminding me of where I was stuck and who it was with. Sighing, I shook away my thoughts. I was being ungrateful. Azriel wasn’t so bad. And who knew what everyone else was going through. I opened my mouth to ask exactly that when he cut in “Everyone's fine. If it was serious we would have been called back for help whether the storm was brewing or not”

I nodded my head, the knot in my stomach loosening. As long as everyone was fine. Azriel nodded his head to the path that led to the cabin we were now sharing “You should go. I need to inform Keller of our prolonged stay”

I took it as his way of dismissing me and not wanting to talk to me. Turning around and starting down the frosted path, the warmth that engulfed me from Azriel's body evaporated completely, my footsteps quickening to reach the cabin. Slamming the cabin door shut I took out my hair tie and sat on the bed anger and disappointment flowing through me. The fire immediately started, the crackling sound the only noise in the wooden house. 

He was ignoring what had happened yesterday. He was being insufferable. He hadn’t even asked me, talked to me, mentioned it to me even once. I shifted through each word we had shared this morning and none of them consisted of him acknowledging last night. 

Azriel didn’t even tell me he wanted to forget last night, instead he let my imagination run wild on thinking if he regretted it or not. 

Maybe I was the over dramatic one. We hadn’t had sex, we hadn’t even kissed. But it felt like there was something else when he pulled me closer except for mutual dislike. 

Flopping back onto the soft bed I decided thinking of other things would do me some good. Anything other than Azriel at this point. 

Sitting up again and rifling through the side table drawers I finally found a slightly inky pen and a scrunched up piece of paper.

Hi Feyre, I heard what happened with the shield. I just wanted to check in and make sure everyone was fine. Give lots of kisses to Nyx from me. 

Ending the note with my name I vanished it away hoping Feyre would reply with some good news. In the time that I had done that Azriel walked in, flipping a dagger in his hand, his shadows moving slowly across his wings. I rolled my eyes at his arrogance and refused to start a conversation with him. If he could ignore what happened yesterday and act like it didn’t matter then so could I. I wasn’t going to act like an attention whore. No way. 

“What do you want to eat?” Was what he asked, settling into the armchair opposite me. I refused to look at him and instead let my eyes travel to the window where the sun was setting. 

“I’m not hungry” I finally replied when I could tell from his relentless gaze that he would not look away, his hazel eyes fixated on my every move, my every breath. 

A scoff escaped him and I turned to look at him, my eyes narrowed. Moving further back on to the bed I kicked off my boots and sat cross legged. 

“You’re always hungry at this time, don’t lie to me” Azriel stated. Raising an eyebrow and waiting for me to contradict him. I couldn’t. I was being annoying and difficult on purpose. Of course I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten since this morning.

Running a hand through his hair Azriel stood up and moved over to the small kitchen on the other side of the cabin. The cupboards contained any and every ingredient. I watched as he pulled out a different variety of ingredients and with the way he was looking at each one closely he didn’t know where to start. 

“Move. I’ll do it” I announced, getting off the bed and sliding across the floorboard to the mini kitchen. Azriel leaned sideways on the countertop, a slight smirk on his face as he watched me look at each ingredient. 

“What are you going to make?” He asked, clearly amused by something. Picking up the can of tomatoes I put them to the right, making a useful and bin category. 

“It doesn’t matter what I make, we both know you’re going to eat it” I replied, my eyebrows furrowed from concentration and the slight annoyance I held toward him. A sigh escaped his perfect lips as he folded his wings back 

“Why are you angry at me?”

I didn’t look at him, instead filled the metal pan with water and used my magic to heat it up. Once the bubbles had risen to the surface I added the raw pasta with a pinch of salt. 

“Y/n” His voice was sharp. Demanding. “Look at me” 

Finally turning to look at him my heart stopped beating for a good minute. Gods he was……he was something else. His warm eyes raked over my expression as if trying to find the reason for my annoyance, his lips looking as inviting as ever.

“What?” My voice didn’t come out as strong as I wanted to, instead it came out quiet and breathless. 

“What have I done wrong?” Azriel’s voice was softer than I expected, reminding me of last night. 

I decided to take the leap. I had had enough of evading the truth “You’re acting like last night didn’t happen. You’re ignoring me” 

Rather than an annoying smirk or a laugh coming from Azriel his eyebrows furrowed “I didn’t want you to feel like I expected something of you. And gods knows I can’t ignore you y/n. You’re perfect”

I let out an exasperated sigh, the steam from the boiling water making it warmer than it was before “I thought you wanted to forget about it. I’m not inside your brain Azriel”

Anger was there in his eyes but it vanished as soon as he saw my hurt expression “I’ve wanted you for so long. Every time I look at you I'm reminded that you aren’t mine. Every time you smile my heart beats faster and I don’t even know why” I swallowed at his words. What he was saying. 

He had liked me this whole time and I hadn't even realized. We were both as ignorant as each other. It was now or never.

“Make me yours then Azriel” I whispered back, waiting to see what he would say. His hands tilted my chin up and his lips met mine in the softest kiss possible. Moving his hands to my waist he lifted me up and sat me on the counter, slotting himself between my legs. Automatically my hands went to his curly hair, pulling him impossibly closer. 

The world had something against me I thought as the note I had sent Feyre arrived next to me. Azriel moved slightly back, giving me space to breathe. I didn't want that space but I didn’t say anything. I picked up the note and read it out loud, confusion increasing.

Hi y/n, 

Nyx says he misses you lots and wants you to come back. Everyone’s alright here, same as when you left. 

I’m not sure what you mean by the shield though? Is everything alright?

Putting the note down I slid off the marble top and looked at Azriel, hoping for answers. 

“Does Feyre not know about-” 

He cut me off, his hand against my mouth, startling me. His body pressed against mine, my back against the kitchen counter. 

“I lied. I wanted to stay with you for as long as possible. I would ask for your forgiveness but I’m not sorry for what I’ve done” His eyes twinkled with amusement, his deep voice washing over me. It took me a while to understand what he was actually saying, his proximity short circuiting my brain. He removed his hand waiting for me to reply. 

“Anything else you’ve lied about Shadowsinger?” I finally asked, my words coming out quietly.

His head dipped to my neck, his lips pressing small kisses on my collarbone and making his way up to my jaw. 

“I broke the cabin. I also fucked up that guy who called you a whore. Other than that…I’m an honest male” He murmured. My breath hitched as he attacked my skin, clearly wanting to leave a mark there. His hands had me caged, with no escape and I didn’t have it in me to be mad at him for lying. Yes he had broken the cabin. But if he hadn’t we wouldn’t have spent the night together and I would have never realized that Azriel harboured feelings for me. He had also gone out of his way to defend me when he didn’t need to.

I wanted to kiss him rather than shout at him for his confession. 

“I say we skip to dessert” Azriel whispered, his eyes full of desire, finally looking at me. My heart skipped a beat at his words but I swallowed and shook away my want for him. 

“Dessert is for after” I pushed against his chest to let me go but he held my wrists firmly “Promise I get dessert?”

I pretended to think about it, tilting my head “Hmm we’ll see”

Azriel’s eyes darkened but he let me go, my stomach tightening at the way he looked at me. I wanted him so bad. So god damn bad. But now that I had told him to wait I couldn’t go back on my words. Not to mention Azriel was probably already thinking of ways to make me beg for him.

I wouldn’t mind that of course.

MASTERLIST

[liulith]

Sir Pentious & Alastor: an underrated dynamic

"Show yourself, Alastor! Come and face--! Oh, there you are. FACE MY WRATH!"

Sir Pentious has been in Hell for much longer than Alastor. That means he was there when the Radio Demon appeared, and he's been trying to overthrow Alastor for decades! We know what Alastor is capable of, and what he could do if he truly wanted Sir Pentious to stop. He obviously doesn't register Sir Pentious as a threat, but that doesn't mean he's not annoying (like when he interrupts his song in the pilot and destroys a wall in ep2). Yet in all those decades, Alastor always let him go with the equivalent of a slap on the wrist, considering what he's done to other sinners in his broadcasts.

And why is that? Why, he must find Sir Pentious very entertaining, of course! Even though he calls Sir Pentious forgettable (to rile him up), there's no way a narcissist like him doesn't LOVE being the main focus of Pentious' "evil plans", as pathetic as they are. Not only does he give him the attention he deserves (like Vox), he's a true "architect of evil" who constantly reinvents himself to try and get the upper hand on Alastor. To Alastor, Pentious is like a sillier, weaker, more immature version of Vox with close to ZERO survival instincts but twice the creativity. Even Vox, who made a whole diss track about Al, wouldn't dare speak to him the way Sir Pentious does if they were face to face.

"SILENCE! Now cower! For when I've ssslain you, the almighty Vees will finally acknowledge me as their equal."

He does have some "oh shit" moments when he sees he crossed a line/is about to get Team Rocket-ed, but he still gets back up and attacks him again with all the unearned confidence of a man who has no idea how easy Alastor goes on him.

Just like Alastor, Pentious is attached to the aesthetics and technology of the time period he knew when he was alive, and still manages to innovate with those limitations. I think Alastor could respect that.

"You whores have no class! In war, the side remembered is the side with the most style!"

It's also funny that to Pentious, Alastor is the young, modern one. Some phrases Alastor uses are "young people slang" to him!

Pentious asking Alastor questions on his "modern" radio technology...

Alastor is one sarcastic bastard, and Sir Pent is one of the most naive characters in the show. He takes a lot of things way too literally (#autism?). That's just PERFECT for comedic misunderstandings between these two!

Before s1 was released there were quite a lot of ace!Pentious headcanons. I think we could still make a case for closeted ace-adjacent!Pentious in canon! Possibility even aroace!Pentious, if we interpret his crush on Cherri as compulsive heteronormativity (he loves her creative genius and is fascinated by her explosive contraptions; surely that means she's the one, right?)

Ace4Ace Alastor & Pentious would be a fun duo in my opinion. They could bond over their shared experience

On the topic of bonding... ("I have feelings for you" (Narrator voice: the feeling was friendship, but he had ever experienced it before)

Seriously, imagine Sir Pentious spending more and more time around Alastor because of the hotel, taking his sarcastic and mocking remarks literally and thinking they're becoming closer... And then being like. WAIT. Do I have feelings for him?? and trying to seduce him like he does with Cherri Bomb. The absolute shenanigans... Rizzlord Pentious strikes again.

Accidental fake dating scenario that only exists in Vox's head, where Vox, being the stalker that he is, spies in the two of them bonding and reaches all the wrong conclusions

Once Sir Pentious dies for the second time and ascends to Heaven, he could meet Alastor's mom 👀

EDIT: OH and How could I forget the Egg Boiz?? Egg Boiz babysitter!Alastor is canon and he definitely babysat them multiple times in the few months Sir Pentious spent at the hotel. Joint custody :3

AND let's not forget the important information that Frank the Egg Boy reported to Sir Pentious lol. The one Charlie made a deal with Alastor for. I can imagine Alastor considering killing the Egg Boiz/ Sir Pentious after learning Frank didn't keep quiet (Imagine Sir Pentious trying to engage in a conversation w/ Alastor and telling him what Frank told him as a joke akfkkd), spending a whole afternoon trailing after them and making plans, only to realise that the Egg Boiz say insane shit all the time and Sir Pentious was in fact NOT playing 4D chess by telling him he knew (and probably already forgot all about it)

[silverzoomies]

Honeysuckle

peter Maximoff x reader smut

chapter 1: sugar blues

warnings: female reader (sorry), sex pollen, aphrodisiacs, overstimulation, shameless smut, rough sex, kissing, porn with (slight) plot, canon divergence

word count: 4466

a/n: hiii !! this is my first fic posted to trunglr !! i've diverged from canon a lot here. timeline is modern day. remember deadpool 2? and the x men cameos? just ignore the fact that everyone would be old af now. pretend they're not old. also, even though he doesn't show up; it's the kelsey grammer beast btw. because i'm based. tyvm

chapter 2 here.

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Peter really didn’t mean to be such a menace.

Like, pffbbt…this was totally the most accidental instance of the classic phrase: Wrong place, wrong time. Outside of Hank’s lab, Peter noticed something he hadn’t seen the day prior. A faint light, emitting a firefly-like glow. Curiously snooping, as one naturally does, he peeked through the window of the lab door. Only to find…no one was there.

Peter checked the digital watch on his wrist. A Garfield watch. Totally sweet.

Hm.

Hank’s lab was usually occupato on late Friday evenings like today. He should’ve been inside, poking around with some newfangled gadget. Or conjuring up some gnarly formula. But, upon further inspection? The lab was entirely absent of any big, beastly scientists. Not a hint of blue fur to be found.

Maybe he took a break?

Nah. If there was one thing Peter knew about Hank? He never gave himself down time. Ever. The big guy would rather stay up for 72 consecutive hours in a row. Pounding down enough black coffee to scald his throat. Pouring through documents and schematics, keeping his brain persistently active. Such is the life of a mega nerd.

Which begged the question: Where was said mega nerd?

The faint glow from inside the lab caught Peter’s curious eye again. Tempting him to be just a little nosier. Something about the light was almost mesmerizing. Irresistible, even.

Screw it, he thought.

Even these days, in his early thirties; Peter was just as much of a menace as he was in his youth. Had he chilled out by a touch? Absolutely. Did he still enjoy a little mischief-making every now and then? Most definitely.

It really wouldn’t be so bad if he allowed himself one, quick look inside, right? A fast one. Faster than fast. No accidents. In and out.

Peter rushed through the door and into the lab at high speed. His movements were a little too careless and overconfident. And in his carelessness, he may have accidentally bumped straight into a lab table. How he hadn’t seen it coming, he’d never be able to guess.

Somewhat distracted, Peter crashed straight into the table. The force of his body against it caused a series of glass beakers and test tubes to come tumbling down. They shattered upon hitting the tiled floor below. And Peter stumbled back to try and avoid the mess.

His worn sneakers (one of the laces was untied. Must have been the true culprit. Sneaky sneakers.) crushed bits of fragile glass. The soles slid along a neon, pink substance. A glowing substance. The same, faint light he’d been hella curious about in the first place.

In seconds, a hot-pink gas unexpectedly rose into the air. It drifted upwards with a cloudiness much akin to cigarette smoke, straight from the substance Peter stepped in.

“Oh…well…shit…that can’t be good.” He mumbled to himself, pulling his earphones down to hang around his neck. Thin Lizzy’s Sugar Blues echoed quietly from them.

Peter stepped even further back the moment the foreign gas met his nostrils. He coughed, swiping away at the heavy cloud of smoke. A sweet-tasting thickness, like honeysuckle, coated his tongue and filled his throat. Peter blinked away an unexpected, stunned stupor. And he looked down at the pink glow, now having stained one of his shoes.

“Shiiiiit…shit shit shit.”

Glancing around to make sure no one saw what happened, Peter sighed. Annoyed with himself. Way to fuckin’ go, dude.

“Hope that wasn’t anything toxic.” He whispered with a soft cough, clearing his throat. Sugary sweetness littered his taste buds, and he smacked his lips.

Peter bent down to pick up the larger shards of glass on the lab floor. And as he poked through the pieces, he found the occasional strand of blue, beast hair left behind. A reminder. Which made him feel all the more guilty, knowing how annoyed Hank would be once he saw the damage. Sighing again, Peter looked over the mess of broken glass and mysterious liquids.

He shook his head. For a split second, he felt dizzy.

In a rush to clean up the evidence of his escapade, Peter tried to move quickly. However, he found his body refused to kick into speedster mode. His brain, which usually operated at lightspeed; now functioned at a pace way too mellow for his liking. He almost wanted to panic, but his reaction time moved like molasses.

Shit. Fuck. Maybe that glowy, pink substance was something toxic.

The physical effects of whatever-the-fuck he’d breathed in started, weirdly enough, in his fingertips. A strange, almost alien warmth, unlike any Peter had ever felt before. It spread from the tips of his fingers, into the thick veins of his hands. Peter hesitated, dropping a shard of glass. He raised his hand to carefully inspect it, furrowing his brows.

Should he call someone for help? Maybe wait for Hank to come back? Aw, but Hank’s totally gonna give him shit for messin’ things up so bad…

A tingling sensation in his hands kept Peter’s attention for a moment longer. The minute on Peter’s Garfield watch changed with the agonizingly slow passage of time. And a single second ticked by in silence. The only sound to be heard was that of Killer on the Loose playing through his earphones. But in his laggy state of mind, Peter barely registered the tune.

And like the flip of a switch, both Peter’s thoughts, as well as his body, finally caught up with reality. Speeding to an inhuman degree all over again. As if returning to normal. His normal.

Normalcy lasted 0.1 seconds.

Warmth lingering under Peter’s skin turned to blistering heat. A heat which immediately surged through his blood. It gave him goosebumps, causing Peter to jump in his spot. He dropped the pile of glass he’d picked up. And in a blink, Peter stood, struggling to catch his breath. Every inch of his burning body tingled, as though his veins were injected with buzzing, electric static.

The fiery buzz lit aflame in his veins, and moved with a furious rush. It settled somewhere completely unexpected. Boiling deep within his pelvis, the scorching sensation caused his muscles to tighten. And following that, Peter felt his cock spring to life. It twitched under his shining, silver jeans.

A millisecond passed, and his dick grew rock hard.

“Ohhhh-…wait…what the fuck???”

He knew he shouldn’t leave the mess he made behind. That’d be, like, mad rude. Majorly inconsiderate. And probably hazardous too? Fuck! Not fuckin’ cool!

But, at the same time, there was no way in hell Peter could face Hank, or anyone else right now. Not while this was happening. Whatever the hell this was.

Before he bolted, Peter disappeared from the lab and reappeared in a flash. He placed a wet floor sign over the mess of scattered glass and science-y substances. And left a hastily scribbled, sticky note behind:

My bad, Beastie. 

- Peter

Panicked, he made a mad dash to his (his mom’s) house. And in a blink’s worth of time, Peter disappeared behind the door to the basement. He hoped with every fiber of his speedy soul, that his mother wasn’t home to hear the sound of it slamming shut.

Once locked in the basement, Peter didn’t bother to turn on the lights. He stumbled through the messy space in a confused, feverish daze. His mind seemed to race a million miles faster. So fast, even Quicksilver himself could barely keep up. Muffled thoughts he couldn’t yet comprehend echoed in the furthest reaches of his subconscious. Peter felt his cheeks flare up with red heat, his breathing growing more labored and hot. Every step he took, every inch he moved, flooded Peter with overwhelming discomfort. Why did his clothes feel so irritating all of a sudden? His skin cringed at the sensation of cotton fabric brushing against it. Peter couldn’t breathe like this. How could anybody breathe in clothes as suffocating as these? He needed to shed them immediately. Now. Right now.

Peter tried to catch his breath as he shrugged off his signature, silver jacket. Next, came the goggles. They were tossed carelessly aside, along with his Walkman. Which he forgot to turn off, leaving it playing through a Thin Lizzy tape he’d already heard a thousand times over. Chinatown.

Sweat drenched articles of clothing were all dropped on the floor. Until Peter was left in nothing but tight, grey, boxer-briefs. And the Garfield watch. He kind of forgot about the Garfield watch.

Peter left a trail of soaked clothes to his unmade bed. Weakly, he fell into the cushions and off his quivering legs. 

For a torturous moment, all he could do was writhe around in clouded, heated agony. Every single one of his limbs ached with dull pain. And the blistering heat pooling in his pelvis made him squirm with amorous starvation.

A starvation for something he hadn’t yet figured out.

“Fuuuuuuck. Fuck this.” Peter groaned in soft, breathy pants.

A powerful surge of an even stronger, electric heat fired through him again. And his eyes flew open wide. Beady, black pupils flooded the brown of his irises. Sucking in a deep, labored breath; Peter rolled onto his back. A trickle of steaming sweat dripped down his temple. Titling his head up, Peter squinted. His vision blurred slightly as he stared ahead.

Dark, half-lidded eyes met the twitching bulge in his boxer-briefs. And he knit his brows together.

Something seemed…different.

So, like, whatever. Maybe, privately, Peter had always prided himself on his size. Most definitely above average. His dick had a nice thickness to it, and wasn’t weirdly shaped in any way. And the few times he fucked around with it, he never heard a single complaint from anyone.

But this…

Unless he was totally blind to the size of his own dick his entire life? Something really wasn’t right here. 

Another rush of hot, sticky heat washed over Peter like a feverish wave. He trembled, hissing in response to the overwhelming burn that came with it. Under the fabric of his underwear, Peter’s bulge pulsated with demanding aggression. Begging for any stimulation. In a foggy, desperate haze of sexual frustration, Peter reached downward. Hesitant fingers dragged frantically across a trail of soft, silver hairs. Guiding themselves to the waistband of his underwear. A wet spot caught his eye, and he groaned. In one, quick motion, Peter shoved the garment down his trembling legs. Slick precum pulled with the fabric, separating from the tip of his leaking head.

And Peter’s aching cock finally bounced free.

He struggled to comprehend the image in front of him. Peter rapidly blinked, staring down at his dick in muddled confusion. Blossoming desire burst with an electrifying buzz through his cock. And Peter hissed again. He sank his teeth hard into his lip, mindlessly bucking his hips into nothing.

Nothing.

An instinct in his subconscious mind forced itself forward, demanding Peter find something. And fast. His cock bounced on its own again, visibly pulsating. Thick, wet precum spilled from the tip. And he threw his head back with a whine.

“H-Holy shit…”

Yeah. No doubt about it now. Peter’s dick looked a lot bigger than he remembered. The length ached so painfully, vibrating in a most subtle way. Imperceptible to the human eye. Colored a dark, pinkish hue, and decorated with pulsing veins; Peter’s cock appeared on the verge of bursting. And the tip sputtered with so much precum, he was left wondering if he’d cum already without realizing it.

Whatever! Be cool, dude! So, yeah! He must have exposed himself to some kind of weird, sex chemical. What the hell was Hank even doing with something that potent?? No way he was saving it for personal use. Peter really didn’t wanna think about that right now.

But he couldn’t have slapped a warning label on it?

Don’t touch! Lest ye be horny!

Not that Peter would’ve seen a label anyway.

No big dealio! Maybe all he needed was to get off. And really get off. Like, maybe Peter needed to nut so hard, the afterglow would slow him down for a good, few minutes. Instead of his usual, mere seconds.

He could totally do that! Easily! If Peter felt it necessary, he could beat off in the span of a second. Maybe after? He could finally move on with his life. Never to race carelessly through Beastie Boy’s nerd lab again. Call it a lesson learned.

Peter took his girthy(er) length in his hand, the veins straining under his skin. Based on feel alone, he could tell he’d grown in size. His hand was big enough on its own as is. But his cock held an even heavier, unfamiliar weight in his palm. Extremely sensitive too. Peter’s cock was so hypersensitive, that a single, light grasp got him writhing across the bedsheets. 

He sucked in another, ragged breath. Just a quick second was all he needed. And this heinous experience would finally come to pass. Relief. Peter only wanted to feel sweet, freeing relief. 

Reminder. Note to self: Maybe don’t go barreling through any science labs like a total spaz next time.

Several, squeezing pumps of his cock happened in an instant. By the next second, Peter came in bursts. Thick ropes of cum burned hot on his skin, quickly spilling over and making a filthy mess of him.

At the height of orgasm, his body convulsed in small twitches. Subtle vibrations raced through his veins, bringing feelings of ecstasy with them. Peter bit his lip even harder to hold back the obscene moans threatening to leave his throat. He breathed humid, exasperated pants of air through his nose.

Being the king of speed, it was completely natural for Peter to recover immediately after cumming. A couple seconds, and he’d be good to go all over again. Peter secretly prided himself on this trait too. His endless stamina came (no pun intended) in handy, should any totally hot babes wanna screw around for hours at a time. 

Such a trait wasn’t so handy now. Under the alluring spell of magical, sex chemicals? Recovery took less than a nanosecond. 

Peter’s head fell forward, his hand still wrapped around his raging hard-on. Absent-mindedly, he pumped the length without thinking, spreading the remnants of his first release. Running his other hand through the damp, silver locks of his hair, Peter groaned.

“Ohhh….this sucks so bad…auuugh…”

That same, now all too familiar ache fluctuating in his cock raged on. Orgasm did nothing at all to calm the storm surging with electric, tingling heat through Peter’s body. His dick twitched, pulsating red. Desperate to bury itself deep in something hot, wet, and so tight. Fuck. Peter needed something tight around his cock, milking him for all he’s worth. And he needed it so, wickedly bad.

He pushed himself over the edge two more times. And after that, another three. Eventually, his maddening frustration got the better of him. Peter stood from his bed in a fwip. Slumped over in a heavy breathing, cum drenched mess of himself; Peter observed his sweat-soaked body in a full mirror. 

His heart hammered away fast enough to send even him into cardiac arrest. Peter couldn’t catch his breath. And no matter how many times he felt the sweet, sanctity of orgasmic release; his desire was never satiated. Peace lasted only a fraction of a second, before dissipating completely. Leaving Peter to suffer in endless, boner agony.

The next second, Peter found himself hunched over in the shower.

Cool, icy cold water cascaded down his trembling body. Bracing his hand on the wall, Peter kept his other pressed to the wet glass. In an attempt to relax himself, Peter took long, drawn out breaths. Trying to calm the stirring fire in the pit of his belly; he fought the insatiable desires raving on in the back of his mind.

The cold did little to rid him of his painful, oversensitive erection. Peter couldn’t shake his thirsty, carnal needs. Even as he basked in the peace of cool wetness on his scorching skin, horniness consumed him. Dragging him down into the flaming depths of frisky hell. Praise be to our dark lord and savior: Boner Satan.

Peter made another, more frustrated attempt at stroking himself off. Just one more time, he thought. Standing under heavenly, frigid water; Peter wrapped a warm hand around his length. He was so, insanely desperate for anything to fuck that, by now; Peter instinctively rocked his hips into his own fist. Fucking into the wetness of it, he kept a palm pressed to the shower glass.

“Please please please please please please please pl-f-fuck! Oh, please please-” Peter whined, a flurry of needy moans leaving his lips. Yet another second passed, and Peter came again. Shooting a thick load of hot cum straight onto the shower wall, he shuddered. Peter’s hips moved on their own accord. And he found himself unable to control his own movements. His cock continued to fuck itself rapidly into his fist, even despite the near-painful overstimulation coursing through his veins. 

Peter couldn’t stop the tearful moans of torturous pleasure flying off his tongue.

“F-FUCK! FUUUUCK! PLEASE!” He cried, forcing himself to free his cock.

Falling forward, Peter pressed his forehead to the cool, shower wall. And he braced himself with an elbow to its surface. Soaked, silver locks hung over his face, and Peter stared down at the shower drain in hazy thought.

He knew he was beyond exhausted, having pushed himself too far. Peter’s mutation never allowed him to sleep. But once this was all over? He promised himself he'd be taking the longest nap ever recorded in human history. Jot that one down in the Guinness World Records. 

Peter lazily blinked, his eyes half-lidded.

Time to face facts. Only one thing could possibly satisfy this unending, carnal need. Peter’s animalistic instincts blared like a siren, shrill in his ear. They screamed out - Another person. Peter needed to feel the intimate touch of another, living, breathing body. Someone to breed. That word seemed to echo in the back of his mind like a forbidden whisper. Breed. Breed. Breed.

A conflicting onslaught of embarrassment swung like a wrecking ball through Peter’s thoughts. It shattered the lecherous desire holding itself stable in his head. Sure, he needed to feel the touch of another person. But…who??

Truthfully, Peter wasn’t comfortable screwing around with anyone in this state. Had this been any normal day? And he only wanted a fun, playful fling? No strings attached? He’d be a lot more open. But…like this? Misty headed, overstimulated, and choking to death on an ultra-desperate, sweet smelling, horny spell? C’mon! That’s just-...that’s so, majorly embarrassing! How was he even supposed to explain this totally weird scenario to anyone anyway? 

Sup, babe! So, I was fuckin’ around. Bein’ a pest. Y’know, as usual. And I sorta knocked some stuff over in ol’ Beastie’s lab. Yeah. There was this weird aphrodisiac involved, I guess. It was totally an accident, by the way. But I’m, like, so horny right now I can’t breathe. Already tried jerkin’ off. Yeah. Like, a lot. So, uh…listen…wanna screw?

Nope! Not happening! No way in hell!

But dammit all, he needed it! Peter was so, painfully hard and starving to fuck; he was almost convinced he’d die if he didn’t get to. If he didn’t bury his dick in something so deep and warm; if Peter didn’t stuff someone full of enough cum to cause a pregnancy scare. He would literally die. Plain and simple. A fact of science. Confirmed by Bill Nye himself.

What else was he supposed to do? Ask Hank for advice? Pfffbbt…

Burning, insatiable desire swarmed Peter again. He disappeared from the shower in an instant, now completely dried off. And he paced the basement at a speed so quick, he looked nothing more than a nude blur in the wind.

Okay. Fuck. Who, man? Who?? Think about this logically! How could Peter get his dick wet with as little embarrassment involved as possible?

Peter’s first thought?

You.

It shouldn’t have been you. But it was you.

Because of course you were his first thought. Peter had known you long enough now, that he felt he could trust you with anything. Even wickedly awkward situations like this one. You were his best friend. His dorky, little partner in crime. So patient, and so understanding. He knew for sure you’d never, in a million, bajillion years, judge him. For anything. No matter what.

Not to mention, you’d look so damn fine with your ass bent over for him, eagerly taking his coc-

Peter shook away the thought.

Jeez…that’s…a hella twisted thought to have about your best bud, dude.

Regardless of what Peter told himself, his instincts seemed to think otherwise. He felt his cock pulsate with painful, aching need again. And yet another, more torturous burst of heat blazed like a wildfire through his blood. Peter had become so oversensitive, he couldn’t hold back anymore of his needy, whiny noises.

Bolting to his bed in a flash, Peter grabbed a pillow. And he buried his face into the plush of it to conceal his moans.

“A-Aaaaa…fuck-” He whined, his voice muffled. What followed was a distressed laugh.

Focus! Focus, you horny spaz!

Other options. What were his other options, if any?

Some random stranger? No.

One: Peter wasn’t at all comfortable with total randos touching him like that. And Two: Talking some randy into messing around would take wayyyyy too long. Peter didn’t have the patience for it. Especially not right now.

You.

Mystique? Hot. So hot, she’s deadly. But, no.

She was Hank’s girl anyway. What kinda bro would Peter be to steal her away, just to relieve some horny tension? And tension he brought upon himself, while being a nuisance in Hank’s lab, no less. That’d be messed up, man! 

You.

Any other members of the X-Men? 

Ehhh…probably not. Most of ‘em were too young for Peter anyway. How warped would it be if he went to them in need of a sexual favor? They already thought he was a bit of a screwball. Why make it any worse?

You.

Wade Wilson?

He’d been assisting the X-Men a lot lately. All under the guidance of mister Russian, steel-dick himself: Colossus. Wade was a pretty eccentric guy. And a huge pervert. Really kinky. The kind of dude who’d be open to virtually anything if the right person asked him. So… why not?

But Wade would probably have a field day ripping Peter’s dignity apart. And more than likely, he’d spill the details to everyone completely unprompted. Plus, he’d be so obnoxious and teasing about Peter’s situation the whole time. And when was Wade ever gonna stop calling Peter ‘Jeffrey’ for no reason?? That shit didn't make any sense! Augh…

Nah. Couldn’t be him.

You.

Peter sucked in another, shuddering breath. His limbs trembled in humming surges of unbearable pleasure. As his pulsing cock bounced in a distracting desire for touch; Peter forced himself to ignore it. He checked his Garfield watch, squinting to make out the numbers through hazy vision.

Right about now? He knew your schedule should be open. Peter had memorized your daily doings at a distance. In a totally-not-creepy way. More in a clingy-lost-puppy-who-missed-your-company kinda way. Not that you knew about it. Which…yeah…maybe that did make it a little weird. Oops.

Peter fell onto his back on his bed, sinking into the blankets. He rapidly drummed his fingers on his bare belly. And he nipped his bottom lip in thought.

He’d always been a bit of a risk-taker. Facing the forbidden often gave Peter a kind of rush he sorely missed at this point in his life. And of all the risky chances he could take, none would be as forbidden as sticking his dick in his best friend.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before. No duh, he’d thought about it. A lot. Ever since he met you, Peter hadn’t been blind to the obvious. Of course, he noticed how your hips swayed as you walked. How could he resist staring at the fullness of your lips, while you giggled at another one of his corny jokes? And it was virtually impossible to ignore the way your eyes sparkled up at him. Especially when he called you babe. And what about the cute look on your face when you blushed, all because Peter teased you one, too many times? 

Wait. Shit.

Either he was way too far gone, and lost without hope in a desolate desert of horny.

Or…Peter only just now realized he was totally, undeniably in love with you.

Probably both. Or, maybe? Just horny.

Teeth sinking further into his lip, Peter grinned mischievously through the pink flush in his cheeks. He’d been absentmindedly stroking his cock while lost in a daze of filthy, wreckless thoughts. Ultra, mega, next-level, wreckless thoughts.

Peter should have known. The very instant he thought of turning to you for help? He was done for. No turning back. No other option. There was nobody else in the world he’d rather screw around with right about now.

Another thought flashed through Peter’s mind. Like a brilliant light. The image of you on your back in his bed. Your legs spread open wide, just for him. Your gorgeous, doe eyes timidly looking up at him as you helped guide his cock into your-

Peter’s throbbing dick stood to immediate attention then. So, extremely rock hard it seemed to have a mind of its own. Peter’s cock pulled itself from his grasp, pulsating with a swell of hot desire. For you. And only you. 

He really, really, really shouldn’t do this. It’d be leagues beyond stupid. Reaching levels of stupidity only found in far off, distant universes.

But, hey! Peter might literally die! So, fuck it. Right? No way you’d be happy if he died. His death would most definitely break your heart. And he didn’t wanna break your heart!

A fwip, and Peter grabbed his phone from where it was buried, deep in some sofa cushions. His phone was a device he barely ever used. Social media wasn’t his forte. Peter wasn't afraid to admit; he was pretty out of touch. He still listened to cassette tapes on a Walkman, for fuck’s sake.

Typing something into his phone in a heated stupor, Peter’s fingers sped across the keys. Embarrassingly enough, he found he made an ungodly amount of spelling errors. Not his fault. He could barely even think straight. Instead of correcting his mistakes, Peter erased the text entirely. Replacing it with something much more simple and to-the-point.

He only hoped you’d understand.

- Basement. SOS

[jestersmaskblog]

you people are so fucking stupid

perhaps the reading comprehension on this site is piss poor because the only thing you people can comprehend is incomprehensible to anyone who goes outside ever Is "all rap is sexist/violent/whatever" a stupid take? YES but some of it is and some people have only listened to like... 2 artist before AND there have been other rappers who have talked about the sexism in the industry HELL in the shit that started this entire bullshit one of kendrick's bar's literally mentions "theres weird shit in this industry" motherfuckers were tryna get tory lanez off for shooting megan the stallion, chris brown is STILL allowed to do whatever, and believe it or not, it's pretty easy to find on my acc that I am in fact a woman, and yk other motherfucker, down with the ship down with crew, it wasn't even that long ago it was a bigass topic that female rappers were talkin about men the same way male rappers talked about women, but i guess yall aren't ready for that conversation since it's easier for man to try to switch the topic away from exploitation and double standards against women and like i FUCKING SAID, i like rap, theres a lot of rap artists that make music that isn't violent, is chill, is introspective, gets into your feelings n shit, I also really only listen to female rap artists sue me But I want yall to go back and actually fuckin dust off that 8th grade reading level, and read the original fucking post i reblogged, doesn't matter what the intention was it was 100% fucking phrased like rap is the only music POC make, or the only music by POC people know is rap, it's fucking not, because it had no fucking mention of what people have been saying which I by the way haven't fucking heard anyone say and i've heard a TON of people talking about the kendrick drake beef, because i talk to people that exist off tumblr.com and once again the way the phrased it only works if there wasn't people of color on the top 100 chart, and stop being fucking weird about mixed people, mixed people are still fully allowed to identify with their heritage and some of yall, are just fucking weird, yes I did name artists that aren't mixed, i just happened to also name artists that are mixed? what happened to not erasing mixed people's cultural identity? you do realized the person i fucking responded to to begin with is not only mixed, but it's also not with black at all, tumblr really has this issue where they feel like they can only defend one community by diminishing another and it's fucking gross, as for me mentioning growing up in a mixed community, that was, as i stated multiple fucking times if you people weren't morons, only in relation to me having seen first fuckin hand different kinds of POC can be racist to eachother, as in, once again, the motherfucker wasn't black, sure they were POC, but not black, so they're on equal standing with me in this SPECIFIC conversation since i need to spell it out for yall, since yall seem to forget different POC experience different things and people of color aren't a fucking monolith that all experience the exact same things in conclusion, you can all kill yourselves now <3 and you've all become the very thing you hate, some of yall are sexist, some of all are gross towards mixed people, and some of yall are just straight up racist by generalizing xoxo, i regret nothing, and it's completely worth it to get your GED <3

[woodchipp]

Thank you for spelling out your character development, Aubrey! You really needed to because you didn't actually have it in the first place, but the game needs to pretend as if you did!

"I felt like everyone abandoned me... and abandoned MARI too..."

I'd like to note the way Aubrey phrases this line. Mari is tacked on at the end of the sentence as if she's an afterthought.

Considering how self-centered Aubrey has shown herself to be over the course of the game, it reads more as "Everyone abandoned me, goddammit! oh and there's that dead girl too ig"

It's very subtle and intricate writing when your characters rant about their foibles to the audience as if they're standing in a confessional.

"After SUNNY stopped coming to school..."

Which he did on a whim, apparently. Nowhere in the game is it stated or implied he was homeschooled or granted some special exemption.

Also... the writer... totally... isn't... overusing... ellipses...

"I just wanted to go through the photos, because... well... I guess I just wanted to see everyone happy again."

It always circles back to Aubrey and what she wants. It didn't occur to her to leave Basil's things alone since going through the album might bring up some painful memories for him. No, all that mattered is that she wanted to "see everyone happy again," even if that makes those same people miserable now.

Aubrey is an asshole.

"All of our memories together..."

Because the giant "BASIL'S MEMORIES" on the album's cover wasn't convincing enough for her, apparently.

I have already touched on this in other posts, but for the purposes of this one, I have to reiterate.

1) Aubrey's immediate reaction to a perceived slight was to basically disown her close friend of God knows how many years (even though she had no reason to blame him, nor did she let him explain himself) and make a conscious choice to start harassing him. Because that's what strong friendship is, isn't it?

2) She conveniently doesn't specify other "things like that" she called Basil, which implies she might have called him something way worse than "creep"

As you should.

You won't get to do anything about that, though, because the story is going to shift its focus to Sunny in a few minutes anyway.

Peak writing!

And now she's turned on the waterworks because the game's running short on time allotted to her "character arc", so we need to pity her as fast as possible.

I find it funny how the fact Aubrey nearly killed Basil back at their old hangout spot the day prior is not directly brought up or addressed by her at any point of her rant. Her sudden breakdown would have made more sense if it came after her admitting how guilty she actually feels about the accident because she crossed a line or something like that. Nothing of the sort happens, and all we ever get is a vague "What I've been doing is worse than what BASIL did"

BULLYING PEOPLE IS NOT A "MISTAKE". IT IS A DELIBERATE DECISION YOU MAKE.

FUCK YOU.

(also, Sunny taking a few steps back instead of trying to comfort his friend like Hero and Kel speaks more of his character than the game ever could)

"I'm going to acknowledge I'm a shitty friend, but you're not going to see me develop! What do you take me for? An important character?"

"sorry I didn't put my life on hold to keep you all from turning on each other because I'm this group's singular braincell, apparently :<"

Yes, they don't deserve an asshole like you as a friend.

Sunny and Aubrey are both friends no one deserves, actually. One is so unreliable he walked out on his bestie when said bestie was at his most vulnerable and the other harassed her friend for four years just because she assumed he wronged her

Hero's argument to convince Aubrey she does care about her friends after all omits the fact she stole one of her friends' property and then bullied said friend because of it.

Love that no one gives a shit about Basil in this game.

And you couldn't say this while you were talking to her in the church on Three Days Left because...?

>>"We should all be here for each other!" >>Sunny is due to move town the next day

fucking lmao

And that's it! Aubrey's redemption is official!

Except it literally took a single poorly-written rant. And a hug.

Because that's peak writing.

143/10 once-in-a-lifetime masterpiece would absolutely kill my sister because I couldn't watch the TV for as long as I want again

[takeariskao3]

Do you have any advice for new writers? I want to start posting my fix and I look up to you a lot.

i've been asked this question a few times and i feel like i've never articulated exactly what i mean when i try to answer. so i always go with something generic like "the only way to get better is to keep writing! the only way out is through!" which is true! however, i held onto this specific question for too long because i wanted to be able to say this in the way that i mean..

being a good writer, in my opinion, ultimately isn't about your turn of phrase or the most poetic imagery or even the best plot. the best writers use what isn't said or explicitly laid out to foster a connection with their readers. and subtext is one of THE BEST tools we have in our arsenal to craft a meaningful story. this is something i actively and intentionally try to do in most of my fics, and something i want to continue to improve on as i grow and find my own authorial intent. my favorite stories, my favorite characters, my favorite dynamics, the things that really stick with me for months or even years, are the things that *i* put together as a *reader*. when the reader is given the trust and independence to connect the dots on their own, you truly gain a relationship and an intimacy with them. writing is a shared medium. WRITING. IS. A. SHARED. MEDIUM. and, generally speaking, a story or a passage or a metaphor or even a character, doesn't mean shit to a reader unless they get to also invest in the story...

i feel like i'm rambling and probably not making sense but the best advice i ever got as a writer is TRUST your READERS. your reader is an active participant in your story. not a passive consumer. and for me, i don't write to try and accomplish some feat of prose or some big plot twist. both things i strive to do on different occasions, however the overarching goal is to tell a good story. and good stories happen when the reader is involved in the process. let them play an active role and let them decide every now and again how things should be said or how a certain facial expression should be interpreted, or even how blanks in a tragic backstory should be filled. you will end up with people invested in your story and in your characters and in you. and honestly that is so fulfilling.

TL;DR give less so your readers can take the story and add more.

[fictionfreedom]

Having been more on the anti side even if I didn't know about shipcourse really gives me a lot to think about. It was cause I was reactionary and had triggers.

(long rant ahead)

And most of the time, it wasn't even stuff I just stumbled upon. Either it was someone I followed and didn't know was into that or it was an algorithm recommending it (like finding stuff in google images or told "you may like this!") or I would actively search for it and scroll to be mad.

It's a miserable way to live. Learning to block is so freeing honestly. Like I mean. I've undone a lotta that thinking and even have a lot of egregious things that would get me looked at weird. But also if you are in that mindset because of triggers, it just keeps you triggered. It just keeps you hurting yourself because you're so busy being mad and trying to feel justified. You aren't helping people by focusing on this "problematic content." And most of the time, you're just exposing that content to more people that don't want to see it just for the sake of being mad and harassing a stranger for a fucking coping mechanism.

"it's not a healthy coping mechanism" that's not for you to decide. "I used to do it and it made me worse." Sorry for you, but that doesn't mean it's unhealthy for them. "But it could trigger others" that's why tws and tags exist. It IS possible to avoid seeing content that upsets you. I've managed to do it as I was leaving the anti side of things.

For antis, they expose themselves the most to that form of content just to be mad about it and feel like they're protecting minors. And even if it comes from a place of trauma like mine, it doesn't help. And even if it WAS an unhealthy coping mechanism for someone, it is not YOUR JOB as a complete stranger to handle that. It is not your job to decide what's best for someone that you don't know a single thing about. You don't know their face, their legal name, their life, their family, their friends. And yet you're deciding what's best for them. They'll share screenshots of the posts, talk all about it, share it around. I saw more harmful triggering content as an anti than I ever have since being more proship/just not giving a shit cause I'm too busy focusing on taking care of myself.

But antis make it seem like they're shoving it down people's throat. When most of the time you either have to go looking for it or it's some algorithm that makes it show up. In which case, it's not their fucking fault it "breached containment."

It's really easy to cater your space especially on tumblr of all places. You don't have to understand or like it. But you do not know that person or anything.

Also the "you can use it to cope, but not publicly" is just bs. It still encourages shame of it. And a lot of the time to help people is needing a community.

(this turns vent below. personal experience related to the above phrase.)

I've had that phrase used against me for my sfw agere because I referred to my caretaker as "daddy" and got made fun of for being cringe and treated like it was a fucking kink. Because I was too dissociated at the time to remember to add an agere tag above it on the app I was using. And instead of just letting me know, they mocked us and made fun of us and said it was a "borderline kink." (Not even against the kink myself. It was just the fact that it was our sfw agere coping. We felt little after a horrible day.) and made fun of us for a simple post being happy at our caretaker caring for us.

They used my little mistake of not putting it under a tagline (like under the keep reading line on here, that app was very different) and noting it as agere to be disgusted at the word daddy. "I don't need to see 'daddy' on my timeline. You should think of other people on this app." (Because the way the app works is that in the most recent feed you see every single post unless blocked or privated. So the shitty way the app worked led to this even happening.) To say it was cringe and should be done in private. On an app meant for mental health venting and posting. To make me seem like a creep. For a like two sentence post. And cause I, a dissociated autistic individual, didn't know how to properly tag my post.

That app was filled with essentially cliques and high school mean girls so it's a big part why I left. That and the terrible staff. And it was filled with antis and discourse and drama. And bigots and predators. It was a whole mess.

But back to original point. Having been on the anti side as well is like. You really have to realize that making sure to manage your triggers is YOUR responsibility. I would spend so much time being angry at these people by going INTO THEIR TAGS. To scroll and be mad. Never bothered anyway cause I don't interact with people, but still. And now when I see someone with a rancid opinion or being an asshole or I just don't vibe, ✨ b l o c k ✨ Actual harmful abusive and predatory people are everywhere and it is never as easy as looking at the content they like to be able to tell. That's why they often are outed by people before you know what they were doing. You don't need to harm prevent by removing things that are coping mechanisms. Because if they were used in a bad way, that is not the fault of the creator. If it breaches containment, that is not the fault of the creator that tagged it properly and shit.

And realize that it's not up to you to protect the imaginary minors being groomed. Because if one of them is being harmful to minors or others, that is not because of them being proship. :) same reason there are predators and abusers everywhere. Every community has them. It is not because of the content they make or enjoy that a person in their community is harmful.

(sorry for poor wording, trouble thinking and keeping brains straight and semiverbal, disorganized thinking and speech, hope could get points across)

.

(Sorry I don't have any add-ons rn lol)

-Not!Martin

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

Thanks for your response. I was the anon who ended the ask with 'the fandom can suck it'. When I saw that anon who you and twinanimatronics had assumed to be the one that keeps you know starting shit with you, I really hated that they labeled us as shipbrain or whatever they said. I am aroace who finds comfort in shipping characters and that doesn't make me any less aroace. Can't people like them just let us have this, let us share it and stop taping our mouths? God. We are not even hurting anyone. I posted a solarxmoon and solarxearth mini comic thing yesterday and behold, I believe that same anon found it and is looking adamantly through the solarxmoon and even solarxearth because I didn't use the tsams tag for my comic. I took the comic down fast and turned off anon messages so quick because God that anon was quick to leave nasty messages, six in total and that was panic attack inducing. I'm sorry for rambling about this. I don't know anyone else who got that same anon on their back. It looks like they are persistent for lack of better term and it annoys me+scares me. Can't even share things I like about here anymore. Hoping solarxmoon becomes canon so that anon can shut up already

If Solar Moon became canon, they don't even need to change anything.

The actors don't even need to pretend to kiss or be romanically involved at all.

It's literally as simple as "Oh yeah, we were dating for months, anyway..."

OH AND... FUCK THAT ANON. I know the user you are talking about, I think there's around two or three of them... and it seems like they're dead set on hunting down people who use that Solarmoon or Solar x Moon tag.

Going into popular users in the tsams fandom that I personally don't know... and spreading bad lies and rumors about me.

Like, they typically try to keep it as vague as possible, like "oh I am not talking about dana-chan-the-control-brain specifically....." but they often steal the exact wording and turn of phrase I use.

Cause I have an overly wordy way of talking on the internet.

I've always been this way since I was 15, so I feel my style of speaking is pretty overly wordy, rambly and long compared to most people just because I don't have a lot to share with my opinions with in real life. And I also misspell things a lot cus spellcheck has gotten worse since it became AI trained and it doesn't help my dyslexia.

But how sad is that? That someone is searching out the tag for a ship that they don't like, claim that "it's everywhere" and I'm "poisoning the fanbase" when I'm just.... here... playing with my own dolls, doing my own thing.... and not bothering anyone... Not even putting the ship in the tags publicly because I have Such respect and love for the silly little youtube show, who also plays with fnaf characters like they're dolls.

(just saying.. "bio-organic" and interdimensional travel did NOT come from fnaf I can tell you that much. )

And yeah, if they're really stumbling across Solarmoon or these ships on accident.......Blacklist the tags and move on? Don't come to my messages... Don't harass my friends...

And don't harass other people I DON'T EVEN KNOW because someone just said "hehe but what if they kissed" on the internet?

Like blocklist the tag, and move on.

I know the blocklisting tagging system sucks sometimes, so maybe it's picking up "Solar" like in that case? Just scroll super fast and don't look at it?

And yeah. You don't deserve those nasty messages sent your way at all!

Oh, and if you feel brave enough to reupload your art to tumblr and DM me, I will gladly reblog it here. <3

[halfagone]

Hey hey Halfa dear,

Idk if this thought is anything you might find interesting, feel free to do whatever with it or nothing with it, or anyone else if you publish this;

I read something probably like a decade ago now that featured someone getting letters with no return address. They would come inconsistently but they were all from the same person just kinda addressed to the whoever lived at the random address they picked. Just talking about their life.

I just remembered this idea and thought it might be an interesting plot device. Maybe this is a Danny writing them trying to process what he's going through after something ghostly, or if he graduates and decides to start traveling with Dani for a bit he writes these to process.

Or maybe, even, he gets the idea to write these letters after becoming a halfa, or any of the big wild events of his life. And like he doesn't include directly identifying info, but he vents about what's happened, and he just writes them as ways to vent, and, well, they end up being delivered to a bat. Idk which bat. That's up to you. (I do think it's something that would grab Jason tho, his dramatic Jane Austen loving ass would love this shit)

I think for like why Danny starts, it could be that like Jazz is trying to get him to do something to take care of his mental health, so if he's not willing to do therapy or talk about things, suggests things like writing a letter to no one, and well, he does in a moment of needing to let out his emotions some how, and then impulsively like mails it and feels lighter, so he just... keeps doing it.

I just think this has the potential for so much angst and also, shenanigans as the bat on the other end like desperately tries to find the person writing these letters. Esp if there's like a tech blackout for Amity, so like traditional mail is the only real way information can get out of Amity, and since he'd have to be dropping it stamped in a mailbox and not just in his own, since this relies on not having a return address, no reason to suspect this letter is from Danny or that it contains anything they're trying to suppress

Okay now that I've dropped off this idea with you im gonna go try to get some sleep, 💜💜💜💜

HOHOHO Okay... Possibly big brain moment? We'll have to wait and see? But! Danny has been living in the Ghost Zone ever since a really nasty incident (could be with his parents or the GIW, whatever your imagination prefers) so that he can heal and gather his strength. (He's an adult here, he doesn't have to worry about things like school and mandatory reporting.) And while he's in the Infinite Realms he ends up going into what is essentially a black market that's filled with, like, mortal magical items. (It's black market because if Walker hears about it, they'd all have to scatter like the rats getting found in the kitchen from Ratatouille.) He finds this mailbox, if you will, and it looks like something someone just ripped off a post from a suburban street and just kept for some reason? But the dealer insists that it's magical, cursed even! It doesn't have much of a function, though. As far as they've come up with, the mailbox just burns whatever mail you toss in there, so it's really just useless. Cursed! But useless.

But Jazz has been insisting a lot recently that he should really do something about his mental health. He needs to unload his feeling somehow, and no, punching the first person closest to you is not the way to do it! So Danny's like, hey! One man's trash is another man's treasure, I'll take it!

So Danny gets this mailbox set up, and he writes his letters and, just for kicks, writes these really weird, obscure no-context phrases on the front of the letter every time before he tosses it in the mailbox to- presumably!- be burned to ash. it can be anything from "potato salad" to "blood of my enemies". Danny doesn't really put too much thought into it, he just thought it was a fun little thing he gets to do, to lighten the mood you know?

But then Jason gets these letters. The first letter he receives in his mailbox doesn't have a stamp, doesn't have a return address, and it's not even addressed to him, but he thinks one of the rival crime lords must have sent it to him because the outside says, "YOU ARE NEVER SAFE."

Obviously he has to take it seriously, so he reads it even if it's not technically addressed to him. And at first he thinks someone is just fucking with him. Maybe Damian and Tim somehow managed to work together to write this mean-spirited prank? He tries not to think too deeply into it, but he does try to do research on some of the topics the letter brings up and he can't find anything??

And the letters keep coming. He's gotta admit some of the shenanigans the letters mention would be really good for a novel, and Jason can get so engrossed in the descriptions and he always gets a good laugh at the snarks. But then he gets a letter that has no words written on it, just a little, cartoonish heart scribbled on top. Jason is a little surprised, but he's not not going to read it, you know? So he reads the letter, and he finds himself quickly falling in love with this imaginary, mysterious person that's naming everything they love in their life, trying to show appreciation for the things they miss, and all the things they wish they still had. And fuck if Jason's not bawling his eyes out by the end of it.

Danny might have sent these letters out as emotional catharsis, but Jason is seeing himself in these letters too. And maybe, just maybe, Jason can heal along the way.

Now Jason is desperate to find the other person. Because that letter was way too emotional to be a joke. Not to mention there were dried tear stains on that letter, and surely that should help them somehow! He calls in some favors and gets some magic folk on the case, only to find out that whoever is sending these letters is in the Ghost Zone. But Jason knows they're alive (er, well, alive and dead, but it still counts!) and he just really wants to know if they're safe and well-taken care of, and are they lonely? Do they need help?

So he gets the magic-user helper to... fix up his mailbox a little. Obviously, there must be a connection of some kind between this mailbox and wherever the other guy is sending his letters through. The letters don't follow him to every safehouse or anything, just this one. By the end of the week, Jason has a huge packet, filled with all sorts of emotions and admissions, and just so much affection (no, he's not in love, stop laughing Dick it's not true).

Danny goes to open his mailbox to send through another letter and just screams his head off when he sees the manila folder on the other side.

When he realizes he's been sending someone all his rants and rambles and one too many vents, he's absolutely mortified.

I loved this so much, thank you for sharing this. I hope you did get some rest!

[stromuprisahat]

Do you think Leigh Bardugo planned to write the King of Scars duology? At first I thought so, because of Nikolai's scars from the Merzost. But given how the duology is ultimately written, I don't think so at all. I also have the impression that all the characters are the spokespersons there to remind how horrible the Darkling is, which is objectively ridiculous. She even went so far as to tell Alina that Nikolaï, Zoya and the others are trying to repair the damage caused by his wars with him... Whereas the Darkling barely caused a civil war in the original trilogy, and no has nothing to do with the wars against Shu Han and Fjerda. So what is this shit dialogue?! What plural wars has the Darkling caused?! Why is he held responsible for Genya's rape?! Why do we demonize the creation of the little palace?! Why would the Darkling tell Zoya "you and I are going to change the world" as a manipulation technique?! What fucking use?! Why are the characters like, "Let him be the hero or not?" in the end, whereas if he doesn't sacrifice himself EVERYONE DIES?! This duology is such an absurd demonization of the character that it gives me a headache...

I think she planned it the same way it usually looks she does. She has some nice ideas, puts them together as she goes, and doesn't much deal with implications. What's sad is that neither does her editor, whose job should be to poke and prod.

I've read the books as soon as they were out, so my memory hopefully isn't the best, but:

Yes for author's mouthpieces. Especially poor Genya got reduced into just that and a victim. Then there are the bigot twins or Zoya, especially her famous Darkling's crimes speech.

“That’s the moment? Not in manipulating a young girl and trying to steal her power, or destroying half a city of innocent people, or decimating the Grisha, or blinding your own mother? None of those moments feel like an opportunity for self-examination?”

Rule of Wolves- Chapter 9

I'm pretty sure I've encountered antis with the very same list.

Alina's just heartbreaking in case you survived her epilogue in R&R unscathed. What we see resembles an empty shell taught equally empty phrases to repeat in public. When viewed through reader's lenses, it's just another mouthpiece, paraded around to remind us Alina had it all coming and the Darkling bad (in case you haven't caught onto that yet).

“No. But every child I help heals something inside me, every chance I have to tend to someone left in the wake of your wars. And maybe when our country is free, then that wound will close.”

Rule of Wolves- Chapter 14

What I find hilarious, is how the Righteous Gang™ dealt with their neighbouring countries. They tricked Shu Han into signing a treaty about peace and alliance... only to have it broken in the very same book. They won a war with Fjerda in a single battle, because Zoya threw their strategy to the wind, but appeared soon enough to be proclaimed Saint for being a dragon or something?!

Sorry, but LB's idea of how politics, religion and warfare work is beyond ridiculous.

The Darkling's obviously responsible for Genya's rape, because he's been micromanaging late King, which is why his Coup went so smoothly... and we can't have the reader question how fair has been the late Tsar's punishment, how well it prevented repetition of his crimes, or if getting rid of him in the first place might've prevented his reappearance and role in challenge to Nikolai's legitimacy.

Little Palace needs to be discredited, so we don't question The Gang's decision to abolish the law that takes children from their loving families. Don't. Just don't delve into it. There's no point.

I've read pretty good explanation of that catch up line. Zoya's often lying. If Alina's an unreliable narrator, due to her damaging upbringing and prejudice, Zoya's simply happier to see the world as she pleases. She's consciously choosing delusion. Alina might have mentioned what the Darkling told her, and Zoya's always been his special girl, right?! Even current regime's propaganda calls her the Darkling's favourite...

The only BUT I see is that for some reason, Aleksander uses the very same sentence on one of his Starless minions. Then again, that Aleksander has no fucks left to give, and even he suffered Zoya-praising disease, so excuse me, when I don't trust the author with her own characters and keeping them IN CHARACTER.

The ending is a mix of absurdity and heartless cruelty. The Darkling's constantly called monster, accused of NOT caring about the damage he causes... but reading the last few chapters made me despise the author's Coolest Female Trinity beyond measure.

I've delved into this somewhere already, but what I appreciate in real people and fictional characters alike, is kindness. Not blind or endless, but kindness. Having a bunch of "children", who barely lived a few decades, condemn a person to eternity of suffering, is beyond detestable. I might understand they all feel wronged by him (I don't.), but they all also owe him pretty much. And they're in no position to judge him.

If such short and relatively easy lives made them this unsympathetic, he should've been congratulated for hanging on so well.

It also wouldn't do any harm to cut about a quarter of those books, including the obvious fanservice.

[stevebabey]

You don't have to answer this I'm just gonna bitch in your inbox about the x reader post you made because I felt this in my bones.

Like you really can't go in the tag for quality stuff lately. Everything is about sex. I'm not a prude. I read occasionally stuff, but omg, not everything has to be like this. Sometimes stories begin hopeful, but they end the same way. I'm just sick of it because it's all there is. And because it's so oversaturated, "normal" fics don't stand a chance because people don't click on that anymore. So yeah, as a creator, if I wanna get attention for my work, of course, I will produce stuff that people will read.

Also what you said about minors, how are they supposed to interact with fics if everything is porn.

In general, people are sooo fixated on "spicy" content. On tiktok, all people read is smut, or they can't handle other stuff. Literally, smut destroyed their brains. How is it any different than guys having a porn addiction?

Also, the tumblr tagging and searching functions are shit. I wanna find new fics from like 2020 or 2021 (before s4 bc I miss those vibes). When you go to the popular tag thing, the earliest you get is 2022. Like tumblr needs to fix that, so content from years ago can still be found. People also need to start tagging accordingly. It's such a pain.

Again sorry for the rant.

HOHOHOHOHO NO APOLOGIES NEEDED NONNIE i love having a bitch and being on my hater shit and i think more people than you might think agree with all of this + its a whole buncha opinions under the cut u have been warned

to some degree to decrease in quality fics will be due to the lull between seasons which always happens- some of the fantastic writers move onto other obsessions for the mean time and truly, i can't fault them for that.

but yet somehow i know it's more than just that - a smut piece will get more attention and notes regardless of the quality of the fic. it's so tough to complain about cos like sigh its all free writing produced by someone so to moan and bitch about stuff getting more attention than others is like. not very nice and being hypercritical but also

not everyone wants to read smut!! and its fuckin everywhere!! wouldn't it be darling if there could simply be a tag that was smut free but noooooo every post gets tagged with as many fuckin things as possible for 'reach' which is the stupidest fucking thing i've ever heard before

and ur absolutely right, because of it fics with no smut get drowned before they get a chance to get noticed. and sorry to say it, but its very rarely that i've read a fluff piece and been like ah, that seemed like it was just thrown together like no its always crafted to some degree- but i cannot say the same for smut in the least. again, often u can mentally sub in different characters and the fic still works which to me = bad writing (if its a steve fic i shouldn't be able to slot in eddie and have it work? ok cos then its not a STEVE fic its just a porn fantasy which is like fine but GOD this is a whole nother can of worms but if u just write smut and then cycle thru joe keery characters its like half a step from writing rpf cos its obvious u just think he's a hot guy and not so much into his characters 😭 maybe im being autistic levels of protective over my lil guy but i also think im right lmao)

and ough trying to write for an audience is so hard, its a vicious cycle of: wants to produce content ppl will read and interact with -> doesn't enjoy writing it as much -> writing isn't as good as u know it could be -> if it flops for whatever reason u feel like asshole. anon babey please dear god write the ideas you want to <3 i can promise you they will be 100x better than trying to cater to an invisible audience ! ppl follow you for your writing !!! and feel free to tag me!!!! i always want to read good steve x reader fics!!! (i just can't be assed hunting them down half the time)

the minors thing is just. god its - i remember hearing the phrase 'virgins write the best smut' and it was when i was 14 and now im like god don't say that they write like porn cos they have fuck all idea what they're talking about. i read so much fanfic when i was 12 years old and what u said is so true, it just used to sneak up in stories and ruin things. its the internet tho so its impossible to truly moderate

omg ur tiktok comment so fucking true babe. when smut is prioritized over plot, u can tell and so many of the booktok rec's they have are just that. there are ways to write smut and have it still be a story. there's also ways to write pwp and still craft it and yet, u dont see that often. also what happened to being excited when two bitches hold HANDS??? AND KISS FOR THE FIRST TIME?? it's appalling the way they thirst for that content but write their captions like "and they have s3x!!! and f@&k in the bathroom hehehe" like what. its such sanitized and shit content honestly

god ur so right i hadn't even thought about hunting down old fics - and it would make such a difference if you could do that because otherwise SO much weighs on when u post it and if it shows in tags and yada yada

this is so much omg u don't have to read all that but genuinely the reason i started writing more steddie and less x reader is the difference in reception and general support. i dont feel like i'm competing against my mutuals, but more like we're here to just hoot and hollar at each other and unless u have a tight knit group of friends on here, u don't get that on x reader fics ://

[inposterumcumgaudio]

Uncle Jack & Foggy Jack

So if you're asking about both of them, I'm assuming that's because you're into the idea that they are one and the same.

I don't dislike the concept, but I like it much more for that the game seems to push that notion while simultaneously giving you nothing to substantiate it and, at times, even giving you details that seem to contradict it than the idea for its own sake. Good shit!

It's another one of those things you'll never have a canon answer for!

And frankly, I've never really found the question of whether Uncle Jack is Foggy Jack that interesting. It's a little contrived, a little obvious, a very basic bitch story. The most famous man in town has a mental breakdown and becomes a serial killer? And he somehow does this despite being instantly recognizable by everyone? And also he's doing this while he's still filming his show every day and looking all normal and shit?

Too, the whole Foggy Jack thing intrudes on the natural predisposition of fledging fanartists to make serial killer OC's.

Foggy Jack also exists as an urban legend in the town in a way I think predates even the toxic fog (and I was given a separate ask about this as well so I'll save my thots about that for then!)

But suffice to say, because I do not find the whole Uncle vs Foggy Jack thing compelling and I'd never really devoted much thought to it, I struggled to think of something interesting to say about it. The only chapter I ever wrote about the subject was actually about why Ollie's surface-level investigation of the crime scene in "A Pomaceous Puzzle" did not arrive at the correct conclusion. It simply doesn't fit the MO.

However... in reviewing what we know concretely about Foggy Jack from the main game, I actually did arrive at a fascinating new theory.

Because we think of this as a duality, do we not? Uncle Jack is one side of the coin, Foggy Jack the other. That's why you asked about both.

Let us go over what we know for sure about Foggy Jack, that was reported in the game, to separate out the unreliable information given in "Lightbearer". There are only two sources of "solid" information about Foggy Jack in the main game:

In "The "O" COURANT - Article 3", we learn that five Wellie women - Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes, Mary Jane Kelly, and Mary Anne Nichols - have been found hacked to pieces in the streets. All of these women are named for real-life victims of Jack the Ripper.

Stated in the above and reiterated in "Interrogation Report", these murders seem to take place on particularly foggy nights. "Interrogation Report" also states that the witness, Daniel Dunglass, reported that the apparent murderer's face looked "oddly familiar" to him.

One further piece of information that we learn in Ollie's act is that Foggy Jack apparently kept a hideout in the Gardner House, at least until plague wastrels overtook it. We know this from the suitcase which contains a cleaver and the "Mystery Note" with the only the phrase "I'm afraid you've come to the end of your time" on it.

And here we learn that Foggy Jack has some interest in Margaret. And that makes sense if he's actually Uncle Jack.

But... what it's it's not a duality.

What if it's a triptych?

What if it's not Uncle Jack, but someone who would have us come to that conclusion? Someone who would want us to think Uncle Jack is avenging his murdered daughter, but is in fact trying to frame him for it?

Why, who would have motive to do that?

Who indeed.

But DJ, you say, that's crazy. You play through Ollie's entire act and not once do they ever imply that he could be Foggy Jack.

Yeah, well, there's a lot of stuff they don't imply through his act, ain't there?

And just like with Uncle Jack, the details don't say anything conclusive but consider.

Ollie is said multiple times over his act to have periods of lapsed memory, both due to the Oblivion he took and excessive drinking. Margaret mentions specifically in both "The Camp of Thine Enemies" and "Cache as Cache Can" that Ollie has trouble remembering things due to his drinking. And it's an interesting coincidence that Ollie also "vaguely remembers" leaving himself a cache of supplies in that quest and its the same sort of vague notion that leads him into Gardner House where he finds Foggy Jack's suitcase.

He's also in deep denial about the limits of his morality and how far he'll go to see traitors get theirs. Still, killing innocent women just to make Uncle Jack look bad? Surely not! Maybe Ollie ratted out a little girl and got her chased down and murdered, but he's not a serial killer!

Then again, if there's one thing Ollie hates, it's a collaborator. Deutschland Über Alles special and all. And you know who about the first people to start collaboratin' with an occupying force are?

Prostitutes.

All of Foggy Jack's not-hallucination victims are named for the "Canonical Five" of Jack the Ripper's victims, all known prostitutes. Which, sure, maybe that's just the reference, but we actually meet Elizabeth Stride before her apparent death. As Ollie. At the Jack O Bean Club, where she works as a cook serving a bunch of collaborationist traitor lovers. She has no love for them, calling them toffs and wankers as she does, but she does also muse aloud to herself about it: "Take the job, she says. You'll never have to suck another cock, she says." Which sounds an awful lot like a thing a (former?) prostitute would say, making it two separate issues to Ollie, really. And why else would a fine upstanding Wellette be out on the streets at night anyway? That's how Foggy Jack gets you!

And for my most tenuous point: remember that guy from the Interrogation Report? Daniel Dunglass. I looked his ass up and

Reminiscent!

Dunglass (the character, not the actual guy) also says that the murderer's face is "oddly familiar" to him. Uncle Jack is familiar, but not oddly so. Ollie isn't exactly a nobody in town, but he's definitely odd looking in a world that conformist.

And as long as we're drawing specious connections, Daniel Dunglass (the real guy, not the character) was a Scottish medium famous for levitation and speaking with the dead. You know who else does a lot of that?

But... even if Ollie is Foggy Jack, I don't think he killed the constables at the apple tree. Which means there's copycat killer pretending to be the guy who's pretending to be Uncle Jack pretending be urban legend Foggy Jack.

[janearts]

How do you get your art/character interactions to be so expressive and organic? I've loved your art and ocs for years and keep coming back once in a while to skim through your Dragon Age and Elder Scrolls art to get inspired, so I wondered if you did specific art studies to get to where your art is right now?

Thank you for the compliment! I've got three answers (or exercises) for you and you can take them as you like 'em underneath the cut.

They are in order from Most Annoying to Most Pleasing.

The Noble Still Life

My parents threw me into art classes at around 6 years old. I don't mean to imply that that somehow makes me a better artist out of the gate--it truly doesn't--but it does mean that I've been doing still life studies for a sad but significant portion of my life. And as much as I hate drawing stupid fruit arranged with other stupid shit on stupid pieces of fabric, still life studies were really helpful across the board and especially with developing a sense of how shit works. ... Even if I go on to blissfully ignore what I've learned and draw fabric folds however the hell I want and put shadows wherever I damn well please.

The Ye Olde Master Study

As part of secondary school, we were also trotted out to local museums and parks and whatnot and told to just... have at it. So a lot of my sketchbooks from that time are filled with studies of library-lion-this and portrait-of-supposedly-important-man-that. Then, back in class, we were asked to imitate the old masters. Old Masters studies are really fucking fun and some of my favourite commissions have started out with phrases like "Can you recreate this Benjamin Constant painting but with my character as Empress Theodora?" or "How about a different Constant painting of Theodora?" I also do master-ish studies with my own digital paintings, like this one of Samson and this one of Bree. I think it's a fun exercise because it pushes me out of my comfort zone even if the end result doesn't look all that sophisticated or much like the original.

The Desperate Scribbles of the Human Form~

I should put gesture drawings and anatomy studies before master studies because in theory you need to know how to draw bodies before you start trying to paint in imitation of Caravaggio. (Now that I think about it, a deep knowledge of fruit is also essential to Caravaggio... but I digress.) In my art class, gesture drawings were more about flow and movement than it was about your unnerving ability to draw an elbow. Our teachers broke us using the Boiling Frog Technique, which was to say that they lulled us into a false sense of security by allowing us to sketch the person modelling for 10 minutes. Then 5 minutes. Then 3 minutes. Then 2 minutes. Then 1 minute. Then 30 seconds because they were sadists. It is unfortunately an effective way of teaching 1) how bodies move and 2) how to capture the essence of a pose rather than the strict reality of it.

But I really like anatomy studies and I really, really like drawing hands. And more hands. And even more hands. And then some more hands just in case. And then, just to shock and surprise everyone, a torso. A good chunk of my sketchbook is just me drawing faces and hands and eyeballs and hands and faces and sometimes feet when I can't remember how ankles work.

Other Weird Tips That Don't Quite Count As Studies:

If you don't wanna sketch in a museum or go to a park or stare at a stranger's ankles to figure out how ankles work, then go pull up fantasy stock photos on DeviantArt or take a photo of yourself and then get to sketching. That's what I do!

Watch a shitton of animated films. There's a fluidity & theatricality to how characters move in animated films that I love. Sometimes it seems like every inch of the character is expressing the emotion they're feeling. I find it personally inspirational even if I feel like gnawing off my own hand every time I attempt to draw my own frame-by-frame animation.

Study film. I studied film very, very briefly and a wee snippet of that was studying storyboards (as in: in library, with book) and doing some storyboard art projects (as in: at desk, with sketchbook). I treat every comic I do as if I was storyboarding the animated scene from the disjointed animated film in my brain and then polish it up to make it more readable/enjoyable.

Hope that helps!

[blkkizzat]

Hi! I'm the anon who asked you a few weeks ago if it's valid for wanting to leave my bf of 3 years for only having sex like two times a year.

I asked him why he doesn't even try to give me pleasure in other ways. His answer was that there's always something: we're tired, we didn't sleep well, the weather is too hot, I'm on my period. I told him he should ask then, to which he said okay.

Last week I specifically told him I want to sleep with him on that day. Credit where credit is due, he tried, but he came too quickly and I don't think I came at all. I thought about asking him to continue with his fingers or something, but he literally called his aunt after he cleaned himself off in the bathroom. No cuddling or aftercare.

The need to leave him is getting bigger and bigger each day. We work at the same place, and I've come to realize that I'm always the one who lets people know we're a couple. He never tells it to anyone. There were already multiple misunderstandings about this, like one of our female colleagues wanted to hook up with him because she thought he's single. I adore the girl and don't blame her at all because she didn't know he's taken, but I'm 100% sure she wanted something from him and he just refuses to believe me. Moreover, he started greeting her with hugs and seeks out her company when there's free time. I say having friends is fine, but I feel like he's testing me on purpose.

Besides these things, I do feel like he adores me with the way he compliments me and looks at me every day. Whenever I need something, he doesn't hesitate to help. I can tell he loves me. I feel like I no longer have the beauty or the confidence to leave him and find hookups or new dates, and us working at the same place after breaking up would make me feel miserable every day.

Long story short, I have no idea what to do

Sorry this took me a minute! Sisss please i beg of you LEAVE THIS NO GOOD MAN!!

The problem is he wants to love you on his terms only and that's not love. He gives you affection when he wants to, not when you need it. He's treating you like a friend not a partner. You can love your friends, you just aren't in-love. He's comfortable.

And that's the thing, you are also comfortable. It's like the phrase "the devil you know", it's easier to deal with the shit we've been dealing with then potentially go out and deal with something worse. But you can't let that type of thinking control you or you won't ever be happy, because while sure there is worse out there, there is also better! ALOT BETTER!

Also fake it until you make it haha. You may not feel like you have the beauty or confidence but trust me, we are our own worst critic, we never see ourselves the way others do. We tend to focus our faults, on the things others would never notice about us and if they do it's not something they even blink at. You already have the beauty and the confidence. You never lost it. It's scary putting yourself out there again I know (I hate these dating apps too babes) but you deserve to be happy! You deserve someone who WANTS to please you. Like if they aren't enthusiastic, tripping over themselves about meeting your needs, kick them to the curb. I cannot stress that enough!

If it weren't for the other stuff I would understand him not wanting people in his business as far as telling others about your relationship at work. That said he needs to draw boundaries which it doesnt seem like hes doing at all. Friends is fine, but seeing as its a work friend if you arent on hugging terms with ol'girl neither should he be.

I know that might make things awkward at work but again. Fake it until you make it. People expect you to act awkward but if you don't, they won't. Even if he is acting weird, let him be the weirdo about it. That isn't your problem.

Also please please please, no more chances. He's had too many. Even if he says he will be better. Nah. He won't. He would just be saying that to keep you around and fall back into old ways.

You got this girl. You gotta look out for YOU.

sidenote if anyone else has words of encouragement for anon, please leave them in the comments!

xx

[existslikepristin]

Okay, so I had someone send me an ask last night and now I've been thinking about it all day. It wasn't anonymous, which I appreciate, but I'm not responding to it directly for because

I reached out already to say I'd do some editing, and I've let them know the rest of what I'm about to rant on below, but I want to make sure at least a few more people see this

I flip flop around on how to say this shit all the time. Like, do I say that everyone's a good writer in their own special way? Do I say that you don't need likes and reblogs for validation? I don't fucking know what to say except for maybe one more thing that I'll reiterate until the day I die with various embellishments that will fade in and out

You. Yes you, the person who's reading this who is also a writer/aspiring writer. Come closer. We share a bond, you and I, so really get in physically close

Art can't be contained, you scrunge

If you don't think whatever you're creating is art, go to a damn museum. Or do a virtual tour. Or google the phrase "modern art". It doesn't matter. You're going to see some shit in there that, I would hope, makes you think the artist was a dipwad

I'm ranting more than I thought I would. Here's a keep reading line

You know who fucking sucks at art? Pablo Picasso.

Look at this absolute pile of bullshit, then look me in the eye, and tell me this isn't the colorized manifestation of an elementary school dropout's Wattpad account

"But ELP, Picasso demonstrated actual working knowledge of anatomy. This is just his AbstRACt sTyLe"

SHUT UP. Nobody asked you, Barbara

Picasso, Piet Mondrian, Andy Warhol. Their artworks are money laundering schemes. Their fame doesn't come from their talent. It comes from obscenely rich people trading blood diamond money for crisp, clean, still-fake money by claiming that poor people "don't get it"

And yet, despite popular opinions being developed because of ridiculous sums of money being pegged up these guys' assholes, artists today still find meaning in their works, tunneling straight through their cognitive dissonance to tell themselves that, no, I actually enjoy staring at blocks of washed out color until my retinas have burnt in just the right spots that I can see an actual human face because an art teacher once told me that these pictures got the most likes on the pre-internet Tumblr

Does that mean people don't actually like this art? Am I trying to tell you you shouldn't like this art? Maybe, but then you'd be obligated to remind me that Churchgirleum Yawjinius is a disgusting assault on your imagination and yet has as many likes as Definitely Real Medicine, which you wouldn't believe was actually written with all the earnestness my void of a chest cavity could muster

Take it from someone who willingly threw away the opportunity for automatic dozens of reblogs and hundreds of likes per post by telling people to fuck themselves (and still gets a bunch for some reason):

The validation is cool, but it's not worth it

The validation does not define what is good or not

What is good or not doesn't even matter

You're not going to make money off this shit

Someone who is genuinely terrible is going to get more validation than you, and is going to flaunt it in your face, and their writing is still somehow going to mean something to way too many people, and it doesn't matter because their soul is just as unfulfilled by the validation as yours is unfulfilled by the lack of it

What is fulfilling is doing something because you can

You are your only source of real validation, no matter what fuzzy dopamines you get from the vapid click of a like button

Oh, and if you do get the validation of Tumblr notes, that doesn't mean your work is shit or you don't deserve love or whatever. Accept it graciously because it's definitely not uncool that people like your shit, but recognize that it's not going to cure your depression

Art is art. We can look at Roman columns and marvel at how their art built modern civilization (though the Romans can fuck themselves IMO (oh wait they literally did haha)), but did it really? Art makes otherwise brutalist architecture tolerable, but the curly Qs at the bases and tops of columns isn't what kept the coliseum from collapsing on thousands of people watching live murder

If you have a story that has overstayed its welcome in your head and needs to be on paper or on a screen, then write the fucking story. Nobody actually cares about the qUaLiTy of your spelling or grammar. They care about being given permission to think about Karina's tits. Do you think their opinion matters?! I mean, they may have great contributions to make on their own, and they should have voting rights, and it's chill if they have something nice to say to you, but the point is that they're already thinking about Karina's tits regardless of your writing. They're just your thralls to manipulate into thinking about Karina's tits in the way that you, the all-powerful artist, want them to think about Karina's tits. If they try to tell you "Karina's tits would have tan lines" then write a whole fic about how Karina is a nudist and has a perfectly even tan, and who's going to argue about it? The idiot who wrote a pedantic comment? No! It's YOU. THE ALL-FUCKING-POWERFUL ARTIST WHO ACTUALLY MADE SOMETHING TO PROVE YOUR POINT WHETHER OR NOT IT IS CORRECT

If you're an artist, then fucking act like one. Embrace the chaos inherent in creativity. Maybe gentleman is vampire. The poison contains joy. We exist in these devastating, beautiful worlds of contradiction in which we hate people and how lonely we are, we crave kindness and embody violence, and we beg the universe to give us direction despite knowing full well that we're going to zigzag between paths. Maybe you relate. Maybe you don't. THAT'S THE POINT. You're not right. I'm not right. We both write (wow, bars)

I keep saying that everyone should just write, and it's not because I think everyone is secretly a good writer. It's because someone out there needs permission to write after being told their entire lives that their value lies in A, or they're not good if B by all the non-artists in who genuinely don't understand why someone needs to make something impractical to begin the infinitely long road to completion

The dumb fucks who don't understand want to contain you because it's in their nature to desire order. They like to come up with metrics to categorize what counts as art and what doesn't so they can change the rules on you. Chaos always wins though

So WRITE. The world doesn't need your artistry. YOU DO. If you write a bunch of shit and people like it but you quit anyway or nobody likes it and you quit, then idk. Maybe you weren't an artist in the first place, which is perfectly fine, or maybe you're giving your corporate overlords too much control over your mind. If you're an artist, you'll burn with the need to create, no matter how much you create. If you feel that, keep writing