#Envy Creative

[jessiarts]

I feel like a lot of people who stress about being/getting popular on social media don't realize that they don't actually want to be internet famous, they just want community.

In this essay I will-

[darehearts]

people who can set up multiple blogs in a week or less are superior and should be feared

[wraithsoutlaws]

you know i had a fun little vp idea i wanted to do for the cyberpunk anniversary but i haven't had the energy to even touch it recently so i'll just settle with saying that this game impacted me in ways i never thought it would when i first picked it up 3 years ago. i knew i would enjoy it, i had been looking forward to it for a long time, and despite a ~controversial~ launch, i had a fucking blast from day 1 (on ps4 no less). regardless of bugs and memes and public dunking, the story grabbed me like nothing else could at the time, and it reignited so much of my passion and motivation for art that i had lost in the clutches of mental illness and i'll always be grateful for that. it introduced me to so many wonderful people (some whom i carry very close to my heart), and maybe most personally surprising, it gave me an outlet to understand parts of myself that i had been too afraid to acknowledge for a long time, the courage to accept and embrace myself as non-binary, and allow myself to just BE without trying to convince myself i'm crazy. that's not what i expected from the get-go but it's been a really fun journey to be on ngl

[klvm0nn]

shitpost

Me continuing playing DoL after GETTING EATEN BY A WHALE OR WHATEVER IT WAS WHAT THE ACTUAL F

[haggishlyhagging]

A few years ago one Robert Byrn, a 40-year-old professor of criminal law at Fordham University, took it upon himself to represent all human fetuses between the fourth and twenty-fourth week of gestation scheduled to be aborted in New York City municipal hospitals. Byrn was himself represented by attorney Thomas Ford, who made the following statement: "The fetus might well be described as an astronaut in a uterine spaceship." As Ellen Frankfort aptly comments:

It takes a certain kind of imagination to assume guardianship for something lodged within another's body—a rather acquisitive proprietary imagination that fits right in with the conception of a woman as a spaceship and the contents of her womb as an astronaut.

The astonishing Byrn incident and the analogy made by his attorney merit some attention for the light they throw upon the deceptions of male myth. Since an astronaut is perceived as the captain of a "vessel," there is a desire to see the fetus as controlling the woman. Moreover, the image of the astronaut in a spaceship is interesting also because in this image the "captain" is very much controlled by other males outside the spaceship (for example, politicians, economists, scientists, flight surgeons, engineers). This makes the analogy particularly "appropriate" in its perverse way, for the fetus is maintained in control of the woman by males outside (for example, politicians, legislators, priests, doctors, social workers, counselors, husbands, "lovers"). Moreover, the analogy involves deceptively circular reasoning, making it doubly appropriate in this doublethink context. For here, a biological event—the presence of the fetus in the uterus—is imaged as "like," that is, imitative of, a technological event—the presence of an astronaut in a spaceship. This elicits an obvious question: Is the astronaut in the spaceship an attempt to imitate the situation of the fetus in the uterus? Elsewhere I have shown that there is (unacknowledged) evidence in ethical writings on abortion of a widespread male tendency to identify with fetuses. This merits further analysis.

There are clues about the source of this fetal identification syndrome (which is frequently fatal for women unable to obtain needed abortions) in Frankfort's description of Byrn as "a childless man who seeks to guard unwanted fetal tissue." Males do indeed deeply identify with "unwanted fetal tissue," for they sense as their own condition the role of controller, possessor, inhabitor of women. Draining female energy, they feel "fetal." Since this perpetual fetal state is fatal to the Self of the eternal mother (Hostess), males fear women's recognition of this real condition, which would render them infinitely "unwanted." For this attraction/need of males for female energy, seen for what it is, is necrophilia—not in the sense of love for actual corpses, but of love for those victimized into a state of living death.

Frankfort's description of Byrn as "childless" also merits scrutiny. For it is the condition of all males to be childless, and there is evidence that this condition is experienced as disturbing to those who are obsessed with reproduction of the male self (which should not be confused with any genuine desire to care for and energize another being). Indeed there are male authors who are very willing (perhaps too willing) to attest to the anxiety of males over their childless state. Philip Slater, for example, writes of "this vulnerability of the male in the sphere of worldly immortality which gives rise to the concept of the 'external soul,' so prominent in magic and mythology." According to his view, a woman need not guess whether something of herself continues on in a new organism, for she can see the child emerge from her own body:

Thus if one translates "soul" in these stories as "that part of me which will live on after I die," the woman initially holds her "soul" within herself. It is only the man whose "soul" always resides outside of himself.

Thus "as men have been lamenting for centuries, his immortality is out of his own control."

According to this view, then, males identify the "immortal" soul with biological offspring, and women should feel fortunate in their role as incubators, shells, hotels, youth hostels, homes, hatcheries for human souls. I have already suggested that it is dangerous for women to accept reductionist theories about the male propensity for "womb envy." Thus it should arouse suspicion that Karen Horney's "womb envy" theory (with which she countered Freud's proposition of "penis envy") has been eagerly adopted by some liberal males (for example, Philip Slater). The problem with such a theory is that the implied criticism stops short of being a genuine feminist analysis. Hags must learn to double-double unthink (Andrea Dworkin's phrase)—that is, to go past the obvious level of male-made reversals and find the underlying Lie. Thus it is a pitfall simply to reverse "penis envy" into "womb envy," for such theories trick women into fixating upon womb, female genitalia, and breasts as our ultimately most valuable endowments. Not only disparagement, but also glorification of women's procreative organs are expressions of male fixation and fetishism. These disproportionate attitudes are also demonically deceptive, inviting women to re-act with mere derivative fetishism, instead of deriding these fixations and focusing upon the real "object" of male envy, which is female creative energy in all of its dimensions. Male hatred of women expressed in such fetishized forms hides the deeper dimensions of envy, which remain unacknowledged. Thus we hear one male say of another's "project" or invention, "That's his baby." We also hear men describe the books, papers, articles of other men as "pregnant" with meaning. Such deceptive expressions provide clues to the deeper levels of deception. They suggest that the procreative power which is really envied does in fact belong primarily to the realm of mind/spirit/ creativity. Yet this envy is not necessarily a desire to be creative, but rather to draw—like fetuses— upon another's (the mother's) energy as a source. Thus men who identify as mothers (that is, supermothers controlling biological mothers) are really protecting their fetal selves. They wish to be the fetuses/ astronauts and the supermothers/ ground commanders, but not the biological vessels/ spaceships which they relegate to the role of controlled containers, and later discard as trash.

-Mary Daly, Gyn/Ecology

[iloveyou-writers]

i have a writer friend and we write for the same fandom but i feel awful for being envious of her. my friend doesnt even have to try hard for ppl to like and comment on her fics + everyone says her fics are always banger and rec-worthy. meanwhile, i feel like mine are flops or barely interesting enough for anyone to want to talk about it. even when i write for myself, i feel stupid posting only to see that hardly anyone feels the same excitement as i do for my own fics.

I hope you know that I'm not trying to ignore your ask. I know you sent this a bit ago and I've been posting and answering other asks since then, but jealousy is such a difficult and delicate topic that I wanted to be sure to reach out back at a time I'm able to fully respond and give this ask the attention and heartfelt answer it deserves.

So!

Hello and thank you for reaching out. I am proud of you for being able to admit this and reach out about it. It is really difficult to see someone that seems like they put no effort into something or like their talent is just effortless and yet you have to work hard for it.

One big piece of advice that's helped me with this, as someone who has previously (and tbh on occasion still does) struggled with this issue, is remembering: I don't know their entire journey. They may have been working toward becoming this good that it seems effortless but only because of years of dedicated attempts at perfecting and honing their skill. They may have been working on this for HOURS but only claim it was a short time to make themselves feel better. Frankly, people can claim anything they want online and we just don't know.

You also have to remember: their talents may not necessarily equal yours. I don't necessarily like to encourage others to compare, but if you're going to anyway, just remember that every time you notice something they're better at than you: 1 you have talents they don't, even if they're not writing-related and 2 you may think they're better at it but they may think you're better. Talent can be such a subjective thing to talk about, especially when it comes to art, so just remember that while you're noticing how effortlessly amazing they are, they may be recognizing your dedication and talents that you don't notice and may admire you for that. Or others may.

One final thing I'd like to leave you with, that I know can be hard to appreciate for people that struggle to feel seen, but that helped me is remember that a lot of people on this site are really nervous & shy. Tons of us are mentally ill, me included. Tons of us have social anxiety, me included. Many of us struggle to reach out to others on here, past me included. Being shy will make it so that your viewer/reader base may be reading and adoring your writing but unable to say so and maybe not wanting to bring attention to themselves so they don't reblog.

I know this can be more discouraging than encouraging for some writers, but I hope you find encouragement from it and not discouragement.

Anyway, it's almost 4am and I work today. :) I hope this helps and I hope you find a new vigor to write and love your writing for what it is. Don't let envy cause you to stop writing and stop appreciating your own talents. You have them, even if it doesn't feel like they're being recognized.

I wish you well and happy writing, my friend.

With much admiration,

Hannah aka iloveyou-writers

[coqueliccot]

Everything suits you so well, If you get every single card in the deck, how can I play ? Your hand is unbeatable. It's almost innate, this affinity you have for everything I pursue. The ease with which you glide your fingers over everything I reach for. I'm still trying to get ahead, to surpass you. In something at least. And my throat tightens when I see him turn to you and my stomach turns when I see your grades and I wanted to throw up all summer long. I'd tolerate it better if you didn't take such apparent pleasure in looking down on me. I've always noticed a lack of candor in your features. Something in your gaze or about your nose. They don't really like you here, it's true you could be nicer. But we both know you don't have to. That voice will keep charming, sugarcoating all your nasty remarks.

I know I tend to trivialize your triumphs. You're clearly made for it. It spares you any doubt. And it's all on me, people like me are miserable.

Tout te va si bien, ta main est imbattable. C'est presque inné, cette affinité que tu possèdes pour tout ce que je poursuis. Cette aisance avec laquelle tu glisses tes doigts pour t'emparer de tout ce que j'envie tant. J'essaye encore de passer devant, de te doubler. En quelque chose au moins. Sinon, je sens mon ventre se nouer comme si j'avais avalé une cuillère de plus. Je le tolèrerais mieux si tu n'éprouvais pas ce plaisir apparent à me regarder de haut. J'ai toujours discerné un manque de candeur sur tes traits. Quelque chose dans ton regard ou sur ton nez. On ne t'apprécie pas vraiment ici, tu ne cherches pas à te faire aimer.

J'ai tendance à banaliser tes triomphes. Tu es clairement faite pour. Ça t'épargne tous les doutes.

[roachemoji]

🤹

[daisywords]

it's been raining all day here and I've been drawing with 2008 doctor who in the background

[captainkurosolaire]

Traitor

Downpour ceased into a gentle fall. Darkened clouds drifting with precipitation forewarned of a looming critical storm, yet faint, a hint of warmth, that circular Sun concealed from its duty could be given peer. Swelling with emotions of loss, amongst his own abode. A ship’s anchor was removed allowing tides their commandment of destiny. Blackguard, taking center deck, a shout bellowed out. “Come out. You’ve won, before I die here. I desire my why.” His gut-instinct knew who the culprit was. Defeat written in his body-language, slouching posture from deceit. He told the Crew to leave but the treacherous snuck aboard a scent the Miqo’te picked up. Paced feet drew forth from creeping shadows, a cloaked individual wearing a mask of Imitation of Mistbeard. Even alone, cowardice mind games are played. While a silver-pointed pistol with engravings <Silver Wind> had been locked onto the Captain since departure. Frowning unruly symbolism, apparel was a legacy attire the Goldbrand of Old used to assassinate, ruthlessly collecting hoards of other pirates, merchants, civilians. Ingrained steep into the culture of piracy. They took Mistbeard’s legend to commit heinous acts. As the original mask held reputation, to pass down from various others; to wretched few, there was a scapegoat to hide crime behind another's identity. None could ever replicate Mistbeard. A King transcended time itself for as long as the actual mask exists, or the imitations, nothing could be forgotten; eternity. This betrayer knew Captain better than any advisory. Two distinct paths taken from a crossroads once shared. Since pre-teens to adulthood.  Sole-survivors. Muffled laughter came from behind that mask, pleased with themselves, before the hooded figure drew a slow methodical grasp on it to pull for identity already known.

The Seeker squinched eyebrows angrily before howling, “We were Skull Brethren! I vouched for you! Three decades between us, growing up beside another, trained! Back to back, front to front! You wanted a Crew like this for sometime! But you fed ruin. WHY! Speak, Sol!” His fanged teeth grit together. Upon name ushered, the Raen revealed himself, discarding Mistbeard’s false mask, tugging off his shadow drapes, revealing an arsenal of a tactical strapped assortment of pistol’s and ammunition enough for atrocious war crimes. Clapping hands together continuously with mockery. “CAPTAIN KURO SOLAIRE.” Following his words like a conductor each word drawn out. “The Infamous Captain Kuro Solaire…. From Harems, magazine covers, large bounties. Denizen’s traversing called you in passerby, The Next Pirate King;  Hells.. The girl I was fond of even wrote about you in her Diary, to her you’re a beacon hero.” Thievery showing-off he held Casta’s journal,  “To her you’re a saint! – Maybe she’s right. Cause’ of you, I’ve saved this realm on three disgusting counts!” Captain’s face showed disbelief, what an ego, talk about something to complain about, snickered to himself letting this condescending praise draw.. The traitor’s tone changed into resentment with a burst. “...But I know who you really are. Over-hyped and rated, you are played out! – I should be the Captain, swimming in recognition, I’m a Pope of the Seas, If anyone’s ascending to King it’s me! I have achieved everything without help, unlike you. Know why? I don’t spare people who cross me, I don’t let my emotion’s get between my fortune. I ERASE them with what comes out from this barrel. You GREW weak on land. Soft as a butterfly. Forgetting who, what we are! We’re PIRATES. Conquerors, everything is subjugated as our rightful claim… Makes me vomit, protecting, compassion, trying to be moral. – You think I was your brother? I couldn’t ever be. Not when I’m a designated shadow, watching you HOIST to the top, you’re a glorified showman. Which piggy-back off me! I’m the creator of where our feet grace, this ship wouldn’t move without me! I won’t be stolen from you ever again!” Shooting bullets into the air with lunacy, demonstrating his dominant Freedom.

Captain never met this side of Sol before was suppressed this his depth? Even unbeknownst to him, two-faced. Long ago an incident occurred where the troubled-Raen had gouged out their own Founding Captain’s eye with a fork, for being commanded. Is this alter-ego the same culprit? This other persona seemed to maliciously come out of nowhere. Was this Garlemald’s influence from being enslaved by them until earning conscription? Nay… This part existed somewhere inside him. Brought to dawn from an event outside Captain’s knowledge. The sun-kissed clad in black stepped daringly forth. “Envy? Huh.” Judgemental amber orbs, infuriating his seething brother-no-more. “Stole from ye? I’ve never been like you, or others upon the original Crew. I couldn’t kill for sport. You relish in making others drown in red. I chose to make others float in pleasure, I gave them my worth, for a small price of a selfish memento to carry with me on high seas. Aye, some, I broke hearts, swindled, hurt but they live now stronger to despise me. I’ve gotten what comes around. You perceive denizen of th’ land feeble? Nay, my mate… They’ve surpassed us! Many can LIVE in Peace! Fine with what they have and got! Can we say that? We struggle stopping after a taste of wealth. Eventually something valuable turns into trash if taken for granted! Accustomed to replacing fer a shiny new thing. Our bond relates t’ this reality. I don’t get it, ye never bothered being Crew’s jester, what changed?” Exhaling bottled lament, showing utter disappointment. The self-proclaimed Pope, snickered and canted his head, “You want to settle down, I’m supposed to follow you? Your ambition is seeing others fulfilled, wow! How generous! Or wait; this for Freedom and Love? Pathetic. Kuro I knew once had unshakable rebellious fire. — For some insane reason. Our Founding Captain chose YOU to be the next successor despite, I'm the senior. He groomed you to replace him. I’ve been discarded as second-rate. When Judas came back, guess what happened? You demoted me back to Shipwright! The reason I put up with being a Jester, is so I can be in the court of the supposed king and usurper him.” Viscous jealousy continued to rattle against the Captain.

Disagreeable shake of his head accompanying a chuckle, “I didn’t have a choice to pick up, after our Captain. If you weren’t lost to the sea and placed into the clutches of Garlemald. Things would’ve been different. Frankly, I’m glad you didn’t inherit this mantle. Cause you disregard all life. From other mercenaries employed, to any semblance in recreating your own Goldbrand with Silverbrand, you mentioned stealing? Ye become polluted by entitlement. – People judged you initially on having any affiliation with the Garleans. Not including your pirate background. I played advocate trusting the side I saw of you, now I’ve painfully learned is fiction. You b’ another insufferable dickless prick. Lobbing blows in the dark, a type who’d sell out his own brother, break up his family.” Spitting on the side with disgust. Striking a nerve from the mercenary, but showing composure quickly. Remembering he held all the power with his firearm. “...Underestimate me, Cap’n. I don’t have a family, I butchered them. You should’ve listened to others, maybe they would’ve stuck around. Where is your Crew now? Ayla? Sivir? Everyone is gone, you’re left to perish alone. What has kindness rewarded you ever? – Nobhead, every-time you visited that orphanage, each Starlight donated your share of hoards to them. I TOOK it back to my trove. All your movements and poor attempts to advance as a person, I rectified them.” Deplorable veracity shown, crueler than death. Stunned by the slimy low, the fathomless spite. The most dangerous enemies to possess are those who've been closest. No resolve to fight anymore. He didn’t react with explosiveness or anger even though, knowing that’s what Sol wanted for that rough-destructive, smash-mouth Captain to come out. “I did make a grave underestimation… What exactly, ye want Mr.Perfection? Still you haven’t broken-even yet, taken enough from me!?” Engulfed by sorrow his throat tugged, how do you combat someone you found dearly to be purely a facade after thirty years! It took only a moment before cherished memories shattered.

He couldn’t understand what this version of foul Sol tried to convince him, become or achieve. To Kuro this was pointless, unbridled envy and unfortunately, his opponent had mentally deleted his resolve. “What I’ve always wanted. – The Successor Crown atop your head.” Sol’s thick Garlean accent gave his demand. “I can tell, you’ve no willpower to fight me. Remember who I am… Try not to hurt yourself, but think, Captain. I KNOW all about you, I’ve followed you everywhere. Saw houses of all your ACTUAL treasures. I could send some mail over to your hearties on the land and they’ll get an unexpected present, that’s surely going to blow them away.” Purest of evil distorted his putrid face, no limit! Existing on lengths, Sol would go to obtain his believed rightful claim. The unholy mark of Scourge gave rise in plain-sight. Captain’s depleted form began straightening, his entire being, resolving aether in fury from a despicable blackmail…  His reason to fight returned. “...Y-You… m-monster!” Previous devil’s encountered in his past and brought their bane couldn’t compare to this level of malice, menace, a brotherhood eaten alive by hatred.

🌊 ♫Gasoline♫ - Reference - Last Chapter 🌊

(Shoutout to my roomie since Sol is his muse, always reliable on brainstorming story ideas together.)

[asheoninactive]

i need to like . make a post that like properly constructs my opinion on modern vocaloid music but like i swear they dont make music like they used to nowadays and it kind of blows

[cypriathus]

Here are my embodiments of pride/humility, envy/gratitude, and wrath/patience!

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: There are a couple of mentions of assault.

Remuloktiah is a lonesome and erratic fallen ophanim who, as her prideful self, possesses excessive confidence and self-assurance, reaching a point of coming off as conceited. She strongly believes that she’s far superior than everyone else, possessing a palpable sense of entitlement. She can be quite dismissive and condescending, exaggerating her capabilities and seeking admiration. She lacks self-awareness and empathy, sees everything as a competition, and fiercely protects her opinions and beliefs - a sign of her fragile ego. She has a habit of talking over people and, as a result of her close-mindedness and stubbornness, won’t back down until she has things her own way. As her humble self, she’s well-aware of her imperfections, having no issue accepting her faults. She possesses a greater deal of respect, emotional intelligence, and responsibility, and easily maintains a low sense of worth. She puts people before her and focuses her personal energy on them, and is open to constructive criticism and new perspectives. Remuloktiah is a great listener, promoting a sense of connection and understanding, and capable of making difficult decisions easily.

Her overall height is a 6’ 3” (190.5 cm) with a pear-shaped mesomorphic body type that has well-endowed breasts, upper arms that carry some of her weight, and prominent thighs. She has dirty white skin with purplish stretch marks on her upper arms, chest, and legs. She has bronze claws and long iridescent blue hair with voluminous curls, reaching a few centimetres over her shoulders. Her eyes are an iridescent green with flecks of copper and red, pink, and blue tapetum lucidum. Remuloktiah’s face is adorned with makeup: yellow-orange crescents on both cheeks that are facing inwards; purplish-black lips; smoky golden eyeshadow; and rosy blushing on her nose bridge and temples. A large patch of skin is a cicatrix with a jagged trail that reaches slightly below her spine, giving the scar a comet-like appearance. Her spine is partially protruding from the skin of her back and she has the wings and tail feathers of a male violet-green swallow.

She prefers to don a voluminous ball gown of blue Dianne that’s made from the finest velvet, which was a gift from her distant cousin. The gown has a semi-sweetheart neckline and bishop sleeves, and it’s adorned with yellow diamonds, pieces of rose quartz, and bronze embroidery. A bodice of lovely tradewind accompanies Remuloktiah’s gown and it has striking lavender purple and bronze stripes. This bodice also has pieces of sharp glass protruding from the front in a random pattern. Her infernal body is surrounded by four interlocking 11 ft (335.28 cm) wheels of rose gold that are covered in red-lavender eyes. She usually carries an exquisite folding fan with vibrant floral patterns and two bronze tassels.

She has a fiery aura, cosmic awareness, an invulnerability to all forms of physical harm, and speed that’s unquestionably maximum and limitless. She can detect all major weaknesses that her target possesses and suppress her emotions in order to negate emotion-based abilities. She’s fully capable of casting permanent illusions on an enormous scale that cannot be seen through by any means, confusing the senses of her target. Remuloktiah has the ability to manipulate pride, nether, aether, and humility, and can empower herself by relying on the failures of other individuals. She can make herself completely undetectable and imperceptible by obscuring her presence with mind-numbing vibrations and clouds. In order to enhance her imperceptibility, she can wipe herself from the memories of other people. Through a mere glance, she can cause any living creature that looks directly into her eyes to succumb to her will.

FAMILY:

Zurishalonde (distant cousin)

ALIASES/NICKNAMES:

Virtue of Humility

Sin of Pride

FUN FACTS/EXTRA INFORMATION:

As an Æylphitus, her name means “lord has adorned”.

She was kicked out of Eylvhraszokjumni after she began treating other people as inferior by verbally abusing them and ripping off their wings. This all started after falling in love with her reflection on one of their pristine lakes.

She rules the terrace of Pride in Plugaboktezrin

The peacock is her favourite animal

She’s located on top of the highest mountain in the terrace of Pride, which is made from glittery makeup dust and peacock ore.

Penoduzhila is a mischievous and sly fallen dominion with an inferiority complex who, as her envious self, finds twisted enjoyment when other people experience setbacks or failure. She refuses to celebrate the successes of other people due to her unhappiness about them, constantly downplaying or diminishing their effort. She has a habit of frequently scrutinising what people are doing and becoming upset when individuals compliment others’ hard work. She offers fake compliments during her interactions, spreads rumours and false information, and attempts to copy the people she’s envious of. As her grateful self, she experiences a wide variety of positive emotions that inspire her to be more virtuous. She’s quite humble, fairly persistent, empathetic, kind, and full of love, and has an easier time with building connections. Penoduzhila endures hardships without complaining, showing her resilience, and deeply values the small things in life.

She’s nearly 6 ft (182.88 cm) with a spoon-shaped ectomorphic body type that has a flat chest, slim limbs, a partially rounded belly, and prominent thighs. She has the tail of a Khaire's black shield-tail snake, ashy skin with rainbow iridescence, and yellowish blotches on her belly. She has glowing sunburst cyan-violet eyes and greyish-yellow freckles on her face, neck, chest, and hands. Her hair is a turquoise to sunset pink buzz cut and she has five wings that mimic the colouration of a female cerulean warbler. She wears a 10 ft (304.8 cm) cloak made from the skins of various individuals she killed out of pure jealousy, which are crudely stitched together with golden thread. Penoduzhila often dons a wide-brimmed red-violet galero with a lavender ribbon and a six yellow-orange on each side. Her hat also has an artificial red rose with the upper half of Burmese python skull that has a shoulder-length veil of bluish-black stemming from it. She wears a special dark purple kesa with leopard spots of varying sizes in turmeric, sahara, and Galliano. Underneath the kesa is a fancy, modest camlet robe of rose gold and it has alabaster sheepskin lining. She has a black leather necklace with seven small golden hoops that hold papyrus paper that bear one of the seven planetary metals on each one.

She can create divine weapons and has strength that can lift tens of millions of pounds and perform any offensive action with the output of a low-yield nuclear bomb. Like many other dominions, she has lordship over lower-ranking angels, being able to manipulate them and summon them when she pleases. She’s capable of banishing sinners and malicious entities from the terrace of Envy and Eylvhraszokjumni. She can manipulate divine elements, miracles, angelic force, mercy, envy, compassion, gratitude, and stupidity. Penoduzhila is a master of literature and penmanship, and can remove all negativity and positivity from any living creature. Through her absolute thievery, she can steal any physical and mental trait she deeply yearns for. She’s able to sense emotions in her vicinity and her abnormally magnetic presence allows her to form friendships easily. Her wisdom is far superior than many sentient beings, but she’s still capable of making bad decisions.

FAMILY:

Aynimolechus (older brother)

Zurishalonde (lover)

ALIASES/NICKNAMES:

Virtue of Gratitude

Sin of Envy

FUN FACTS/EXTRA INFORMATION:

As an Æylphitus, her name means “god will upgrade the operating standard”.

She was kicked out of Eylvhraszokjumni after performing numerous dermal confiscations on those she thought were physically and mentally better than her. She was assaulted by one of the high-ranking angels and they made her feel like a nobody, contributing to her inferiority complex.

She rules the terrace of Envy in Plugaboktezrin

The snake is her favourite animal

She lives inside a bunker that’s obscured by black fog and in it is a bunch of caged serpents and reptiles. She has three jars full of preserved meat and a leopard-printed mattress with snakeskin pillows and an elk fur blanket. The ceiling of her room is covered in hanging wooden, silver, gold, and bronze Christian cross variants. The wall on the left side of the bunker has a few hanged skins and numerous photos of random individuals. Some of these photos are crossed out or smeared with her golden ichor.

Aynimolechus is a tranquil and taciturn fallen dominion who, as his wrathful self, has a low frustration tolerance - the inability to handle unpleasant feelings and stressful situations. He’s easily irritable, not afraid to use verbal and physical aggression, and has a habit of interrupting. His younger sister is the only good thing that stays in mind, always treating her with delicate care and respect. Due to his anger issues, he often experiences frequent and intense emotional outbursts, especially over little things. He sees most situations to be blameworthy, unjustified, and punishable, and holds a deep grudge towards those who hurt his sister and purposefully annoy him. As his patient self, he’s willing to wait for results and embodies the art of problem-solving. He takes a fair amount of time understanding his current situations before reacting to them accordingly. He shows genuine respect and consideration towards the needs, feelings, and perspectives of other individuals. He simply accepts that some things may be difficult and embraces the chaos of life with serenity. Aynimolechus has fine-tuned empathy, attentive listening skills, and the ability to laugh in the face of adversity.

He’s approximately 13 ft (396.24 cm) with a trapezoidal ectomorphic body type that has an average musculature and broad shoulders. His snow-white skin has a silvery chrysanthemum-shaped birthmark on his back and greyish-yellow freckles on the hands and belly. He has the lower half of an iridescent purple dragon with four bearded vulture wings, covered in the tears of mothers and blood of children. His head is that of an American Milking Devon with bronze horns and golden yellow eyes that have flecks of purple. He has a bronze-hued furnace door below his collarbone, which houses a flaming inferno within his chest cavity. Aynimolechus wears the skin of an Asiatic lion as a cloak and an ankle-length outer garment as a wrap, leaving his left shoulder and both arms free. This outer garment is a jade with bronze tassels from the bottom and vertical saffron, red-violet, and wisteria stripes. He dons a light burgundy leather belt that holds a Persian ney and a tambourine with a scarlet wooden frame, gilded jingles, and a thin, translucent head made of goatskin.

Aynimolechus has lordship over lower-ranking angels and the ability to create divine weapons, and he can banish rivals and enemies from the terrace of Wrath and Eylvhraszokjumni. He can easily lift and destroy large cities, forests, and half of continents, and cause earthquakes and tsunamis. When in a feral state of mind, he can obliterate megastructures and halt the motion of planets. He can manipulate divine judgement, wrath, hatred, vengeance, violence, war, patience, serenity, fire, and fertility, and empower his senses and speed with sacrifices. He has an indomitable will and is able to channel the power of his rage while maintaining absolute control and a calm demeanour. Whenever he heavily concentrates on a person or group of people, he’s able to cause agony and inflict pain on them by physically harming himself. Despite Aynimolechus’ pent up anger, he’s in perfect balance with the multiverse and all of its forces.

FAMILY:

Penoduzhila (younger sister)

ALIASES/NICKNAMES:

Virtue of Patience

Sin of Wrath

FUN FACTS/EXTRA INFORMATION:

As an Æylphitus, his name means “king who reciprocates”.

He was kicked out of Eylvhraszokjumni after slaughtering a sea’s worth of angels when he found out that his younger sister was assaulted. He lost his temper, which is now nearly impossible to regain unless he’s as his patient self.

He rules the terrace of Wrath in Plugaboktezrin

The lion is his favourite animal

He lives in a colosseum of rose gold with the top being covered in a dome of acrid smoke and scattered blue-white stars. The arena floor is scattered with rotting corpses and blood, and encircling the ring are freestanding punching bags full of organs, melee and range weapons, torture devices, and shields. He has seven cabinets: the first is for flour, the second is for turtle doves, the third is for sheep wool, the fourth is for ram horns, the fifth is for dead calves, the sixth is for beef, and the seventh is for the souls of children.

[maze-arts]

The more I think about my tss ocfications the less I remember the canon characters...

[workwaffle]

Based off a very interesting prompt I received, I decided to give the other side of the writing philosophy a try; that being the architect route vs. my current aim in a vague direction and go method. Mostly because I started via my current method, but could feel it just needed more planning to really get the catharsis I wanted.

What transpired has become close to 2k words of planning, probably more to go because I still have a few more chapters to outline and connections to weave. It's not an awfully long work, atleast as far as the plan is concerned, just dense as hell. I still have no idea if I can pull it off, frankly. But I'm staring at what was an idle musing based on a snippet of conversation made into something I absolutely must write.

This is literally me right now, staring into the abyss. Partly because I have a strange feeling I'm going to struggle to go back to my old vibes based writing method. Partly because I really don't need another WIP. If and when I get around to writing this, it's going to all be done at once. Not released at once, but I'm gonna probably finish or get close it before I meter it out.

The only thing I will reveal this early on is that this has un-intentionally morphed into the most tragic piece of eNVy slander I think I can imagine.

[rustbeltjessie]

Camille DeAngelis, from Life Without Envy: Ego Management for Creative People (MacMillan, 2016)

How absurd, then, to think that one’s insight and ability have a sell-by date, as if we artists spoil like yogurt instead of maturing like wine. Art isn’t a sporting event. No one is standing before you with a stopwatch. Besides, there’s always going to be someone out there who’s achieved your goal at a younger age, who’s garnered more commercial success or critical accolades and awards. Wunderkind syndrome will siphon off your creative energy if you give in to it; don’t doubt it’s possible to be the vampire and the victim.

But the even more critical point is this: you are worthy of love and esteem regardless of what you paint or fail to paint, what you write or never get around to writing, what you share or what you keep to yourself. If you believe you need to earn love and esteem, you can strive and suffer for approval but what you receive will not actually be love. You have to trust in your own right to be here before anyone else can agree with you.

[casimirat]

Seven Deadly Sins

If the capital vices are what it takes to love you, then let me be a sinner

I will take pride in loving you, and nurturing us

I will be greedy with your time, I can never get enough

I will lust for no one but you, there is no other in my eyes

I will only ever envy your clothes, how they can sit against your soft skin

I will gladly be gluttonous with your presence, it feeds my soul

I will only feel wrath towards those who keep us apart

I will only succumb to sloth, when I'm laying in your arms

If the capital vices are what it takes to love you, then let me be a sinner