#Thinking about engagement or setting up expectations for it when I'm drawing has always and without fail

[tetradic-echinoidea]

Allow me to expand upon this a little bit to share my thoughts:

In this party, there are thousands and thousands of people, most of them you don't know. There's also thousands of people who have brought cakes, and every single one of them will feel dejected if no one tries their cake, or if they don't get enough positive commentary from amongst the chaos of the sea of strangers wandering around, seeing what kind of cake is being offered or even themselves carrying their own cakes.

This, inherently, is not the best situation to base your worth as a baker on, or to let determine whether or not you want to keep baking cake in the future.

(Disclaimer: I'm a professional artist who has been posting art on various forums and platforms for 18 years.)

This issue is very multifaceted - there's the current social media digital infrastructure not fascilitating art or writing well. There's the lightning fast 21st century current of constant 'content' going past people every day at all hours. There's people shouting into 'the void' and wondering, why no one is answering amongst the deafening noise of all that.

It's unfortunate, especially when you see others (most of the time people who have spent years and years cultivating their craft and an audience) get the kind of engagement you want, and you're just not getting it yourself. As much as artists aren't content machines, followers and social media users aren't constant engagement machines either. Sometimes a piece, no matter how deep the meaning behind it just doesn't manage to convey it's message to the audience it's reaching. Not all art speaks to all people. To get your audience to engage with you, the art needs to engage them first. And to achieve this consistently, you need to know what kind of audience you are presenting your work to.

Bare with me for a second here: there's this concept in dog training (that I've started to use in my mental health recovery as well, highly recommend) that in order to consistently succeed you need to set the dog up for success first by putting it in situations you know it can succeed in - that is to say, if you put it in a situation that's too difficult for the dog, it will fail. You should avoid that. How does this relate to art or the topic above you might ask? Well, especially beginner artists putting their work out on social media and expecting a certain amount or type of engagement are already setting themselves up for a failure. Like I said above it's a huge gamble, where you are fighting against all other content online for attention - it is not a fight you are likely to win.

In order to set yourself up for success, you need to ask yourself what you are actually looking for when you share your work. Think about where it is realistic to get what you want, whether that be in a smaller community or platform, or a friendgroup, or with other loved ones. Find those niche communities that like that thing exactly the same way you like it, engage with them, and they will engage with you. If you have trouble getting comments in a group setting, ask people individually. Reach out to artists and ask if they would like to give a quick comment about your art - some, like me, are happy to offer commentary and feedback!

Building an audience takes a lot, a LOT of time and patience, and willingness to withstand those times where something that spoke to you just doesn't speak to others, or it's not reaching the people it would speak to. Instead of sitting still and waiting for engagement to come to you, set yourself up for success and go to the engagement. Ask people if they'd like to try your cake, or what they thought of it. Engage with other bakers and share thoughts and tips about it.

You arrived to the party, now go offer people some cake.

“Your art isn’t valued by the number of notes you get” okay but. If you spent 6 hours baking a cake for a party, but no one at the party eats your cake, it’s still disappointing.

[concretejunglefm]

I'm not ready to let you forget me (part 3).

*edit credit goes to the lovely @defuckingthrone-dot-com

You told your friends you want me dead And said that I did everythin' wrong And you're not wrong

An anon request for lovers to enemies -> playlist, part 1, part 2 , part 3, part 4, part 5

Summary: It’s been two years since Noah cheated on you, abruptly ending your relationship. However, the universe seems to have a peculiar sense of humor in its plan to reunite you.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader.

CW: none really. Mentions of cheating, Noah can be an overall asshole and a tad bit of angst. Brief joke from Noah about suicide. Please take care of yourselves.

WC: 3.6k

Dividers: Silent-stories.

Upon returning to the hotel, you presume that your time together has come to an end, allowing you to finally bid farewell to Noah and the rest of the Omens. However, Sloan's unexpected bomb shatters your hope.

"You agreed to what?"

"Dinner and karaoke. I genuinely didn't think you'd mind. You've always been a karaoke fan, and what's wrong with a free dinner?"

"The issue is that he'll be there. What part of this being a girls' weekend are you missing?"

"What part of this being a chance to humiliate your ex are you missing? I'm simply setting up the opportunity for you."

Sloan understood how you felt after Noah had ghosted you. Between the heartbreak and depression, there was also the sting of humiliation. You always wished you had the chance to make him feel the same way he made you feel.

"Alright, but I won't pretend to enjoy it."

"I wouldn't expect you to."

When you bump into the guys again, you find Noah approaching with a grin stretching across his face, looking like a cat who got the cream. You can't help but feel a surge of anger and desire to slap his smug face.

"I won you a prize." he exclaims, holding out his hand to show off a packaged mood ring he won from one of the kids' arcade machines in the hotel. Despite your desire to ignore him, you can't prevent your attention drawing to him when he steps in front of you, blocking your way.

"Wow, thanks." you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Before you can stop him, he reaches out and grabs your left hand with his larger, tattooed hand. Using his other, he brings the packet of the mood ring to his mouth and rips it open with his teeth. With the ring free, he slides it onto your wedding ring finger, and your mind goes blank for a moment.

The color of the ring quickly changes from a vibrant rainbow of colors blending into one another to a solid black. 

"It's black." he comments, and you finally snap back to reality. 

Your gaze rises to meet his, and you flash him a harsh glare. "Like your heart." you retort.

Slipping the ring off, you move it onto your middle finger before flipping him off and taking a step back as Sloan calls over to you.

At dinner, you were seated next to Noah, who spent a majority of the evening occasionally fidgeted with his own ring. You swear you noticed him switching it to his left hand whenever your waiter made a flirtatious remark aimed at you.

And now, you've reached the karaoke room, where you should've anticipated Sloan's performance of Lana Del Ray's 'Young and Beautiful'. It's her signature song, so much so that she has you recording most of it for her Instagram story.

As you go to post it, Noah shuffles closer to you, peering over your shoulder. Despite your best efforts throughout the night to make it clear that you're not interested in engaging with him, he still seems to act oblivious.

"A new post for your story?" he asks over your shoulder, and you don't look up from the phone screen, rolling your eyes.

"Depends. Are you still stalking them?" 

In the months following Noah ghosting you, you tried to resume your usual life, including posting on social media. You then began noticing random spam accounts appearing in your viewers' list, despite deleting and blocking the band account and his spam accounts that you were aware of.

One night, after sharing this revelation with Sloan, she made a conscious effort to post something obvious and pointed to him for you. Initially, you felt mortified, but then you recognized the familiar spam account name—the one that had been consistently watching your stories since you blocked Noah everywhere. From that moment on, you no longer felt guilty about making every pointed post possible, always including a song that reflected your current emotions.

However, that all changed when you decided to message the account that had been non-stop watching you for nearly five months after your 'breakup', sending them a simple message: "Please stop. I don't want you in my life anymore."

The next day, the account was deleted.

You would have considered it a success until one of his close friends' names started appearing in your story viewers. You could have easily posted things to a closed list or even privatized your account, but you decided that if he had been that desperate to stalk you, then he could and you would put on a great show of proving that you had moved on, regardless of how true that actually was.

"You knew about that, did you?" He doesn't even bother to deny it, which causes a surge of irritation because no one would be okay with their ex stalking their online life.

When it's time for the guys to choose their song again, Noah steps up to select one. He's opted to sit out due to their performance tomorrow, claiming he needs to 'protect his voice' beforehand.

You roll your eyes at his excuse, but you're quickly silenced by his song choices. Each one becomes more pointed than the last, revealing the underlying narrative of his pathetic attempt at an apology.

After the first song, "Gives You Hell" by the All American Rejects, you stare off at him, daggers in your eyes. He shrugs off his choice with a cocky grin.

The second song he chooses, "A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More 'Touch Me'" by Fall Out Boy, feels even more appropriate and fuck boy like from him.

Noah's face lights up with pride in his song choice, which only irritates you more. Your jaw clenches as you bite back, wanting to confront him for his obviousness.

Naturally, his friends are oblivious or indifferent to the situation. They've always seemed friendly enough and liked you when you were together, but they never got involved in your relationship drama back then. Perhaps they feel the same way now. It's better to remain blissfully ignorant than to become caught in the middle.

"You're not having any fun." Sloan whines, plopping down next to you and offering you a sip from her half-empty glass. You had already finished yours, during your annoyance with Matt and Folio's rendition of "Gives You Hell." Surprisingly, Nicholas' rendition of a Fall Out Boy song fails to improve your overall mood.

"Watching you eye fuck Jolly while singing 'Young and Beautiful' is hardly my idea of fun." You sigh, your voice devoid of any hint of bite. You genuinely enjoy listening to Sloan sing the same song repeatedly. It's her go-to choice, especially when she's caught the eye of a guy. Strangely, when she performs Lana songs, they seem to captivate her men even more.

"Well, since you're up next, you need to cheer up, and I've already chosen a song for you." She beams, and you raise an eyebrow in skepticism.

"Sloan, what on earth did you do?"

"Oh, you'll see."

When it's your turn, you step onto the designated 'stage area' of the room, taking the microphone and scanning the screen. Within seconds, the chords to Carrie Underwood's 'Before He Cheats' begin to play, and you let out a scoff. You glance over at Sloan, who has now positioned herself between Nicholas and Jolly, and shoots you a wink.

It was one of your go-to songs when you were cruising through bars back in college. The lyrics always resonated with you then, and they continue to do so now. As the song begins, you launch into your own performance, tipsy enough to feel bold and lock eyes with Noah.

Every Instagram story you've posted over the past two years has featured a song dedicated to him, but now you finally get to sing one to his face—a perfect one that calls him out on the behavior you'd been suspicious of.

The cocky signature grin he's been sporting for his past few song choices fades, and you feel a slight surge of pride for being able to do that—for making him lose that ego he's been so proudly displaying.

As the song concludes, you take your bow, giggling as you hand the microphone off to Jolly, who swiftly transitions into his own rendition of Poison's 'Talk Dirty To Me'.

"I'm heading to the bar for another drink. Anyone want one?" You ask, taking orders for everyone except Noah, who simply holds up his bottle of water.

Approaching the bar, you're greeted by the same waiter who had been trying to flirt with you earlier that evening. "What a pleasant surprise." he remarks, and your cheeks flush slightly.

"Well, perhaps I was hoping to cross paths with you again." you reply, even though you weren't entirely interested in him. However, you couldn't resist entertaining a bit of harmless flirting, especially after dealing with Noah this weekend.

"I'll be off in a few minutes. Maybe I can buy your next drink?" he offers, sliding the suggestion your way as he wipes down the bar. 

A small smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. "Okay, then." you nod before relaying the drink orders for Sloan and the guys.

Leaning against the bar, you find yourselves engaged in a playful back-and-forth flirtation, even genuinely giggling at some of his remarks. However, the moment is interrupted by an abrupt silence when you hear Noah's voice behind you.

"I was wondering about where you got to." His hand slides across the bar, his fingers barely brushing against your arm on purpose as he reaches for the drinks laid out in front of you. "I thought I'd lend a hand."

"I was happy to assist." The waiter interjects, but you remain silent, your jaw clenched, and you swear your eye twitches at the brief contact Noah makes with you a second time, as if deliberately trying to ward off the guy who had been flirting with you throughout the night.

"No need, friend." Noah responds, and you wait for the poor guy to step away with a slight dejected expression before turning to Noah with a hiss.

"What on earth was that?"

"I should be asking you that. Are you actually entertaining this random guy?"

"Random guy? I don't know, he must be better than the guys I already know." You huff, moving yourself away from him as you take Sloan and your drink, leaving the remaining ones for Noah to carry.

"What does that mean?" He calls after you, and you briefly turn your head, shooting your retort over your shoulder.

"You're smart. Figure it out yourself."

When you return to the karaoke room, you find a corner to settle into, sipping your cocktail mix while watching the last few songs of the evening unfold. Time seems to fly by, yet you can't shake the feeling of Noah's eyes on you, a notion you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. 

Back at the hotel, Sloan is already entwining your arm and guiding you towards the bar, insistently, pouting her lips and fluttering her lashes as if she can manipulate you into folding as easy as she does any man.

"No more. I'm ready for bed." You attempt to pull yourself away, but Jolly swiftly intervenes, taking a tipsy Sloan into his embrace, promising to take her for one final drink.

As you turn away, you overhear the final words of a conversation between Nicholas and Noah, your name being mentioned, drawing your attention. "You can't keep lying to her, you know?"

Lying? What could he possibly be lying about now?

Instantly, you find yourself yearning for some fresh air, feeling a surge of anger as you impulsively charge towards them, deliberately pushing between them.

"Woah, what the—" Noah's voice catches your attention, but he quickly loses his annoyance when he realizes it's you pushing past him. He calls out to you, but you ignore his attempts, determined to create as much distance between you and him as possible.

You had a reason for choosing to hide away on the rooftop balcony pool. Besides the quieter ambiance, you enjoyed toeing the line of where the diving section of the balcony opened up to the pool below.

It was Vegas, so it wasn't entirely quiet. Amidst the bustling crowds below and the soothing hum of music emanating from the hotel, there was no opportunity for deep contemplation. Yet, you almost didn't mind the constant stimulation. If you allowed yourself to dwell on Nicholas' words, you risked losing control and spiraling back to the emotional turmoil you had endured after Noah abruptly ghosted you.

From the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of something, and your gaze is instantly met with the unwelcome sight of Noah. A sigh escapes your lips. "Noah, what are you doing up here?"

"I was searching for you, believe it or not."

"Why?"

"Because you looked upset."

"And let me guess, you felt guilty or blamed yourself? Wow, an egotist and an asshole all rolled into one."

"Are you going to keep calling me an asshole throughout our time here?"

"Depends on whether you continue to behave like one."

"Fair point." He paused, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Will you at least come back from the ledge? You're making me anxious."

"Why? Do you think I'm going to jump?" You chuckled, deliberately walking along the darkened ledge of the balcony as if balancing on a tightrope.

"No." You heard the hint of doubt in his voice.

"You're lying."

"Okay, maybe."

"So, you think that I'm suicidal now?"

"I think you'd do anything to get my attention."

You nod to yourself, mulling over Noah's words. Your mouth opens as if to laugh, and you flick your tongue against your teeth. Before you can respond, you take a step away and glance down over the edge. With a couple more steps, you cast a look over your shoulder to him. "We'll see about that."

Without warning, you charge towards the edge of the open balcony, hearing Noah call after you as you jump over the ledge. 

It feels exhilarating, your heart pounding in your chest as you plunge into the water of the pool below and you surface, you hear a splash behind you. Wiping your hand over your face, you look in the direction of the ripples and see Noah resurface beside you.

He had jumped in after you.

"Did you—" He briefly chokes on a mouthful of water, spitting it out as he treads water in the same way you are, keeping himself close to you. "Did you know this was here?"

"Guilty." You shrug, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

You had come up for some air and when you saw the pool below, you couldn't resist the temptation to dive in. It had been Noah who had interrupted your original plan, accusing you of trying to hurt yourself or get his attention.

"Wow. You're an asshole." He remarks, shaking his wet hair and pushing it back with his tattooed hand.

"Are you really that surprised?"

"No."

There's a brief pause before he speaks again, his voice softer with his confession; "I missed you."

"Ever heard of a phone?" You quip back without a moment's hesitation or time to ponder the meaning of his words.

"You blocked me."

You pause, wondering how he knew. Unless he had simply assumed. Or did that mean he had tried to reach out to you?

"Well, it's what you deserved."

"You're right."

That surprises you even more than the idea that he had tried to contact you. Noah had never said that you were right, about anything. In fact, most of your fights had stemmed from the fact that he was always so adamant against agreeing with you.

"Well, I can't say that I missed you." You're partially lying, but you hope he won't notice.

"I didn't expect you to."

"Well, good, because I didn't."

For a moment, everything between you falls silent. Your bodies inch closer as you continue to tread water in the deeper end of the pool. Your legs barely brush against each other, and you feel the gentle touch of his hand against your arm beneath the water. Then, you catch his gaze lingering a bit too long on you, flickering between your eyes and your lips. You don't need to ask what he's thinking; you already know.

"Don't even think about kissing me."

You burst the bubble which had been created around you both, delighting in popping it and watching as his expression shift from soft contemplation to sudden flustering.

"I-I wasn't."

"Good. Don't." You shorten your words and start swimming towards the pool's edge, pulling yourself out. 

Your dress is soaked through and clinging to your skin. It had been a good plan until now, but the effects of the alcohol are wearing off, and you wonder if Noah's decision to jump in after you, assuming you were attempting something more dangerous, held any genuine meaning. Perhaps he did still care?

For a fleeting moment, you glance back at him as he attempts to climb out and turning to face him, you take a step closer, your foot poised to press down on his hand, halting his movements.

When your eyes meet his, he looks up at you with a soft expression, his dark brown eyes wide as they focus on you. "What did Nick mean earlier when he said you had to stop lying? Lying about what?" You hold his gaze, your foot pressing down gently against his fingers.

"Oh, nothing, just—ow." His voice breaks as you apply more pressure, deliberately pressing down on his fingers.

"Try again."

"Okay. Damn. To myself. He wants me to stop lying to myself."

"About what?"

"About you. About wanting to apologize."

You step back, releasing his hand from beneath your foot as you absorb his words. "Then do it. Get on your knees and say that you're sorry." You say it with a sense of confidence, despite his scoff at your request, but you remain steadfast, your gaze narrowing at his still wide brown eyes.

Instead of refusing, he climbs out of the pool and kneels at the edge, taking a near-pathetic wet dog stance in front of you.

"I'm sorry." he begins, clearing his throat before continuing, hearing a clear plea in his tone. "I'm truly sorry. For what I did. I shouldn't have…" His voice trails off, and for a moment, his gaze flickers away, almost as if he's ashamed. 

Good. He should be.

It shouldn't be satisfying to see him in this vulnerable state, but you never imagined you'd have the infamous Noah Sebastian begging for your forgiveness. 

"I should've apologized then. And all the millions of times I was watching your instagram. I wanted to, I did. I've been wanting to. I wanted to reach out and apologize the moment I knew you were coming."

Suddenly your brain latches onto those few words; since I knew you were coming. How did he know? Not even you knew, not until the other week. It was a last minute trip, one planned by—Sloan.

"Get up." You interrupt his ramble and you watch as he struggles to process the instruction as if he doesn't know whether you've accepted his attempt at an apology or not.

When he stands, he nods, shaking his limbs and himself off like he's an overgrown wet greyhound. "Yeah, let's head back inside."

You start to walk ahead of him, pulling yourself out from his reach when you catch his hand coming behind you in your periphery. You haven't responded to his apology and won't be giving him the satisfaction of even the slightest touch.

"What on earth happened to you two?!" Sloan, who had been flirting with Jolly earlier, is now walking away from cozying up to Nicholas. You narrow your eyes at her.

"Someone fell into the pool." Noah answers, and your gaze shifts to him. You fix him with the same disgruntled expression.

"I'm going to bed." you dismiss yourself, walking away as Sloan reaches for you, grasping your arm as she hurries to catch up.

"Did you really fall in the pool?" she asks, her brow raised in curiosity.

"Yes." you reply through gritted teeth.

"All that to get a man to dive in after you. I know you said he's an asshole, but—"

You come to a stop, pulling your arm from her grasp and turning to face her. "But what, Sloan? Should I give him another chance?"

Her mouth opens to speak, but no words come out, and her eyes widen in realization.

"Because I'm starting to think these strange coincidences aren't just that. Not to mention the way you've been flirting with Jolly and now Nicholas."

A brief flash of guilt crosses her face, and everything begins to make sense. Noah and his band may have had a concert in Vegas this weekend, but your run-ins with him had been anything but coincidental, as you had suspected.

"So much for you mocking me for being hung up on a guy for the past two years, huh? You're such a great friend, Sloan. So great." You turn to walk away, but she stops you.

"I thought—"

"You thought what, huh?"

"That seeing him would finally give you the closure you've been seeking. That maybe one last time being together would remind you that he's not worth your time."

"Yeah, I've come to realize that". You nod, taking a deep breath as you ponder Sloan's words. "I've also come to understand that my friend is more manipulative than I could have ever imagined, considering I never would have expected you to throw my heart back into the ring with him." Your voice cracks, but you manage to utter your words before pushing past her and finally walking away.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @halfalgorithmhafdeity @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @annthepenguin @samanthasgone @littlebear423 @aprosiacperson @flowery-mess @nyriastark @blackgirlmagicforever

[starlightguh]

An Artist Always Signs His Work

Word Count: 1,879

Tags: inappropriate uses of paint, Oral f!receiving

AN: 18+ Smut !MDNI¡ I started working on this before the Rafayel banner announcement and wanted to finish and post this before the new card dropped! I’ve truthfully not been the biggest Rafayel girly but lately he’s shown up in some spicy dreams of mine so I hope this does him justice 💕

I was taking my time doing my hair for a little outing with Tara that I had planned, when my phone started buzzing. I pause my hair routine and see Rafayel’s picture with his contact name: My Sushi <3 light up my screen.

I answer with a cutesy ‘Hellooo’ and am met with a disgruntled groan from the other end.

“I can’t do it! I won’t do it! I simply cannot draw anymore no matter how much Thomas threatens me!”

“Woah, slow down what happened?” I stifle a laugh at his dramatics.

“They expect me to have a new painting for that gallery by the end of this week and I just can’t! No matter how much I’ve painted nothing is giving that inspiration I need….You have to come help,” his voice sobbed on the other line.

“Rafayel I can’t, I have other engagements today I can’t just drop everything to help you with your art,” I sigh at his drama.

“Oh so you hate me. I get it. Well I see how much you care about me and my dying wishes, so I’m hanging up now,” his voice was full of sass as he then hung up on me.

I let out a long exasperated groan and gave Tara a phone call, “hey girl I might have to rain check on our tea date.”

“Oh that’s funny you called first! I actually ran into Dr.Greyson and am kinda caught up with him right now…We’ll definitely touch base and reschedule when I see you at work! Bye girly!”

Well that was easy. I continue to finish getting ready to go see my dying artist…

~~~~~~~~~

Im buzzed into Mo art studio with no problem. I didn’t bother calling Rafayel back since I knew where he would be whether I showed up or not.

“Knock, knock,” I call out as I open the doors to his studio space.

“Studio’s closed, I'm busy passing away…” Rafayel, whose clothes were covered in various paint colors, was laying on the floor with his arm covering his eyes.

“But I came to revive you.”

He lifts his arm away from his face and he lets in a sharp little gasp as he takes in my appearance.

I was a bit dressier than usual in my shiny short white dress and my hair and makeup done. I smiled down at his stunned expression as the pupils of his eyes darken.

“I think I’ve found my inspiration,” he says with a bit of a confident smirk.

He slowly lifts up his torso and smiles up at me before holding out his index fingers and thumbs to create a frame of me in his vision.

“Oh so that’s why you wanted me to come here, you needed a muse?”

He stands up and his taller height makes me lean my head back a bit to glance into his deep sea blueish eyes. Rafayel placed his hand under my chin and moved my face from side to side, appraising my facial features.

“Not necessarily, but your beauty has striked my inspiration. Come here while I paint,” he takes my hand and drags me to the center of his studio.

He has me sit on top of a stool in front of the background of his flowing white curtains as he sets up a canva and easel in front of me.

I sit a bit awkwardly, unsure of what to do with myself. So I kick my feet a bit as Rafayel is pouring the paints he wants to use on his wooden pallet.

His eyes are scanning the scene before him as a mischievous smirk crosses his face, “I think the subject needs more color.”

I look down at my white dress and frown, “Well I didn’t exactly bring anything else.”

He wordlessly strides over to me, and with a paint brush he slashes a stroke of blue paint on my bare arm.

“Hey! Rafayel! What are you doing?!” I shout as he laughs while splashing my skin with more paint.

“I'm just painting on my lovely canvas,” he smirks and then dips his hand in some of the paint on the pallet.

He places his forehead against mine while letting out a shaky breath as his paint covered hand slowly and sensually caresses down my bust to my waist. As his hand is the paint brush that has now ruined my dress, he stops at my waist and grips it.

“Raf,” I whisper as I glance at his plush lips. His eyes were now dark and intimate as he no longer stared at me like his muse, but rather his meal.

He lets out a huff and leans his head down to place a soft kiss at my pulse point in my neck. The only sounds I could hear was the smacking of his lip’s against my skin and the shakiness of my own breath.

I felt his nose drag up against my neck as he then brought his lips to my ear to whisper to me, “You know, when I paint, I prefer to paint subjects in their most natural state…”

He purred in my ear and pulled away a bit as he dipped his hand in his pallet and proceeded to set it down as he covered both hands in colors.

“Rafayel,” I said in a warning tone as he now has both of his hands on my body and ruined my dress with shades of blues and purples. “You owe me a new dress.”

He looks down at the paint covering my arms and seeing his hand prints on the dress he hums and nods, “You’re right….Let’s get this canvas to her natural state then.”

Before I could process what he meant by that, he had unzipped my dress and removed it off my body. I let out a yelp as the cold air touched my now exposed skin.

“This too,” he grumbled and popped my bra off immediately.

As I sat on this stool naked in nothing but my panties with wet paint covering my arms, I looked at him annoyed as my face with hot with embarrassment, “Shouldn’t you stop fooling around and actually work on your painting?” My eyes glance to the now abandoned easel he had set up.

His hands were all over my skin, his soft fingertips gently tracing paths around my breasts and sternum, leaving color in its wake. “But I am working on my painting dearest, it’s already beautiful,” he says in a whisper before leaning down to capture one of my plump mounds in his mouth.

I wrap my legs around him and let out whimpers as his tongue swirls around my sensitive bud. His face is now getting paint on it from the trails his fingers left behind earlier.

As he pulls away from my breast with a smack he stares up at me as he goes to give the other one attention. My face contorts as the feeling of his lips breaks my composure. His deep eyes are drinking in my expression as his mouth works on me and I close my eyes and turn my head away to hide from his intense gaze.

Rafayel pulls away and moves my head to face him, leaving more stains of paint as he does, “Look at me.” His voice sounds deeper than his usual teasing tone and is full of command.

I open my eyes and as I do he leans in and kisses me with a fierce intensity. His hands cup my jaw and I wrap my arms around him as his tongue parts my lips and dances in my mouth.

I drag my fingers into his purple hair as he groans into my mouth. When he pulls away I’m panting as our lips are still connected by a strand of saliva. He licks his lips with a smirk and he bites his bottom lip as he takes in my panting and flushed form.

“This is almost the vision I have,” he says as he crouches down to get more paint on his hand. He slides his hands that are wet with fresh colors up my legs as he parts them to have me sit in a straddle pose on the stool. “Beautiful.”

His hands grip my thighs as he stares at the small wet patch that’s dampened my teal cotton panties. Rafayel, like a man possessed, slides his hands underneath both sides of my underwear to slide them off me. My legs follow his path as the cotton is now cast aside and his hands are holding my painted thighs apart to expose my wet center to his vision.

“Now that I’ve painted my canvas, it’s only right that I sign my work,” his voice rumbles as he gets closer and closer to my center and he gives a lick on my slit.

“Raf-“ I pant and go to grab the back of his head, but he stops my movement with a grip on my wrist, “Don’t move or you’ll ruin the portrait.”

He lets my wrist go and dives into my center, drinking in my dripping essence with his thirsty lips. I can’t help but grip the sides of the stool and lean my head back with a moan.

The contrast of his hot mouth on me in comparison to my cold body covered in wet paint made my mind melt. I was drowning in pleasure as I could hear the lewd squelching and smacking of his mouth on my dripping pussy.

I could feel more than hear him growl as I placed my legs on his shoulders and my toes dug into the fabric of his white shirt.

“Gods Rafayel…I’m gonna,” I squeal as I close my eyes and feel his tongue on my clit.

As I focus on my breathing I can feel his tongue make what feels like the shape of an R on my slit, followed by an A then F….

I could feel my lower body tighten and heat up as I was close, “Rafayel please I’m-I…” I sputtered out as he made it to Y in his name.

He pulled away for a moment and his voice was filled with lust, “Come. Let go for me.”

When he went back to my clit and quickly finished spelling his name he then slid his tongue inside my needy hole and I instantly came undone on his mouth with a high pitched moan.

As I was breathing heavily from my orgasm, Rafayel pulled away with half of his face dripping in my juices. He smiled and licked his lips, “Perfect stay like that.”

He stood and rushed over to the actual canvas and quickly began trying to immortalize my pleasure in a painting on his canvas.

Needless to say he had to repose his muse with a few more orgasms to ‘get my expression just right.’

The finished product was me covered in paints of blues and purples and completely fucked out of my mind, while his actual portrait depicted a naked woman being swallowed up by the sea. I was too embarrassed to acknowledge that her pleasured face was what Rafayel saw as he expertly pulled out of me over and over again that day.

~fin~

[sunnetrolls]

Indefinite semi-hiatus

Hi guys! Long time, no... anything from me ever, huh?

Please read as much of this post as you're able. I know it's long, but I bring up some important things towards the end.

I've been thinking lately about the balance I try and strike between my IRL workload and how I spend my free time and I've come to the conclusion that it's unrealistic for me to pretend like this blog is fully active in the way many of my friends' blogs are. Stemming from that, it's just not realistic for me to expect my once-a-month art posts and occasional whims to play with my OCs to get the same reception as others who actually contribute as much as they ask for to the community setting.

I want to make it official and clear that I'm probably not going to be reaching out to others to make new plots or doing large developments within existing plots until I have more time, motivation, and confidence to dedicate to my creative spaces. This doesn't mean I want to break off my existing plots, but if anyone else wants to do that because I've officially called whatever limbo state I'm in a hiatus, I fully understand and all I ask is that you reach out and let me know.

This partially stems from my real life obligations leaving me too tired to properly engage with the rest of the community and a long-building sense of alienation as a result of that lack of engagement. To put it simply, I feel that my contributions are less wanted because they come with the expectation that I won't be available to talk for much of the day and won't have energy to write or draw when I am available. Which I understand--it's not fun to plot with someone who can't match your energy.

On top of that, there is the ever-present but mostly un-addressed aspect of poor communication. Over the past few years, I have been working to improve myself with respect to how I engage with others to move away from people-pleasing so I can cultivate more self-respect and valuation, especially regarding the things that I make and share with others. However, this relies on the assumption that when I overstep a boundary or make someone uncomfortable, whether that's through being too assertive or getting caught up in excitement and missing important social cues, the person upset by my behavior will inform me that what I did was upsetting so that I can better mind that boundary in the future.

I've since realized that I cannot rely on this to happen, leading me to decide that this may just not be a good space for me at this period in my life.

If anyone reading this has felt like they've been talked over by me, had plots railroaded in the direction I want without regard for your wants, or generally been put off by how I engage with shared storytelling, all I can ask is that you please tell me. I promise that I do not set out to hurt people, and if you are hurt by my actions, it was not done with malice in my heart and I want to behave differently to not hurt you, but if there is no indication that my actions are hurtful then I don't understand how I'm meant to reflect and correct my behavior.

Everyone is always welcome to tell me they don't want plots to happen a certain way, or that they disagree with how I think things should happen. Encouraged, even, because I think that's how collaborative storytelling should work, and it's been deeply unsettling to learn that others may not be comfortable engaging with me like this.

I hope this announcement doesn't disappoint anyone. Please please please reach out to me if you want to change or break plots or talk about how I've hurt you in the past so we all can move forward with less discomfort and animosity.

Thank you all for having fun with me for so long. I hope I'll be able to come back to this space with a better mindset soon.

[lloydfrontera]

do you know how fucking mad i am at the fact that the webcomic gave us lloyd giving javier his own mana in an attempt to save his life and javier overcoming literal dimensional differences in order to be able to accept it into his body effectively foreshadowing how far he's willing to go just to be able to protect lloyd,,,, but they did it all with a fucking 'haha lloyd is ugly' joke. do you.

this could've been one of the best scenes in the entire thing. it could've been such a pivotal point for their character development. it could've been one of the most earnest moments in the story. but it's made into a joke because they just need to draw the ugliest faces possible to make a cheap joke that has been made a hundred times already. i'm not being funny i'm genuinely mad at the wasted potential lmao

the tone of the scene was changed from the webnovel so much it's almost unrecognizable. and not in a good way. like. why would you cheapen the emotional core of your own story like this. do you trust your own plot and characters so little to keep your readers engaged with the story that you feel the need to make everything in a joke. is that it. was the original story not funny enough to keep your attention so you think no one will care if you turn what's meant to be an earnest and heartwarming scene into a joke you've made hundreds of time before.

i'm not. mad. about the changes themselves (mostly). like i said this particular scene had so much potential to compliment the original story and foreshadow the ending that i'm actually upset that the tone and art made it so i can't in good faith say i like it.

they just. shot themselves in the foot by trying to make the scene funny. all the tension and emotional built up is wasted when the webcomic makes fun of itself. it cannot take itself seriously so i can't either.

like. it was going so well. i loved the built up with the scene where they talk about javier's parents and you see that they're still emotionally guarded with each other, they don't quite feel close enough to the other to call themselves friends even when we know that they care deeply for each other. i liked that they changed it so lloyd had the opportunity to save javier the way he wasn't able to in the novel. i even liked the development with lloyd's mana being so different from javier's that he struggles with accepting it, cause it was a chance to call forward to a very important event in the future.

the scene where they're reaching for each other as they realize that yes, they're friends and god help them they will save their friend no matter what?? gorgeous i loved it so much, it wasn't 'We'll be together forever, just like we've always been. Casually. As natural as breathing air.' yeah but it was perfectly okay on it's own too.

and then they do this.

like. what.

all that emotional built up, all that tension, all of it,,, for this?? this????

what's the point of making your audience feel emotionally engaged with the story if you're just gonna make the art equivalent of a fart noise. a well executed yet still completely out of place fart noise lmao

it doesn't feel funny, it just makes me feel like i wasted my time being emotionally invested in something that isn't interested in delivering. it's like watching someone setting up dominoes to topple them in a gorgeous pattern only for them to put on clown shoes and start kicking them all over the place without rhyme or reason. like yeah they're in their right but then what was the point of all that work in the first place.

and yeah maybe it's my fault for expecting something earnest and heartfelt from a webcomic that has shown multiples times that it's not interested on that but like. is it really too much to expect for an adaptation to, well, adapt the original source in a way that doesn't feel like it's making fun of it??

[mgopinoon]

The Daily Mail two days ago published an article about Kaia spotted on the set of Palm Royale in Los Angeles. The article talks about her walking Milo on set and how much she looks like her mother with that hairstyle you see in the photos, but the most important thing is that in the entire article there is no mention of Austin. It should be noted that lately the DM articles about Kaia often talk about either her mother, or her friend (definitely more talented than her) Ayo Edebiri, or even Milo, the poor dog that no one cared about all along the year and now it's magically back in the news (I think that after everything the nepo has done she desperately needs to show herself as the good girl who takes care of her little dog). I think it's quite clear that for the moment Kaia, no longer able to refer to Austin, is leaning on other famous people close to her, waiting to find the next hot guy in Hollywood from whom she can suck every bit of fame. And don't tell me that Kaia and Austin haven't been seen together for over a month because they're both busy on set. Austin yes, he is really busy on set because we see him practically every day, but Kaia definitely isn't, shooting a scene a month is not being busy on set. After the damage control pap walk at the beginning of october, Kaia remained in New York for many more days and was literally always seen alone out and about minding her own business, then she left for Los Angeles and from there she was seen only once on the set of Palm Royale (excluding the sighting from a few days ago), for the rest there were only sightings of her at parties and dinners with friends, at one of which we hear her clearly talking about a breakup that surprised her with a rather sad attitude. While all of this was going on, reports started coming out that Kaia's parents want Austin to hurry up and ask for her hand in marriage and go to couple therapy with her, to which Austin responded "Like hell!" (obviously he did it in a more polite way, but I'm sure he meant it 😂). I don't know about you, but as the situation is now we can already draw some initial conclusions in my humble opinion. I leave you the article I mentioned at the beginning below 👇

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-14050475/kaia-gerber-mother-cindy-crawford-film-palm-royale.html

Kaia needs outsiders to be relevant, yesterday someone asked me if Kaia was stupid and my answer was no, because she has the power to use people to her advantage. I don't think Ayo is her best friend, maybe they got along on the set and talk to each other from time to time, but now everything related to Ayo has to do with Kaia is stupid. If Kaia hadn't worn her mom's white dress in Tiff nobody would have talked about her, because the important thing in the news will always be that she looks like her mom or that she honors her mom, which even if I don't like it, has a lot of importance to people, since it marked an entire generation.

When Austin and Kaia's estrangement began in September, the Daily Mail stopped mentioning Austin in Kaia's articles, and as damage control approached, Austin's name came up again. I think after the article about Kaia's parents expecting an engagement, Austin ended this nonsense and she can no longer use his name to be relevant. What bothers me is that if they really broke up, I don't understand why it took so long to announce it, this is very absurd.

Regarding the estrangement, I understand that she is recording, but not every day, since she doesn't have a main character and in her free time she gets together with her friends and goes out to party, so something strange is happening, because she has always been one of those people who is able to travel to NY for a day for her show and then return home, so she hasn't done it because she doesn't want to or because everything is more than over.

[ohmeadows]

with the experience you have now, what is something you usually do when you feel the creative block so bad that it makes you want to drop all your writing during an indeterminate period of time? (Not considering talking to someone because i don't have friends with the same interests as me)

Lately i have been writing consistently but now i am in a point between the overwhelming need to keep creating and the suffocating need to just stop. the last time this happened not a single word was written in over a year xd

oh and im so in love with your writing btw <3

thank you and i'm sorry to hear you're struggling with a creative block, i know the feeling all too well. (there's a span of years between 2013 and 2016 where i didn't write at all.)

while a little break does do good, i know the threshold to getting back to it becomes so high it feels insurmountable. but it sounds like you need to replenish the well, as i like to call it. think of your writing as a well you draw from, and it needs a steady supply of water to be able to sustain you dipping into it for the power and inspiration to keep going. feeding it involves engaging in texts in a different way. for me, that's reading, and a lot. i sometimes feel so parched i have to steamroll thru ten books before i feel like i have it balanced again.

i've made some posts beforehand on how to approach reading as a writer (wish i'd tagged them better), but it boils down to:

make lists of beautiful words and sentences that you like; could you emulate them? could you write them in your style?

how do the writers pull off the tricks you struggle with? for me this is knowing when to just move the scene along, or how to showcase that time has passed. (i did a whole study on this from my fave books and it boiled down to just writing "A day later/Weeks down the line/Three months passed before she/It didn't take more than forty-five minutes to get across town but it felt like moving backwards through time" which was fun to learn)

just reading for fun. cannot be understated. sometimes you just need to be pulled into a story and feel too dazzled to stop and think to be reminded of how delicious writing feels

and yes, this goes for mangas, comics, scripts, movies, tv shows, even game writing imo (visual novels are great fun for how they do dialogue and emotional appeal).

another thing to not lose touch with the writing as a practice but maybe take a little breather from the project is to start a journal. i like this one a lot personally, there's the concept of morning pages where you get up in the morning and write three pages without stopping or overthinking.

this leads into automatic writing, which is about setting a timer (25 mins is a good one i feel, but even 15-10-5 does wonders) and while it ticks, you have to keep writing. yes, even if all you write is the same word over and over, or your thoughts as they come to you. this is a key component exercise at all writing schools i've ever gone to. personally i like to "guide it" so to speak with a prompt, be it a word (Lust, Rose, Name, Echo) or a full sentence ("She didn't like where this was going.") or an image. what this exercise teaches you is to shorten the distance between hand putting the words down and your thoughts as they process and come to you, as well as embracing writing messy and ugly and shitty because you can always come back and fix a half-assed page, but you can't do anything with a blank one.

third and final thing: movement. go outside. look around. if you can, get moving, take in the surroundings. there's no expectation on you to write anything from this, just let the movement and your thoughts be it. whenever i hit creative rut, i go for a walk. the first half hour my brain is quiet and annoyed. then things start moving in there as well. i'll walk all the way down to the sea and look at the waves and back home and process an idea from it. (i do keep the notes app on my phone readily available for this, but a notebook or receipt or post-it notes also work fine.)

like all art, writing is a practice and the actual act of writing is maybe 20-30% of what it is. nourish the well and it will nourish you back.

+ for what it's worth, i also often try to edge in rest days where i don't write. at least two a week. be gentle and forgiving on yourself.

[spectralstitions]

oc thoughts and goals for 2025

Posting this here because it feels like the most informal place to dump some thoughts.

First of all I thought I'd mention that I change stuff about my ocs so often and post so infrequently that maybe like 95% of what is on this blog is outdated. So. That's great.... I'm truly using this blog to its fullest potential....

Second of all...... 2024 was a fantastic year for me in terms of unraveling my artistic mental blocks, but the problems I have with my ocs remain more or less unchanged. These blocks are difficult to describe, but they stress me to the point of being unable to draw my little guys or develop them much at all. Nor have I been able to make new ocs, as I feel a need to "complete" the pre-existing ones, as if they are each individual projects. As a result I've felt frozen; I'm not able to do much with them, and I can't so much as talk specifics about them with my friends because it stresses me out so much. The blocks exist not for a lack of trying to unmake them, and overall, you could probably say I made some progress this year as a byproduct of working through my art issues. But like with those, my oc problems are enigmatic and figuring out the root of them will be just as difficult as solving them. It took me over a year to identify and rewire the mentalities that rendered me unable to draw much, so I figure the timeline for my ocs will look similar.

The extent to which I get worked up over my fictional people is very silly and I'm well aware of this, especially because it's completely invisible to everyone else. And I wish I could get it through to myself that It's really not that serious, they're just ocs, they're supposed to be fun, because it works for the few characters I have that AREN'T story related. But when I was a kid I placed so much importance on having clearly defined characters with a structured, set-in-stone story to the extent that it felt like the only point of my life. And now I realize, I don't have much capacity for creating stories or characters in that specific way, but the pressure remains -- because honestly, what else do I do? I love drawing characters, but I only get emotional fulfillment from drawing the same ones over and over again. Which is a way to do it if you can create stories and/or find ways to invest other people in them, but that's always been a weak point of mine, and my motivation to work on it is very low because I'm not even really interested in doing that anymore. I keep revamping and changing things about my characters because I'm trying to come up with a structure that singlehandedly fixes what's happening in my mind and lets me fully engage with my characters again, which I realize now is never going to happen. Even if my structure is to have no structure, that's still an expectation of something that I put on myself that doesn't much affect my thought process or workflow. And although I can recognize this, I can not emphasize enough how difficult it is for me to break out of a system-setting or structure-making mentality like this. It's just completely unnatural to my character. It took at least a full year of trying nearly every day to rewire myself for my art, and this problem is far more relevant to my ocs than it was to art.

So.... what do I do then? Well, that's kinda what I want to figure out in 2025. OCs used to bring me more joy than anything else and I miss that. Like I mentioned before, there are little things that have improved this year, even if only marginally. I've been able to draw a few characters consistently, giving me something of a reference point to study. Those characters being -- my human AU of Jesper and Lily and, primarily, my sona. In both cases, allowing for vagueness and exploration of ideas to the point of lore/story contradictions has been extremely helpful. My sona in particular is a good example of the type of character I think I need to start making more of; they actually have a good amount of lore to them, but I sort of just pick and choose what pieces I care about for any given drawing so that I'm not stressed about depicting them "perfectly" -- because there is no perfect version of them, there's practically like 5 different versions of them. But I think of them as just 1 character, because their core concept, personality, and design motifs remain. Importantly though, and what makes this mindset very hard to follow for pre-existing ocs, is that I cannot LITERALLY pick and choose what lore to follow for a given work, or else the problems happen. It has to be unintentionally thoughtless, which is incredibly difficult for me, especially when I've already artificially placed so much importance on "making something" with my ocs. How can I treat them thoughtlessly when they're supposed to be so important?? Well, somehow I need to walk back a lifetime's worth of conditioning, so that I can realize, or rather, so that my body can realize, they're not actually so important.

I think my favorite way to have characters is to base them around a concept or topic that I have fun exploring many facets of very deeply (whether exploring an unconventional relationship type, untapped potential for particular symbolism, or something else) and to give them a core personality and set of design motifs. And then doing whateverthefuck with everything else. These allow me to fulfill a touch of my desire for structure, give me the means to express myself, and the means to form the emotional bond I need in order to get the dopamine hit that I need in order to draw anything in the first place (this is a whole nother problem and why I rarely make non-character art, though hypothetically I'd love to; it's just mentally hellish). And because of the vagueness, I get the dress-up doll aspects that keep me motivated to do things with them and have fun exploring things in new ways. But it's not without drawbacks, the main one being that communicating the point of my ocs or their deal to other people becomes very confusing and not super possible, and I can never make any consistent functional story with them, which is somehow both incredibly freeing and also really hard for me to grapple with for previously mentioned reasons and makes me feel bad about myself and my life.

It's almost pointless to include any ideas for solutions I have right now, because more than likely I'll drop them after a week when I realize they don't hit right, but... I'll talk about my newest one, since if I go through with it, it'd be more of a tangible example. Going into '25, I'm considering letting go of the idea of a strict world setting / species categories / specific lore etc. entirely and instead create a sort of vague, implied world through isolated artworks of characters and scenes. This way, any implied setting or lore is just the result of what was in my heart the day I drew the thing, causing development to happen more naturally and allowing me to retract, reinterpret, or reorganize things very easily. Not to mention this would coincide very nicely with my 2025 art resolution and inherently get me to draw more, because the art itself would be the "world", and everything would only exist so long as I drew it. It would also be easier to tie into my identity, which is a big motivator for me when it comes to making art and characters. My characters and lore would essentially just become part of my art style, whereas they currently feel separate in my mind. And It's a possible way to trick myself into doing non-character illustration, since I will have an emotional bond to the world, where I can draw things that aren't just the same characters. Is this making any sense to anybody?? It'd be the caspar cinematic (artistic?) universe. Straight from my soul. Imagine it... Reading this back, this is probably just how most illustrators naturally work actually, which should tell you how bad my brain has gotten....

As for what any of this means for the blog, I don't really know? I'm so anxious when it comes to putting any of my character's information on here because I know it'll just change and then the 2 people who read it will have the wrong idea of my characters and I hate that.... this is why I don't use it much. But now that I'm thinking of it, maybe making myself do it anyways, even though I do not want to, could be part of the solution. Getting myself used to posting stuff even knowing it probably won't remain true for very long, and not putting disclaimers on everything apologizing for it... could maybe help rewire my mindset a bit. I need to revert to my middle school days of making ocs to random songs and throwing them all into a universe with no rhyme or reason. I used to have the time of my life sharing them with other people.

In conclusion i need an audhd diagnosis.

[makayla-angelic]

So...

I saw Kung Fu Panda 4 today, and overall, it was a pretty decent film, I definitely found it better than the third film, which is something I worried about when DreamWorks announced there was gonna be a fourth film. (Supposedly there's gonna be six films altogether.) *Spoilers below the cut.*

Music: The soundtrack/score was pretty solid. Hanz Zimmer has always been a great music producer and each piece fit and set the tone of each scene. Also they kept all the leitmotifs from all the previous films, as well as one particular one from the third film. Overall I give the music a solid 10/10.

Characters: Po, Shifu, Mr. Ping, and Li Shan, (Po's biological father) were all there, but the Furious Five were nowhere in sight until the very end, which kinda surprised and disappointed me. I liked Zhen as Po's sidekick and her personality was mischievous as sneaky, as well as spunky. I found the chameleon to be a much more intimidating villain than General Kai from the third film, which again was a bit of fresh air, because something about Kai didn't really impress me as a villain. The chameleon is right up there with Lord Shen. The other bad guy side characters were pretty funny to watch, and they served their purpose, so nothing much to complain about there, although I feel like Po doesn't really develop much in this film like he did in the other three. Overall I give characters a 8.5/10. May or may not change this score later.

Plot: once again, the whole Furious Five not being apart of the movie as much as the other three films kinda surprised and disappointed me. I could see the betrayal twist with Zhen coming a mile away, and I knew she either had to affiliate with the chameleon in one way or another. When the Chameleon stole all the past warriors powers for her own, I fully expected her to actually attack the city, but it didn't happen. The whole fight was pretty much contained inside the throne room area. At least Zhen betrayed the Chameleon back in exchange to be a good person and to be Po's friend for real. It's no surprise either that Po would choose her to be the next Dragon Warrior. Was also surprised to see Tai Lung and the rest of the bad guys essentially end any "bad blood" between them and Po and show respect. Li Shan and Mr. Ping provided comedic relief and nothing much more. Overall I give the plot a 7.5/10.

Animation: Nothing much to say here, the drawings and colors were pretty solid, I didn't notice any glitches or anything off to me, and frames moved smoothly. 10/10.

Final thoughts: Overall I think this movie was a bit better than the third film, at least villain wise. The Chameleon and Zhen helped play a role in making the film engaging. But not seeing the Furious Five disappointed me personally, which is why I'm giving the film altogether a 8/10.

Let me know what you all thought of the film!

[skaruresonic]

"Real human beings draw that?" yes they do. People draw anything and everything in a variety of styles. Come on, man. You can't pick and choose. Either we all have your respect or none of us have your respect.

I've also a slight chip on my shoulder about this particular mindset that fanfic doesn't get enough attention on social media because it requires more engagement from the audience than a drawing. While I understand your frustrations, you need to think about what you're implying. Low engagement affects all creative endeavors; it's no reason to disparage artists. Your problem lies with social media and its push for quick, "consumable" content. Which also hurts us because it treats our efforts as disposable as well. From where I'm standing, it's absolutely not true that people will pay attention to your art simply because it's art. If my Sonic art gets a couple of notes because A.) the people reblogging it don't hate my guts and B.) it's Sonic, then the attention my original work gets will be severely diminished because it's lacking criteria B: familiarity.

That's why I appreciate every like my work receives, because honestly, it's incredibly hard to come by.

The overlap between people who like your art and are willing to give it proper attention without stealing it, which is yet another risk is actually quite small, and hence why those artists who strike it big make "mass-produced" art that appeals to the widest possible audience, like the jelly art style. But even they shouldn't be disparaged on the basis that they too work at their craft.

Not to mention the cream-of-the-crop artists who do receive those hundreds of notes per piece get treated like content machines. Grass is always greener on the other side until you actually get there. Besides, it's precisely those snap judgments that make folks literally not pay you. I'd rather take low kudos than sink weeks' worth of work into an art piece I was promised payment for only to get paid nothing because the client didn't like one (1) detail, thus rendering the entire piece worthless. And the fannish culture surrounding fic is such that I can reasonably expect people to refrain from offering unsolicited critique without having to ask them "can you not be a dick to me on this piece I lost sleep over pls." At least with fic, people are compelled to say something nice sometimes, instead of rattling off every mistake you made on a piece you can do nothing about because it's finished. Folks will say the meanest shit to your face or straight-up dismiss you and think it's justified because you're an artist and you're meant to take it as a matter of course; if you were a Real Artist(tm), criticism would ~help you improve~ no matter how unnecessary, meanspirited, or unsolicited. An issue that gets compounded when the person in question has a complex about not being as "talented" as artists who practice their craft. Not only do you have to deal with imposter syndrome, you have to take the brunt of others' insecurities too.

Like, becoming an artist is not an easy get-rich-(or popular)-quick scheme. You'd really have to love what you do, because the process of becoming one is grueling, thankless, and sometimes traumatizing depending on your environment.

No one becomes an artist for the accolades. AI bros think typing keywords into a generator prompt makes them professional artists because they can't be bothered to sit down and learn how to draw a circle.

My old university used to have an art professor who'd whip out a cigarette lighter and set your painting on fire during critique if he didn't like it, FFS. They expected artists to be chained to the studio eight hours a day or more, subsisting on vending machine food, even sleeping there.

Compared to that, regular classes were a relief 😵‍💫

[jordanianprincesses]

Anisha is not perfect, some bad stuff about her father are coming out, I've seen some reports that they were giving out spoiled food to the people on the street, of course her past photos.... But no one is denying her past, or trying to hide too much. Her role is not going to be that significant, so it doesn't really matter. She is more of a socialite in my eyes.

As for Rajwa, I think that they set up the expectations too high at the very beginning. Her first royal engagement was before they were married and she was more active before the wedding than after, which is ridiculous. They really tried to push the narrative that she is a modern, educated woman, successful architect, speeks several languages, likes horses, good at drawing....

I'm not saying that she is not all that, but I think that everyone expected such a person to be more active. They were really trying to hide everything about her past but that only made people more curious. So I think that people are harsher when it comes to Rajwa because she is the future queen and the expectations were too high.

Commenting fashion and appereance is quite vain, but it's what keeps people interested. Rajwa shows up to one or two events every few months, but she already has so many questionable fashion choices. Anisha has always been dressed approprietly for the event so far. (in my opinion)

Long story short, Rajwa is a victim of bad PR and censorship when her bikini pictures came out only made thing worse.

Yeah I agree with everything you said !

[whisperingonthewind]

Masterpost

For the lost wanderer:

I participate in fandom circles, but have increasingly been thinking up ideas for my own stuff, and wanted somewhere to vomit that all out 👍Therefore, if there's one thing I want you to know about this blog, it's that this is for me. Interaction's cool n all, but no one else is my target audience.

With that out of the way, a couple things to know:

I use any pronouns. Zero preference here folks

Name's Nixie, but feel free to call me Nix

If I see anything along the lines of racism/homophobia/transphobia/aphobia/xenophobic/Islamophobic/pro-ai art/you get the idea, expect to be blocked without discussion. There's some behaviour I just don't engage in. If you're unsure whether I'm okay with certain ideas/behaviours, send over an ask and I'll happily clear things up

Regarding the posts on this blog:

Feel free to engage however with my work. Reblogging, liking, commenting, having your own ideas, taking inspiration for your own work- all of that's cool. Just no reposting, and please credit me if something you make uses aspects of my work.

There are multiple stories being covered in this blog, and each of them have their own respective tag to keep track of that. Some will bear a fair few similarities, in which case they're likely variants of each other

Some ideas exist in a bit of a nebulous vacumn, where I haven't defined things enough to decide whether or not they take place in the same universe. There are marked by the tag '#in between zone'- depending on basic setting, these will be marked historical, modern, or fantasy, but otherwise there's no meaningful way to differentiate their universes

Tags for universes ending in '-link' utilise my magic system, while tags ending in '-linkless' do not

A lot of characters, or variations of characters, feature in multiple different universes

I draw far more than I write

Universes will not receive equal coverage. I develop whatever I feel like developing

Current universes:

One Tree Hill (Link): Alan Donovan attends university, leaving the shelter of his family for the first time.

Crossing the Seas: Adventures of the Downtrodden Hansa (Linkless): Idunna's family operate as a team of merchants in an unforgiving world... and she nearly ruins it all, when she gets on the bad side of Count Morettia.

Snow Trees and Pinecones (Link): Before time had a name, Herleva and her daughter only wanted to survive, despite their unnatural nature.

Seven Generation Rule (Link)+: Munich was meant to be a new start for Madeleine- but the Runilingoz Society had other ideas

Yuron (Linkless): On the continent of Yuron, war is always peaking around the corner. Regardless of the blessings they carry, no Lord, Lady, or peasant can escape its reach.

Packaged Principles (Link): Julia's future lies amongst shelves of breads and desserts softer than clouds, she's certain of it.

The Unendingly Bizarre Lives of the Kimura Family (Linkless): Iris has no doubt that her family would always be destined to attract trouble, even if they couldn't time travel.

Earthbound (Linkless): Born in the stars, they're determined to carve a path on their new home planet: Earth.

Grandfather Clocks (Link): Aloisia isn't sure what she was expecting from her betrothed, but it wasn't this.

Final Fragments (Linkless): A group of individuals, who each died as a result of human-induced climate change, are reborn more than 30,000 years into the future, after the Earth has corrected their species' mistakes. Heralded as bringers of a new tomorrow, they must decide the fate of humanity.

Sons and Daughters (Link)+: A team of super-powered university students attempt to save the world.

Terrans (Linkless): Thousands of years into the future, inhabitants from one end of our solar system to the other team up to probe further into the wide expanse that is the universe.

+: Some important characters have abilities drawn from my magic system, but most of the general population do not

(And again, some of these are far more developed than others)

For the early days of this blog I'll be scheduling old art under the tag '#memory lane'. Note that this stuff, and the implied/depicted relationships/appearances/names/etc don't necessarily reflect my current perspective on these things. Ideas change and grow. Additionally, some may be noticeably cropped- either because it was part of a bigger, unrelated drawing, or because I've learned as I matured that some ways I depicted characters weren't accurate, or appropriate. ((Some are from a very long time ago.))

And of course, this post is subjected to be updated, since I have no idea what I'm doing, but might figure it out along the way :)

[tehuti88-art]

10/6/23: r/SketchDaily theme, "Inktober: Golden/Free Draw Friday." Drawlloween theme, Oct. 6: "It Lives In The Mountain."

...

This week's character from my anthro WWII storyline is Nikolas (no last name ever given). He's the father of Mirela. Near the story's beginning he's captured and imprisoned while she escapes; they both think the other is dead until she finds him near the story's end, in bad shape but alive. There's already some info about him in Mirela's entry, but there'll be more about him later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

Regarding his design, I'm not sure if he wears earrings or not, so I didn't give him any. He's quite thin and haggard.

TUMBLR EDIT: There's some info regarding Nikolas's (last name never given) character and role in the plot in his daughter Mirela's entry. I just read it for some refreshers; he's a minor character and appears really only at the story's beginning and toward the end, so hasn't been developed much, but here's what I've come up with so far based on Mirela's info.

Nikolas and Mirela are Romani, the people known by the Nazis as Zigeuner and colloquially known as Gypsies. Mirela loses her mother young and her father never remarries; he instead devotes all his attention to his daughter, and is rather too protective of her, as if afraid to lose her as well. He's a loving father, though, so although she's occasionally disgruntled by his eagle eye, Mirela tolerates his behavior, knowing he only looks out for her out of concern. The two of them are quite close as they're the only ones in their immediate family unit, in a culture that prides itself on large extended families; Mirela feels guilty more than once that she's not the son her parents surely would've preferred, yet Nikolas always assures her her worries are unfounded: "You're everything your Mutter and I could have ever wanted, meine Maus, don't think for one moment we would have traded you for anything." It's expected that someday she'll be married off to secure a connection to another family, but unlike many others, she isn't engaged at a young age, and Nikolas doesn't pressure her about it: "There'll be plenty of time for us to deal with that later."

As it turns out, there isn't plenty of time. The Nazi Party has determined that the Romani are subhuman, and have no right to exist. The Wehrmacht raids the camp where Nikolas and Mirela live, taking many of the adult men alive--they can be used as slave labor in the nearby camp--while outright killing most of the women, children, and elderly they come across. Mirela wants to fight back--but Nikolas knows they're hopelessly outnumbered, and suspects what will happen to Mirela if she's captured alive. So he grabs her arm and does the only thing he can think of: Goes running. "I want you to keep this in mind," he pants when they have a few minutes to rest; "If anything happens to me--shush, little Mir, let me finish--if anything happens, every night, when you put your head down to sleep, I want you to look for the moon, and I want you to know I'm looking at it too. No matter what happens, this'll hold us together, ja...? While your Mutter looks down at us both."

Mirela has to fight not to cry. Then has to fight not to get captured, as the German soldiers find them and they go running again. Mirela wants them to stay together, but Nikolas shoves her away from him the moment he realizes he won't be escaping along with her; Mirela stumbles nearly to a halt, turns to run back when a couple of soldiers grab Nikolas, but the panic in his voice--"Run, little Mir, keep running!"--makes her turn and set off again. She doesn't look back--she knows she'll never be able to leave him behind if she looks--plus several more soldiers are already in close pursuit of her. Nikolas sees them all go running off into the dark before he's knocked to the ground and then kicked in the side. "Should've just burned you with the rest of your camp!" his assailant snarls before he's dragged up by his arms and marched away.

(He completely misses how Mirela actually ends up rescued, by an American battalion called the Trench Rats.)

Nikolas is placed in a military truck crowded with other men, and transported to a different kind of camp. (NOTE there's a potential plot conflict here--he may be shuttled through the camp system for a while before ending up here at last.) He's confused by the sign that assures him work will set him free, especially when one of the other men mutters that this is a lie, he's heard the only way you get out of a camp is through the chimney. That comment REALLY confuses him, until he looks up at the thick black smoke pluming from the chimney stacks and realization hits, what he's truly seeing; he goes pale and starts shaking. Inside the muddy yard, the men are forced into a line and made to step forward, one by one, as a guard casts them a quick glance before yelling, "Right!" or "Left!" and jotting down a note in his book. Nikolas has no idea what any of this means. A guard shoves him forward as he isn't paying attention, the guard with the book looks him up and down and barks, "Right!" and he takes a step to the right, out of the line, but has no idea what to do next. Somebody whistles; he looks at another officer standing off to the side, observing the proceedings; he's smoking a cigarette and has a scar over his eye and a bored look on his face. "Head right and get your assignment, stick," he says, and nods in the direction Nikolas assumes he's meant to go. He's processed into the camp--name jotted down and replaced with a number which is tattooed on his arm, stripped, deloused, sent into a shower, given striped clothes and a black triangle with a Z. A guard points out a barracks building--"That's your home from now on, unless you f**k up, then THAT'S your home," and he points--left. Nikolas looks. There's another building that looks like the showers he just came from. Nikolas isn't sure how...but he knows there's something different about THOSE showers...and now he knows that to be sent left is very bad. He assumes this is the way one leaves the camp--through the chimney. He determines to do his best to never have to set foot anywhere near that part of the camp, and hurries to go get his work assignment. As long as he's useful, he reasons, he'll stay alive, and as long as he's alive, there's a chance he'll find Mirela again.

He goes in his assigned barracks building, where somebody exclaims, "Herr Nikolas!" and hurries toward him. It's another man from his camp; they briefly embrace and he says with a dismayed look, "I had really hoped you escaped." He asks what became of Mirela; "Last I saw of her, she was running," Nikolas says; "I have to hope she got away, otherwise, my heart will stop in my chest," and his eyes well up; "I'll pray for her, and for you," the other man says, before someone steps in and yells at everyone to stand in front of their bunks. Someone in prisoner's stripes, yet wearing an armband and wielding a club, strolls down the aisle between them, loudly laying out the rules. "You will wake before sunrise, use the toilets, then line up in the yard. You will wait for roll call and get your daily assignment. You will take your lunch, you will do your work, you will go back to your bunks at dark. You work, you live," he says; "Make yourself useful, you sleep here. Make yourself NOT useful..." He halts, glares at them, and says, "You want to stay useful, trust me. Work sets you free!" He abruptly thwacks at Nikolas's head, making him gasp. "Caps off when you talk to a guard!" he snaps, and the others quickly remove their caps. "Keep yourself useful or you go out the chimney. Where you stand now is where you will sleep tonight. Now back to the yard to get your assignments."

"Why does he speak like a guard?--he's one of us," Nikolas whispers, confused, as they exit; another prisoner snorts and mutters, "He's not one of us, he's a kapo. Same difference as a guard, just worse." And indeed, Nikolas quickly learns that the kapos who oversee the work units are not their friends, and often are even more brutish than the guards. He's assigned to a unit that places slabs of stone in carts to be wheeled to a workshop on camp grounds; other days, he helps break bigger slabs into smaller ones for transport, or does the transporting himself, or cleans the barracks or the toilets or the medical facilities. It's a miserable existence, and given the paltry food portions and the alternating sweltering heat and freezing cold of the barracks, he grows thinner and weaker by the day. Every time he catches a glimpse of the moon through the cracks in the barracks roof and walls, however, he dares to feel a tiny twinge of hope. His little Mir is still out there, he has to believe she is. Knowing she could be looking up at the same moon is the only thing that keeps him going.

His curiosity is frequently drawn to the workshop he often delivers to. A select group of prisoners works in there, doing what, he's not sure. Another prisoner says they produce craft items for sale. Nikolas is surprised by such news, that certain prisoners don't do heavy labor. It seems like a dream job. His fellow prisoner informs him that a craft job is difficult to secure, yet he can't stop thinking about it. He wonders if he could ever have a hope to work in there. Such thoughts become rather pressing and less conjectural when he pulls a muscle in his shoulder one day and finds that he can't lift the heavy slabs anymore. He does his best trying to conceal his injury, but it's nearly impossible, and when he steals away behind the barracks to rest his throbbing shoulder, a kapo soon finds him.

Kapo: "You! Back to work! You rest when you go to sleep!"

Nikolas: "Bitte, just a moment, bitte."

Kapo: "No moment! You know the rules. You work or you die. You want to keep living? Then get out there and work."

Nikolas: "I want to work, I do, but..."

Kapo: "Why are you holding your arm like that...?" *suspicious look* "Are you hurt--?"

Nikolas: "Something in my shoulder. I want to work, I do, but I don't know if I can."

Kapo: "You will if you want to keep living."

Nikolas: *stepping toward medical building* "Bitte, I should go to see a doctor--"

Kapo: "Nein!" *Nikolas freezes* *under his breath* "You don't want to go to the medical ward."

Nikolas: "If I can just have them look at my shoulder..."

Kapo: "If they can't fix you up immediately, they'll kill you. They have no time for someone who can't get right back to work. You want to be dead?--because that's what'll happen."

Nikolas: *pales* "What do I do...? I can hardly lift anything."

Kapo: "You're going to have to. There's nothing else for it." *long pause; Nikolas looks aggrieved* *reluctantly* "Your...your best bet may be the commandant."

Nikolas: *confused* "The commandant...?"

Kapo: "They say he's a bit like you people. Likes making bargains if it suits him."

Nikolas: "Bargains--?"

Kapo: "Maybe you can offer him something he can use. And he lets you live a little longer."

Nikolas: "What do I offer him?"

Kapo: "That's up to you to figure out, Zigeuner. Now you better get back out there, and try to get to work, while you do so."

Nikolas returns to his work station. He does his best to keep at it, but the pain is such that he knows he won't be able to do so for long; a night's sleep offers him a small respite, though not much of one. The next day, he drops the slab he's carrying; fortunately, it doesn't break, unfortunately, he can't pick it back up, his shoulder has almost given out. The kapo overseeing his work unit (different guy from yesterday) orders him to get back to work, and when he doesn't, smacks him with his club. And then--"Hey!" The kapo pulls off his cap and snaps to attention. Nikolas follows suit without looking, figuring it's a guard; so he blinks in surprise a few times when he sees who's approaching. The officer with the cigarette and the scar over his eye--Sturmbannführer Konstantin Klaus--stops in front of them, frowning. "You don't hit so hard or they can't work," he says to the kapo; then to Nikolas, "Back to work, stick, or maybe he should hit you harder." Nikolas winces at the throb in his shoulder and the numbness in his arm; Major Klaus notices his look, for he frowns even more and says, "You hurt, stick...? Can't work...?" And his gaze shifts toward the crematoria.

Nikolas's heart crowds up into his throat--he suddenly notices the workshop, in the distance behind Klaus--and without thinking first, his old haggling skills pop out. He begs Klaus for a chance in the workshop, touting his carving skills, he's much better carving things than carrying them. The commandant seems unmoved: "No room in the workshop, stick, all the positions filled. If you're hurt, you go to hospital and get patched up and get back to work." Nikolas persists even though by now even the kapo is wincing at his audacity; he figures it can't hurt any more than the alternative. Klaus is strict but he isn't known to be particularly cruel; he doesn't threaten or hit Nikolas though his argument changes: "Only skilled crafters in the workshop, stick! Don't have time to train another of you when there's no room anyway." Shaking with fear by now, Nikolas tries one more time, remembering what the other kapo said--They say he's a bit like you people. Likes making bargains if it suits him--and says what must be the magic words: He doesn't need special training, he's carved trinkets for years, he can carve things for sale, to make money. This time Klaus's curiosity seems vaguely piqued; when Nikolas says he can carve whatever he needs, he looks skeptical, but unbuttons his greatcoat and removes a leather wallet, thumbing through it. As he does so he pulls a few things out to look; Nikolas notices a photograph, a portrait of Klaus in uniform with a woman and two young boys. He snaps back to attention when Klaus holds out a card with an ornate rune printed on it; the commandant shakes the card at him so he gingerly takes it. "This," Klaus says; "carve this, then we see if you're any good. Take it to the workshop, show the man the card, ask for a seat then get to work. You have an hour." Nikolas requests at least two hours; Klaus gets a sour frown and says, "It takes you two hours to carve this, stick, then you're not that skilled." Nikolas says he'd like the extra time to personalize the carving, give it more detail; Klaus just jerks his head at the workshop and says, "Get going, stick," so Nikolas obeys.

Nikolas presents himself at the workshop--everyone is diligently at work, many of them sculpting Julleuchter, special SS Yule lanterns (these are a running gag in the story--SS members keep getting gifted them, nobody actually wants them)--shows the guard the rune card, says the commandant has requested a carving; the guard is perplexed, they have no current openings, but clears a space for him, brings him wood and a small carving knife, vows he's going to have a close eye kept on him so not to try anything. Nikolas is nervous--he plans to try something, just not what the guard suspects. He sets to work. Carving the rune is nothing--he wasn't exaggerating when he claimed he's skilled at carving, he made decent money in his old life crafting wooden trinkets to sell to gadje, and got good at doing a quick job. He finishes a simple but decent rune in no time. Then picks up another piece of wood and surreptitiously sets to work on a second project. The guard occasionally passing by says nothing about his second project, perhaps assuming Klaus requested it; "Fifteen minutes, Zigeuner," he does warn, so Nikolas hurries to put on the finishing touches. He cleans up his space when the guard returns and tells him his time is up, returns the knife, is escorted back out with his carvings in hand.

Klaus is nearby, arms crossed, waiting; "Well, stick?--let's see what you got," he says, and Nikolas holds out the rune carving. Klaus looks it over; "Not bad," he muses, though doesn't appear overly impressed. Then Nikolas swallows hard and holds out the second item he carved; "What's this--?" Klaus asks with a frown, before getting a decent look at it. It's a simple carved portrait: A man in uniform, a woman, two boys. Although simplified and stylized, it's obvious that it's the Klauses, as Nikolas even included a little scar over the man's eye. Klaus's eyes go wide, he blinks, then he swallows; for a brief moment he looks almost ready to cry. He then shakes it off, frowns at Nikolas, demands, "How'd you make this--? Huh, stick--? Answer," and Nikolas explains how he saw the photograph of Klaus's family. "I can make more carvings," he says quickly, "whatever carvings anyone likes! Carvings to sell. I can make a simple one in an hour, a better one in two, I can work from sunup to sundown. All I need is wood and a knife and a picture, I can do it and make money for you."

The whole time he talks--begs, really--he can see the look on Klaus's face shift. The commandant looks skeptical yet torn; "Workshop is full, stick," he insists, "who do I kick out to make room for you?" but Nikolas can tell that the words sell and money got through to him and he's wavering. "I take only a small space, just a small space," Nikolas pleads, "I don't even need a work station. I can sit on the floor if you need me to. You don't need to kick out anyone. Keep all the workers, don't lose a space, I'll find a spot, it's not a tradeoff, it's a bonus. Let me prove it, give me a week," he adds, "and you'll see, you'll make some money, you can charge whatever you want. I used to make good money off gadje." And at last, Klaus gives in; he orders the workshop guard to clear a corner space for Nikolas, tells him to work on some more rune carvings for now, and he'll bring him a job soon to see how he does--"You better not be sh*tting me, stick, or back to the yard for you." The spot Nikolas finds himself in is in a back corner near a grimy old window; it's dirty and dusty and chilly, and he shivers so hard he nearly cuts himself, but he has a bit of natural light, which is nice, and he makes a handful of rune carvings before it's time to retire for the day. Best of all, he gets to rest his aching shoulder.

The next day when he arrives at the workshop, Klaus greets him with a photo, a portrait of a rather rotund officer he doesn't recognize. "Your first job, stick, do it right," he warns, and Nikolas sets to work. He's conflicted about whether he should stay true to the photo, or slim the man down some; he knows the Nazis pride themselves on their general fitness. At the last moment he decides to carve the portrait as he sees it. The guard carries it away. Nikolas nervously makes more runes. Some time later Klaus arrives. "Well, stick," he muses, looking perplexed, "my Kamerad adores his carving, says it really captures his essence or some sh*t. He's telling some friends. Expect you'll have a busy day tomorrow." Nikolas is put to work carving sets of sig rune and Lebensrunen knickknacks until Klaus can bring him more portraits to carve. The workshop guard admires the sig runes and he and several of his fellows put in orders with Klaus. The work starts flowing. Nikolas can hardly whittle fast enough, but he does. The items he has to carve, frankly, turn his stomach--he despises that he's basically creating propaganda to help fund the SS--but a living is a living, he reasons--anything that keeps him alive a little bit longer, in hopes of seeing Mirela again.

Nikolas passes much of the story like this, presumably. Klaus gets the idea that a handful of Nikolases is better than one, so selects several particularly skilled craftsmen to observe and learn from him, and Nikolas willingly teaches them his craft, so the workshop can put out a higher number of carved items for profit. He keeps a few secrets to himself, however...that's just the way...and his own works remain the most sought after of those produced in the camp, ensuring his survival as long as there's demand for them. He carves runes, portraits, SS insignia, decorative containers, völkisch figurines and doodads to display on shelves, SS altar statuettes, whatever is requested, he carves it--he suffers numerous cuts, his hands ache and cramp, his back hurts and his eyes sting from hunching over his dusty projects, but he doesn't complain. Nobody seems to care once they find out a Zigeuner is the one doing the work; if anything, they find it to be a novelty, to purchase such fine crafts from a subhuman.

As the story goes on, however, and the tide of war starts to turn, ironically the approach of the Allies proves to initially be bad news for the camp inmates. As the situation grows more dire and the Germans suffer heavier losses, there is of course much less request for novelty items, and resources need to be conserved for the war effort. Not only does the workshop eventually close, the craftsmen being sent back to hard labor in the yard, but the population of Klaus's camp starts to swell and as living space becomes scarce, food runs low as well while disease starts to spread. Klaus's main interest is in keeping his prisoners alive--not out of any concern for them, but to provide slave labor for the Reich--but this gets increasingly difficult as conditions deteriorate, and he even struggles to get SS headquarters to respond to his requests for aid. The results of this are mixed for prisoners such as Nikolas: On the one hand, the strict order and emphasis on hard labor is slackened, so the guards don't even bother meting out punishments most of the time, and Nikolas no longer has to do anything that strains his shoulder too much; on the other hand, hunger and illness run rampant, the facilities are no longer maintained, and overcrowding becomes a problem as the trains keep coming yet nobody is transported elsewhere anymore. The crematoria run day and night--prisoners start dying on their own, without the need for so much intercession by the SS.

Nikolas finds himself fighting to stay alive in a completely different manner. He can't strike bargains with bacteria, however; and eventually he develops a bad cough and his feet start to not look so good. He wraps the latter in what rags he can find, but it becomes excruciating to walk as the obvious infection spreads, and he spends much of his time huddled shivering in the yard or on his bunk, coughing up blood and peering up at the moon when it's visible. It's been so dreadfully long since he last saw his Mirela, and he's never had any word of her, so he finds his hope at last waning. He feels intense shame over this...but he's just so sick, and tired of holding on. He wonders now and then, in vague states of delirium, if perhaps his little Mir has been waiting for him on the other side all along...and maybe he's meant to join her there. Once or twice he even thinks he sees her wandering among the crowding prisoners in the yard, and he drags himself outside to look for her, yet she's never there. At last it becomes too difficult to go back inside--the prisoners who are still strong enough to stand fight among themselves for access to a dry bunk to sleep on, and Nikolas knows he'd never stand a chance keeping hold of his--so he pulls his tattered clothes around himself and sits in the mud, trying to take slow deep breaths and rest himself for whatever comes next. Klaus remains in his camp, though most of his guards desert, and almost all order breaks down as word reaches them that the Allies have entered the city and are on their way to liberate the camp. Nikolas doesn't even feel any hope but that whatever comes next, it gets over with fast.

He watches wide eyed, shivering, and sweating one day, as some of the prisoners revolt and turn on the commandant, a kapo smashing his knee with his club; instantly crippled, Klaus cries out and topples where he stands, then disappears from view in a hail of kicks and blows. His demise seems ensured until other people start pouring into the camp and pull the infuriated prisoners back. They're wearing uniforms, but they aren't the dreaded Red Army which was expected; they're speaking English. They manage to drag the half-conscious Klaus away to safety while the prisoners yell to leave him, they'll save them the trouble and kill him themselves: "He can leave through the chimney! It's good enough for us, it's good enough for him!" Once, Nikolas might have felt a twinge of compassion--Klaus is an awful person, yes, but he was never exceptionally cruel, and Nikolas feels he owes his life to him--yet by now all he feels is numb. He hardly pays attention to the American and British troops as they take over the camp and peruse the sorry state of affairs; it's a vast complex, full to the gills, and they don't have the resources yet to evacuate everyone, so Nikolas and those similarly poorly off just remain where they are for now. One soldier does pass him a canteen, and he sips some water and whispers, "Danke sehr," before breaking down coughing again. He looks up toward the fence, so near yet so far, now and then, at the prisoners milling around in front of it and the troops wandering outside, then blinks, confused. A young woman is walking past, peering into the camp, an aggrieved look in her eyes. He could swear it's Mirela. It looks just like her.

"Mir...?" he whispers; he rubs his eyes, blinks, squints. She keeps walking along the fence. He desperately tries to keep her in view, sure that once he loses sight of her, even for a second, she'll vanish--maybe this is her ghost calling to him--yet she remains in view, craning her neck and looking around. She resumes walking and is about to disappear past a group of prisoners when Nikolas, panicked, says aloud, "Mir--?" then starts yelling as loudly as he can: "Mir! MIR! Mirela! My little Mir--!"

He expects Mirela's ghost to keep on walking--yet she abruptly stops, eyes going wide, and turns in his direction. He sees her mouth form the word Papa? "Mir!!" he yells again, before he loses his voice and starts violently coughing. But her eyes finally fix on his and she shouts back, "Papa--?" It's not a ghost, it's really his little Mir. She's come back to him at last.

Nikolas's and Mirela's reunion is outlined HERE. The Trench Rats, mingled among the Allied troops attempting to evacuate the camp, bring a stretcher to carry Nikolas out as he can't walk; Mirela stays by his side the entire time, eyes full of tears, as he strokes her hair and murmurs, "Meine Maus, my little Mir. Herr Gott brought you back, everything is well now."

In the medical ward at Trench Rat Headquarters, things are not so well. A doctor introduces himself, listens to Nikolas's breathing, his cough, asks how long he's had it, murmurs something about "TB" to another Rat who leaves to fetch a test. He examines Nikolas's feet and asks if they hurt; "They used to, but it's not so bad now, I can hardly feel them," Nikolas says, noticing the looks the doctor and Mirela get. The doctor talks a little with the other Rat when he returns; obviously choosing his words carefully, he tells Nikolas that they might not be able to save his legs, but they'll do what they can. Mirela is devastated by this news, but Nikolas simply takes her face in his hands and says, "My legs, I can live without; but I can't live without you." He reassures her he'll be fine no matter what happens as long as they stay together. He's sedated as surgical equipment is wheeled in and slowly drifts off. When he wakes, Mirela is still there, clasping his hand, her eyes wet. Nikolas's right foot is bandaged; his left foot...is no longer there; the bandages end just below his knee. He has to swallow hard and take a few breaths, blinking away the tears; yet he manages to smile at the distressed Mirela, stroking her face again: "It's not so bad," he murmurs when she says she's sorry. "I've lived through so much worse, I'll live through this. Now that Herr Gott's brought you back. We'll be all right, I know we will, I feel it in my heart." He thanks LC Amaranth, the intern who managed to save his right foot, as Amaranth seems rather despondent about not being able to salvage his left foot, which the surgeon, Burgundy, had to remove. They start him on an experimental antibiotic to try to treat the tuberculosis; although he never completely gets rid of his cough, his health does improve, and he asks for a knife and wood. As he recuperates he busies himself making little carvings for the others in the medical ward; he gives Burgundy a small figurine of St. Luke as thanks for his treatment.

Another Trench Rat, wearing a sergeant's stripes, often stops by to check on him and Mirela. Neither one of them ever says anything about it...but Nikolas notices the glances Mirela casts him, especially when he's not looking. He doesn't cast surreptitious looks back at her, but the way he always makes sure to stop by and check on them also catches Nikolas's attention. "Little Mir," he says to her quietly one day, "you and this sergeant...is there something between you two...?" Mirela vehemently denies any such thing...but the way her face goes bright red tells him differently.

Nikolas: "You've always been an awful liar, meine Maus..."

Mirela: *eyes downcast* "I mean it, Papa. There's nothing. I've done nothing, he's done nothing."

Nikolas: "Why then when you answer can you not look at me...?" *Mirela winces* "All right...you say you've done nothing, I believe you. Yet still. The way you keep peeking. You feel something for him...?"

Mirela: *silence*

Nikolas: "I'm not upset with you, little Mir. Just, you've never kept secrets from me before."

Mirela: "It's nothing."

Nikolas: "It does not look like nothing."

Mirela: "Even if it were something...it doesn't matter. He's gadjo, not one of us."

Nikolas: "Not one of us...? Meine Maus, you really think such a thing matters much anymore...? When they've killed most of us? I do not even know if the rest of our clan is still alive or not. If you feel for him, if he feels for you, this is what matters, ja?"

Mirela: "That's just it, though...I don't think he does feel anything. He never says anything."

Nikolas: "Have you asked him?"

Mirela: "Nein, but..."

Nikolas: *throwing up arms, exasperated tone* "Mir!"

Mirela: "Papa--"

Nikolas: "Mir, he's a man. You don't just assume a man feels nothing because he says nothing. We're terrible at such things. You ask!"

Although embarrassed, Mirela does so. And Nikolas is right; Sgt. Gold has had feelings for Mirela for quite a while, yet assumed she didn't feel the same. As the war finally ends and Nikolas is at last strong enough to walk again--albeit with a crutch now--the Rats work to get families back together and settled into homes. Nikolas chafes at the thought of staying in one place--that's never been the life he knows--yet things have changed so much, he's not sure they can return to their old life. "It's not the same without the clan," he murmurs wistfully to Mirela. When Gold comes to him to ask for Mirela's hand, he gives his blessing, but wonders what this will mean for the three of them; "Mir and I, Germany is our home," he says, "and America is yours...what is to be done?" Gold seems a little confused before saying, "I think there's been a misunderstanding...I plan to stay here, at least, for now." He explains that he's volunteered to remain in the country for the time being, helping the remaining Rats with their duties; "I could never ask Mirela to leave her home, or to leave you." What's more, his job will be pretty fluid, so he's likely to move around quite a bit. He has every intention of keeping Nikolas an active part of their life; he suggests that they can even help him with translating and understanding customs as he deals with the locals.

Nikolas perks up at this--it's not the same as his old life, but it's something, and it's better than being stuck in the same house all the time. What strikes him most of all, though, is the fact that Gold took Mirela's preferences into account before deciding on his work...and the look in Mirela's eyes when Gold glances at her. Her mother once looked at him like that. He knows she's made the right choice, and everything will be fine.

[Nikolas 2023 [‎Friday, ‎October ‎6, ‎2023, ‏‎2:00:20 AM]]

[sarahs-secrets2]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered ˋ♡ˊ

request here for @c0wb0yenthusiast thank youuu sm

based on Signed, Sealed, Delivered by Stevie Wonder

fem!reader (no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: none! fluff!!

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

“Oh my god,” your hands wrapped around the coffee mug bringing it up to your lips taking a short sip before continuing your rant, “He’s never going to propose is he?”

“Don’t say that,” your friend chimed in trying to bring you back down to reality. 

“He’s quite literally never home, I think he takes jobs to avoid me at this point,” obviously you were exaggerating. Phillip and you were happy but that nagging voice in the back of your head kept your mind busy with all the “what ifs,”. 

“Give him time, I'm sure he’s planning something for you,” your friend squeezed your hand reassuring you it would be okay.

“I guess so,” as much as you wanted to believe her words it just felt like there was no proposal or wedding in your future. Phillip was always busy with the Shadow Company and when he was home it was purely rest. Your mind drifted off running through all the possibilities that could happen and an engagement just wasn't one of them. 

After your goodbyes, you headed to the car after the mini coffee date with your friend. The drive was quiet as you let your mind wander until your phone rang. 

“Phillip, hey what’s up?” you answered, hitting the accept button as the phone connected to the Bluetooth.

“Hey, darlin’ you headed home?”

“Yeah, should be back in about,” you glanced at the time, “15-20 minutes,”

“Perfect, can't wait to see ya, okay bye love you,” he hung up before you got a chance to respond. What you didn't know was the whole point of going out with your friend was to get you out of the house for Phillip to set up his proposal. 

She has no idea

Graves smiled looking at the text on his phone. He had planned everything down to the minute and so far everything was going perfectly. He checked his watch for the time and quickly changed into a white button-up with black slacks. Standing in the bathroom mirror he rolled up his sleeves just above his elbows. With a quick spritz of cologne on his wrist and neck, and a little bit of gel in his hair, he jogged down the stairs making sure you hadn't arrived yet. 

Pulling into the driveway a wave of exhaustion flooded over you. The conversation over coffee made you feel all sorts of things. You knew you and Phillip were happy but you couldn't help but feel self-conscious at the idea of not being engaged yet after 5 years. Phillip was simple and you knew he would propose when he felt right so now you just had to put your trust in him and wait. 

Approaching the house, you noticed a piece of paper taped to the door with your name on it. Apprenhenisley you opened it not knowing what to expect. 

Come Find Me -Phillip

A small smile began to creep across your face as you shook your head at your boyfriend's antics. Opening the front door you shouted to try to draw Graves out, “Phil… I’m home.” Your call was answered with pure silence as you walked through the house trying to find him. Your head was on a swivel trying to see where he could be hiding. Until out of the corner of your eye was another note sitting perfectly on the stairs. Chuckling to yourself you bent down picking up the note.

Getting Warmer -Phillip

“Graves, where are you?” you shouted up the stairs, making your voice echo loudly through the house. Huffing in frustration from your failed attempts to draw him out you headed up the stairs to continue your search. You glanced at the doors in the hallway noticing the only one shut was the door to your shared bedroom. Funny enough it was also the only door with a note similar to the two previous ones you had found taped to it.

“Good one Phillip,” you joked as you opened the third envelope. 

Almost there -Phillip

Unsure of what to expect, you opened the bedroom door to finally find Phillip who stood with a bouquet of flowers, and the final note.

“You found me,” he smiled, motioning for you to come in.

“I did,” as you walked in you began to notice how different the room looked. Candles lit up and placed on the nightstand and dresser, rose petals spread on the bed, and Phillip in front of you swapping out his usual blue button-up for a dressier white one. “You look handsome,” you leaned in, placing a kiss on his lips before he pulled away. 

“Your final note doll,” he winked, handing you the envelope. Popping the seal and pulling the note out you read the ink.

Marry Me? -Phillip

Your hand flew to your face covering your mouth that was left agape. Looking at Phillip, who was now down on one knee with a ring, tears began to well in your eyes. 

“Whaddya say?” his smile widened as he spoke.

“Oh my god yes,” you couldn't say it fast enough as you fell to your knees to join him on the floor. His arms wrapped around you pulling closer to him. Pulling back from the hug he slipped the ring onto your finger, admiring how it looked.

“I could get used to this,” he laughed, his hands cupping your face and pulling you in for a slow kiss. 

“Me too,” you mumbled into his lips. 

“And you were nervous I wasn't going to propose,” he teased, kissing up and down your neck. A light gasp escaped your lips.

“Who told you that?” heat rising to your cheeks at the embarrassment. Graves noticed and lightly rubbed his thumb along your cheek.

“I’ve been plannin’ this for a while sweetheart, you had no reason to worry, I just need it to be perfect,” he stood up grabbing your hand to help you join him.

“Thank you, it was perfect,” 

His hands wrapped around your waist tugging you closer “I'm glad,” he smiled kissing your lips again, “Only the best for you,”

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

[t00thpasteface]

do u have a post abt your martin/lucien headcanons and if not would you consider making one....

oh. my god. i have so many. SO MANY. so many headcanons and also so many posts about the headcanons.

i was going to link individual posts, but actually if you go to this blog search (the term "marcien shoutz") it will pull up all my marcien text posts and you can browse the whole lot at your leisure! and of course all the text posts i've posted and asks i've answered about marcien (including ask games and anon hour) are under the marcien tag just the same as the art posts ✨

that being said, a lot of my headcanons are actually kind of in a permanent state of flux depending on what i need/want for a particular drawing or fic. i'm torn between a few very specific possible setups for their relationship, and i jump between them (or blend them) as the rule of cool/funny dictates!

HoK introduces them as mutual friends: this could pan out in several different directions. there's the obvious one where they hit it off right away and are open about it, but there's also the version where they hook up secretly afterwards and don't tell the HoK. and there's even the third version where Lucien sees an opportunity and pretends like he wants to be closer friends with Martin while secretly plotting to exploit him... until he starts actually liking the guy for real. wait, isn't that just a Spongebob episode??

HoK sets them up on a date: i think this one is probably at its funniest when they don't get along right away. they agree to one or two dates mostly out of loneliness and/or curiosity, or just to humor the HoK, but then once it actually starts to pan out they're like... dammit, the HoK was actually right again.

failed love triangle: now this one's got some spicy potential for explosive drama. my HoK is a lesbian, so she really doesn't have a stake in a genuine love triangle, but another HoK who's already dating, crushing on, or (yikes!) engaged to one of the boys would have a lot more to lose. maybe it's not all sunshine and rainbows, but if you love angst, there's a lot of meat on this bone. you could also take the polycule route, but we're talking about Marcien and not Marcienhok, so i'm only interested in the illicit guilty hookups behind the HoK's back. muahahaha...

they met before the events of the game: these all have a very similar dynamic of the HoK independently & unwittingly befriending either half of an old flame that fizzled out, but they would start differently depending on what stage of his life Martin was in when he met Lucien: farm boy, prodigy guild mage, Sanguinite, or priest. there's a lot of potential for friction between how much Martin has changed over the years versus how constant Lucien would be as a lifelong member of the Brotherhood, and that would certainly color their expectations about reuniting and trying to get back together.

one of them has/wants to kill the other: obviously, this could refer to a scenario in which Lucien takes out a contract to kill Martin, but remember that Martin also holds a lot of influence and could absolutely have good reason to want to wipe out the Dark Brotherhood, or at least their influence in a specific area. there's a potential for bonus drama if the HoK is/was in the DBH, whether or not Martin knows about it. i'm always a sucker for the "i came here to kill you but i can't bring myself to do it anymore" dynamic you often see between an outlaw and their lover.

you can probably presume the sort of headcanons that would go along with each scenario but as always i'm happy to elaborate if there's one you want to hear more about. (and they're all on my To-Draw List… but so are ten million other things x_x;;)

if you're reading this, consider all thse ideas totally fair game for stealing for your own art/fic purposes. far be it from me to gatekeep a rarepair!! i've also beta-read some Marcien fic before and would be happy to do so again if anyone asks.

that's all for now!!! thanks SO much for the ask!!!!

[oni-official]

[Ramble, feel free to skip.]

Ah, good, you're waking up, how're you - okay, rude. Stop yelling, your family is otherwise occupied. Wait, that sounded ominous, they're fine. Don't mind being handcuffed to the bed either, just making sure you don't try anything rash.

So. Introductions. I know everything about you, of course, but I'm the guy who runs your favourite Tumblr account. No, not that one. What? No! Not tha- okay, shush before you hurt my feelings, it's oni-official. Feel free to call me M.

Now M, I hear you thinking, why has someone as skilled, charismatic and dashingly good-looking as you broken into my house and tied me to the bed? Not a good look, M, not a good look at all. Rest easy, citizen, because I barely know why I'm here myself. Just need to vent real quick, I guess. You okay with that? Wonderful, I knew I could count on you. What? I know what you said but I know you meant yes.

Life is... eh. I'd feel bad for complaining outright because it could be much worse. But I'm just starting to feel burned out all the time. I get brief flashes of creative energy that I'll put towards starting something I feel really good about but it'll just result in another unfinished story or WIP drawing. As soon as I get interrupted by actual work, I just lose all motivation. And there's enough work on a day-to-day basis that I can't set aside some dedicated time for this stuff. Once again, it's nothing terrible but... well, it's just wearing down on me slowly. No cause for concern, it's just one of those periods but... well, that's where I'm at. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate you and everyone else who engages with the blog. I wish I was more regular with my posts, just on the off chance that they'll make someone smile or chuckle a bit or otherwise improve their day in some small measure. It's been so fun going back and forth with you all and the asks are just the highlight of my day. I really want to put more effort into answering them than I currently am but, well... yeah, I've been over this. But keep sending them in! Once again, I love the stuff everyone sends in. If you asked something and I haven't responded soon, it probably means I have a drawing or something in mind for it and am just figuring out when to get to it. And feel free to shoot me a DM directly, I might come off as the big mean spook, but I'm a softie when you get down to it. I'd love to get to know some of you beyond the extensive files we maintain. There are so many more of you about than I expected when I started this little experiment of an account, so I guess I do something right.

But yeah, that was about it. I'm going to be sporadic, no real cause for concern, appreciate you. Keys to the handcuffs are on the bedside table there. Don't call the police, they won't help you. Oh, and as always...

Please stand by.