#ive been having a hard time w art lately

[cherry-koi]

u wouldnt download an internet angel puppy (u would)

[sewerpigeonart]

leafeon used magical leaf! ✨🍃✨

[seethinglikeme]

missed my art and maths lessons bc i’m so tired 😐

[earlyspringtranscendence]

i wish betting on wrestling was like a thing because while i would never win if i bet on anything else (am bad at recognising patterns that actually mean anything) i would cash in soooooo much because i can ALWAYS tell when a jericho feud’s gonna run way too long again 😌

[eevyerndracaneon]

Hm

[tinycozycomfort]

rest in the cup of my palms (part one)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter one: drawing from life

series masterlist | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or  you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: ellie volunteers joel to model for a drawing class on campus. you find someone worth dreaming about.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), unnecessary descriptions of joel being beautiful, ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn, joel miller wins girl dad of the century via unanimous vote (for this chapter) -> masturbation (f), intense feelings of loneliness, existential rumination

word count: 7.2k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: some good ol' work up, necessary to explain the rated r plans i have for them. ive been terrified of writing a series but i'm also tired of editing everything down to be one-shot appropriate, so today we try. im full-swing into my fixation era and on my 'i cant be loved + ive known how to love you for 1,000 lifetimes' bullshit. this fic is as self indulgent as they come, but i hope you can enjoy it! and for those of you willing to trudge through this with me, i love you.

read on ao3

“To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed.”

Susan Sontag - On Photography 

───────

A halo of hot light falls through the pane of glass above the sink. Joel’s got one eye pinched semi-shut, trying hard to focus on not burning himself while he drains boiling water out of a pot of pasta. 

When he woke up this morning, the blinds on every window in the house had been strung up to the lip. He’d barely gotten a hand around one of the strings in the glass frame above the couch before Ellie appeared out of nowhere to literally slap his wrist, ‘I’m drawing’. Still groggy, he tried to challenge her, ‘Do they all have to be open?’, to which she patiently explained—for what she probably feels is the millionth time—that she needed the extra light, and if she had them all open when she started, they’d need to stay that way until she was done. 

So he left her to work, knowing she’s got midterms to finish, walking around with his eyes closed until he felt his way back into his bedroom. He came out once for coffee, and not again until dinner. This is their weekend.

Joel spoons out some of the food into bowls, leaving them to stay warm by the stove before he steps into the dining room. He stops himself half-way, hanging back in the archway to give his daughter another minute as the last shreds of strong sunlight start to wane out.

Ellie’s right where he left her: at the table, cross-legged in her chair with an eraser-less pencil held tightly in her fist. She’s hunched over a large pad of paper, the back of it lifted at an angle under a pile of old books and dog-eared tool catalogs. The sketchbook she uses as a reference guide is propped up on the corner of her left knee, leaned against the edge of the table. She rifles between two pages of it, eyeing some of the quick sketches—visual notes, as she puts it—that she took in class to help her navigate the larger, more detailed version with ease. Silent save for her short huffs of breath, she’s concentrated, wrist-corner lifted to not misplace any graphite. Her process is always the same; a little creature of habit.

She’s wearing her headphones, the cord winding dangerously low, threatening to dip into a cup of water she’d placed in the empty triangle between her lap—the same one he’d seen her with six hours ago. She hasn’t even touched it, still full nearly to the brim. He wonders if she’s gotten up at all. The girl works herself a bit too hard, he thinks, always falls head first into whatever project she’s working on, nothing if not like her dad. The corner of his mouth tugs up so tight it hurts. What is he going to do without her?

He just stands there, feet crossed on top of each other and arms in a twist over his chest, and watches her while she’s not looking, knowing she still gets shy sometimes when he catches her like this. She’s the sweetest reminder of everything good Joel’s ever done; another life he’d gladly offer his own for. 

It’s always come naturally—to be what someone needs of him—in a way that transcends reward or expectation. 

Joel had been his brother’s primary caregiver first, from birth and then well into their adulthood—always around to bail him out of jail or lend him money he didn’t have. Because he cared. Loved him. He couldn’t ever really say it, always had a problem with the wording, but he knew that at least some of what he wanted to explain had come across. He can see it in the way Tommy is with his own family.

His brother has Maria now, and the kids, and seeing how happy Tommy could be in spite of their upbringing was the first time Joel had ever put his priorities into question. Somewhere in all the caring-for he did, he’d forgotten about himself; the possibility of having his own wife and child and home. He’d always ached for that, deep down, but didn’t even know it was an option until he saw it happen. By that point, he wasn’t sure if he could do any of it, or if he even had the time to start. Then came Ellie.

She entered his life when a close friend of Tommy’s had died unexpectedly and no one came forward to claim her, unknowingly giving him a second chance; one he worked to make count. She was tough to crack at first—also like him in that way—but the love had always been there, waiting its turn after all the awkwardness and misunderstanding and adapting before finally showing its face. She’d needed him then, as much as his brother had all those years ago, carrying on the torch of purpose that Joel so feverishly searched for. 

He rolls his eyes at himself; he’s been having too many misty-eyed moments about her lately. It’s so unserious, the actuality of it; of being her dad. Going to work and the supermarket and museums, being there to chaperone field-trips and take one-thousand mostly-blurry photos of her graduation. But it’s been everything to him. He’s desperately clung to the five years of her life that she’s shared with him, and he’s so proud to witness it, but he knows she’s getting to a point where she needs to be her own person. He’ll miss her when she’s only home for summers, then only home for Christmas, then only home once in a while—so he holds on to every bit, and tries not to think about what’s next for him. 

He walks closer to her, tilting his head to try and steal a glance of what it is she’s working on. He catches a glimpse of the face of a woman, a portrait from shoulders-up. She’s pretty, with a soft and thoughtful expression, looking downward off the side of the pad. From what he could make out between the movements of Ellie’s hand, she even looks a little shy. His daughter rubs at the cheeks and nose of the girl on the paper, imitating the shadow-less areas where light would fall. Joel is mesmerized by the way she creates so effortlessly, like breathing. 

Without moving her head, she pulls a tiny white bobble out from her ear, “I know you’re watching me, weirdo.” 

Joel laughs, wet and thick in his mouth with the emotion he’s still climbing down from, “Is this how you treat me when I’m trying to feed you?” 

She smiles, he can see the fat of her cheek rounding out even from this angle, “You should’ve just said that.” 

Ellie leaves her set-up untouched, just getting up and moving down to an empty seat while Joel goes to bring the food out. 

She shifts around in her seat, feet folded again on the flat of it, eating too fast—ill-mannered—and it reminds Joel of all the nights they spent at Tommy’s for family dinner, right at the beginning, back when they’d just begun to become close. When she’d push his patience with her behavior to see if he’d say something, to see if he still paid her mind—he always did, still does, “Jesus Christ, kid. Have I taught you nothing?”

She holds back a laugh, mouth full of tomato sauce, “You love it. I’m charming.” 

He snorts, the two of them falling into a comfortable quiet for only a few minutes before she breaks it again, “Speaking of how much you love me, I need to ask you for a favor.” 

“Oh no,” He jokes, “What now?” 

“Remember those drawings I turned in of you last month?” She starts pushing around the last bite of her spaghetti, never a good sign, but he nods anyway for her to continue, “Well my teacher really liked them. And there’s been an issue with finding people to sit for the drawings. Sooo,” she really drags it out, “I signed you up.”

“What do you mean, you signed me up? For what?” 

“To model,” Joel’s mouth pops open in an immediate attempt to oppose, but Ellie’s quicker, “Didn’t you say you’d always support me in school?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Joel finishes his plate and then they’re both just clinking their forks against porcelain for a heavy eightnineten seconds before she gives it another shot.

“C’mon, seriously. I’ll get extra credit if you do it,” She lets out a long sigh like she can’t believe she has to explain anything more than that, “My professor teaches a Monday session for the master’s program and they need people. It’s just one time.” 

“Ellie. It’s Sunday. How are you gonna tell me this now?” 

“Please, you just sit there for, like, two hours while they draw you and you don’t have to talk. That’s two of your favorite things. Three if you consider that you’d be helping me out.” she looks at him with a sticky-sweet smile, eyes crinkled—like she knows she’s getting away with it. 

She might be. 

“Why don’t you ask one of your friends to do it?” Joel gathers up their plates from the table to carry them into the kitchen. Ellie picks up their still half-full glasses as an excuse to follow him.

“Because we all have class together tomorrow on the other side of campus. Plus, you’re easy to draw and—” 

“Hey.” 

She ignores the flat look he shoots her, flipping on the sink, “That’s a compliment, by the way. But really, it’s no effort and you’d be getting me into a good place with my professor ‘cause she’ll be super grateful. The budget’s kinda tight this semester.” 

“Then what am I payin’ for, if you’re gonna make me do this stuff myself?” It’s a half-hearted dig—he’s mostly annoyed because she probably already figured out he’s going to agree.

Her little smirk graduates to a shit-eating grin, she knows it, “Best dad ever.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

“Just because I knew you were gonna say that, I actually signed you up for two.”

───────

Joel stumbles out of the elevator, filing hurriedly through groups of students with a new-found purpose now that he’s managed to make it to the correct floor. Ellie made a point of not mentioning that he had to be at the school at 7:30am until she was saying goodnight to him a few hours ago, because she thought it would dissuade him—she was right—so now he’s running late on top of everything else. 

He’s got the little scaled-down, splotchy-printed version of the campus map gripped tightly between his hands. Room 14B is seemingly only two turns and one corner from where he stands—if he’s holding it the right way. He wants to ask for directions, but he feels too out-of-place to set aside his embarrassment. He’s older than at least half the staff, and some of the attendees are even younger, and he doesn’t want to run the risk of looking incapable, as foolish as it is. He wishes Ellie would have just offered to show him where to go before she headed off to her own class. 

For someone who prides themselves on their ability to parent, he feels hopeless now without his daughter; not for the first time, but it’s especially harsh considering the circumstances. It hurts something bittersweet, to think about how much more they’ve bonded since he started working less and she decided to live at home her first year of college (though it’s coming to an end sooner than he’d like). Again, too many sad thoughts, and she’s not here, so he trudges on. 

He walks in two more circles before he finds the right place—down a fucking hallway and hidden behind a door he didn’t know he was allowed to open, of course. A woman with long, dark blonde hair is sitting at a desk by the door when he enters. She doesn’t look up at him.

“Good morning, ma’am. Sorry I’m late. My—uh. You teach my daughter? I’m here for—” 

“Ellie’s dad,” She cocks her head without meeting his eye, “Late? You’re about twenty minutes early, she told me you probably would be.” 

She knows me too well, the brat. He chastises her in his mind but outwardly he corrects himself, “Yes, right, sorry. I’m a little turned around.” 

“That’s alright. There’s just a waiver you need to sign, and you can get undressed in the bathroom down the hall. I’ll give you a cover-up to wear until I come to grab you.” 

Right, he’d have to be naked. He already knew that—sort-of—having seen dozens of Ellie’s sketches from semesters past. He knows the students don’t see it that way, knows that they’ve all drawn the same things so many times they would be desensitized to his nudity. They’d probably all be desensitized to him as well; in their eyes, he was just a reference, as familiar as any of the memorialized piles of fruit or arrangements of glass that Ellie's also brought home. 

Still, Joel feels a wash of anxiety come over him. He’s more than comfortable in his body, after putting it through so much, but this degree of vulnerability is severe in comparison to vanity or sex—it’s a state of living he hasn’t participated in for a long time. He doesn’t like to be seen, and being documented—having physical evidence of how he’s interpreted by others—makes his stomach turn. He hasn’t looked in a mirror for more than a moment in months, but it can’t be that bad, right? Ellie’s always given him a favorable light, but he worries she has a bias beyond belief. What if he sees something about himself he doesn’t like? What if everyone’s been able to see it all along?

Caught in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize the woman is still talking, “We have a scheduled break halfway through class. You can leave then. Next week it’ll flip and you can come for the latter half so they can finish.” She slides the form and a swath of black fabric across the table, and almost like she can sense his apprehension, finally raises her head to give him a meaningful look, “Thank you again for doing this. I know it can feel weird, but it makes a difference for them. There’ll be a joint show at the end of the month, too, with Ellie’s class.” 

He just offers her a little nod of his head, thank you, signing the form and padding to the bathroom to unceremoniously disrobe in an empty stall.

It’s just two hours. 

───────

If they make you take another figure-drawing class, you’re going to scream. 

You’d think this far into a second degree, the school board would stop requiring you to take what is essentially the same class every semester. Sincerely, the only thing that changes is how long the session runs and what number follows the class title. It’s getting old. 

To be fair, it’s not necessarily that you dislike drawing—it provides a pretty firm foundation for your personal work to stand on—it’s just tedious. Nothing is inspiring about assignment-based work, especially when they’ve decided the only way you can prove your skill-set is to make you draw the same three objects five-thousand ways. 

But it’s not up to you. 

So here you are again, two weeks from spring break, back in this frigid building after surviving another forty minutes of traffic, body still stiff from fighting the urge to fall asleep at the wheel. 

It’s important, you remind yourself, to show up and put your fullest effort into everything, no matter how much you don’t enjoy it. Even if just to prove to yourself you can still finish things.

Coming back to school was an idea you’d toyed with for years after graduating. 

There had been a lot of pressure on you to go in the first place, from your parents and your teachers and your nightmare of an ex, because according to them you’d get nowhere without it. After enough pressure and in a need to appease them, you folded and went; suffered every long night and pushed through every period of self-doubt and smiled for every ‘worth-capturing’ moment right up to the end. And then when it was over, gone faster than you could comprehend, you felt like something was taken away from you, even with how low it had made you—the worst kind of stockholm syndrome. 

In an attempt to keep some momentum, you were over-eager for more right out of the gate. There was an initial need to continue, because you’d been reliant on academic structure just by the nature of familiarity, and maybe a little ill-prepared to face who you were without guidance. Without the instruction of someone with two degrees and a smoking addiction and no teaching license. Now it sounds silly, but then you spent a few too many nights uncontrollably looking into post-grad institutions or internship programs, googling professors and reading forums for first-hand accounts. 

Then, after a year, the thought of continuing got a little less exciting, and you became comfortable in the freedom of nothing after being in school your whole life. So you pretended to research, emailed everyone about how great the options looked, signed up for one-on-ones you didn’t show up for—until people stopped asking. 

It was at that point that you finally had the time to process what you were doing and why, and accepted that you didn’t have to have all the answers, despite what everyone had led you to believe. Truthfully, you still had no idea who you wanted to be and that’s okay—living with it and living alongside it weren’t mutually exclusive. You just took time to practice being yourself—sucked up the embarrassment and did the work, little exercises in unleashing yourself onto the world instead of letting every experience be done to you. If you were going to do anything anymore, even something like continuing your education, it had to be on your own terms, to try it all in the effort of self-discovery.

So yes, applying and getting accepted and attending every class—even this one—this time around was for you—to better yourself instead of just filling an expectation. You’re determined to make good on the opportunity.

And it has been better, so far. You even have friends this time around. Okay, two, and one of them is your roommate, but it's more of a support system than what you had going into undergrad.

You say yes now, too; not to everything, but to more than before. Which is maybe how you got roped into getting ‘introductory’ drinks later this evening with everyone, now that more people have joined the program as winter thaws out and it’s easier to commute. It’ll be nice to swap ideas and catch up and maybe even get laid instead of spending hours staring at the ceiling and willing time to pass. That thought alone is enough to keep you here.

It’s just two hours.  

The room this semester is a little bigger, at least; probably the only perk that moving up so gracefully from Drawing II to Drawing III had earned you. It’s still unfortunately just another classroom; windowless to protect it from outside influence and drenched in fluorescent light to create a controlled environment. Old, stained art horses form a circle in the center of the space, crowding around a painted-gray wood pallet like an audience. A metal stool sits atop the make-shift stage, providing a seat for the subject. It’s clinical, the way the elements come together; a perfectly disarrayed scene that’s been neatly curated to emulate every ‘socratic seminar’ model you’ve seen in education since you can remember. Always the same.

You’re hoping for someone new today to rest on the chair; the department has been in less-than-preferred financial standing lately, so you’ve seen the same faces interchanged for  most of the term.

Your professor is at her desk when you make your way in, greeting you with a grin despite the tired look on her face. A hardworking woman, the shadows under her eyes gave her a beauty you could only explain as determined. You knew she cross-taught for both sections of the department, and you respected her for it. It couldn’t be anything short of a struggle to toggle between those modes of seriousness—to have the patience to answer the younger students’ unending questions and the passion to keep the post-grads engaged. 

Moving to get a seat as far on the outskirts of the cluster as possible, you watch as your classmates arrive slowly until all the slots are filled. No one really talks, probably all similarly bogged down by the early start and the cold weather outside. Ian, your friend who’d invited you out tonight, waves at you from four horses down and you halfheartedly nod back at him. 

“Good morning everyone, we’ve only got two more classes after this until your week off, so we’ll make this next one a two-parter and have critique on the twenty-first. I want you guys to focus on composition more than anything else,” She turns in her seat to write some names on the board behind her, “We’ll go for two hours then break. If your name’s up here we’ll have a conversation about your thesis. The rest of you can go.” 

Thankfully you’ve been spared this time—granted another seven-nights-straight writing the segment of your thesis that was meant to be finished two months ago. Your brain hurts inside of your skull. 

You set up your little station, sketchpad raised against the easel, body straddling the drawing horse as you fiddle with some dirty erasers in your pack. 

You can hear the slap slap slap of the model’s feet on the concrete floor as they enter—a long gait paired with hard, thudding steps; probably a man by the sound of it. Tall and heavy. 

“Okay guys, we’re starting,” She winds up the dial on a plastic kitchen timer and sets it on the edge of her desk, “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be making a few passes throughout and we’ll exchange thoughts.”

You roll your neck, knowing the model tends to take a minute to find a comfortable position, and that people watching didn’t do anything to help. A tempered soundtrack—the poorly contained buzzing of the clock and the moan of the air-conditioning—plays on in the background. Your leg is asleep. It’s cold in here. You count to thirty in your head. That’s enough time, right? You shift again, stretching your arms once more just in case.

Looking up, you peer over the side of the easel to get a quick look at the model’s pose and immediately do a double take. 

It is a man.

He’s sitting on the chair, facing the girl a few seats down from you so that you can only see him from a three-quarters view. He has one long, thick leg pushed against the lower bar of the stool, the other one, closest to you, hiked up on the seat, folded so that his knee points towards the ceiling. His arms are crossed, hugging his erect shin with his wide back wrapped over his thigh, effectively shielding the ‘naked’ parts of him from view. He looks shy, but not uncomfortable; either like he’s done this before or he’s accustomed to protecting himself—to hiding. 

The frame of his body is captivating; he looks strong but used, little nicks and scars littering his shoulders and hands. Weathered. As you make your way up his torso, you find it’s a similar state of experienced, tan profile and neck bearing the slightest difference in color from the soft of his side, and you can see the faintest curve of a hem-shaped tan-line across the dip in his shoulder. Little wisps of gray-dusted brown curls frame the edges of his face. He’s beautiful in a gentle way, with a dark, heavy brow that leads into the sharp slope of his nose, plush lips pursed like he’s concentrating. 

Part of you feels bad about staring, but it’s easy enough to disguise it as working, so you map him with your gaze again and again until you can still see him when you blink. It takes the constant movement of your classmate’s hand sketching something in your periphery to remember you’re being timed. 

You choke out a cough, repositioning your body and grabbing some charcoal. 

The way you usually approach this task is simple: get down the general gist of the body, careful to keep out the details of the person in favor of capturing light and weight—there’s a graded challenge to be considered, after all. 

Yet as you watch him, you decide you can fulfill the requirements in a way that gives him more room to exist. You crop the drawing tighter, paying careful attention to the landscape of his face; the hills of his cheekbones and the valley between his lips. You want to immortalize him. 

You’re suddenly deeply concerned with the history that’s woven itself into the shape of him, in what happened to make him look this way. It seems like life has been useful to him, but that he’d had to grow from something to make it so—like he had to work for it. He’s the living manifestation of his own grief and enjoyment and passion, and you want to know all of it.

Countless minutes pass as you take him in and spill him out, fingers moving quickly to recreate the weighted feeling of his posture, exhausted and heavy, muscles held together on the string of bone that runs through the center of his back. You write him down, again and again, flipping to a new page half-way through to get in one last version of him—one for yourself. 

You’ve never seen him before, but you see part of yourself in him. He mirrors the anxious peace you’ve been operating under for the last few years, humming with energy but willfully stagnant. It makes you feel seen, less burdened by your recent inability to connect—he makes you want to keep trying.

You wonder if he writes or draws or makes, and if he’d show you. You want to hear him talk. You want to see the other side of him, literally and metaphorically. You want to feel—

The tinny ring of the alarm sounds off, and you’re taken out of the fantasy. 

The second drawing is only really half done, but you didn’t make it with the intention of sharing it anyway, so you flip back to the original to hide it.. 

You try not to watch the man when he stands—remembering that just because he’d been hidden before doesn't mean he wasn't naked the entire time—maybe more for your sake than his. You peek around the room instead, taking a healthy, albeit competitive, glance around for other interpretations of the man; did they see him too, the way you do?

When you look up to take a comparative look, he’s gone. You’re a little disappointed, admittedly, but there’s still one more chance to interact with him, and you can make up for it then. You start to pack up your things in an effort to make it to the parking lot before the crowd. A sudden rise in the volume level in the room tells you that the shock of the early morning has started to burn off. You try to tune it out, so much so that you don’t hear someone walking up behind you. 

“Wow.” It’s a man’s voice, deep and smooth. You pivot in your seat. 

It’s him, in all his communal-robe wearing glory, even more gorgeous from head on. It’s a pleasant surprise, this reveal; his beauty is evenly distributed, like a handwritten note that extends into the margins or when a movie’s ending is just as good as the start.

“Oh. Hi. Thank you.” You feel exposed, like you got caught doing something bad, even though there are ten other people in the room with even more detailed portraits of him.

“Can I see the other one, too?” 

“What?” 

“You flipped your page. I didn’t see anyone else do that. Did you make two?” 

You just nod, shocked that he was watching you back, peeling back the paper to reveal to him the unfinished drawing. He won’t question it if you don’t give him a reason to. 

“Are you gonna finish it?” He asks, eyes rolling over it with an intense curiosity.

“Uh, probably not. I don’t like it as much as the first one.” Maybe lying your way through this would provide better reasoning than ‘I wanted a part of you that no one else could see’.

“Can I have it?” 

When you can’t find something to say fast enough, he just continues.

“I’m sorry, is that rude? If you’re just gonna get rid of it, I’ll take it. It just… looks like me. I mean they all do, I’ve been told I have a ‘simple face’,” He coughs awkwardly in acknowledgement of his own tangent, “I just mean to say that it feels a lot like me. If that makes sense.”

“You’re actually very visually interesting.” Is the first thing you can think of, and fuck, did that come out really fucking wrong, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s better if he takes it, if it’ll stop you from fumbling, “But yeah, you can have it.” You pull a little plastic mail-tube out of your bag, ripping the drawing free from its perforated tether and rolling it in on itself. 

The edges of his mouth pull up, a cute little thing, free of laughter or judgement, “Thank you. I’m Joel.” One of his hands drapes across his stomach, palm spread over the knot of the wrap—he’s holding himself at length again. Why? 

“Hi Joel. You seem to know a fair amount about this whole thing. Not your first time, then?” You offer him your name in return, and he parrots it back—guard still up, still standing too far away. 

“It is, actually. The closest I’ve come to this is sitting in the yard for my daughter,” He watches as you slide the drawing into the cylindrical case, “You’re very talented.” 

“Thank you.” It feels weird to hear the praise twice, “How’d they get you to pose for no money? I heard the department’s a little strapped. I’ve been subbing in for the undergrads too when I can.” 

“My daughter volunteered me, she’s on the other side of the program. Your teacher was giving out extra credit.” He takes the roll when you pass it to him, going out of his way to grab it from the middle, his thumb grazing yours. Your skin heats up where he’s touched it, and you look down at the floor, suddenly nervous. 

“Wow, this is the first time I’m hearing anything about that.” You continue to pack away items into your bag, “I’m owed quite a lot if that’s true.” 

His face falls in on itself in a wince, “Oh. Didn’t mean to do her in like that.” You can feel him looking at you for a few beats too long, and his eyes narrow like he’s about to say more. 

In the same moment, as if summoned, your professor turns on her heel, walking over to your bench. 

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay without it. I’ll see you next week, right?”

He shakes a little, releasing his stare, and throws a thumbs up in your direction with his protective hand, “Yeah, see ya next week. Nice to meet you.” 

───────

After another four-hour class and a too-long nap and a break for dinner, everyone from this morning joins together in a few cars to head to a bar downtown. You meet up with Ian, who offered to drive as a bargaining chip, because he knows by now that you’d back out if you had to show up on your own.

The bar is dark and divey and perfect for being overly-observant in secret. You’ve warmed up to this crowd enough, but you’re still on plus-one basis with a lot of them, Ian serving as your invitation. You like to just listen to them at first during these outings, strategically planning your involvement so you don’t feel put on the spot when they give you a turn.

It’s a lot like being in class; the group of you occupying a dimly lit corner, a round-table of bodies, with the person in the center alternating as the topic changes. Tonight you stay at the furthest end.

You cling to the single tequila soda you ordered, watery and flat by now with pea-sized ice chips bobbing around in the center to avoid the heat of your fingers. You watch them swim, tipping your cup to see them swirl in a frenzied circle until they disappear. 

Some guy from your English class—Andre or Andrew or who cares—is talking at you, making his best attempt at what you think is supposed to be flirting. It’s really just him asking your opinions on his five favorite books, not hiding his disapproval when you mention you haven’t read one or the other. 

You watch Ian, who left you twenty minutes ago in search of the bar-top for another drink. He’s caught now on his third conversation on the way back, maybe thinking he’s doing you a favor by taking his time. You try relentlessly to catch his eye instead, and he bounds over without question when he sees you. The glass of wine in his hand is already half empty, and the English-class-guy spooks at the sight of what he probably thinks is competition. So much for that.

“Having fun?” he prods when he slips in the chair beside you, already aware that you are absolutely very much not having fun. 

Ian’s a nice guy, and he means well. You met him a week into your first semester—almost a year ago now—at orientation, because your last names were the beginning and end of the line of their respective letters. He was from somewhere in Canada, studying photography with a minor in painting and drawing. He’s maybe a year or two older than you, though you’ve never asked to confirm; tall and long and pretty, for lack of a better word, with big eyes and a permanent split in the little bangs that cover his forehead. He’s the first man in years you’ve been comfortable around, never initiating anything or pushing too hard for your friendship. All in all, no one’s been as welcoming to you, except the person you literally live with, and you’re happy to let him drag you out if it means he’ll continue to look after you the way he does.

“Of course, when have you ever known me to have a bad time?” 

“No luck with Adrian?” Adrian. You were close.

“Just likes to hear himself talk, I think. I wasn’t interested in being an audience.” 

He hums, “Someone else on your mind?” 

“Like who?” You lean the lip of your cup against your mouth.

“Saw you making eyes at the model today,” He teases, nudging you in your rib when you take a sip of your drink so that you keel over slightly. You sputter, unamused with the tactic to get you to fess up.

Was it that obvious?

“Isn’t that the point of the class?” 

“Yeah maybe, smartass, but that’s not what I meant. I saw him talking to you, saw you give him a little gift,” He bobs his eyebrows at you suggestively, “Excited for him to come back next week?”

“So I can stare more, you mean?” 

“So you can get his number.” 

“Ian.”

“I’m just saying you should try and find someone outside our section of the building. No writers, either, obviously.” He gestures to where Adrian is already trying his shtick on some girl from your class.

“He’s a little too old for me, don’t you think? His daughter goes here.” You muse. He’s mostly right about you needing to expand your reach, but you won’t let him off that easily.

“Maybe. But if you don’t care, and he doesn’t care, what’s it matter? He’s not too old to fuck you.” He makes a face and you roll your eyes. 

The thought is nice, but you know forging relationships is unlikely when you’re concerned, at least as of late, “I don’t want to spend my night talking about people I’m not going to fuck.” 

“Whatever you say.” He slinks out from his seat, mumbling something about a glass of water. A few steps away, he looks back over his shoulder, “You’re not doomed, by the way,” the asshole can read your mind, “You can enjoy yourself without feeling guilty. You’re allowed to like people.” 

And then you’re alone again. 

It’s like that for another hour, small attempts at chatter and meetings until you realize you’re too tired to fuck anyone, let alone continue to sit upright. Being up so early this morning took more of a toll than an hour nap could fix, and you're begging Ian to take you home. He agrees, spending the trip trying to plan another outing later in the week before everyone’s gone on vacation.

You give him a sleepy goodbye when he pulls into your apartment complex, making sure he’s still going to class tomorrow before letting him drive away. Once you’re inside, slipping quietly in through the front door, you realize your roommate isn’t home. She’s probably still in a late class or at her boyfriend’s or somewhere else. You enjoy the quiet enough to not think about it too hard.

The five sips of tequila-mostly-water has settled into your stomach by now, making you a quarter-second slower when you strip all your clothes off and climb into bed. 

You twist under the sheets, and after a while your skin starts to feel too hot, even in the cold air of your room. Breathing deep, you try to think of something boring to get your mind to still, but when you sense the sleep about to take over, it switches.

You see his face behind your eyelids, the man from today, strong and pretty and delicate, remembering all your favorite details—the length of his fingers and the depth of his voice. You curse yourself for assigning this importance to him. He’s just another page in your portfolio, if you even keep him, yet you can feel a slow heat bubble up at your core when you remember the stretch of his body under the robe. It’s okay to be taken with him, you think, he’s objectively gorgeous. 

Your conversation with Ian replays in your head—less about his sincere advice and more about how you need to get laid. It’s been too long; maybe you are just horny, and maybe taking care of it just this once could be enough to stop this hollow interest from growing. 

You reach a hand down under your blanket, the tips of your digits pushing into the slit of your cunt. You’re wet, arousal tacky and pooled so much that the light pressure you meant to be exploring with is enough to have you accidentally slipping inside. Okay, he’s really hot. So what? Was it really that bad if you thought so?

You dip a finger further in, timid at first; you’re used to keeping quiet for this kind of activity, and even though your roommate was gone when you got here, it doesn’t mean she hadn’t come in in the thirty minutes of rolling around you’d done before giving into your desire. You lay your free hand over your mouth just in case, teeth biting into the meat at the base of your thumb to keep yourself quiet. 

You slide in a second finger to the knuckle to join the first, the light stretch of it enough to make you pant. You see him again, hard and soft and beautiful. You think about what his skin would taste like, if he’d let you sink your teeth into the sinew of his neck. It feels weird to know what he looks like without his clothes, and you’re weirdly proud of yourself for holding back from seeing him fully; it's easier to dream about that way. You wonder how he’d present himself to you, how he’d want to fuck you. You imagine him winding a hand around the hinge of your jaw, fingers pressing hard into the soft of your cheeks. Would he be gentle? Would he make it hurt? You suspect either would be too much. You feverishly palm your clit, hips canting in an effort to climax. The pictures flash faster—his cock in your mouth, his tongue in your cunt, the way he’d spit and grip and hold—and you’re coming, drooling over your hand as you hear him say your name in your mind. 

You take your hand away after a minute, breath pushing out heavily from your nose. It’s fine, you needed to do it, just one time. No shame in that. It’s out of your system now. 

And if you see his face one more time before you fall asleep, it’s probably an afterthought.

───────

By the end of the week, you come to a horrible conclusion. 

It starts the next morning when you take your sketchbook out, itching to get a handle on the many writing assignments you’ve been dutifully ignoring, hoping for an outline or a free-flow of ideas. Nothing comes to mind. You draw a little bit to fill the space while you think, just a mess of material on the page, strokes of your hand that leave barely anything behind. 

Then on Wednesday you’re at your laptop, typing with one hand while the other one slides against the wood of the dining table, down and around in a loop, mimicking the same shape each time. 

And again last night in the shower, letting the shame of a different semi-failed night-out wash over and off of you. You slosh your foot around in the water in the basin below, catching it as it runs down and pools, ankle dragging in a tiny, controlled movement. 

It’s not until now that you put it together.

You’re sitting at your desk, with creative materials at your disposal this time, trying to make sense of what it is you’re forming. You find that no matter the medium, your hand automatically makes a single hard line. The same line, from memory. It’s negligible at first, just a light press of pen or pencil or crayon, until it drags down, down, down. It’s not until you lift your utensil that you recognize it. The hook of a nose and the crest of a top lip. 

A hard pit forms in your stomach, blood draining from your head to gather in the center of your chest, a blooming sickness of obsession you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re drawing him. You’ve been drawing him. You know this feeling, have participated in this kind of behavior. These are the actions that cause the humiliating dregs of attraction to bleed over into fixation—juvenile and universal and unavoidable.  He’s going to be a problem.

[dreemurr-skelememer]

☆21, 24, and 30 :3

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways

OOOOHHHHH FUN ASK. ive personally always been a fan of how blackggggum/jot has drawn for YEARS. i adore the linework most especially

massive shoutouts to their battle with sans and their dust collection, which had other dust variants (dustswap, dustfell, dustshift, etc) but i think it's lost :( (i have them on my phone but im not reposting w/o permission)

they're still active on twitter! (well, as much as they can be) here's recent bluey fanart they've made!

i'd look for more but im already taking so long looking for them so just jot for now LOL

24. Do your references include stock images

they are MOSTLY stock images. where would i be without stock images

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated

i haven't been drawing lately so hmmm

i personally think this doodle of humanized idol ink au blue is severely underrated not bc i worked hard on it but because i think idol ink au blue is so pretty and i cry about him all the time even though i never say a word about him publicly 😭

[fauxbia]

Your art is so beautiful and otherworldly. I love the way you shade and all the minuscule details you add to every work you create. The eye shines on the characters you draw are always so warm, and there’s something so incredibly soft and distinct about the lines you draw. I love seeing your name come across my dash because I know it’s either going to be a really funny reblog or something utterly heartbreakingly beautiful that you’ve created. Your art style fits so well with Rain World and Sky that I genuinely thought you were an official artist for both games. I love and appreciate your dedication to Outer Wilds. I have your drawings and the dialogue list saved in my bookmarks whenever I need to enjoy it again. Your original art and OCs are also just so incredible. You make me want to improve my own art because the things you create inspire me to try harder and do more. You’re so cool and special and amazing and I’m so happy I started following you all those months ago. Thank you. I hope you receive good soup and tasty drinks for the rest of time.

W WA???????????? WAUGHHH?????

I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT I

THANK YOU??? SO MUCH???? WAUGHH??????

It’s 2 am anon you can’t DO THIS TO ME— /lh

thank you so much it really means a lot, especially since Ive been having a really hard time with self esteem lately… so… thank you so much for taking the time to say something so kind and thoughtful

I hope you, too, receive All The Good Soup <3 and goodnight I am going the hell to sleep

[lillonvia]

— happy new year, from your dearest lili.

first off, i want to thank all of you guys for making my 2023 such an incredible rollercoaster !! ure all v silly n fun n adorable i js wanna grrRRAAA SMOTHERS ALL OF U WITH AFFECTION TAKE MY FUCKINH LOVE RAAAAHHHH 👹 I LOVE INTERACTING W ALL OF U IT ALWAYS MAKES ME SMILE N GIGGLE LIKE AN IDIOT HEHEHEJFN 🤭🤭 

@idyllic-affections ꒱꒱ ADDIII MY ELDRITCH DEITY N LITTLE SIBLINGGGG 🥺🥺💕💘💖💖💗💘💘💕💝💗💝💖💘💖🩷💘💗 u were my v first moot on this site n ill never forget the fun convos n memories we’ve made over the months <33 ure v dear to me n i herkehehdbd *vibrating uncontrollably* I LOVEEE talking w u n DONT U DARE APOLOGIZE FOR REPLYING LATE RRRRRR 👹👹 /lh ur works always leave me feeling delulu n giddy n i end up imagining different scenarios w certain character nd AAADJFKFKFB I LOVE U SM WAAA

@soleillunne ꒱꒱ ALYYYYY !!! LYSSA !!! UUUU HI BELOVEDDDD MWAHH 😍🥰 i dont feel like weve been talking a lot bUT BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY, IM ALWAYS WILLING TO WAIT FOR U UWAAA ure soso precious to me n i js wan give u A BIG KITH N HUGGIE bc i love u vm n u deserve it !!!! 🫶🫶 i hate the fact ure stressed w education n i wish i cld do more for u to help u feel better :((( but if ure ever in need of some form of comfort my discords always open for u n ill do my best for u <33 💖💕🩷💝💘

@fatuismooches ꒱꒱ SMOOCHES MY LOVE HI HELLO !!! ure so fun to be around N NOT TO MENTION URE ALSO ONE OF THE SWEETEST PPL IVE EVER MET WAAAA 😩 i had so much fun when we were both brainrotting so hard abt our dragon otter neuvie EHEHHEHR I WAS SOOO GIDDY THAT TIME BC NOT ONLY BC IT WAS NEUVIE BUT ALSO BC IT WAS U I WAS TALKING TO !!!!! 🥹🥹 YIPPEEEEE

@areislol ꒱꒱ REIREI MY CONFETTI CREEPER OMG !! m always so happi whenever we talk bc ure SO sweet n adorable n amazing !!! 🫶🫶🫶 i remember feeling shocked when u followed me n dropped by my inbox bc OMG !!! ITS ONE OF MY FAVORITE WRITERS !!! FOLLOWING SILLY LIL ME!!!! UJWJEKRKSJANABA 🤭 

@mondaymelon ꒱꒱ the silliest watermelon to ever watermelon in existence !! interacting w u n seeing the silly things u say never fail to make me laugh BWJERJRKRKIFG m so glad i was able to work up the courage to be moots w u bc lets js say. I DONT REGRET IT 😋😋 ure so lovably unpredictable ND UR ART IS SO NOMNOMNOM DEVOURED N DIGESTED TEEHEEE JSJSKAKAN UUUU i love u 💝💕💕💗

@https-furina ꒱꒱ AAAAAAA FINA FINA FINA !!!!!! UWAAHDHHRHF NSJSJ YIPPEE YIPPEE YIPPEE MY BELOVED POMERANIAN UUUUU RUNS AROUND IN A CIRCLE AROUND U we havent been mootsies for v long BUTBUT OMGG I ALWAYS HAVE THE FUNNEST TIME W U BC UWAAHH URE SO PRECIOUS N ADORABLE AAAAAA !!!! 🥺🥺 i still cant believe we ended up rambling to each other abt liyue hell family for eight hrs straight BUT IM NOT COMPLAINING BC IT FED N SOMEHOW SATIATED MY INNER ND OUTER DELULU 🫶💕💝💗💖🫶💕💝🤭💘 i love talking abt ocs w u HEJEKEJRH UR CHARACTERS R ALWAYS SO INTERESTING ?????? WHAT IS YOUR SECRET ???? /lh I WANNA GROW EVEN CLOSER W U IN 2024 MWAH MWAH LOVE U ALWAYS <333

@umgatochamadopercyval ꒱꒱ CLARACLARACLARA !!!! the cutie patootie sweetheart herself, in the flesh !!! sunshine in human form !! u have such an incredibly kind and beautiful soul UUUUU CRYING SOBBINH /pos I LOVE YOU SM love ur cat too btw JAJAJJAJ IM RLLY HOPING WE CAN INTERACT MORE OFTEN NEXT YEAR UWAAAHHJJH

to all my other moots who didnt make it on the list, M SO SORRYYYY DJJFN I JS NEED TO IMTERACT W U MORE SO I CAN HAVE MORE POSITIVE OPINIONS ABT U 😭 ITS NOTHING TO DO W U GUYS I PROMISE 🙏🙏 but w little conversation we have, i still appreciate each and every one of u 🫶🫶 KITH KITH MWAH once again, thank u sm for such an amazing year !!!! 💕💗💘🩷💝💖💖💕💗💘🫶🩷💝💕🫶

[yonpote]

under cut cuz i talk too much lol

i am not blaming dan or anything (and obviously this has been a joke in lgbt spaces for forever) but i do think he unintentionally enabled the like "homophobia is a good thing actually" type jokes and like i definitely make them too, and im always seeing jokes on here like "god why are they Like This" etc. but i think some people just dont know the line or view them so much as friends that they don't think about how it could read differently from someone who is essentially a stranger. ive said smth similar before of like, dnp (ESP DAN...) used to be not great at drawing boundaries esp since youtube and social media culture were so different back then, but now even when they draw hard lines ppl either continue to step right over them, or dont understand exactly where the line goes. they dont care if u write smut or dead dove fics, they dont care if u make shippy fanart, but like maybe dont tag them in buttsecks? (or maybe do, idk theyre being so unhinged lately maybe we gotta start @'ing them in catboy porn (JOKING))

i was talking w a friend a little bit ago about the exact differences between the generally speaking philosophies between older fans and younger fans. it seems that older fans embrace creating transformative works and having their own interpretations on who dnp are, whereas younger fans want to know dnp on a personal level and want dnp to know Them and recognize them not just as fans but as people. and OFC there are older phannies who want the parasocial interaction and younger phannies who write fic and people who do neither, and people who do both! (hi :3) but then some people have a difficult time being able to marry the two ideas maybe?

heres the truth. dan and phil are real human beings who have made a career largely off their shared dynamic together, BOTH because they genuinely enjoy creating and being together AND because a lot of people really get invested in it and it makes them more money. they don't mind fic or art, you probably SHOULDNT tag them in the saucy stuff, but they know it's out there and generally have been respectful of fan spaces and knowing where OUR boundaries lie (altho maybe the line was toed w the roblox video but thats debatable.) they really do care about their audience both in order to please us and keep us coming back, AND because they see how much theyve affected us as people and have a deep *Sarapocial Relationship with us.

there are both parasocial AND tranformative ways to break boundaries, and oftentimes they can be one and the same. they aren't our friends they arent our dads and they arent objects with no feelings. they don't stalk our accounts but they are still able to see whatever we post publicly. theyve seen so many horrible things and have had many horrible things happen to them, and while no one can be certain something like that won't happen again, now that they have been able to be more honest with us about a lot of things they are able to trust us a little bit more.

anyway ramble over back to me talking abt how dan should embrace their transness

[aroace-polyshow]

also a thing for you if you ever want to ramble about hw- what's emu's story for this? how did she get into illustration, and how did she meet the troupe?

RAUGH I ALWAYS WANT TO RAMBLE AND IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS TY FOR ASKING!!!! also took a while this time my bad man. the route my bus takes has very very shit internet so i couldn’t continue my draft during my ride 💔

anywayyy. good lord this is fucking long. im sorry.

for emu, i’m still figuring stuff out with her, but i’ve been thinking about her a lot more recently, and so far what i’ve got is that she has a little bundle of issues including grief over her grandpa, toxic positivity and not letting herself feel negative emotions properly, some internalized hatred of herself and how childish she is following an argument w shosuke, and generally feeling kinda lost, like the rest of hw, after wonder stage closed bc she doesn’t know what to do w/o shows. yknow.

so like. she still has her whole thing w/ her grandpa. and she while she wasn’t doing the *best* she wasn’t doing that bad in the mental health department. still wasn’t letting herself like. grieve properly. but she wasn’t the worst. she performed a lot on wonder stage and knew that the stage was in danger of being closed down, so she tried really hard to keep it from happening. but the actors for wonder stage began to leave as time went on and the ones who stayed didn’t really get why she was so persistent in keeping this stage open when the others in the park were better and shit. and she didn’t have much help. so unfortunately despite her best efforts wonder stage was kinda doomed for closure. butttt she’s not giving up yet. so she tries to convince her brothers to not close it, or at least to just give her some more time. which Does Not Go Well. shosuke gets real frustrated with her and starts yelling and shit. and while keisuke shuts him down once he gets too heated. well. it’s kinda too late. with what he said about her being childish and demanding that she just grow up already and stuff like that, my girl takes that to heart. and then with the official closure of wonder stage…yeah…she’s not doing the best…

emu’s grief here is made worse w/ the wonder stage closure. cause like. that was her and her grandpa’s favorite stage. girl feels like she failed him. she loved that stage. she loved doing shows there. it was something she had to remind her of her grandpa. and now it’s closed. :(

since then she’s been. different. like it’s just barely noticeable to a lot of people but she’s definitely changed. she smiles and acts cheery and seems like her usual self but like. her smile isn’t quite the same. she’s not quite as talkative. she avoids her brothers a lot more. and her brothers have noticed btw and they both feel AWFUL. especially shosuke. they done fucked up and they know it.

also like technically she could keep doing shows, after all theres the other stages in pheonix wonderland, and she has experience in doing shows + is related to the people who literally own the place so it wouldn’t be hard for her to join one of those stages. but she doesn’t bc after all that, she thinks her goal of just wanting to bring smiles to people is childish. shows make her so so happy but she thinks it’s immature and naive of her to still want to pursue that, especially considering she failed last time. it’s a silly and childish path to pursue, and she needs to pull her head out of the clouds and grow up already, like her brother says. so despite loving shows with all her heart, she gives up on doing them. but since shows are so important to her, she doesn’t rlly know what to do without them, so that’s where that feeling lost stuff comes in. yknow.

for her art, i just think she enjoyed art in general, and with her grief and the wonder stage closure it helped her cope. i have a very specific idea in my head of her style. but i cant remember the artist here on tumblr that i think she does art like. if i can remember their name i will though. i might actually do a post dedicated to what i think her art style is like….

not set in stone just yet, but what i’m thinking for the original meet up is that she meets nene first. nene does music and emu finds it, and it gives her some inspiration for some art. she posts it and credits nene’s music as what inspired her, and nene is so fucking honored. through some light encouragement from rui nene gets the courage to dm emu to tell her thank you, and they start chatting!! they get along pretty well and emu starts making art for nene’s music. eventually rui has the idea to start animating them, so they can make music videos for the songs, and boom hw gets its beginnings online.

this happens before wonder stage closure btw. when it does close, emu disappears from their group chat for a bit. she comes back like nothing happens and while she doesn’t tell them what happened, they both notice she doesn’t talk about what shows shes doing anymore, or shows in general. nene and rui are both very sad at this btw. seeing emu have so much love for shows and be able to talk about them like she did was really nice, so to see her stop with that and seemingly not enjoying shows anymore after something happened, just like they did, it sucks. :(

anyway i think my timeline is like. during nene’s last year of middle school when she transfers to home schooling, she starts doing music -> everything i just mentioned here happens -> eventually they meet tsukasa, and he joins the group -> hollow ☆ wonderland does its thing as a group for a while -> main story shit happens. yeah. 👍

uhhhh. dear god i’m so bad at explaining my thoughst. augh. i hope this made some amount of sense. and that i wasn’t too repetitive lsajdkhfgyfdhsj. anyway miscellaneous emu thingies now.

like i mentioned, wonder stage hasn’t been replaced yet, it’s just closed down and sectioned off. so emu still visits it all the time. there is nothing being done to maintain it. so it is absolutely unsafe. but does emu care. no. girlie wants to disappear and while she’s not *planning* on dying, if she had to die anywhere she wouldn’t mind if it was at wonder stage. she draws there a lot.

a lot of her drawings are traditional!! with lots of bright colors and crayons and colored pencils. she has lots of fun drawing.

this applies to non-au emu as well but she has gifted stickers to all her friends. nene’s synthesizer is covered in them.

wonder stage was closed off at sunset. btw. just to give her another reason to hate sunsets.

[terminalisms]

caved so quick to the 2nd muse impulse o mein gott......throwing sejoon into the mix with another minimal stats page + round two of rambly character intros 😵‍💫 if u are interested in plotting just like this post or add me on discord!! (tip.toph) 🥰

tw! mentions of terminal illness, death of a parent

only son to 2 anomalies. plain jane working class background

in a past life, dad is still a top tier hardboiled detective who doesn't gotta think about the fact he has a wife and kid at home

in this one, mom is inconveniently out of the picture for......... [vague gestures] reasons and he has to hunker down into single father life fast. ends up opening a restaurant in order to be able to provide

but in spite of all of this his childhood isn't so bad! he and his dad are close despite obvious stark differences in personality, which can be summed up as naive softie vs cynical hardass. even if sejoon's too trusting ways has dad up at night wondering how the hell is this kid gonna survive on his own

also dad: [does the absolute most to keep him shielded and sheltered cause he's Seen Things and as a parent's bare minimum that means letting a kid being a kid. which means shoving things deep under a rug and the default response to any inkling of curiosity being "Don't worry about it"]

until sejoon's anomaly kicks in at 12-13 by making a patron's chair float on accident and his dad's like k. better late than never......

its a little (ok a lot) hard to coach sejoon through controlling his abilities considering dad's own anomaly is not anything remotely close to moving things w his mind (its memory manipulation btw for some hwang fam #trivia) and sejoon is like ): but this is so cool why shouldnt i wanna show it off......

their deeply anti-anomaly district with equally staunchly anti-anomaly neighbors, friends, politicians being a VERY good reason not to: (:

dad: wear this patch thingie. dont ask why just do what i say

(thank god for nullivi huh like seriously)

doesnt stop the bubble bursting with when people realize ur not "human" they treat u different but ykw.........the sun is still shining and the world is much much bigger than their humble slice of daegu for EVERYONE to be that way

sua's open for admissions just around the time sejoon's thinking about higher ed AND broadening his horizons. gets in on arts scholarship and off he goes

baby bird leaving the nest turns fish out of the water. college and seoul are a bit of an adjustment but exciting all the same. and he does thrive! gets involved in the sporting rallies, really developing his artistic vision, has a social life, and gets to be his #true self among fellow anomalies the whole enchilada

things only really go downhill in the last 6 months of his undergrad with 2 wrecking balls: a devastating breakup and (TW: ILLNESS, DEATH) his dad being diagnosed by stage iv lung cancer

its right after graduation that sejoon immediately falls off the face of the earth for 3 years to be his father's sole caretaker until his death (END OF TW) no one i mean no one knows what he was doing or where he is

but hes back now to do his mfa!! let the bella loca where the hell have u been-isms begin

vibe wise hes bright, social, easy to talk to but can also be kind of spacey eccentric and the ultimate pacifist. the type that makes u feel like u guys are sooo close but then when u reflect ur like actually idk if i really know much about him at all (which!! is not totally intentional he just makes for a better listener and is great at making conversation about what YOU have to say). these days that same can do energy is there but it doesnt feel the same if u look too close but its fine!!! everything is fine

plots that are marginally better than the first time around but not by much:

friends who were blindsided by him going mia without warning

friends who are gracious enough (or equally ??????? avoidant? weird even) to pick up where they left off like nothing happened in the first place

people who dont even know who he is so like none of the above for his sob story doesnt even really matter

this is really really limited to one (1) person but somebody who managed to run into him in the three years that he was laying low

will require extensive plotting but the ex......not necessarily endgame but i am in the mood for some bittersweet woulda shoulda coulda's, angst and answering the penultimate question of: why did we break up?

former teammates? i imagine he was part of house samjoko during undergrad

ur a stranger feeling nosy and ur ultimate mission is figuring out where hes been. he lets u speculate

u need someone to do ur graphics. can be contractual pro bono whatevah.......

im running out of steam here but i am open to it all please hmu

[broodsys]

venting abt creative woes feel free to ignore <3

it has been really hard for me to post art, both drawing and writing. it's not just about engagement/lack thereof or abt concrit or about anything in particular. i just get so caught up in comparisons and breaking things down and wanting to be objectively "better" at it and idk if i'm even enjoying it anymore.

sometimes i think seriously about stopping? i'd still create but. just for me. idk.

and im having mixed feelings about fandom in general. idk. it's late at night and it's been dark for too many hours and ik that's putting me in A Mood(tm) but it's still been! hard! and i get sad and frustrated and self-conscious all the time

it just feels like im out here putting my ugly shit next to everyone's polished pretty pieces. and ik, ik, two cakes, i've been trying to internalize that, but it's hard right now. i cannot stop thinking about the pretty fics ive read and i cannot stop being so fucking envious of them and it feels gross! like i should just appreciate them? they're lovely, mine doesn't have to and shouldn't be a replica, etc etc, all these things i know intellectually, but... ugh.

and it's extra frustrating bc i know ppl like my stuff, esp my writing. they do! they've said it! ppl who have no cause to lie to me, strangers, etc. but i just can't feel it and im so... envy demon has a fucking hold of me lmao.

might be circling back to the going too fast/pushing myself too hard thing again. but i've just been dealing with the constant undercurrent of severe frustration with everything i attempt. i try to shake it off but idk, if it's this consistent...?

ugh. idk. i've been going back and forth on this for a while. do i push through? do i try to drop my standards? do i just keep all my stuff to myself? unknown.

like, no matter what im finishing my bigfic. for me. but idk. should i even bother posting it? it's not... it's not about engagement. it's about the fact that i feel like the whole thing is just kinda... an embarrassment? like i cannot stop looking at it thru the most critical, least compassionate version of a potential audience and it's fucking with me so bad. when im writing i enjoy it, i think it's cool, i think it's good. but then i post it and after a while im just so embarrassed. i still think it's good! but it's still also embarrassing! i've worked hard for years to learn to trust my audience, to not spoon-feed them every bit of information and then follow it up with a quick confirmation just to make sure they're getting it, but now i feel like i'm being drawn back into that.

i read it. i've reread it a few times, in fact, for pleasure and not for editing. i love it? but im also so embarrassed by it whenever im not like... actively reading it. it's just disheartening.

idk. it's my personal baggage more than anything ig.

anyway im genuinely not asking for my ego to be stroked here or w/e, just- this has been weighing kinda heavily on me for quite a while. it's very frustrating.

[silver-queen]

v off topic but what is up with project moon lately ive been vaguely aware of workplace stuff happened but dunno much

id ask u if ur ok w/ explaining it to me but if u cant dw bout it

hope u have a nice day btw

I don't mind but be aware I'm not fluent In korean nor abut the social climate there 😔 and thank you!

I'm gonna recall what I know so it's going to be long, but long story short, Kim Jihoon (Project Moon's CEO) fired the CG artist vellmori immediately after some guys from korea's equivalent of 4chan (DCInside) accused her of being a feminist.

This isn't the first time something like this happened in the korean gaming industry, but this particular event kind of uncovered a whole lot of issues in other things, from Project Moon's shortcomings to as far as the korean gaming industry itself.

I don't know where to start, but the whole thing happened because a beach mini-event featured one of the female character in a full wetsuit and not in a bikini, nevermind that Project Moon is known for rarely, if ever feature fanservice. A group of people from DCInside directed their outrage to the main art director and artist of said character's skin, but once they found out that the artist is a man, they pivoted to the CG artist, despite the fact she's not responsible any character design in the game.

DCInside started to give Limbus Company a negative review on all platforms it was on for it's "feminist agenda" demanding for vellmori to be fired, and when PM took too long with complying with their demand, ten people took it to themselves and stormed Project Moon's office. The situation seemed dire, we tried supporting Project Moon because we thought they weren't the type of company who would side with people like them.

PM responded by posting an announcement (only in korean at the time to try to keep the international fanbase in the dark) that vellmori was to be dismissed from her position for "causing controversy"

Said controversy is that DCinside dug a deleted post vellmori retweeted when she was a teen speaking out against a spycam epidemic in women's bathroom. That was five years ago and long deleted, but apparently it was still a valid reason to dismiss her from the company.

Vellmori mentioned in a korean newspaper that Kim Jihoon fired her over the phone at midnight when he was still in Japan in preparation for a game expo. This was before Project Moon released any follow-up statement after the first one.

Project Moon then released another statement that vellmori was merely dismissed, but not fired, and that they aren't disclosing anything more to protect her. They also threatened to sue everyone who spread misinformation, which is hard to define since PM wasn't clearing up anything.

During this many former employees came forward about the poor management they experienced and the lack of employee protection in PM. The visual artist of Leviathan, the prologue comic/novel for Limbus Company mentioned that she was forced within a tight schedule (a chapter every week) without room to make buffer pages in her schedule. When she tried to negotiate for a scheduling change, Kim Jihoon instead cut her contract short.

The english translator for both Limbus Company and it's twitter announcements, in a separate incident, was harassed and cyberstalked on social media, yet Project Moon did nothing to defend him. Kim Jihoon has proven before that he could stand up for his employees, like he did with PM's cafe when customers harassed the staffs. Granted, the translator said that he doesn't want anyone to criticize Project Moon for not defending him, but his letter is still depressing to read, especially when he revealed he had to work on chapter 3.5 overnight while his family member was diagnosed with cancer.

MIMI, the artist for Lobotomy Corporation's spinoff comic Wonderlab, shortly took down the comic due to dissatisfaction with the company.

A youth union was created in response to the controversy, demanding a clear announcement over vellmori's employment status and to compensate her.

PM responded that yes, vellmori has been fired, and claims that she wishes her privacy to be protected to avoid revealing anything further about her dismissal, even though she had already talked to a newspaper about it.

And until this day Project Moon went on a crusade against everyone who directly speak against their decision, from suing peaceful truck protestors and unions, and yet they barely addressed the incels from DCInside who started this all in the first place. The infamy of this incident also brought attention to the rampant misogyny in South Korea, especially in the gaming industry.

Honestly this isn't the first time they folded from the slightest bit of pressure, but the first time it was because a review bomb on Library of Ruina because some blokes didn't like the original ending. I don't know. I feel like they're going to foster a fanbase that thinks they can get whatever they want if they cause a big enough ruckus when things don't go their way. I don't want to be part of that so I've been steering away from the fanbase even if I'm still fond of PM's stories.

Sorry this got long and I don't have complete sources, most of this is what I recall from witnessing it firsthand and I really don't feel like looking for Xitter posts 😭 this post is more complete if you'd like to read more.

[first-mistake-forever-more]

ive noticed while yr output has slowed down a bit, more shamelessly "inspired" artists have cropped up on ig. im not someone who thinks styles just suddenly are made by one person, but its obvious tht this strain traces back to you. do you care about any of that or feel a pressure to 'claim' the style and not be left behind? or are you someone who just wants to do their best to focus on making what they want, and then leave others to eventually give credit if they want?

Ok finally replying to this one ive had this one on hold here for Like a yr bc my feelings on th matter change all th time but lately it's been a lot of acceptance a& Just like feeling good about it that anything i made was important enough to anyone to make something inspired on it be it blatantly or not im just happy to inspire people like that i still have silly feelings abt it sometimes bc i feel its so ridiculous that id make something so apparently inspiring and appealing for a specific pocket of people on the internet when i was just making art for myself but i guess thats always how it happens right and sometimes but not that often anymore i get angry feelings about it too. I think it's so stupid people way older than me, art students too, just curate what I make and process it into a repeatable format and get clout & sell merch off of this and get job opportunities and become more "popular" than me. I get angry. I get jealous. It's Ok. these feelings are valid and I don't try to repress them but deal w them

DMs w a friend Like oliver shout out @asphaltfchewinggum said :

I don't worry abt that falling off part anymore bc i don't feel i will ever be left behind because im always coming up w new stuff and novel ways of expressing my feelings and ppl still relate to it and get inspired by it a lot as long as i stay true iv only been going up as usual since then. I think i still have very unique things to say so I;ll just dedicate myself to saying them. I think every yr my art becomes more and more unique and apparently appealing but I can't ever say that second one for certain.it doesnt depend on me

☝️some shit from December i didnt finish bc im developing my new style now my new things to say & new truths. Exclusive Leak

an old Pinterest board somebody made inspired by me(didnt even send it to me, it was supposed to be this private curation thing ig) My output slowed down bc since 2021 my life has changed a lot and become a good bit more fulfilling by itsdelf without the need of art, I miss the energy ihad in 2020 of working all day everyday but at th same time this new ifestyle is very fun and iv felt more assured professionaly and emotionally so its all good. 2022 started college and this year im not going anymore ! i didnt Like it and realized it would stunt my growth so i stopped going. Last year I grew a lot las a person and took on new responsibilities and i think it was the beast year of my life .its moments &moments and i think 2023 im working very hard again hopefully bc i got a lot of shit in check.

me yesterday morning looking very ugly almost asleep w some food i went out & groggily bought for my girlfriend. I love her soooo much ... she gives me similar gratification making art gave me but she does it by just existing. Not having to prove anything. I'm happy. I think loving is a form of art. I'm not that good at it but i'm learning. Living is a form of art too. I guess what changed is my life stopped being all about myself

"im still here" and here i remain

[hermanunworthy]

!DNDADS S2 EP37 SPOILERS!

im a bit late bc i was at work all day but time for ep37 reactions!! i cant believe its already here

- now ive heard everyone talking about the intro i bet its gonna be a rickroll or some shit

- ITS FUCKINF ALL STAR. I KNEW THEY WOULD PULL SOMETHING LIKE THIS

- A TEENAGE GIRLS PARENT JUST GOT SHOT AND KILLED AND UR PLAYING ALL STAR.

- hermie mention in the intro im so calm and cool and chill about this /j

- "ur enough as u are" AINT NO WAY UR ABOUT TO MAKE ME START CRYING OVER A PARODY OF SMASH MOUTHS ALL STAR. WHY DID U HAVE TO PULL OUT THE BIG GUNS

- I DONT WANT THE TAYLOR VOICE CHANGE GOD NO

- MATT IM SCREAMING

- WILL CAMPOS U ABSOLUTE MADMAN. i already knew he was gonna find a way around using revivify but THAT WAS WILD

- are people gonna start drawing normal w that piece of jewelry now. bc i wanna. i already like drawing him w bracelets

- oh god what is beths fact gonna be.

- "i just keep meeting all the right people at all the wrong times" BETH MAY U ARE EVIL. THE PLOT OF THIS EPISODE HASNT EVEN STARTED AND IM ALREADY EMO

- ITS STARTING. OH NO

- NICKY BETTER FUCKING SHOW UP im curious to see what they actually decided on for the reason for him not being there last episode

- HERMIE WAS REMEMBERED giggles and kicks my feet

- TAYLOR AND LINCOLN ARENT AWARE THAT TERRY IS DEAD RN.

- were getting terris reaction rn i cant believe this is happening

- IM starting to feel sick godddd

- i bet im gonna see art of the lincoln and taylor piggyback ride hehe

- OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD TERRIS ASLEEP THIS MEANS WERE GONNA GET SCARY BACK. ALSO IS SHE GONNA SEE WILLY OH NOOOO

- NO NO NO NO NONONO

- "theres my girl" STFUUUUUU

- DOES SCARY REMEMBER ANYTHING??? DOES SHE KNOW WHATS GOING ON????

- "just wake him up" I. HATE. THIS EPSIODE

- SCARY GETTING CHOKED UP I CANT DO THIS

- TERRY DIDNT EVEN NEED TO DIE FUCK THIS

- "whoooa shit thats fucked up!" anthony burch i know u are just so incredibly pleased w urself.

- SCARYS STILL PRETENDING LIKE SHE DOESNT CARE ABOUT TERRY. JUST FEEL UR FEELINGS GIRL GOOD GOD

- "EMBARRASSING"??? FOR A KID TO BE UPSET THAT ONE OF THEIR PARENTS GOT MURDERED???? WILLY STAMPLER WTF IS WRONG W U

- there was never a more obvious lie than willy saying hell revive terry

- 19 INSIGHT LETS GOOO

- THATS RIGHT SCARY. STAND THE FUCK UP TO HIM

- NORMAL DESPERATELY TRYING TO HELP AWWWW MAN :[[ I HATE THIS

- PUTS MY HEAD IN MY HANDS. THIS IS SO DEEPLY UPSETTING

- WHEN WE SAID WE WANTED MORE SCARY AND NORMAL INTERACTIONS WE DIDNT THINK ITD BE LIKE THIS!!!

- THE TWINS ARE HERE NOW OMG

- beth is out for fucking blood this episode. god she is so good at making the audience feel for her characters

- SHES TELEPORTING TO GRANT?? IM NOT READY YET

- "hes dangerous! get away from him!" THE FACT THAT THIS IS LINCOLN SAYING THIS ABOUT GRANT BREAKS MY HEART

- SCARY HAS A GUN FUCK YEAH!!!

- FIRST HERMIE SPEAKING LINE OF THE EPISODE YIPPEEEE

- halfway through the episode now. cant wait to see what could possibly go wrong next!!

- i love whenever anthony allows a fun rulebreaking idea to work

- IDK WHY THE IDEA OF THE KIDDADS HAVING A GC IS SO FUNNY TO ME

- rons status remains a mystery....

- "we could do a whole scene w just hermie and all the other ones" u joke matt but i enjoy every scene w hermie no matter how unnecessary and drawn out

- as always linc and taylor are such a funny iconic duo

- WERE FINALLY GETTING ANGRY NORMAL??? FINALLY????

- WILL WITHDRAWING HIS COOL MOVE LMAO

- i just realized WE STILL HAVENT SEEN NICKY!!! GODDAMN!!!

- "the gayest fucking mecha of all time" swiftli fans do u like the new ship name /j

- ig i cannot deny it anymore swiftli is practically canon atp

- NICKY!!!! NICKY!!!!! I SHOT STRAIGHT UP IN MY SEAT

- NICKY AND HERMIE ARE FINALLY INTERACTING. PRAISE THE LORD

- i thought nicky got all his limbs back?? did anthony just forget

- btw ive probably been waking up my whole house w how hard im laughing over swiftli this episode

- LINCOLNS GONNA PUNCH GRANT WHOA. WHOA

- "so what are u gonna do, ur gonna kill me?" as i said before. i hate this episode.

- SCARY OBLITERATED PAPA JOHN SO FAST WHOA.

- THE DUNGEON SETUP VS THE TONE OF THE EPISODE HELPPP

- i just had such a weird thought/prediction. but i will hold my tongue. bc the last time i said something like this it came true and i do not want this to come true

- IS SCARY GONNA BREAK IT W LOVE FOR TERRY. I CANT DO THIS

- "i love u and i hate that u made me love u when u are who u are and u knew it." I WISH U COULD SEE MY FUCKING FACE RN. HOLYYY SHIT THATS DEVASTATING

- oh. my. good. lord.

- GUYS????? I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT TO DO NOW. HOLY FUCK. THAT WAS HEAVY AS SHIT