have i talked before about how crazy it drives me that in old bdubs videos he would super abashedly talk about his love for making things pretty? because. it drives me crazy.
at the beginning of mc4 when everyone was clearing out spawn so it was a lifeless flat plot of land to build on and bdubs took it personally and added grass and foliage once everything was built to make the whole landscape more lively and cohesive. and how hed get made fun of for thinking about little shit like that.
also when he got asked what hed be doing if he wasnt doing mc and he mentioned music (i think) and basically was super embarrassed to be like “i know its not very manly, but im super into artsy fartsy stuff”. as if that is a bad thing.
anyway im getting so emo thinking about how in hermitcraft, everyone knows and admires bdubs skill as a builder and its not ever something thats made fun of anymore. thinking about how bdubs never talks down about his own abilities anymore and instead of feeling weird about being a dude whose into artsy fartsy stuff, hes really embraced his career as a creator of beautiful things.
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Wild that anytime I post an update a lot of people read it and are even excited about it and have their own thoughts and reactions to it that I'll never know.
Comments are only the very tip of the iceberg with it. And I am Very grateful to commenters for letting me in on it. But in the same way that I'll be excited with my friends when a fic we love updates, it's likely that Other people enthuse with Their friends when my fic updates. And it's just so strange. An experience I'll never have access to.
Everyone's relationship with my fic is unique. So many different people with so many different circumstances and preferences... and the number of people that have told me that my fic is one of their favorites, some even saying it's their Favorite favorite... every single one of them have their own relationship with my writing.
It's just interesting to me. I think and think and think on my writing. I have my plans for basically the entire fic, the way I want it to end already thought out, all the major plot beats and the relationship progressions, All of that thought out. I love my writing so very much, but I'm on the inside looking out. This is my mechanical horse, and I'm in here laying out the groundwork and pulling levers and constructing limbs, puttering away making the horse move. Forever and always, my relationship with it will be more intimate than anyone's, and yet more clinical. Because I know it better than the back of my own hand, but I'll never have the experience of reading it fresh. Of reading it without knowing everything that's going to happen from now to the end and beyond. I won't have the thrill of the plot twists I have planned, the delight at seeing things progress, the horror at seeing things go wrong...
This is my mechanical horse, and I'm making it move.
I just always wonder what it must be like to see it from the outside. I hope to others that it's a pretty horse.
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I'm very attached to my Cleo design as it is, but I looove when artists draw her with black sclera. So I came up with the idea that anytime Cleo casts a curse, her eyes turn black, and her irises start to glow.
Also very obsessed with the idea of her being super protective of Clawdeen once they start dating. Quick to come to her defense, and ready to cast a curse on anyone who even so much as eyes her the wrong way. Clawdeen is annoyed by this, and even sometimes downright embarrassed, but she does love always having someone in her corner.
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Have you ever been to the Pipeworks and if so what is it like
I never have unfortunately - trying to find a trans friendly sauna/spa let alone a trans friendly ~sauna/spa~ is a scary enough concept to me, and I don't know what the vibes would be. It's the kind of thing I'd hypothetically enjoy going to but every time I consider it I just get scared tbh
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“ominous loud echoey barking coming from the woods behind the neighborhood and bouncing off of all the houses” i raise you:
distorted & almost wrong sounding barks coming from the woods behind the houses that no one goes into because of the barks themselves. too haunting to be something alive but too loud & too gutturally wrong to be anything dead. some sort of limbo animal caught in the webs of life in a sideways way that hinders it’s ability to get out of the web - stuck in the ropes of living too largely & off putting to be something of this world, something alive, but too animalistic to actually live. it is dead (people think they can hear the vocal cords, decayed as they are, strain when the barks occur), either way, but what use is something dead that’s still barking? what purpose other than being the new, larger than life (as always.) tale that plagues the neighborhood until it’s cryptic enough to leave the woods barren at night except for cocky ghost chasers. ghost chasers can’t chase something dead with a body, but it’s not like they know you’re still towering over them, wolf-like body rising over their totally-alive ones.
the cryptic legend maddox continues!!
i
oh
my
god
it's actually unfair that you can describe me, and how my weird dead/undead/decaying part is and put it into words far better than i ever could HOLY SHIT
i have like. actually no words
the fact you could describe my parallels of being dead yet living and larger then life but also actively decaying is just. unreal
i will cherish this ask for as long as my dead self lives. holy satan himself...
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thinking again abt how my output of art from 2016? til this year was...abysmal
like i had my periods of time i drew a bunch of stuff, but then i'd go cold/dry again
and how when i said i was gonna post all my stuff here that one anon was basically like isnt that gonna be a LOT?? but no :sob emoji: it wasnt a lot at all...
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