#trying hard but art has been so much harder than it used to be

[natsunenuko]

TW // mental issues, mental absue, harassment, surgery/blood

I'm sorry this one is so long, but please carry on reading. It's a chance for me to not only speak about the situation but let out some steam too. It is unfortunate this announcement comes at the same time the flood occurs on the south of my home country (Poland) and I'm in the endangered zone, luckily so far safe, as I feel my head can't handle more stress.

It's been so long since I've been this personal online. I realized how I didn't feel the urge to vent for 3-4 years by now which is a sign of improving mental health. But my healing is still a process, and I'm afraid it's too hard to carry this rock alone at this point. I fought my thoughts if I should do this and I think just as deeply as I write right now. Yet, I know it's better late than never and I thank deeply my friends for helping me out recently as well as in the past in my lowest. I wholeheartedly owe my life to you.

I couldn't ask for better friends. As years verified, even long lasting relationships might be nothing but a mask and I had to learn the hard way. I ended a friendship of 13 years at the time over a misunderstanding. Other person I put my trust on was nothing but a groomer with morally corrupted sexual tendencies who would take advange of a group of minors while being the only adult among them, yet acting like a person much younger than all of them and pressuring all their mental issues on children instead of seeking help. The latter, I might speak of more in detail when I'm ready.

Long time ago I tried calling out for help but back then, the intrusive thoughts won; "Others have it worse, just work harder.", "No one will give you anything for free, no one will care.", "What people will think of you?". and I would only speak about these things in a closed circle of my friends.

I tried my best in silence by not giving up on my creative passion, working restlessly for years, improving. Hoping I could reach the point I can sustain myself purely on what I make.

But the problem is not being self-sufficient. And it's not about my art...

All of my life it has been me, my momma and my granny. The other two important figures weren't there for us, by choice. (which is hard to say if losing someone you loved is worse than not being cared for in the first place) My rather young self at the time didn't put much thought about it as I didn't understand it but something always felt wrong; my only issues at the time was being "that weird, quiet kid with little to no friends". But despite the hardships, my momma has always been my hero, working without a time for a break or rest so we could live happily, to afford something special from time to time.

However in 2014 my momma has been hospitalised and almost lost her life to wrongly treated ovarian cyst (cyst rapture), with enough blood loss to require emergency surgery...

From that point on things went downhill and the result of that we feel to this very day. To stay afloat we fell into a severe dept. (We didn't have any savings, could only rely on borrowing money or loans) And since I was a child as all of this happened, I've only learned about it all throughfully as I entered adulthood, so I wouldn't need to worry about anything and "just be a kid". Which I really understand, but it doesn't make it easier to handle.

And by now, for several years I keep on trying to earn money, so I could free my momma from this chain and let her live, not survive. I always wanted to get through this quietly, because I never, ever wanted to burden anyone with my home problems. But it grew to a point I might need to grab anything to climb towards the light

The goal is $10 000... which is scarily large number.

I list all the options but Kofi is preferred to keep track of the funds!

My commissions are HERE! (the sheet will receive a slight update in upcoming days) My Kofi is HERE! (Level 4 Tea is free headshot drawing every month!) HERE's other services I do (adopts, brushes, etc) I plan to do paid requests for my friday streams on occasion! Anything else I come up with I hope to include in here! Every person who donates will be part of "Thank you" list where I hope to shoutout everybody, cause every penny matters. I want this situation to end...

[wraenata]

Hi Wren how have you been?

Hi Koi! I hope you're doing well! Every beautiful art and comic you make touches my heart!

I'm doing ok. I just have really low energy. It's really frustrating because I don't have any energy to do the things I enjoy doing, and it feels like every day it gets worse 😔 I finally made an appointment with my doctor to see if anything is wrong, but it's not til October 17 sadly. Things have just been going downhill for a long time.

I'm just really sad that even after unfollowing a lot of blogs, which I hated doing, I still can't muster the energy to get through my dash and leave the tags I want to. It makes me sad. I've missed and will continue to miss amazing things and I don't like that.

I've also been worried about my cat Sally's weight and appetite lately, though the last couple days she's been eating better which is good. I just worry a lot.

Umm, I need a positive. I ordered the build a bear bulbasaur for my birthday which is in a week. He makes me smile. His name is Yarrow 🌱 Not even 5 pound Sally for scale <3

[jesuistrestriste]

Calling Art ‘Artemis’ in public while out with a group of friends and he gets hard IMMEDIATELY. desperately trying to his it from the other while he whimpers from the lack of friction..

i’m literally losing it my god #ovulating (also sorry for spamming your asks all the time)

venus real as fuck.

like you’re out with art and a handful of other tennis players at some catered banquet, gathered around a table and conversing casually. neither of you really know these individuals; it’s all small-talk, and polite smiles, and laughing at the right times.

you’re sat right next to the blonde, and he’s engaged in what-seems-to-be an interesting conversation. your knee knocks his, but it doesn’t do much except make his breath catch subtly for a moment. and then he’s back to talking.

you talk with some others at the table, and then a hostess arrives with an anticipatory smile and opens her notepad. “what can i get for everyone?”

the others order, going around the circle, and then it gets to you before it gets to art.

you hum, looking over the menu of different expensive wines and luxurious dishes, and you sigh. your eyes pour over the options. your knee bumps art’s again, and he jolts slightly in his seat.

“what are you thinking, Artemis?”

everyone at the table looks to the man next to you, completely confused. artemis? no, that’s art. what’s going on?

but art knows what’s going on. he looks to you, a whine bubbling up in his throat that he has to swallow down as his cheeks tint a bright red up to his ears. his real, full name was something you were only supposed to use against him in the bedroom.

not in public. not here.

and because the only other times he’s heard it come out of your mouth have been when you were praising him or telling him he had permission to come, his cock starts to involuntarily swell in his dress pants.

he shakes his head and clears his throat as he tries to push down the nervousness and arousal that he assumes is as clear as day on his face.

“i— i don’t know yet, im still deciding,” he says to you, an embarrassed chuckle spilling forth.

you smile at him softly, innocently, and nod.

now his knee is pushing against yours under the tabletop, harder than you had tapped his minutes prior, and you know he’s silently begging for you to do something.

he shifts in his seat, basically writhing, and his breathing falters. the person sitting on the opposite side of him gives him a funny look like ‘this dude has ants in his fuckin’ pants’, but they remain oblivious to the pulsing boner art has fully popped in his clothing. poor guy.

Artemis, Artemis, Artemis.

it rings through his skull, in your voice, as he sits there and waits for you to order so that he can do the same. he wants this whole fiasco to be over so that he can excuse himself, stand up from his chair, cover the tent in the front of his pants, and wobble his way to the public bathrooms to take care of himself.

he’d curse you out if he could, but he’s too busy squirming in his seat against the hot pleasure starting to bubble in his lower abdomen. no, it’s boiling now. his shaft rubs against the inside of his boxers in the wrong way, and the smallest of noises leaves his lips.

you’re evil.

[remxedmoon]

What are your thoughts on ISAT's magic system?

AUTISM BLAST

okay long rambly post incoming. for the record like 90% of this is pure unfiltered headcanon. and almost all of this is about colors. sorry if this is hard to follow!!! i need to get this all out of my system.

oh also! a lot of this is based on a really good post by @/chronologically-challenged that shows off the differences between each character’s craft style! go check that out it’s really good

okay!! so!!! colors. this is just my own thing, but i personally like to color code the different types of craft!

don’t worry about those middle tones yet just put a pin in those

there’s still a little bit of color variety within craft types (for flavor), but generally, rock is blue, paper is yellow, and scissors is red. i’m not going to lie to you i only did this because the splatoon testfire had these colors. it’s also why my triplets designs are colored like that!

i think these colors also just fit the descriptions of these crafts? red feels like a more aggressive and active color, which matches how piercing craft is generally more focused on dealing damage, blue tends to be calmer, which matches protective craft being more supportive , that kinda thing. something something children’s hospital. yellow is a bit of a wildcard here lol, it just looks nice with the other two.

putting aside the colors for a mo! don’t worry those’ll come back soon. i’ve also been thinking a lot about how dual craft types work, though this is a little more speculative. i’m entirely basing this on how mira works. basically, one craft type seems to be more ‘dominant’ over the other. while mira is both paper and scissors, she’s still weak to rock, her basic attack is scissors, and her scissors skill (jolly round rondo) does much more damage than her paper skill (artsy silent burst). she behaves more like a scissors type, with an extra affinity for paper. which i think is interesting!!!

in terms of colors, i think this would manifest as mira’s craft being tinted orange, as a mix of both her craft type’s colors! this is partially what those uncategorized colors are for. while her scissors attacks are only slightly tinted, her paper attacks would be a lot closer to orange! and this would apply to other dual crafts as well. a rock/paper type would have more greenish attacks, a rock/scissors type would have more purply ones, etc etc.

i think this color mixing would also apply to single craft types trying to use a craft type that isn’t their own, though it’d prolly become less pronounced the more a person ‘gets used’ to using that craft type, so to speak. in a while rockodile would be pretty solidly purple, while rock bottom is more of an indigo color, and odile’s craft skills probably only slightly tinted as well.

ok!!! that was a lot about colors. i’m really fucking normal about colors. onto craft styles!! this is still kinda about colors tho sorry. also, again, go check out @/chronologically-challenged’s post if you haven’t already, it’ll prolly explain this better than i will

for a tl;dr on that post, each country has a different way of using craft. the forgotten island has lightless craft that tends to manifest as stars and zigzags, vaugarde has big, rounded bursts of grey craft (with smaller circles around it), and ka bue’s craft is more diamond shaped/triangular and tends to be on the lighter side.

this is also the part i’m a little less sure about. i haven’t drawn these out in my normal style!! so a lot of this is subject to change. sorry about that!

anyways. i wanted to preserve the island’s lightless craft while still making it colorful, so i decided to give it a sort of. halo effect? i guess? i wanted it to vaguely resemble the ring of light around a black hole or a solar eclipse, but that is a lot harder to do with the zigzag shape of the craft + my color limitations. and as i’ve recently learned, glow effects look really weird with my pixelly art. so this is all just flat colors 😓

shhh don’t mind the art here i’ve totally posted it before 🩶

vaugarde is pretty simple comparatively!! the craft is a sort of midshade ingame, so i just made the main color the normal craft colors. not much to say here!

and ka bue is in a similar boat! i did kinda draw it in my odile sprite redraw, but i didn’t really look at references so it’s kinda boring looking there. not much to say here either!!

and!! as we can see from the king’s special attack art, craft styles can kinda mix together. king’s style follows the general shape of vaugardian craft, but keeps the shade and stars from the forgotten island! i think it’d be fun to play with that a little more teehee. i imagine these are a lot more variable depending on how engrossed someone is in a culture, hence why odile’s craft doesn’t borrow from vaugarde’s style. unless she does? it’s not like we see other ka buans using craft in game. who knows.

also because i forgot, some extra bonus doodles of that craft color mixing i mentioned earlier! yipee!

and that’s it!!! there’s probably some other stuff that i am. currently forgetting. but this post is absurdly long enough!!! thank you so much for the ask i’m so sorry for autism blasting you about isat and color theory. am i still cool. here’s all of my craft doodles as compensation for reading this giant infodump. i’m so so sorry.

[erika-xero]

Thoughts on ai and Art

What has Ai really changed for me is the perception of my own art. Years back, I was extremely concerned of my work being imperfect: everything had to look "right", the anatomy had to be flawless, the lines - clean and refined. The pipe-line had to be flawless too: minimal amount of layers, one - for lines, one - for colors, and a few for lighting/shading.

Meanwhile I was yearning for chaos and the standard pipe-line felt too strict, too limiting. I finished the drawing and cried over the imperfections, but I could not let myself create a new layer and just paint it all over as I wanted to - that would "mess up my perfect psd". This was even harder because I started as a traditional artist and traditional art is basically the same as drawing on one layer or stacking the layers on top of each other whenever you wish to change anything. I was so obsessed with the anatomy/perspective looking right that my works started looking boring and stiff. If I was not sure that I would be able to draw a certain body part at a certain angle ANATOMICALLY PERFECT - I just refused to draw it at all. Drawing back then was HARD. I forced too much limitations upon myself, I was so scared of making any mistakes and thus did everything I could to avoid the risk to fail. It felts like an entire world would see me failing and everyone - literally everyone - will disapprove. And don't get me wrong - the art community in my country has always been astonishingly toxic. We had, like, a group of 20 THOUSANDS individuals hunting down children online and bullying them into oblivion for drawing anime and furry characters in their school textbooks. And pretty much everyone except a small group of people (which I was a part of) thought that it's absolutely fine and this is how the things should be. Even the industry professionals were absolutely sure that young artists have to suffer and be ashamed of everything they do unless it is absolutely flawless at an any aspect. I was ashamed of everything I did back then. I was ashamed of drawing and posting sketches because I felt like they are not good enough to be shown to anyone. And then the Ai-boom started. And I had mixed feelings because I was not THAT scared, but I was somewhat disappointed of people? General public praised the generated slop ignoring the mistakes far worse than what real artists got bullied for for DECADES. The synthetic artworks are shiny. They are overrendered. They are liveless, boring, they lack fundamentals and yet somehow people viewed them as some kind of a miracle. I decided to learn how does those little machines generated their slop out of morbid curiosity, just to make sure that I got it right and it is spitting out cadavers created from mutilated, dismembered works of real artists. Used by people who did not care enough to pick up a bloody pencils. And I thought: why would I care enough to look at something that no one bothered to create? And then I started seeing everything I do completely different. I suddenly stopped caring of being perfect. Every piece I have ever done, every work I was crying over for it being ugly, every messy sketch and unfinished doodle suddenly started to matter a lot. Not that I stopped caring of doing my best, no. I stopped wishing to disown my own mistakes. They are my own. I cared enough to try and fail and to try again, and fail so badly that I wanted to cry, scream and throw up. And I repeated the cycle for long enough that I started to enjoy my silly doodles and started loving every tiny imperfection because this is what made my art so human. I still suck at drawing hands and feet. My line-art is messy and I started doing it right on top of my colored sketch. My pipe-line is in chaos and my PSDs look like a total mess of three hundreds of layers. I draw sketches with huge-ass round brush only adding the details that really matters. My works are better than they could ever be because they feel alive and chaotic as we human had always been. This is a love letter to my art and write it while flipping off my middle finger to the cadavers generated by the machine. I will not be stopped by glorified autocomplete and I refuse to be outdone by people who confuse googling an image with the act of creation.

My worst drawing is better than any of the generative imagery out there, because I cared drawing it.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for qwertynerd97 behind the cut; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! (( chrono || non-chrono ))

If Lynn wants to hug him later, that’ll be really great, but he just–he really doesn’t want to be one of those foster parents who always pushes. Pretends like they’re closer to a kid than they are or like that kid should be grateful for every little thing or give them everything they want or . . . whatever. 

Even if Lynn never wants a hug from him at all, at least then Lynn can know Billy’s not gonna punish him for it. Can feel–safe, knowing that. 

More than anything else, Billy really, really wants Lynn to feel safe with him. 

“Safe” is . . . 

It’s just harder to come by than a lot of people think it is, that’s all. 

Lynn . . . hesitates, again, and looks at the pillow Billy’s holding out of the corner of his eye for a moment, then gingerly wraps his arms around Tawky in awkward imitation of him. Billy beams at him, trying not to be weird about it or anything. Lynn kind of thinks like a teenager, obviously, but also he’s just a baby, so . . . well, it’s kinda hard to be sure how to balance that kind of thing. 

Billy just has to figure it out, though. He can do that. His dad would’ve, so–yeah. 

So he’s gonna do it too. 

“Yeah, like that,” he confirms, and Lynn looks embarrassed and looks away. “Tawky’s nice to hug, right?” 

“. . . sure,” Lynn says, still looking embarrassed. Billy isn’t sure if it’s the “thinking kind of like a teenager” thing or if he’s just feeling awkward about doing a new thing, but figures that’s Lynn’s business anyway. He sneaks a glance at Tawky while Lynn’s still looking at the wall and flashes him an encouraging thumbs up, and Tawky stays contentedly hugged in Lynn’s arms. Billy’s glad Lynn feels comfortable enough to hug him, at least. Sometimes being a stuffed animal is even more useful than being a superhero. 

He wishes he could hug Lynn right now too, but–well, like he said, he’d rather Lynn feel safe with him than anything else. 

The ten minutes is pretty much up by then, so after Lynn and Tawky have gotten in a little more hugging, they all walk to the library together. Lynn looks at the sky a lot and seems a little awkward carrying Tawky, like he’s still not sure what the best way to do it is, but Tawky’s obviously still content to just hang out quietly and people-watch a little on the walk. Billy points out where some stuff is in the neighborhood, and at the library Lynn looks totally overwhelmed, which, well . . . it’s not a very big library, honestly, but it’s still gotta be thousands of books and Lynn’s never been in one at all before, so Billy can’t blame him for it. 

The librarian helps “Rocky Morgan” sign up for a library card, since “Lynn Morgan” doesn’t have paperwork or anything yet and Billy’s not sure how that’d work and doesn’t wanna test it before Batman gives the all-clear, and then they walk through all the sections together one-by-one. Billy figures they can just pick out a book each from each of the main sections, and then there’ll be lots of different stuff for Lynn to try. 

They get a couple big art books and a couple mysteries, a couple romance novels, some sci-fi, fantasy, westerns, thrillers, history and autobiographies, some classics, and a few different picture books, though Billy figures they can skip the hard science stuff and self-help for right now. Though he does find a cool-looking astronomy book, and maybe Lynn’ll like that? He’s not actually an alien, obviously–Billy guesses he’d be more like . . . what, a second-generation immigrant or something?–but space is still cool. They also pick out a couple of cookbooks, because Billy figures it’ll help Lynn decide what to cook and help him remember the recipes without having to ask Lynn what he’s supposed to do every five minutes. 

It’s a lot of books, but they’ve got super-strength and also Billy doesn’t want Lynn to end up stuck reading things he doesn’t like just because there’s nothing else in the apartment; he wants to give him a lot of options to pick from and figure out what he likes from. Lynn’s a baby. He shouldn’t get stuck with just boring stuff to read. 

The library’s old and kind of fancy. Lynn looks out the high wrought-iron windows at the sky while the librarian checks them out, looking . . . confused, a little, or maybe just like he’s thinking. Billy doesn’t really know his expressions well enough to tell either way. The library’s bright, though, and there’s a lot of windows and a lot of places to sit and read with a lot of natural light in them, so if Lynn decides he likes to read, maybe they could come regularly? Like, once a week or every couple weeks, maybe, depending, Billy figures. He’s spent a lot of time in libraries to get out of the rain or cold or snow, personally, and it was . . . nice, sometimes. There was always stuff to read and somewhere to sit and the librarians were usually nice too, as long as he didn’t fall asleep anywhere too public. So–nice, sometimes. 

Nicer than hiding in a doorway or a stairwell or under the slide at the park or in a gazebo or–

Just–it was nicer. And safer. And sometimes he’d look at the archeology books and pretend Mom and Dad were just still on a dig, and they’d be coming to get him soon. Coming to–take him home, soon. 

. . . maybe Lynn could come to the library by himself, if he ever wants some alone time or something.

[naamahdarling]

Two days ago and I was comfortable enough that this was the right choice that I was able to make the call to have Smooch put to sleep. I am sure now. I wish I weren't. It hurts to see him like this. The vet is out or I would move it forward. We could do the emergency vet but I literally do not think I could do it without our vet and my favorite nurse. That feels selfish but when she answered the phone yesterday the comfort was... astonishing.

I'm trying to prepare. I've been waiting for this for a long time, which is why it's bearable at all. I have entertainment, I have an art project to memorialize him ready to go for whenever I feel like it. I have plans to make a couple of keepsakes. But there's going to be a hole in my life so much bigger than his frail little body. It's the end of part of me. He has been there in my future for so long, thinking about not having him there is like vertigo, or a reverse haunting of some kind. It's a Wrongness, part of the world about to be unmade. He is genuinely part of my identity. I'm all these things that I consider core parts of me -- queer, funny, creative, curious, a little clever, loving, an artist, a survivor, my friends' friend, my blood sister's sister, my chosen sister's sibling, my father's daughter, my boyfriend's partner...and I'm Dried Pickle Man's person.

Here at home IRL and online, and everywhere I go, to almost anyone I speak to at all, I have been his human for 13 years and 27 days.

And that isn't enough apparently, because Sid, too, is slipping away. I...I don't know that we can save him, either. His digestive issues are keeping him from eating, we can't stop the flare, a feeding tube won't fix it, meds aren't helping him. He's losing weight very fast. Vet is at a loss. I usually have a pretty good idea of what to do next or what needs to happen. I have nothing for him. The specialist might know. How the hell do we keep affording it?

And Raleigh. Oh god. Raleigh. If we can't afford the surgery or if it fails. What do we do?

What if we lose all three?

What if my boyfriend loses BOTH his boys? Raleigh alone is going to devastate him. Not just sad, like ordinary grief, I mean I have never ever in my life seen an animal love a human this much.

He's already struggling with his depression and ADHD. He will suffer and there is nothing I can do to stop this all from happening. I can't dig into a hidden well of trying harder, I can't outsmart it. I can't comfort him by saying that it is hard but possible to influence this. I hate seeing him in pain.

And I'm scared for me. I am afraid it will just ruin him and I will lose him too, until and unless he can recover. And I already spend so much time alone. Even my art is...gone. Too painful. Writing isn't really possible, either. My body barely feels like mine these days. I have so fucking little to hang on to. My cats are one of the last things I have of myself. One of the only good things I have in my day to day life.

It's all an absolutely terrifying cascade. Unlike a lot of situations where I'm scared of the future, this isn't me afraid of unlikely scenarios that are several crises away. This is very real. And I'm usually not scared for my boyfriend like this.

It won't kill us. You can come back from something like this, probably, I know people survive much worse and I'm bombarded with reminders of that a dozen times a day. But it can take such a long time to come back, and...sometimes you just...Come Back Wrong.

I'm not often genuinely completely helpless. I am helpless now.

[lostinforestbound]

Hi, like your writings a lot ❤️ may I ask for a request?

What about Rolan asking sorcerer/wizard Tav to be his teacher after Lorroakan death? Tav has never been bad for him, only saving his life and his siblings, giving advices and protection, so, why not? At least, it a good way to become closer OR Rolan quietly (or not quietly) pining for powerful Tav

Thank you so much for your patience! I think I'm finally back in the game! I actually have thought up this situation a lot (especially with my own Tav who's a Storm Sorcerer, maybe I'll introduce him sometime soon)! This was a lot of fun to explore! I'm also a sucker for pining tropes!

Rolan with Sorcerer!Tav Teaching Him Magic

When Rolan takes over the tower, he makes it his sole mission to master the weave. It's harder than it looks, but he's very determined.

There's some aspects he doesn't understand yet, though. Especially how those bloody sorcerers are able to manipulate existing spells and make them more powerful

When everything is over, the Netherbrain defeated, he begrudgingly asks Tav to him about "Metamagic".

Can he learn the aspects of Metamagic on his own? Of course he can! Not only is he a prodigy, he's now the master of Ramazith's tower. All the knowledge he has access to gives him the ultimate advantage.

But he wants to get closer to Tav. He's been pining for them so helplessly since the Shadow Cursed Lands. This is his one opportunity he can spend time with them without it seeming strange.

He also knows Tav is the one person that won't treat him like an idiot. They'll treat him as an equal, a fellow peer of the arcane arts. He'll be respected.

Tav seems happy to do so, teaching all they know about the basics of Metamagic, how they're able to use it, and how Rolan might be able to use it as well.

Rolan can't see it through his frustration, but Tav is so confident in his abilities. While this may take time, they truly believe Rolan can master Metamagic even without being a sorcerer, and pass their own abilities. They may be more advanced than he is, but Rolan is a quick learner.

Gods, sometimes Rolan is so damn distracted. Why must he get so flustered when Tav adjusts his form? Why are their hands so warm? Have they always been touchy? It's all in his head, certainly.

Writing Blurb

Sparks are flying in the palms of Rolan's hands, carefully trying to split the Witch Bolt into two. He never realized the amount of strain it takes to separate one central point of magic, and the amount of concentration it takes. Rolan knows a wizard isn't supposed to be able to do this, but he's also no ordinary wizard. He can do this if he just-

Tav observes him and his hands carefully, and his concentration falters when he realizes they're staring. Sweat beads on his brow as he tries to keep the spell together, but unfortunately, it fades into nothing after all the hard work.

"Damn it!" He practically shouts, shaking out his hands in frustration.

"You were a lot closer that time." Tav comments, about to put a hand on his shoulder, but he turns away before they can.

"We've been practicing this same thing for days. DAYS!" He exclaims, running his hands through his now sweat-damp hair, "Why can't I get this? I should be able to do this by now!"

He's hardly the impressive "master of the tower" he pretends to be. How could he be such a failure? In front of Tav, no less? He's no fool, Tav is a savior of Baldur's Gate, of course they're much more advanced than he is! They know spells he hasn't even been able to touch yet, but gods damn it all, he wants to impress them with something.

He needs to be worthy of their attention. Then maybe, he'll have a slimmer of a chance with them.

They place a hand on his back, jolting him out of his thoughts. "A master of the arcane can't cast properly under stress. We can take a break-"

"No, no, I can do this," He states, raising his hands to start again, "Let me-"

Tav gently grabs his hands, interrupting the spell in an instant. Oh, how he hates it when he feels his face flush; not from exertion, but from embarrassment. He helplessly imagined a situation where he got to hold their hands, but it wasn't anything like this. He hoped it would've been in a more romantic setting when he felt ready to woo them.

"You can't focus when you're stressed like this. I would know, I've tried." They say, summoning a mage hand idly to grab the bottle of Arabellan Dry on Rolan's desk. "Let's take a break and regroup."

He huffs in annoyance but reluctantly sits with them as they fill two glasses with the wine. They hand one over, and he immediately takes a generous sip to calm his nerves. When have they ever sat so close to him? They're practically touching knees- stop, he needs to get it together.

"You'll get it. It's impossible for a wizard unless they have sorcery in their blood."

Scoffing, he takes a few gulps of wine before speaking. "Then I will be the first."

They give him a sweet smile, ignoring how it made his heart flutter. "That's the spirit."

"I don't understand what I'm getting wrong," He quickly continues on, trying to suppress the warmth in his chest. "As soon as I think I have it in my grasp, it fails."

"We'll figure it out. I know you can do it. Think about how you made some spells your own. The Mage Armor, the Thunderwave, the Magic Missle- you have so much potential. Rolan: Master of Ramazith's Tower, always achieving the impossible."

He looks away when he feels his face grow hot again, not noticing when Tav gets up. When he finally turns towards them, they're offering a hand to get back up, so he takes it after pulling himself together, wine forgotten.

"Now, let's try again."

[ramblingoak]

No, Cardinal

The Sexy Adventures of Cardinal Terzo ~ A series of stories featuring Cardinal Terzo and his adventures around the abbey

Art by @tasty-ribz / Dividers by @gothdaddyissues

Terzo x GN Reader ~ Cardinal Terzo has a non-conventional method of punishment for you...

Warnings: Cock warming, rough blowjob, gender neutral reader, nsfw, 18+ only mdni, 1,110 words

This was boring.

You tried to shift on your knees a bit, being careful not to move too much.  The Cardinal’s instructions had been simple: don’t move.  It seemed easy enough hours ago when this first began but after kneeling in the same position for so long you were starting to get sore.  He could have at least given you a cushion or something but you supposed it wouldn’t be much of a punishment if you were comfortable.  You took a deep breath in through your nose and pushed it out a little more forcefully than you should have, rustling the hair that was right in front of it.

“Mi dispiace, do you have other places to be?”  You tried to answer him but your voice was muffled and impossible to understand considering it was full at the moment.  Cardinal Terzo smirked down at you as he cupped your chin.  The black leather of his glove was warm and felt nice against your sore jaw.  “Don’t try to speak, do you remember what I told you?”

Stupidly you attempted to nod your head and his grip briefly tightened to keep you still, those strange eyes flashing in irritation.

“Don’t move.  Such a simple thing that you seem to be having a…hard time with.”  The smirk was back and it took every ounce of self control you had not to narrow your eyes as you stared up at him.  “Let me make it easy on you, eh?”

Terzo adjusted on his couch a bit, leaning more comfortably against the back.  His cassock was mostly open and you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over his body.  Dark hair covered his chest, trailing down his stomach before it ended right above where your nose was.  When you looked back up at his face he was wearing a lazy smile and his heavy cock twitched inside of your mouth.

You probably shouldn’t complain too much, there were definitely worse punishments than cock warming Cardinal Terzo.

“Let’s try this, when you need to say ‘Yes, Cardinal’ I want you to blink once.  If you need to tell me ‘No, Cardinal’ then you blink twice.”  He started to gently rock his hips, his cock barely moving along your tongue.  “Do you understand?”

He smiled when you gave him one slow blink.  His other hand came up to rest on the back of your head as he started thrusting harder.  Little grunts were escaping him as he worked his cock further and further into your mouth with each thrust of his hips.  He had already come twice, filling your mouth with his release and warning you not to let a single drop escape.

Your grip on his knees suddenly tightened when the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat.  Terzo stopped then, holding your head firmly as he growled out some words in Italian.  Tears started to leak out of your eyes but instead of stopping he just rubbed them into your skin with his thumb.  When your breathing became harder, the air puffing out of your nose and rustling the hair at the base of his cock, he finally took pity on you and backed off.  With a groan he leaned back again, letting go of the back of your head.

“Isn’t this much better than cleaning the confessional booths?  A nice evening with your Cardinal, letting him use you.  Letting him fuck your mouth until he’s sated.  Don’t you agree?”  You gave him another slow blink, hoping that you didn’t look like a total mess.  “Perfetto.  A fitting punishment for a Sibling that kept talking during my mass.”

You winced at his words, remembering what had gotten you into this mess to begin with.  He was right, this was much better than the alternative.  There were a lot of Siblings and Ghouls that would kill to be where you were now.  You loosened your grip on his knees, flexing your fingers against the fabric still covering his legs.  When you glanced up at his face he was watching you, his gaze appreciative.  Your cheeks warmed and you felt bold enough to stroke along the bottom of his cock with the tip of your tongue.

“Ah, sÌ.  Sì, bene.  Molto bene.”

Terzo’s mouth fell open when you lapped at the tip, tasting the precum that was practically dripping from him.  Your eyes closed as you continued to work your tongue along him.  His cock kicked when you pressed against the sensitive spot near the head and you hollowed your cheeks as you sucked, applying the perfect amount of pressure to make him moan above you.  

You kept licking at him, your movements becoming slower and more sensual.  His free hand came back to hold your cheek and he slowly began to thrust again.  Your hands stayed still as he kept your head steady, as his thrusts began to grow more hurried.  The tip was leaking freely now, the salty liquid spreading along your tongue and then along his cock as you stroked it over him with each thrust of his hips.

“So beautiful with my cock in your mouth.  Are you ready to taste my cum again?”  His thrusts became harder when you blinked at him once, but you were ready for him.  You relaxed your throat as much as you could so he could sink deeper.  “Bene, that’s it.  Be good and take it.  Take me, take all of me.”

Terzo’s hair fell across his forehead and his groans began to fill the room.  You couldn’t look away from his eyes, his mismatched gaze mesmerizing as he watched you take his cock.  His eyes finally closed when he started to twitch and kick inside of your mouth.  You moaned, wanting him to fill you again, wanting to taste his release once more.  This was your communion, his cum was a blessing.  

You’d kneel between his legs all night if that’s what he wanted.

When he finally came, you had to grip his knees tightly again to steady yourself as he ground his hips against you.  It was hard to catch your breath through your nose but you didn’t dare open your mouth.  You didn’t want to miss a single drop of his cum.  He filled your mouth with thick ropes of it and you swallowed it all greedily, moaning as it coated your throat.  When his cock finally stilled you licked it over and over again, cleaning all traces of his release off of it.  You only stopped when he let go of your cheeks and when you glanced up at him he was wearing that lazy smile once more.

“Well, what do you think?  Have you learned your lesson?”

His cock twitched against your tongue when you blinked twice.

The Sexy Adventures of Cardinal Terzo masterlist

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of Our Own ~ My Tip Jar

[thrill-seeker-vn]

Hello everyone. I have no idea how to start this post, but I want to start it as upfront as possible.

TLDR: My uncles shipped my sick grandmother to my home, and they called me to tell me only after she had already landed... when her visa was expiring very soon. And so obviously 1. My job was to keep her alive, and 2. I had to scrounge up money to send her to her home. It has been a very few stressful months. 

In between this, I hit a slump with writing, and felt very burnt out, as I had no time for it between work, trying to keep my grandmother alive, my own health, and my own business. I wish I could say I worked on Thrill Seeker in this time, but I simply couldn’t. I think a huge part of what was so daunting for me was only having myself to rely on and set the schedules, and in a way it came to be that there were lengths of time nothing could get done because there was simply no time in my life to do it. 

This is not meant to be an excuse as to why I was away from the blog for so long. It is simply what made me realize that I cannot continue alone on this project, as I would then be taunted by how much I would have to do that I would end up not being able to do anything at all. 

I was discussing this project with a friend of mine who has been beside me since I started this project, who I know shares my passion in making games, and who has rooted for me from the beginning. While I’m more interested in the storytelling, she’s incredibly fascinated with coding. During this time, we discussed perhaps making a game together-- but recently we got the opportunity to make that into a reality. 

Thrill Seeker is not ending, but rather, it will be changing format. I am so happy to say my incredible friend, Kismet (@kismet-dev), is going to be joining me to reform Thrill Seeker into a Visual Novel! She is one of my best friends and is the most organized person I know, so no more falling off the face of the Earth for me, because I’ve put a lot more planning into the game and now have someone to hold me to my schedules, too!

I understand that it could be disappointing to hear that I’m switching from an entirely text based format to a VN style. I apologize to anyone who is disappointed by this change. It’s been amazing the support I’ve gotten for this game and how many people have stuck to the project, even when I’ve been so flaky, and I want to thank you for sticking to the project when I haven’t been the most reliable developer. I am so grateful for your kindness to me, for all the people who have sent asks and been interested in my characters and story.

When I first created this project, it was just not a viable option for me to make a visual novel, as there would’ve been no chance I had the opportunity to create art, write, and code it. But creating the art for the game inspired me more than when I only had words to go off of, and many different concepts for the game that I had in mind were simply harder for me to make into reality on twine. Thanks to the absolute angel that is my friend Kismet, I will actually be able to create the vision for the game that I’ve seen in my head for the longest time. She’s an excellent programmer and such a wonderfully organized and hard worker, and I know that I wouldn’t have anyone else by my side as we begin to make games together. 

I will be making some changes to this blog as I make it more cohesive for the VN, but I will also use it as an opportunity to organize this blog for those who are interested in knowing more about the characters, settings, etc. It’s a little unorganized and hard to find certain questions, and I’ll do my best to fix that! Note that this will mean that changes are coming to the characters, and pretty major ones. I know that many of the asks I answered in the past will no longer apply to the story as I’ve changed it, so I will be reforming it quite a lot. However, what will not change is the characters themselves; they will still be gender selectable, and their personalities will still remain similar; but I feel like some of my characterization of them has been shallow, and I’m going to be fixing that. 

The launch of the game as a visual novel, with the first chapter, will be coming in August. Thank you so much for reading all this and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!!

[steamberrystudio]

28/07/2024 Devlog

Hallo everyone!  Time for the tumblr update! I have big news! So read on!

Summary:

Finished drafting Yren's ending

Revised Kav, Noel, Raif, and Yren

Formatted/Scripted Kav, Noel, Raif, and Yren's endings

Worked on the play test for Yren

One new BG

Lots of UI stuff

Big Fiddly To Do List

Writing:

I am done with the writing. (Well. As done as one ever really is. I was telling another writer friend of mine just yesterday that we're never really done until the moment we have to ship the project to someone).

BUT. I am done with the rough draft. I am done with the major revision. So from this point onwards, the changes will be more minor as I play test and others play test (eventually. I'm the only one testing right now).

So going forward you probably won't be getting any writing updates because there won't be enough to report. Cause...it's done.

Uncoded word count is 657,000 words.

Coded word count is 616,000 words (this is how much actually ended up in Ren'py).

Huzzah. My 350,000 word story is done. He he. He. LoL

It took so much longer than I thought it would even though I was writing every day - sometimes 3000 words a day!

Timing was just so hard for this project. It was much more difficult to predict a total word count for this game. Because of the structure of this game, word count variations are going to be much more noticeable and I had to focus and work a little harder to keep everyone in much tighter alignment. So when one route (like Asher), increased by 5000 words, I knew immediately I would have to increase all the others by roughly the same amount.. That meant the overall word count goal instantly increased by 25000 words.

Additionally, any time I made a small change in something - whether it was lore or a minor wording or vocabulary change (for instance, changing one thing from "system void" to "gate void" then to "nexus void") - each time, I had to go change that thing in all the other routes.

There was a lot of continuity babysitting.

This was somewhat true for GS but not to the same degree. Not everything mentioned in one route in that game was even mentioned in the other routes. So I might need to only change one other route's references to that thing but not all nine routes. Or maybe no other route would need changes. In WSC, it was all 6 routes every single time.

So even if I was focusing on one particular route, I could never really work on that route in a vacuum. I was constantly having to go check on and edit the other routes for things too.

This not only made it harder and more time consuming to write in general, but also just made it impossible to predict things like how much time it would take.

But that is squared away. Life is good.

Art:

Just some BG stuff. I've been so focused on writing that not much of that focus has been spread around to art so there's not much to report here.

Other Stuff:

UI.

As you know I've been making some visual changes to the UI. Mostly minor stuff involving slight changes to the general aesthetic of the UI. Those fixes are largely complete.

And now the focus has shifted to adding more of the features and functionalities that have been planned but on-hold for the last year.

The new save screen is coded. This save screen, as you can see, divides the characters up by name and lets you add additional save slots when you've filled up all the empty ones. 

For a game like WSC, where people may have multiple playthroughs for different characters going at the same time, I thought it would be useful to have this paged organisation. I always find that even if I try to keep my playthroughs separate and organised, they invariably get messy. This is true in other games, this is true for my personal play tests...

I'm really hoping this structure helps with that.

Another feature I'm adding to WSC is a recap screen.

I know that with episodic games, one of the struggles people have is that they forget some of the story details during the gap between episodes. So people feel like they constantly have to replay and refresh their memory. This is, of course, an attempt to help players maybe not have to do that.

The idea is that I will update this with every episode so that people who want a recap can just click in and refresh their memory.

There are some other features that have been added in. Some other QOL of life things. And there are more features to come. I won't go into everything here.

But those things are slowly coming together as well.

There are a lot of things that have to be done before the first episode can release. Some are major things like completing the CGs or coding the sprite expressions. Some are more minor like adding the in-game achievements. 

And there are also a ton of smaller, more fiddly things. Like double-checking the styling of certain words (my editing programs could never decide if they preferred home world or homeworld and so both get used.)

I want to fix those kinds of things so testers don't have to worry about pointing them out.

I have a massive to-do list filled with all of those big and small things. And now I'm working through it.

I have also been doing a play test of Yren's route. I have to personally do each route one time just to see if there are any significant issues that need to be fixed before anyone else sees the game. So I've been doing that as well.

Upcoming Weeks:

Finishing my own play test of the game. This goes fairly slow because I play test with the self voicing enabled. And that means that I'm playing through it at a much slower pace. I also stop frequently to fix typos, change repetitive wording. Or may slightly more substantial fixes.

I've been testing for like...2 hours a night because I've been focused on writing during the day. But I'm going to be increasing the time I spend play testing so that hopefully I can get through the rest of it a little faster.

Additionally, all the UI and "Fiddly List" stuff will continue to be worked on as well.

So that's where we are.

We have moved past writing and into the next phase of development. I'm really excited to be finally focusing on other stuff.

That is all for now. I will see you next time.

[byuno-o]

PLACEMENTS IN MY NATAL CHART WHICH ARE HARD FOR ME TO ACCEPT BUT I'M TRYING

Leo moon in 5th house in 17th degree:

This must come as a no surprise because Leo moons aren't the most practical person in the room, and my Sagittarius side wants practicality all the time. Since I have it in 5th house in a Leo degree, my thoughts and emotions often end up coming out very dramatically- I often appear to become caricaturistic, which often downplays my anger and sadness since I express myself so dramatically. However, the depth of my feelings and emotions often causes me to lose my footing from within, as I go haywire trying to make sense of self and pin point the part which actually triggered me. But on the brighter side, I have often been called, "creative" and my art has been praised a lot so, I get happy sometimes. I deal with the negative feelings alone, but my face and actions often give it all up. One friend of mine actually point out that no matter what, I can never hide my disappointments and judgements and jealousy because of my who demeanour changes whenever I am feeling those feelings. And "lighting up the room" expression is very true for Leo placements, for I've been told that phrase personally very much. And I brag unintentionally (like now! God I hate it.)

2) Jupiter and Saturn Conjuction in 2nd house, but both of the planets are in retrograde:

First of all, my Jupiter is in Gemini, so this year is my Jupiter Return. And boy, am I feeling it. I don't think this is talked enough in astrology circle, but for females, Jupiter symbolises husband, and once you are well aware of the seriousness of institution of marriage, your Jupiter Return may bring a strong sense of wanting to get married.(I WILL WRITE ABOUT IT SOON! I NEED TO PUT IT OUT!!!)

So, since I have my Jupiter and Saturn in retrograde, the good things this rare conjuction brings are not good things for me. Since Jupiter is in the detriment, and Saturn is, well, in a nicer sign (I am using it loosely), I often deal with financial crunches and financial abundance abruptly. It's is never a stable thing, although I think this is my lesson. I used to get lucky a lot back when I was in school, given that I have Jupiter in 3rd house, and money easily came to me. But once, I entered into the adult world, bet conjuction was not and is not conjuction-ing the way it should be conjuction-ing. Luck isn't by my side as it used to be, and proving myself in the field I work in is an everyday challenge. But on the brighter side, I was always saved in the nick of the time. And the things I need always find me at the right time, although the things that I want need me to work harder than I do. Lemme know if you have this placement, and let's connect!

3) Mars in Libra in 7th house in 25 degree:

This is a detriment that I absolutely cannot look past. Since I have mars in the house of external relationships and in Aries degree, I appear catty and aggressive even when I don't want to--it's almost inbuild. And when I try to appear nice and quiet, guess what? I've told that I fake myself, and well, I look like I am cursing someone inside. And, I think that can also be seen in the way I write, since my friends had often asked me if I am annoyed or angry after reading my texts and whatnot. However, Libra does not help me. Since I take a long time to get angry, my actions don't help me--I appear passive-aggressive and just emotional all the time. I wish to master this placement, just to save all my relationships. Bwahahahaha.

4) Lilith in Aquarius in 11th house:

I think you already know the problems I might be having with this placement. I don't think people talk about this much, but whoever has Lilith in Aquarius or Lilith in 11th house always deals with friends turning on them, and feeling, or made to feel like an outcast most of the time. The more unique you appear, the more people pull away from you. Now add this placement with my Mars in Libra in the house of external relationships and Leo Moon in the house of creativity. I have always dealt with people who constantly put me down whenever it came to my creativity and ideas. There were even times, when my most trusted friends backstabbed me left and right. But then again, I'd rather be unique and alone than follow the herd and live in the constant fear of not mixing well enough.

5) Jupiter trine Neptune:

Now, let me tell you, this is one of those placements which can give you the best results only if the person can control the energy of their Neptune placements, since it is works with illusions, addiction, unbridled creativity and spirituality. And those stuff need proper guidance for successful channeling, for those are double-edge swords. So, now combining my retrograde Jupiter which is in detriment with Neptune in Aquarius in 11th house. Just know, my twisted luck is very much connected with the feeling of loneliness, but the thing is--I tend to internalise it. while I can connect with people easily, and creativity do come to me rather easily (not bragging), I tend to not connect with another soul in the level I would like it. My ramblings are taken lightly, and my ideas are often crushed. And the feeling of inferiority complex, and failure hit me harder than anything--if we combine Leo moon together with this placement, let me tell you, I tend to go numb, I even fail to speak for like days, until I isolate myself and work on my creativity. For me, I am strongly against addictions, but there was a time when I was heavily smoking, and I was kind of addicted to looking for validation from others, which only worsened my relationship with self and other souls. I hope to become a better person, though. And, this year is like a fountain of youth for me, for I feel alive again, and all the roads I've regretted taking have actually brought me to peace (that is until the next chapter of my life decides to test me).

So, that's it. I don't think any of these placements are wrong or bad or even negative. I just feel like these placements are harder for me to work with since there's many lessons associated with these, and I need to fall in order to stand up and fly.

So, do let me know what you think of this, and should I make a list of placements I love in my natal chart next? Drop by, I'd love to know more.

Also, thank you very much for the love you all are showing me. I am beyond grateful!!

[hitlikehammers]

almost out of time

rating: t ♥️ cw: boys being very unserious ♥️ tags: established relationship, featuring the party as supporting cast, also featuring shootouts! (with the most negligible stakes), post S4, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day twenty: Love is saying "I love you" even when you're scared (@quinns-shadowy-arts)

early 90s rockstar husbands, baby ♥️ this is apparently what happens when you say 'oh I'll skip day 20 because I have no ideas' and then ideas come for you because you were arrogant ♥️

“Stevie,” Eddie’s breathless, and he is, in fairness, often breathless around that name but this…

Not like this.

“Shh,” Steve bites out, hisses low through clenched teeth as he presses Eddie into the wall a little harder, chest heaving against Eddie’s; “quiet.”

“Steve,” Eddie pants, looking over his shoulder in the dim, there’s fog too, from where Eddie has no fucking clue but it cuts his line of sight to only just beyond Steve’s reach; he’s no use, and he tries to listen for the approach, for footsteps, but his heartbeat’s too loud; “Steve, we’re—"

A finger presses hard, jams his lips up against his teeth as Steve glares out the corner of his eye.

“They’ll fucking hear us,” he leans so close Eddie can feel the dampness of his words when he speaks, then the full drag of his lips; feels the instruction more than hears:

“Stay quiet.”

And Eddie’s trying, he really is, but they’re…this is fucking hopeless, isn’t it? They’re outnumbered, they’ve been running for fuck knows how long. Everyone else is already gone, it’s just them, and they…they can wait it out as long as they want and Eddie would take forever with Steve, he would, but not like this, and fuck, fuck—what good is it, what’s the point when it’ll change nothing—

“But Steve,” Eddie whispers, but his breath catches it and threatens to whine through his words; he nearly chokes trying to rein it back but Steve’s got his whole hand against his mouth, now: not hard, but present. Like a bolster. It feels protective. It feels safe where there’s no safety left.

The red flashes in the dim and fuck; fuck

“Stay down, and don’t fucking talk, okay?” Steve breathes harsh right against Eddie’s ear, and Eddie’s shoved up against him so close, so close that his warmth is Eddie’s warmth in the chill, so close he can feel Steve’s pulse inside his own; they’re, it’s—

They’re almost out of time.

“St—"

And then Steve’s lips are on his, insistent, demanding, claiming, keeping, his tongue in Eddie’s mouth and sure, it’s a very effective, tried and true way to shut Eddie up, but this: this feels like so much more; it’s all passion and feeling, adrenaline and that tip-of-a-knife feeling, that plunge-before-the-plunge and Eddie’s heart feels bold for it, and he sucks at Steve’s lip and kisses once with force of his own before he breaks off and cups Steve’s cheek, reaches to cradle his face full-on and steals one last kiss before looking him square in the eye, decision made, though—

There wasn’t really a decision to it; there’s no choice to be had when it’s him, or Steve.

“I love you, baby,” Eddie tells him fierce, with all the feeling in him; “so fucking much,” which is always true, not just here at the end. He hopes Steve knows that.

“Eddie, what the hell—"

And Eddie’s scrambling up, creeping out from their hiding place and toward the shuffling approach incoming.

“What are you doing?” Steve rasps, lunging to grab at Eddie’s ankle but Eddie’s determined, he’s got momentum, he’s already up and clearing the corner and—

“For love!” he cries out as he leaps into the open, arms wide and asking for the hit—

And it comes, it fucking comes almost immediately.

Eddie drops to the ground, gasping.

And then they’re on top of him.

“Fucking drama queen,” Dustin, Dustin of all of them has the goddamn audacity to say to him as he walks over his prone frame and takes aim at Steve who, in fairness, does take out Mike before Dustin takes three pulls to hit him and win the game to screeching digital fanfare through the speakers.

“You could have just stayed down, man,” Steve huffs with a roll of his eyes as he stands up and unbuckles his vest.

“We were almost out of time!” Eddie gapes a little, sitting up and pointing forcefully toward the big red numbers counting down how many seconds they had left in the arena. Less than three minutes.

“We could have made it, these shitheads still don’t have any aim,” Steve purses his lips with so much of that…that glorious bitchy judgement Eddie loves most to lick off of him, he wonders where he can drag him to—

The flickering of colors next to him catches his attention and: oh. Right. They dragged the kids here. It’s fucking sweltering, they’re all back from school, and the options were swimming or something air-conditioned. And the new releases at the movie theater were all kinda shitty.

And Eddie cannot risk getting them thrown out of here for public indecency at the minimum: the laser tag’s connected to the best fucking arcade in town.

And frankly, yeah: it’s been years in the plural now since they shut the Upside Down…y’know, down, but he’s kinda proud of the guys, extra proud of his Stevie, and actually, yeah, kinda proud of himself, that what with the dark, and the lights, and red and the guns: they were fine. They were safe.

It was fun. It was just a game.

“I mean,” Eddie picks back up his defense, gesturing at the at the kids with their little chest plates all blinking a celebratory red-blue-white-blue-red that feels either very patriotic or very law-enforcement-themed while his and Steve’s remain dark; “they were on their way to our location, one of us had to draw their attention,” and it was going to be Eddie because…

Because: for love.

“We weren’t gonna look there,” Lucas deadpans as Mike snickers and high-fives Dustin a little…a little too triumphantly and okay, fine, he thinks he’s starting to get why Steve had been taking this so seriously: to keep the shitheads from this kind of ego-inflating victory; “we were headed the other way.”

Eddie doesn’t even have to turn to feel the weight of Steve's stare, the vindication and self-congratulation in it's just…tangible in the air.

“Oh,” Eddie bites his lip, tries to think of an angle; “umm,” he twirls his hair and then Steve’s at his side, bumping his shoulder and he can’t really hide, or delay any further—and it’s Steve, next to him, so: he doesn’t exactly want to that bad, anyway, so he turns and gives the softest, widest-eyed look he can muster:

“Good intentions?” he sells it for as much as he can gather up, and Steve?

Steve just snorts, and bumps his shoulder, pretty fucking hard.

“You’re unbelievable,” Steve chuckles a little, shakes his head but doesn’t rush to follow the boys to the armory; he glances that way, but turns back quick, and then he’s grabbing the back of Eddie’s neck and: oh.

Yeah, this was more what Eddie’d been going for with the farewell-forever-my-most-beloved kiss he left Steve with before his grand-though-arguably-unnecessary sacrifice.

“And you’re buying lunch,” Steve breaks off with a nip to his lower lip before shoving his target-vest at Eddie’s chest and making for the door.

And Eddie’s a little breathless again, as he whines Steve’s name—so fucking often, just, breathless around that name—before he struggles a little to unhook his own vest because he’s actually hungry, now that Steve’s landed him with the bill for lunch, but really: it’s a fucking empty threat, either way.

Like: they share a fucking bank account.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

[si1verghosts]

you and me found love (lost under the shade)

re4r leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.3k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking, smoking, sex | tw: illusions to suicidal thoughts; author's general preoccupation with death and dying

read on ao3

title: falling asleep on a stranger by pierce the veil | art: taft bridge under the rain [#127] by carmonamedina

a/n: i honestly don't know if i am doing this whole tagging thing right idk how to tag on here so sorry if i missed anything.... anyways, this is the first thing i've managed to finish in months - i did not imagine the first leon fic i'd actually post would be reader insert but here we are!! i hope u enjoy :D

not beta read - all mistakes my own or done purposely due to my general disrespect for the grammatical conventions of the english language.

i do not own leon, yadda yadda, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chat bot and/or writing generator.

-----

"I can't be what you want," Leon had said, voice even. "Maybe you should try to find someone else; someone who can… be around."

Someone who can give you a straight answer. Someone who doesn't come home bloodied and bruised and can't tell you why. Someone who doesn't make you feel like it's all just a lie. 

You had never heeded any of Leon's suggestions before - "You should go," he had whispered after that first night, and the second, and the third - but you wish you had; so you give it a shot now. 

You let your friend set you up with the guy in accounting at her job she had been telling you about for months. "And get this - he always wears a tie bar! He just seems so put together," she had raved to you over drinks the weekend prior.

Accounting, tie bar, put together. Nice, neat, safe. 

You had shrugged, "give him my number."

He's waiting for you outside the bar when you arrive, jogs over when he notices you approaching, holding his umbrella out over you. It's unnecessary - the cold precipitation is hardly a mist, barely coating the strands of your hair. "You look beautiful," he smiles. It feels rehearsed, platitudinous. You thank him, letting him guide you inside. 

His hand brushes your arm as he helps you out of your jacket, skin soft. You pull away with the shock of it, covering with a small wave of beckoning. He falls in behind you as you traverse the familiar path through the room to your usual spot, settling in before he can manage to make a show out of pulling out your chair.

Same table, different seat; back against the wall - it's a whole new perspective. No longer focused solely on the person across from you, it's as if the whole world falls into your line of sight. It suddenly makes sense why you always found it so difficult to hold on to Leon's attention.

He slinks away to acquire your requested vodka soda from the bar. You pick at your nails until your fingers shake, shifting to look out the windows. The rain has picked up, pelting the glass and obscuring the view. You long for your car and the pack of menthols tucked away in the glove box, nobody to quit for now. 

He returns with your drinks, water for himself - "trying to cut back on carbs, you know? I've been making real progress with my lifts lately." 

"That's great," you smile. 

He leans in, beginning to chatter away excitedly about weights and protein and bicycles and Wall Street. His cologne reeks of business school, of polo shirts and white picket fences and 2.5 kids. You hope you are nodding at all the right moments. His tie bar catches the light of the Budweiser sign hanging behind you, silver glinting red, as if informing you you aren't.

It's hard, much harder than it reasonably should be but you've forgotten how to do this. Leon and you hardly spoke; the silence was easier - until it grew violent from your overreliance. 

You catch the ring of the doorbell over the drone of his voice, a familiar shape of blonde hair and brown leather entering your peripheral vision. You turn, a sick sense of satisfaction slithering up your spine. 

Shoulders hunched and hands shoved deep in his pockets, he shakes off the water droplets clinging to his hair like a dog. He picks his head up, blue eyes and dark circles meet your gaze almost immediately.

You raise a brow, I took your advice; happy?

He spins around, setting the bell off again as he slips out the door. 

"I'm sorry," you interrupt your date, who had been entertaining himself, seemingly never even recognizing your shift in attention. "I'll be right back." 

You are out the door a second later, shoving your arms back into the coat you thankfully remembered to grab, shielding your skin from the rain clouding your vision. Blinking away the droplets from your lashes, you spot Leon making his way down the sidewalk and take off after him, catching up as he nears the corner. 

You call to him, voice near enough to stop him, but only for a moment. "Go back inside," he throws over his shoulder, continuing forward.

You want to reach out and grab him, make him turn to look at you, but his shoulders are set in a tense line. Your touch is sure to set him off like a slingshot. 

Steeling yourself, you dart around him, blocking his path. You find yourself in front of him without any idea of what to say. You gape at him stupidly, chest heaving from the exertion of chasing him down; maybe you should've asked what's-his-name for a good gym recommendation before you ran off.

Leon entertains you for a moment before he huffs, eyes narrowing, "what are you doing?"

It's an excellent question - one you had never bothered to stop and ask yourself. 

What are you doing? 

Why did you agree to go for drinks? Why had you put on the dress Leon had carefully unzipped and let pool around your ankles just a few weeks ago? Why had you asked Mr. Tie Bar to meet you at the bar you knew Leon always popped into after work? 

Fuck. 

You swallow harshly, "trying." 

"Trying?" Leon reiterates, almost laughing. "And what is it that you are trying?"

Normal. To get over you. To make you mad. Honesty. To make you look at me. To make you want me like I want you. Safety. To hurt you. To get you to say something, anything. Trust. To get you to make me stay. To get you to stay. 

You feel yourself frown, the familiar pressure of tears building behind your nose. You try to swallow the feeling but it just mixes with the venom stuck in your throat, bubbling back up after mutating into a bitter twinge of anger. "What the hell does it look like, Leon? You told me to try to find someone else - that's what I'm trying."

He rocks back on his heels, crossing his arms. "Well, it doesn't really seem to be working out, does it?" 

"It was going great, actually." You smile, hoping it's not as hollow as you feel. 

"Oh, yeah?" He cocks a brow, lips pulling into a sly smirk. "Then why are you out here with me?

"You," you huff, at a loss. His words seem to be coming easier than ever while you choke on every one. You shrug, "You looked upset when you left."

"And I'm sure that's exactly what you wanted, right?" His smirk stretches into an acetous grin. "Came to relish in the tears, huh? Sorry to disappoint." He moves to brush by you, but you plant yourself in his path once again. 

"I can't believe-" you start, but stop short. Because you can believe he'd think of you that way - you'd never given him a reason to think otherwise. 

You think back to the silence that had made its home between the two of you, realizing you had used it as a confidant, letting it absorb everything you should've given to Leon instead. 

"I just wanted to check on you, see how you are doing." Your voice comes out as small as you feel under the weight of Leon's gaze. It's ironic - all this time you just wanted him to look at you, and now you wish he'd turn his eyes anywhere else. 

He snorts, short and irascibly, "I don't need you worrying about me."

"I know you don't, Leon," you throw your hands out, rainwater flicking off your skin with your exasperation. "You've made that very clear. But I can't help it - I'm going to anyways." 

"You shouldn't."

"Why not?" You half-yell, half-whine. You cringe at the sound, feeling slightly delirious; freezing cold and nearly begging him to let you care. 

 "Because you can do better." His voice is even once again, feelings stacked neatly away and locked up tight. 

"You don't get to decide that for me," you spit, ears ringing with the echo of your too-loud voice. 

"Yeah," he nods. "I do." 

He steps around you again, intending to disappear down the side street. But this time you grab him, fingers latching onto the slippery leather of his jacket, his arm as tense as a bowstring under your grip. 

"Let me go," he requests without turning to look at you, voice still even, even, even. It's a courtesy, he could easily pull free - but you are sick of his kindness, his courtesies; that's how you ended up here. You don't want them anymore.

"Make me." 

"Let me go," he repeats, slower and thicker. 

"No." If you want me gone, you'll have to force me. You don't say it, but you know he got the message when his shoulders slump, fight draining out of him all at once. 

With the thrill of victory that ripples through you, you make the mistake of loosening your hold on his jacket. He seizes the opportunity, twisting your arm and grabbing you by the bicep, pulling you close. He is running hot despite the chill of the rain, you have to force yourself not to relax into his heat. 

A moment passes, and then another. Neither of you move. The precipitation falls in sheets around you. You can't bring yourself to care. 

Your gaze slides from his chest to his neck to his jaw, backtracking the path of a stray raindrop. You chance a glance at his eyes, finding they are already on you, steely blue shimmering with the light of the streetlamp behind you. 

You love him. 

You wish the ground would crack open, allowing you to freefall straight down to hell. You imagine that would feel better - less painful - than this. 

You love him, and your skin burns with the feeling of it. You want to throw up. You want to kiss him. You want to pound your fists against his chest, curse him for doing this to you. 

You settle for allowing a sob to escape your throat. 

He releases you from his hold instantly at the sound. You scramble to grip his jacket to keep yourself upright - it's pitiful, the teeth of the zipper biting into the skin of your hands. The sharp pain comes as a tether, gifting you the space to ground yourself, to shove the tears back down. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, tight and clipped. "I didn't mean to-"

"No," you cut him off, voice rough, grating. "It wasn't. You didn't hurt me."

"Okay," he mutters. 

You laugh. You love him and you can't help but laugh, sinking into the insanity of it. 

You feel him start to stiffen again, unsure. The feeling of his discomfort building under your fingers forces you back into yourself, realizing where you are, that you've been causing a scene on the corner down the block from his apartment. 

You release him, but you don't step away, tilting your head just enough to take in the sight of him - parted lips and a handful of freckles, blonde hair tinted green by the neon sign over the entrance of the convenience store a few feet away. 

"I'm sorry," you croak out, drifting back; wishing the rain would melt you down, suck you into the storm drain. That's the only thing that could pull you from him, you think; swirling down the gutters with the cigarette butts and the fallen cherry blossoms until you're laid to rest at the bottom of the Potomac. 

His nose twitches. "For what?"

That I can't find someone else, can't force myself away from you.

That I love you, but can't tell you.  

"For," you throw your hands out, weaker than before. "All of it."

He nods, "It's okay."

You don't want it to be, but you suddenly feel exhausted. Too tired to fight, to pull any more truths from him. 

"Take me home?" You request, you plead. 

He nods again, holding his hand out to you. "Yeah."

You intertwine your fingers with his own, the roughness of his callouses and scars soothing in their familiarity. 

The walk to his place is short. You don't bother trying to shake off the water before entering, leaving a trail of raindrops up the stairwell, down the hall, through his front door, across his apartment to the tiled floor of his bathroom. 

He reaches into the shower, cranking the hot water, allowing the stream to heat up as he helps you out of your wet clothes. He removes the drenched fabric piece by piece - jacket first, then your dress, unzipping it with even more care than the previous time. It doesn't slip off with the same ease, but his gentle fingers pull it from your skin until it falls away. He crouches to undo your shoes, allowing you to step out of them before reaching up and rolling your nylons, guiding them down your legs. 

He moves to do the same with your underwear, fingers resting on the waistband as he glances up to you, silently asking your permission even though he already has it, always will. There's no heat behind his actions, but the tenderness sears your skin all the same. You nod, a low ache settling into the center of your chest as he slides them off you before standing. You unclasp your bra; he doesn't comment on the matching set.

The steam of the boiling shower envelops you as you undress him in turn. You struggle with his belt buckle, stiff fingers uncooperative. He takes over and you drop to your knees to untie the laces of his boots, finding them mercifully secured with single-knots. You make quick work of them and he reaches down to help you up, moving you out of the way before he kicks them off. 

You assist him in pulling his shirt over his head, peeling the cotton away from his skin. You unbutton his jeans as he removes the clips from your hair, wet strands falling limply in front of your eyes. 

"Go ahead and get in, I'll go throw this stuff in the wash." His voice is mellifluous, sickeningly soft. 

It makes you feel like a kid, incompetent and helpless. You hate him for it. You hate yourself for twisting his kindness into something dark and disgusting. 

"I can help," you offer, because that's all you can do; already leaning down to collect your things. "You have to hang the jacket, it's-"

"Wool. I know," his hand brushes your back lightly, "it's okay. I'll be right back."

You straighten up, allowing him to guide you across the bathroom and help you into the tub. You slowly ease your way under the hot stream as he slides the shower curtain closed. 

You watch the shape of him through the cloudy plastic, shucking off his jeans and pulling off his socks. The sobs you had just barely choked down twice before make another escape attempt, clawing at your throat as you watch his shadow collect your clothes and move down the hall. 

You shut your eyes against the sudden emptiness of the room, against the tears and the silence and the panic; against the loathing and inferiority. You take the coward's way out, turning away from it all to hold your face up to the showerhead. 

He returns quickly, rustling around for a moment before slipping into the tub behind you. His presence awards you the bravery you needed to crack open your eyes, to clear your throat. "You're wrong, you know."

Exhaustion overshadows his amusement as he hums in question, "about what?"

Picking your hand up, you reach out slowly to slide your fingers along his collarbone, circle the puckered scar on his shoulder. "That I can find someone better." 

He scoffs, dropping his head, hair fluttering down to obscure his face. 

You move your hand to his neck, thumbing his jaw. "If anything, it's me who doesn't deserve you, Leon." 

He shakes his head, but you ignore the action, continuing before he can protest. "Nobody can take care of me like you do - not even myself. I'm sorry" - for needing you, for burdening you; for loving you even though I'm unworthy of it - "for pushing you. I understand there are things you can't share, but I want whatever you can."

You sigh, shifting your hand at his neck to pull him to you; he follows you easily, achingly. "Even if it's just this." 

He nods minutely, hooking his arms over your hips and resting his forehead on yours. Answer delivered on a breath that floats across your lips, "alright." 

You remain in his arms, his agreement echoing in your mind in time with the beat of your heart in your chest. Seconds morph into minutes, only moving when the water begins to grow cold. 

You wash first, your shampoo and conditioner still on the rack next to his own. Leaving him under the stream, you make your way to his room after wrapping yourself in one of the towels he'd brought into the bathroom. 

Home. You had asked him to take you home and he brought you here, despite your own place being just a few blocks further in the opposite direction of his from the corner you had been on. But his assumption was right; this - he - was home to you.  

The emptiness of his apartment was unsettling at first, but it quickly grew comforting - no regrets staining the carpet; no photos on the dresser of you as a girl you don't remember being. Here you could be untethered from the past you didn't want; white walls graciously offering a clean slate, even if you didn't deserve it, didn't earn it. 

There is a shirt of his waiting on the bed for you, a pair of your pajama pants in the drawer next to his. Your stomach turns at the sight - no wonder he had tried to push you away; you had subconsciously settled into his space, his closet and his bed. 

Your mug in the sink, your pills behind the mirror - the reckless domesticity of it all is startling, terrifying. He had given you an inch and you had taken a mile, too eager for the chance to be something new. 

You pull on the clothes, making your way towards the balcony, a wave of nausea rolling through you under the soft cotton. Outside, it's still raining, translucent ropes sluicing off the overhang of the roof. 

You almost immediately regret stepping outside, feeling as if it's a betrayal of the care Leon took to get you warm; but you needed it. The chill of the air forces your thoughts to line up, to wait to be addressed one by one.

His hand leading you home, your wool coat hung to dry, his shirt waiting on the bed for you to occupy - each act a silent invitation; the realization stirs inside you, grips your collarbones from the inside. 

Could it be…?

You should ask him, but you've asked for more than enough tonight. 

He slides open the glass door, sweatpants low on his hips; the lamp on his nightstand illuminates him from behind, feathering out all his sharp edges. Maybe it's not love; maybe it's just lust, desire - a need so great it's all-consuming. You have no point of comparison to use as a frame of reference, to assist in finding the distinction. 

"I was away for a few days, there's not much in the fridge. Is ramen alright or do you want to order something?" He asks and it's love, you are suddenly sure of it. 

You turn; the sight of Leon in the buttery glow of the bedroom acting as a beacon, guiding you through the terror. "Ramen is fine."

[leidensygdom]

Since I feel like this is the kind of thing that helps people (because it can be isolating to feel like this), uh, I've been kind of mega-artblocked for a few months now. Things feel much harder than they used to- Sometimes what should've been a basic body wrestles me all the way through, and suddenly using a familiar brush has been much more challenging for no particular reason

I'm doing my best to figure out how to get this sorted, and I'm planning to experiment a bunch on artfight, but it's been hard. I've been kind of struggling to value my recent art well, and there's this nagging feeling of "oh you're getting worse", but hey, I'll try

In the few months I've felt like this I've thankfully heard of other people who have gone through this kind of stuff and managed to get over it, so I'm patiently waiting 'til things feel right

[mcromwell]

Genuine question, sorry if it's dumb -

How do you work when there's something on the line? I find I freeze, and it's just so much more difficult to properly organize myself to produce something I'm proud of. But you've been to conventions, and you sell your work, so I'm assuming you feel pressure at least *sometimes.* do you work with it? Around it?

Hey Tymbul, it's not a dumb question, it's actually a really good one. I can only answer it to the best of my own abilities, in regards to my own art and practice, so mileage may vary.

This feeling of something being is "on the line" was what burned me out hard in 2019/20. I'd been making and sharing art for decades and all the while my thoughts took the shape of, "it has to be GOOD, it has to SAY something, it needs to hit X and Y requirement to be worthy" etc. Wherever that habit of pressuring myself came from, it wasn't helpful. I would glare at the blank page and curse every sketch I made because it (and by extension, myself) wasn't ever good enough.

I knew something had to change, so I changed. I began trying to make art with no pressure. Instead of pushing myself I let my foot off the brake. I changed the way I talked to myself about art. "I'm going to make this as good as I can. And if I can't, there's always next painting." I began starting a piece with fast, easy, not-precious stuff--random paint smears, doodles, gesture sketches. The pressure was off when all I had to do was start with trash and play around. If it just wasn't working and I had to scrap it or start over, oh well, it was just trash. I still run into this pressure today, though. Growth ain't linear and all that. Old habits die hard. I have to snap myself out of it with a feral screeching JUST THROW PAINT ON IT RRRRRRRRGH and I can usually let up on the brakes enough to get it going. It's a journey.

I like to think of this in terms of dog training. If you punch your dog and yell at it, that dog is going to have fear and doubt and won't be a healthy dog capable of performing the tasks you ask of it. But if you use positive reinforcement, they develop confidence and become dependable and sturdy. If you sit down to make art and every time its a barrage of IT HAS TO BE GOOD! YOU HAVE TO BE PROUD OF IT! EVERY NEW PIECE HAS TO BE BETTER! IF IT ISN'T YOU'LL BE A FAILURE! WHY AREN'T YOU DRAWING YET then man, that dog is cowering in the corner, it is not going to sit or fetch or anything. What if instead you said, "Okay! Time to make something. Let's do warm-ups and thumbnails to prepare so I'm ready to jump in. I am open to surprising myself by making something I'm excited about, but I won't beat myself up if today isn't that day. I know by doing this I'm practicing and getting better, it is never a waste." You are much more likely to Do a Thing if that thing feels good to do. That's just being an animal, man. Positive feedback.

To be honest, though, I still haven't found a successful way to make commissions less like pulling teeth. My method of art-making is to fuck around and find out and that's not a conducive method for a comm, which usually has a ton more expectation and strict parameters and my nemesis: Should-Look-Like. I am good at some things, I am not good at comms. Progress is not linear. I am still learning. My efforts to let up on the brakes made it so the car was a lot harder to control... for better or worse.

Hope this helps. Mostly, my advice is to find out how making art can feel good to you and then make a ton of it. Make more art than you think you should. It gets easier. And don't punch your dog.