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karugoround · 8 months

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Nagizuru au creatures ~ probably their most normal drawings ever.

🩶

Today marks one year since I made my first Nagizuru post. I never thought I would love this beast so much. Thank you all so much for enjoying this au!

Here you have a small lighthearted fic written by @draconicsparkle as a gift. It's not connected to the original story, just them celebrating a regular birthday. They spoil them too much! ⬇️⬇️

How long had it been since then? So long. Both the creation date and their escapes. But in a strange way, Hajime was glad they had experienced all those hardships and difficult times. For without them, the two of them wouldn’t appreciate the bliss they were living in nearly as much.

Hajime thought this as his one working eye stared out the window in the small kitchen. The garden was visible from here, where all kinds of flowers and plants were growing. Gardening was one of Izuru’s many talents, after all. It would be odd if it wasn’t growing splendidly.

A small smile grew as he recalled the many hours they had spent sitting in the gazebo they had built in the middle of the garden, sandwiches and lemonade in hand while the butterflies and bees flew by.

But today wouldn’t be spent in the garden. No, Hajime had other plans. Hence why he was in the kitchen earlier in the morning. Izuru was still in their bedroom, sleeping away without sedatives. He wouldn’t dare wake him up, even now when they were far away from the Lighthouse’s rubble.

He bent down to check the oven’s window, pleased to see the cake sheets baking nicely. He grabbed an oven mitt and pulled the pans out, sliding them on the cooling rack. They were the perfect shade and smelled amazing. While they cooled, the brunette got busy preparing the whipped cream and cutting the strawberries he had picked yesterday. He focused hard on his task, not stopping until his creation was fully constructed. A beautiful and practically flawless strawberry shortcake. He almost felt bad for cutting into it and pulling a slice out to place on the plate. But he was far more eager to see the reaction, so he didn’t mourn the perfection.

After gathering a fork and a glass of milk, he placed everything on a tray and carefully picked it up. His months of practice came in handy, as the tray remained balanced the whole way to the bedroom. Using a shoulder, he bumped the door open so his hands didn’t leave the tray. Soon enough, he was placing the tray down on the nightstand. By this point, he knew the Ultimate Hope was awake now. “Good morning. Was your sleep restful?”

The red eyes gazed up at him, still mysterious and cryptic, though not nearly as hard anymore. Being free of pain and drugs was most likely the reason. “I can confirm that it was. The aroma of your creation coaxed me back to consciousness. Not that I mind this pleasant method of awakening.”

“I’m glad you think so, si-” Hajime paused, laughing in embarrassment. “I mean Izuru.”

The white-haired man smirked up at him. “Slip of the tongue?”

Hajime scratched his cheek, right under his silk eye cover. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“But they are getting to be fewer and less frequent,” Izuru observed. He sat up, the large shirt he was wearing slipping off a shoulder. “Can you hand me a hair tie, my dear caretaker?” he requested once he had risen into a comfortable position.

The brunette was quick to do so, though he did it with a grin. “That was on purpose. You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

Izuru’s smirk didn’t diminish, even as he began gathering his long hair and weaving the hair tie around the locks. “Observant as always, my dear. Just one of the many traits I adore about you.”

Hajime felt his cheeks redden. He still wasn’t able to hide his reactions to Izuru’s words of affection. “I-I do my best.”

“That you do.” Izuru finished making his ponytail, letting it rest against his back. He then reached forward, tugging on Hajime’s arms. The strength of the tugs had been unexpectedly strong and Hajime found himself falling onto the bed alongside Izuru with a yelp.

“Much better,” Izuru stated as he hugged Hajime to his chest. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The brunette wiggled only slightly to get more comfortable. “But… don’t you want your cake?”

“In a few moments. Let me indulge myself on this first,” was the reply. A pleased hum followed, along with some shoulder rubs that felt amazing. “Another day of tranquility. One that we earned for our perseverance through the blood and pain. The torture those foolish scientists inflicted while playing God. But I suppose it would be best to not dwell upon such horrid memories. It is beneficial to move on and build oneself back up stronger than before.”

The caretaker chuckled. “That the Ultimate Therapist at work? Putting in overtime, for sure.”

“Perhaps. But I will utilize my abilities for our sakes and lives. And I’m sure you are well aware of this.” One of Izuru’s hands migrated up to his hair, scratching his scalp and conjuring happy noises from the receiver.

“What did I do to deserve this? So nice,” Hajime muttered, relaxing into the comforting touches.

“If you would like reasons, I can compile a list. But be aware that it is a long one. It would take some time to read them all,” Izuru replied with his eternal smile.

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll decline. You know how I am with rapid fire compliments.” The brunette relaxed under the ministrations, enjoying every second.

“Oh, I do have something to retrieve. Remain here in bed, okay?” Izuru withdrew and extracted himself from the bed covers, standing up and walking over to his closet. Hajime watched in confusion, especially as the pale man pulled out a giant crocheted blanket with a mandala design. “You are always making things for me, so I figured I could return the favor. It was surprisingly easy to keep my work on this little project secret from you. Though, I am certainly not complaining,” Izuru commented as he brought the blanket over, laying it over Hajime and tucking him in. “The pattern is a representation of our spiritual and physical journey through our lives. That we found our fulfillment after our struggles. Quite fitting, wouldn’t you agree?”

Hajime’s eyes, both functional and broken, widened at the colorful blanket now around him. He ran a hand over the design, admiring the nice material and the quality of the gift. “I… I don’t know what to say… This is…”

Izuru sat next to him, sliding under the blanket next to him. “I already know, so don’t fret. Nothing needs to be expressed.” He leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed the plate and fork. “Now then, how about we try your splendid creation?” The full strawberry on top was speared with the fork and was raised to their faces. “I’ll give you the honor of taking the decoration. You won’t refuse, will you?”

Hajime’s breath was shaky as he nodded. “You know that I would never refuse anything from you. Neither back then, nor now.”

“Excellent. Though there is one condition to get this. You will have to take it from me.” Izuru placed the lower half of the strawberry into his mouth, the thicker half sticking out. And the mischievous look in those ruby red eyes implied exactly what Izuru was insinuating.

Hajime’s face turned as red as the berry. They were about to do this, weren’t they? But he couldn’t go back on his promise, so he swallowed his nerves. He leaned forward and locked lips with the other, the kiss tasting like the sweet fruit. It lasted for several moments, neither of them eager to break it. Eventually, they did separate, the strawberry now in Hajime’s mouth. He focused on chewing to buy himself time to calm down from the rush of emotions. Though this was easily seen by the Ultimate Analyst, if the smirk was anything to go off of.

“Now, I shall taste test your work. Though I don’t doubt it will be fantastic. Thank you for the treat,” the Ultimate Hope said as he cut into the cake and took a delicate bite. “A nice way to wake up and start the day. And here’s to many more in our future.”

Hajime snuggled under the beautiful blanket a little more, resting his head on Izuru’s shoulder. Finally comfortable with initiating close contact after all this time. “Yes. I hope and wish for that, too.”

#nagizuru au #lighthouse au #danganronpa #nagito komaeda #danganronpa art #sdr2 #danganronpa fanart #hajime hinata #komahina #nagito #nagizuru #danganronpa au #izuru!nagito #servant!hajime

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reve-writes · 1 year

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—inked; kaz brekker.

ʚ kaz brekker x reader | grishaverse | 1k words. ʚ reader is a tattoo artist, kaz brekker needs a tattoo. there's a lot of yearning involved. ʚ non-descriptive needle and tattoo stuff; slight angst. ʚ a/n you can tell i don't know how tattoos work.

Kaz Brekker should stop trying to find a reason to knock on your door. He should step back, tilt his head down and walk away as if he was never there in the first place. It was becoming a habit and habits meant comfort and comfort usually became root for something more—something that someone like him couldn't grow beyond a sprout when you deserved the whole forest.

Yet he stayed stubbornly at your door.

He was a selfish man in that regard.

He could hear you shuffling behind the door and then the rattle of your keys, followed by a soft click of your door being unlocked. You pulled the door open a smidge.

“Kaz!”

He wished you didn't sound so happy to see him. Then, he wouldn't feel welcomed to come back the next time and the next time and the next. He didn't want to make a habit out of it, but he was here yesterday and four days ago and a week ago. He had a feeling that he would be here in the near future as well.

Your door swung open immediately. You were wearing casual clothes, comfortable for sleeping, instead of your usual coats and leathers. It was a welcome change. It made his visits feel more personalised, like he was the only one to see you as you were and not as you wanted him to.

“What brings you here tonight?” you asked, already leading him to sit on the upholstered couch in your room. It used to be your bed, before you saved enough for a real one. Now, it nestled itself in one corner of your room for rare visitors. The only one who ever came by your rented room in Ketterdam was Kaz lately.

“I want to get a tattoo.”

His eyes wandered to your walls, littered with inked drawings of past tattoo designs you had done. You worked at a tattoo parlour that fell in the Dregs' territory. Many of the new members had their tattoos done at your workplace. You had even inked a few of them yourself.

“The shop opens in a couple of hours,” you said. “We can wait—”

“Not at the shop, if you can,” he interrupted. He didn't think he could bear having other people in the same room. He didn't think he wanted someone else to potentially do it as well. He came to you because he trusted you. He had spent too many nights awaiting dawn with you. He had told you too many secrets he shouldn't have. You had told him things about yourself that you probably shouldn't. He came to you when nothing went right. He came to you when everything went the way it should. You waited for him after a good day. You still waited even after a bad day.

It was a strange dynamic.

It should feel like he was skeeting over the edge of a chasm, but it felt more like the gentle hum of his room at the Slat. Steady, familiar four walls that served as a respite from the debauchery of the Barrell.

“Of course,” you agreed. It took you less than five minutes to gather everything you needed. Fortunately, you had gone on a supply run for the shop earlier. You were planning to bring everything to the shop when it opened, but you'd be needing them earlier than you thought.

“You're putting a lot of trust in me,” you joked. “I could write 'Ketterdam's biggest loser' on your arm.”

“It would suit you better than me.”

You chuckled. He thought it would sound good on vinyl. He could listen to it for hours.

“Rule one, Brekker. Never insult the person who's putting permanent ink on you.” You shot him a glare, but you were smiling. It was inexplicably easy to smile around him. “What are you thinking?”

“The Dregs tattoo, on my arm.” He rolled his sleeves and your heart was beating twice as fast. Unbeknownst to you, his was as well. He had never bared a part of himself so casually before. You had never seen him without all his layers—all the protection over his skin.

Your machine whirred to life. You disinfected his skin with a couple swipes of a disinfectant pad. His whole body tensed when you made contact, despite your gloves.

“Hey, Kaz.” You pulled his attention away from where you'd touched him. “I won't hurt you.”

You held out your gloved palm. With your free hand, you took his gloved hand and set it gently over your palm. He inhaled sharply.

“It's okay. It's just me.”

He trailed a finger softly over your palm. There was a barrier between your skins, but it was daunting all the same. He took a couple of deep, spaced breaths with closed eyes. When he opened them, you were smiling encouragingly at him.

“You can start,” he said, but almost immediately regretted it when you pulled your hands away.

“There will be slight pain,” you said over the whirring of your machine.

He scoffed. “I know pain better than—”

He cursed, inhaling sharply when first contact broke his skin.

You rolled your eyes. “I warned you, Brekker.”

Stray hairs fell over his forehead. “I was startled.”

His eyes were tracing the lines of your face as you worked. The proximity started to feel somewhat comfortable, with the lull of your tattoo machine. You occasionally hummed as you worked. He etched the sound into his mind. You weren't a singer, but he preferred your voice over any performers.

“Done!” you suddenly proclaimed. He looked away and cleared his throat. “What do you think?”

The crow and cup over his right forearm. A permanent mark that he was Dirtyhands of the Dregs. No deed too low for him as long as there was enough Kruge involved. Was that all who he really was?

“Can you add another? A small one,” he rasped.

“Certainly, Kaz. What is it?”

“The letter R, here,” he pointed at his bicep. “For the boy I was. For my brother.”

“I wish I could've met him, you know. Jordie.”

Kaz wished so, too. A foolish wish. Ketterdam didn't groom him to be a wishful thinker. Hope was a dangerous, dangerous thing. He should leave.

“Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry if I overstepped.”

Kaz's eyes widened. “No. You're okay.”

It was him.

“Then stop looking like you're ready to bolt anytime, Kaz. I happen to appreciate your company.”

“Oh.”

He let hope force its way in and make a nest in his chest anyway.

[ ]

#kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x reader #—ki writes 🍯

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inkedobsidian · 2 years

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~Angel in the sky~ B.B

summary: Benedict unveils a new painting and his muse turns up.

pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

warnings: non, fluffy fluff

word count: 2,308

a/n: Requests are open! Prompt list is there if you guys want extra ideas!

Master-List - Prompts

Dearest Reader,

Yesterday was finally the night that the sweet Benedict Bridgerton unveils another one of his artworks. Bridgerton-thrown events are continuously the talk of the ton and this author is expecting to see some very large families in attendance. As for if any drama was present it is up to this author to report back to you, my gentle readers. Hopefully, the main topic of conversation of the ton for this evening was the artwork itself, but that is unlikely.

Benedict had spent the better part of the day pacing back and forth in the drawing room at the Bridgerton home. This wasn't the first time he'd unveiled some of his art but this one seemed to have the deepest connection to him. Almost as if a string was connecting his heart to the painting. He hadn't looked at it in a few days as his mama had it taken to their gallery where the ball was going to be held. His heart called out to the painting but more so to the inspiration behind it, whom he'd not laid eyes on since the moment he captured in the painting.

"You know if you pace anymore brother you might leave a mark on the flooring," Eloise muttered from the chair taking her nose out of her book for the first time in 2 hours. Benedict missed the silence the minute she spoke. Eloise got the message the minute her brother swung to face her with anxious fury spread across his face. She simply raised her hands in defense putting the book down momentarily.

"Eloise is brash but correct my darling you have nothing to worry about for this evening, everybody loves your work," Violet says walking into the drawing room and placing her hands on her son's shoulders to stop his incessant bouncing in place. Benedict let his body relax underneath his mother's touch. She did have a wonderful way of never making anything seem difficult, unless you bring up the topic of marriage then she's just like all the other eager mamas of the ton.

"Some people like my work others like the name attached to it, who only knows what their true opinion is," Benedict said as he sunk into the chair next to Eloise like a sulking child. He hated the idea that people pretended to enjoy his work or to even understand it just because he was a Bridgerton but he knew the opinions came with the name so it was something he had to accept in order to keep doing the thing he loved.

Not much had been revealed in the cases of the artwork which is something this author loves, mystery. It being the last painting revealed on the evening gave people plenty of time to try and get some secrets out of the creator but Benedict Bridgerton was very tight-lipped on what he created and even kept silent on what inspired the creation.

Many people came up to Benedict in swarms - 'admirers' of his work trying to pry information out of him before the unveil. These admirers were just marriage-hungry mamas trying to prove how much their daughters loved the art hoping that would somehow sway Benedict in their direction, unknowing that Benedict had his eyes focused on someone that only existed in a painting. Until tonight.

He was halfway through a droning conversation with his mama and Miss Featherington when the doors opened catching his attention, he was sure the entire ton was there except Lady Danbury who informed the family that she would be late due to currently being hostess to a new family. Sure enough, it was indeed Lady Danbury making it just mere moments before Benedict was about to unveil the painting. Too many moments close that Benedict didn't have time to welcome Lady Danbury so he left that up to his mother that loved these parties more than most. This, however, meant that Benedict had no idea who had arrived with Lady Danbury, and by the time he had noticed he was already standing near the very painting that this person inspired.

He reached the top of the stairs just out of the eye of onlookers but that still gave him the perfect sight to look down below at his mama, Lady Danbury, and her. The very person who in mere moments would see their own image solidified in paint. Benedict thought of this situation as the highest irony considering that the last time he caught a glimpse of this woman she was once again unaware of his presence. Just looking down at the mystery woman the entire day came back to him as if he was reliving it at that very moment.

It was a little over a month ago just before the season had begun and families had begun to travel and arrive in London for the season when Benedict decided to take a stroll to escape his mama and her new lists of ladies debuting this year, eager to get her sons dancing and courting a young miss. The warm air helped to ease any stress he was dealing with when Benedict decided to stop in the middle of the path and raise his head to the sun letting the rays wash over his face with comforting heat, it was when he was lowering his head that he noticed her.

She was sat on a seat staring intently at the book in her hand looking up towards the sun in small intervals as if it gave her energy to continue. That was when Benedict saw it, his next art piece. From where he was standing on the street the window had the perfect reflection of the sky and clouds almost making it look like she was an angel floating in the sky looking down on the earth. The feature of the blue painting on the exterior and the white windowsill lead into the almost heavenly-looking scene. Benedict knew at that moment he had to capture the image in paint so that it never left his mind. He spent hours in his study working on every feature of her hoping to get everything perfect, even the way her hair shone against the color of the white and blue background. It was important to Benedict that art be nothing but the truth of a person's soul as there was nothing beautiful about deceit. He was committed to conveying the soul behind the beauty.

As with Bridgerton events, everything seemed to be planned out to the last second, Violet Bridgerton was an excellent planner in this regard it never left the party feeling boring. However this author, unlike some others in attendance noticed something peculiar that hadn't happened at any other of Benedict Bridgertons unveils - he stopped. Now you, my gentle readers of the ton won't have noticed in the midst of your conversations but trust me as Lady Whistledown herself I see all, otherwise, what would this collum suffice off?

Benedict stopped himself from just escaping by realizing that his mama had started to look around the room for him and that could only mean he was taking his time getting to the top of the stairs for the speech she so suggestively made him write. Now he regrets it all as he has to keep composure when he was convinced at that moment that some mysterious feeling had taken all of the wind out of his lungs, nevertheless, he was a Bridgerton so the mask of confidence must be fixed.

"If I could have everyone's attention please," Benedict says tapping the end of a spoon on his champagne flute, "My family has gathered you all here today for another art unveiled by yours truly. Now before I revealed the piece I thought an explanation to all of you of what it entails. Art is something so close to the soul, like the eyes an art piece can give someone such a look into another soul. I know I am one of the lucky few who get to follow my passions and for that, I am eternally grateful to my family, and my mama who believes in me so. Now before I ramble the night away, I named this piece 'Angel In The Sky' and I should hope that one even not familiar with the art will resonate with why." Benedict placed his champagne flute on the table next to him and on a deep in-breath took hold of the curtain covering the painting and pulled it down on an out-breath.

Now, this author knows a thing or two about spilling the truth of the soul, and to hear someone who is a very staple of the ton say the same is truly refreshing. Now I have decided to withhold the very details of the painting themselves as how could one such as I, another person of the arts, take away from viewers of the ton. Simply put Benedict Bridgertons newest painting 'Angel In The Sky' is an art piece that must be viewed with one's own eyes and not through the string of some other words, even this author.

It had taken mere moments for her to realize that it was indeed her image in the art. At first, the building looked similar, then her dress, and even her nose. It was an odd moment to see oneself in an art piece of which they had no prior knowledge. Y/N was not aware of what her reaction should've been, it felt other-worldly like something that would only happen in a novel. Yet here she was, at a ball in the city of London hours away from her home and away from everything she knows. It felt as though at this moment here everything in the air had shifted and this is where her life began to change, and she could always look at the moment captured in time.

It had taken Benedict almost half an hour to compose himself and finally rejoin the party, thankfully he was in his own home and could simply slip out one door and into another room. But now here he was, back in that same ballroom and once again watching her from afar. He was delighted at the sight of her, at least she was not so disgusted that she ran away. It felt ironic that almost, 3 different times now has he been locked in his place looking at the image of her too afraid to take another step as if it was tainting destiny. Until he heard the click of the cane and his mind came back.

"You know I should let you paint all my townhouses if they'd turn out like this." The recognizable voice of Lady Danbury boomed next to him. Benedict whipped his head around to flash a classic Bridgerton smile.

"Lady Danbury as I live and breath, I must extend my thanks for attending this exhibit." Benedict smiles, he did always have a soft spot for Lady Danbury.

"Now this will be the third time running that someone living in my home has caught the eye of one of you Bridgertons, maybe I should start betting on horses with my luck. I would tell you her name but that seems like something to work out on your own." Lady Danbury says while hitting the bottom of her cane onto Benedict's calf. He took that as the only push he would ever need and off he went toward her. The steps towards her were almost second nature as if there were a magnet pulling him towards her. It wasn't until he took his final step to be next to her that he felt the air around him shift.

"I have to say my lord I have seen many paintings of myself throughout my family line but nobody ever seemed to understand that the tone in my skin was indeed cool understand and not light, the amount of artists that have made me strikingly yellow is jarring, to say the least," Y/N announced finally breaking the silence. Her voice flowed softer than he ever imagined but there was a layer he couldn't quite grasp, a sharpness almost. Then he caught it, caught the words she spoke, of undertones?

"Are you yourself an artist, you have a vocabulary one could only have with knowing the arts," Benedict spoke, his smile seeming to grow wider each moment. His eyes sparkling in the reflection of all the candlelight.

"I am indeed in fact, Lady Danbury has been kinda enough to lend me an entire room for my art. I will have her extend an invite for you to view it one day, it is spectacular. As is your art, although it's strange to see oneself in paint like a moment captured in time." Y/N spoke with an ease that calmed you to the core almost like nothing could go wrong.

So there they stood, conversing mere meters away from the painting. Every now and again either one would catch themself looking up at the painting then back down. As Y/N looked up towards the painting and back down she caught herself wondering about the time and effort it took. All that stuck out in her mind is that it takes a man of great patience and a deep understand of life to compose something of such deep beauty. As for Benedict, he looked back and forth almost like a child surrounded by a thousand pretty lights because as much as he never imagined it, here he was standing in front of the very woman who inspired a painting that required him to tap into such a delicate part of his soul. He only hoped that his future would see many more paintings, but only one muse.

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n

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goron-king-darunia · 2 years

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Eggtober 5 Hard Boiled Eggs 3 Ways (Featuring Sriracha, Black Pepper, and Mayonnaise) Clip Studio Paint, Gouache Brush and Freckle Pen for the pepper. 9 Colors. Approx. 30 minutes. I woke up late today since I stayed up late working on personal art all last night (I had a very productive day yesterday and I’m very proud!) so I decided on a quick egg. I really wanted to capture the craggy quality of the hard boiled egg yolk, but since I also wanted to draw seasonings, some of it got covered. Hard boiled eggs are fine for snacks with just a bit of salt, but I always like to season further, so I put my favorites. Black pepper is a mainstay seasoning for a reason, mayo is already part egg, so you can’t go wrong there, and nothing beats spice to me and the slight sweetness of Sriracha always goes well with eggs in my book! I tried to capture the slight grain of the Sriracha too with how I did the shine. My only self critique would be to spend more time on the whole boiled egg in the center so I could capture the shine of the cooked white and the little pits that happen when you nick it with the shell when peeling. I tried doing some pitting but it just looked like “incorrect” shading so I moved on to the halved eggs. If I started with a darker color for the main egg color and spent longer on smooth, crisp shading, I think the shine of the center egg would come through. But overall, I’m happy with the look! If I do a hard-boiled egg again on a day where I have more time, I’ll definitely try to capture the shine! As always, big thanks to @quezify, Master of all things Egg, for organizing this event and giving me a solid reason to do warm ups and not just struggle to start on art for hours and then give up and scroll my phone. I haven’t made so much art since I was a wee little teenager who came home every day, obliterated my homework, and then spent every second that I wasn’t playing video games absolutely crushing out art. It’s really nice to just draw for fun and get to show my art to so many kind people who toss little digital hearts at it because they like it. Big “I love you!” to all the beautiful people who’ve liked and shared my work. I would give you each a real egg to nibble if I could.

#Eggtober 5 #Eggtober #Eggtober 2022 #Hard Boiled Eggs #my art

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bosskie · 2 months

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Another Molluck Study Night

Man, I just felt like I gotta learn from my mistakes I did with my previous sketches/studies, so I tried a different approach, meaning basically thinking differently while drawing but well, I also spent a few hours on this since I wanted to take a closer look at Molluck's shapes. It feels like I finally could draw 'anatomically correct' Molluck, meaning that I feel like I drew his body in a correct way.

I just feel like I tend to draw him too muscular or his shoulders are too wide since they are actually kinda narrow. I don't actually wanna make his body any different that it is, it's perfect as it is! Frankly, I feel like it seems somewhat usual for Gluk-enjoyers to make them have more 'normal bodies'. I don't personally really like Molluck having 'a normal body' since I love his 'odd body'! He just doesn't feel right with that 'normal body'... It's not him for me. Though yes, his body can restrict him significantly but I wanna love him with those restrictions. I feel kinda alone with loving his body like it is, like having zero changes and/or additions.

Man, it's still always interesting to see how people like to have Molluck. Like today (yesterday), I happened to find one more person who has done Molluck self-insert stuff and it was something different. The person seems to be no longer active and that post was done like two years ago, which was kinda the last year of 'Golden Molluck Years'; I mean, back then was just more people loving Molluck, creating/posting stuff about him etc. I can never forget one Twitter profile... It was private though and I feel like it's too NSFW to say here what that profile had written on it... But that person seemed to want badly Molluck's non-existing D... Nothing wrong with that, I'm just the opposite with this, that's why no changes are needed for me... Just interesting that I seem to be quite alone with this...

But yeah, that person I just found seemed to picture Molluck as 'a paternal figure' (and also made him have 'a normal body'). Frankly, when I have been having some thoughts about raising a family with Molluck (= adopting a Gluk baby) for fun, I just cannot see Molluck as a parent, though I don't see myself as one either... I'm only into how Gluks grow up, what like they even look as little etc. so it more like feels like being a scientist than a parent if I had adopted a Gluk... So, nope. I also do not see Molluck as 'a daddy', also because it's not what I'm into. Like I have said many times before, I do see myself in him, so this makes me see us having equal 'roles' in my self-insert stuff. Though, yeah, this can vary depending on the situation/thing but mainly for 'natural reasons', like related to his body or wealth. I also just wish to take care of Molluck since he does need help but I also do not wish to do every single thing for him, I do not wish to be his valet, so yeah, luckily he got Sligs (too). But I love to think about things like washing him since I also care about his well-being. He is free to smoke though... He probably has quite strong cigar smell on him but I feel like it wouldn't be a problem for me, maybe would even enjoy it. I have been joking that there is no need to develop a scent for Molluck, like I have seen some scents developed for fictional characters, since you can just get a cigar and smell that! Yeah, that's basically what I have done... Bought a cigar just because of Molluck!

But yeah, I just have been trying to say that I do like to do the things in my way and it can annoy me when the things ain't done in that way... So yeah, I feel Molluck... I can be bossy and intimidating, even I have no intention to be like that. I guess that you can get it why I have no interest in seeing Molluck as 'a daddy'... Actually, if I could have chosen like any name for my account here, I would have chosen something like 'your boss'... I just enjoy boss stuff, being called a boss etc. and it's been so for a long time. I'm not being totally serious with my stuff, like this boss stuff is also about me having fun.

Oh, and I wanna be clear about that I don't wanna judge the other 'Molluck enjoyers', I'm only curious and wanna share my thoughts on how differently Molluck can be seen! I bet that it also just reflects the person itself, like I do see Molluck in a different way because I see myself in him versus a person who doesn't see themself in him. Just enjoy Molluck like you want but yes, you are also free to hate him! It's kinda odd when it comes to fictional loves, that you just can never really 'own' that character like a real person, meaning that there is just one 'version' of that real person while there are 'multiple copies' of that fictional character, many people being able to do self-insert stuff about them. I mean, yes, it can feel odd to see Molluck being like that with someone else but I'm also just interested in seeing how people see him since, like I have said, I have seen no one else seeing Molluck like I do, referring mainly to how I want him...

Also, I feel like the reason why I even want Molluck, why I love him this much, is different from what the others have since it's that I see myself in him; only after that his appearance caught my attention too, like I have said many times before. Maybe this is also the reason why I seem to be 'the only one who survived' from those 'Golden Molluck Years' since barely anyone else does Molluck content these days. My love for Molluck is just deep and true, and I feel like my love for him just keeps growing, I love him more than ever now! Everyone is free to love him for whatever reason but I'm just unable to love/want someone just for the appearance, it must be about something deep(er). I honestly don't know what makes Molluck hot for the others... So yeah, it's actually confusing for me to see that many people thinking that Molluck is hot... I just don't understand stuff like this in general since yeah, like I have said, I'm quite 'immune to appearance stuff', don't even know when someone is 'charismatic'... Man, sometimes I feel like I'm somehow broken when I seem to differ so often from the others, in many ways, but well, I'm just one odd creature. I have just grown up getting called 'odd' and it might be one of the reasons why I have developed self-hatred...

Man, I just can write so much about Molluck 'n' stuff related to him... But yeah, I don't mind being quite alone with being a Molluck content creator. I keep him loved, hugged, and kissed!

#molluck #oddworld molluck #molluck the glukkon #oddworld #art like a bosskie

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itsbenedict · 1 year

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I feel good.

I'm sitting in my house by myself, drawing something kind of indeterminate for an art game. It's due tomorrow, I'm not confident in the design, I'm worried the way I've done it might come off as too salacious, and the coloring's being a pain in the neck- but I feel good.

This morning I spent a few hours banging my head against the technical limitations of the third-party API we're relying on to implement a project for a client, a nuclear power plant who needs us to handle their training system. It's kind of high-stakes stuff, and it's looking like we might not be able to deliver, but I feel good.

I ordered a standing desk recently, and yesterday I put it together but it's going to be such a headache migrating my current desk to the new desk, the speakers don't quite reach to the standing height, I've gotta buy like, extension cables or find something solid to mount my computer on top of to reach, but... I feel good.

I spent a couple hours reading a study guide for an AWS certification that my career advancement is kind of locked behind, and there's so many finicky details in these practice tests that I'm sure I'm going to forget immediately and be lost on for the practice exam- and studying this stuff is like walking a tightrope between learning practical skills and falling for Amazon propaganda. But I feel good.

I've impulsively started coding a game engine for a side project I hadn't scheduled time for. I've got Ludum Dare coming up this weekend. I've got a stomachache. I've got to prepare a dungeon crawl for my little brothers by Thursday. I've got to log my hours for the month. Fridge is almost empty, I've got to make a grocery run. I'm lonely.

But I feel good?

Not entirely sure how that's happening. Maybe something about having my own place, being at a comfortable temperature, having nice music playing, making steady progress, sitting in a comfy chair... I dunno. There's a lot going on, but it's not overwhelming me. Weird.

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genericaccount · 9 months

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sometimes I think I need to pay more attention to what I eat in a day and how that effects ADHD medication and overall mood-emotion-feeling

I haven't eaten at all today which is terrible, I know, but I kept forgetting or telling myself I had to do X, Y, Z first or I had to be up/dressed/teeth brushed first or I would realize I'd waited too long then wanted to have lunch instead of breakfast but then tell myself it would be better to have lunch at X time or after X task.

I know I'm not avoiding eating (although really bad dry mouth symptom from current mystery illness does put me off food) and I know its not because I'm trying to "prove" I don't have to eat/rely on eating (that's a whole other odd past story) but I keep getting stuck in my own bad habit cycle? Like I can't break my own rountine (ex. I have to X before Y) which then has gotten me stuck in this "anti-routine" of waking up before 9-9:30 (this is good, this took me a while) but still end up stuck lying in bed, usually on my phone, till 11-12-or almost 2pm

Sure, time blindness doesn't help, but I know how much Better I feel when I have to be somewhere in the morning and it forces me to be up & dress & (ideally) had breakfast and Outside

More than half the time I usually end up wandering around and have these weird little "oh yeah its kinda nice leaving the house" moments that I ignore/forget later (And yeah going outside in the city means spending money which I really should not be doing right now but)

And yet here I am still internally and quietly telling myself that if I just had the "Perfect Morning Rountine" (because of course its all-or-nothing thinking) that everything would fall into place and I'll feel better (Not in the sense it would solve all problems, I'm still anxious about a work meeting and about a uncomfortable possibly ending friendship situation) But that I will feel more me - more human - like when you finally take a shower that you know you should've taken already and how Clean and Scrubbed you feel after in a very good and minituate rebirth kind of way

But I know logically that it doesn't work that way, not with ADHD and chronic illness and a deficient in self confidence and in accidental social semi-isolation. That my psychiatrist is right when she says that the intial steps are important, like with finally establishing a mostly sucessful wake up time and that maybe I need to find a way to comfortably leave the house that doesn't involve showering so I can fix my hair (wave-curl 2b-2c-3a ish that feels much more unmanageable than it used to be). I used to be comfortable with how I looked, and how I looked when I woke up, but now? I feel ugly. I do. I know I'm exagerating this in my mind and my own perception but yesterday I realized: I hadn't taken a picture of myself in almost a year, I now struggle to put outfits together because I've barely left the house since April so I keep wearing "home clothes", I can see how my eyes are more droopy and sad looking (partially assume its related to consistent lack of enough sleep) and that I hate how I look in photos other people take of me because I no longer know how to smile in pictures without thinking I look sad in every picture.

I know I'm not this person, heck I've managed to do/achieve some pretty cool things and I'm about to start a new path for one of them (its not quite what I was hoping for but it should help me get to where I want to be in a year). I used to be so creative, I used to be more interested in writing and art and just creating. I feel like I've slipped into this near-ghost of myself.

I wish I could say its all social media's fault. That I spent and maybe wasted too many hours on doomscrolling in various apps. But though that is true, I know its not the cause. A distraction, maybe. A draw away from creating rather than consuming, sure. I don't simply "blame myself" (though negative thinking sure tries to) but its not that I'm folding in on myself, but I find myself more often slipping into wanting to exist in couch-tv-vegetable state, wanting to simply zone out to a myriad of media.

Maybe this has all been cumalative burn out? I don't know.

But I'm tired of feeling like this, I say for the thousandth time, I want to start moving forward again. I still don't think this is depression, it feels too other and I don't feel like I'm numb or sinking or any of the ways I hear it described. I think I just feel stuck.

I guess I'll see how tomorrow morning goes.

I'm going to go take a shower.

#thoughts #journal entry #diary entry

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chazakiel-doremi · 11 months

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Far Off Unhappy Things 1: Hyacinth By Renko Doremi Rodenburg

“What even is a fox?” Reinhild asked Hyacinth, beautiful Hyacinth.

“Hm,” Hyacinth said, looking up from her book. They sat on the porch of Hyacinth’s house, her little wooden cottage, her farmstead. It took her a while to process things, especially when roused from some activity she was engrossed in.

“Oh,” she then said as Reinhild her question reached her. “One of those things trickling in from that other place. Stories. Things. Concepts. A fox is an animal. It tricks men and pulls clever pranks on women, bright red or orange is its fur.”

“That explains it then,” Reinhild said as she ruffled her own red hair, almost but not quite the same colour as the heath growing all around the Lands Lost, subtly different from the colouring of the perpetually-trapped-in-autumn trees. “How do those in the villages know what a fox is, though?”

“They don’t. You’re the fox now.”

“I’m the fox now,” Reinhild whispered to herself. “Should I get some more pomace inside?”

“Hm,” Hyacinth muttered, already engrossed in her book again. ‘Slaves to the Blind Gods,’ it read on the cover. Knowing her, it was either the most peculiar smut or some essay on Old World horrors. Both would probably drive Reinhild mad, but for quite different reasons.

She got up and went inside. Hyacinth her house wasn’t large, but really- nobody’s was these days. In the kitchen she had a couple of bottles of pumpkin pomace, an alcoholic drink distilled from squashed up, ground up pumpkin meat. Someone in a nearby town made it out of pumpkins Hyacinth grew in patches on her farm. Back outside she poured herself another glass, and filled up Hyacinth’s half-empty glass as well.

Tonight was quiet and peaceful, tomorrow would not be.

The sun slowly sank under the horizon. Before long it’d be too dark for Hyacinth to read, and she’d pace around the house for a bit, frustrated that it was too dark to do anything, before finally going to sleep. It was getting late for Reinhild too. There weren’t too many hours of darkness, so she got up and prepared to go to sleep. She wouldn’t be caught dead in a bed, though. Instead she sat upright against the south wall of Hyacinth’s house, so that the first rays of the sun would hit her left cheek first. She closed her eyes and felt around for the comfort of her door, an open book in hand.

It was the next morning indeed the sunlight that woke her up, so she relaxed her grip on Helmatot and got up. Hyacinth was already up as well, pacing back and forth before her door, an open book in hand.

“Restless much?” Reinhild asked.

“I cannot read or sit still when there’s a solid chance I’ll be burying you this afternoon.” Hyacinth replied.

“You won’t,” Reinhild said, laughing. “You’re going to draw runes on my sword arm and a sigil on my back, and in the afternoon you’re going to hold me as the pact enacts its toll on my body. No burying anyone.”

“Do not taunt me,” Hyacinth said.

“I’m not.”

“What do you want for breakfast?” Hyacinth asked. “We’re out of everything except for something salt, something that passes for meat.”

Reinhild thought for a bit, looking at Hyacinth. “Why don’t we do the runes now, then go eat something in town? We need to go in the direction of the forest anyway.”

“I will not,” Hyacinth said.

“Come on, accompany me to town for once.”

“No. I’m going to make you a plate of food, then we’ll do the runes.”

Reinhild sighed. “Alright, have it your way.”

The food was indeed salty, and somewhat resembling meat. It went down well with the remains of yesterday’s bottle of alcohol, though. After breakfast- which was spent in silence with Hyacinth absent-mindedly flipping through the pages of a book- Hyacinth started preparing her brushes, pencils, pen and a variety of inks.

“Go wash yourself,” she instructed Reinhild.

“I’m not that filthy-” Reinhild tried to say but was interrupted by her friend.

“You are. Go to the brook and clean yourself. Grab some things to scrub and dry yourself with from my room.”

“Fine,” she said.

The brook was downhill, right behind Hyacinth’s house.

“Eternal Autumn,” Reinhild cursed as she splashed water over her skin and scrubbed it clean with sheets of fabric, the cold biting into her flesh. As she looked out over the tiny stream, the little wooden bridge someone had built there ages ago, and the endless rolling hills covered in orange, brown, yellow and mottled with green and purple, it was almost a scene from a fairytale.

“Shame for the endless fucking cold though,” she muttered to herself.

Clean- or at least, clean enough that she suspected that Hyacinth would stop complaining, she dried herself off, put on her clothes and leather and went back to the house. There, Hyacinth had shoved most of her belongings to the side, and sat cross-legged in the clearing, her tools beside her. Small candles burned in a circle before her.

“And I thought you ran out of candles long ago,” Reinhild said.

“I have run out of candles to waste on frivolous things like reading, or entertaining your simple mind with the gentle swaying of flame,” Hyacinth said.

“I think I’ll go back to the brook,” she replied.

“Sit down, take off your shirt and be quiet.”

She did. In total silence, dreadful silence that reminded her of vague things that had already happened and of things yet to pass, Reinhild took off her shirt and sat down in the circle of candles before Hyacinth.

Soft tinkling- the mixing of paint, wooden tools tapping against glass and metal pencils being filled broke the quiet that had persisted too long. She shivered as Hyacinth put a sharp, cold shape against her back and slowly drew a circle.

“Don’t move,” Hyacinth whispered.

First a circle, then patterns too complex for Reinhild to track by sense of touch alone. As Hyacinth drew, she felt a chill draw into her body. A chill different from the witch’s demeanour, or the biting of the brook or wind. It was the chill of the dead, stiffening her flesh and hardening her skin. Behind her, Hyacinth started muttering words, poems, to quiet the chthonian spirits the sigil was drawing into Reinhild’s body, so that they would not tear the skin or break her bones.

As the thaumaturgical rigor mortis set in, Reinhild lost most feelings in her flesh and skin.

“Arm,” Hyacinth commanded her when she was done, and placed her hand under her shoulder, nudging her to lift her right arm. “Turn around and give me your arm,” she said, not satisfied.

Hesitant, Reinhild turned around, and Hyacinth grabbed her right arm and immediately started etching the outlines of the runes with a wooden- yet sharp- knife. She was not at all interested in Reinhild’s body.

Her skin cold and hard, what Hyacinth was doing wasn’t really cutting. It was more carving, woodwork rather than surgery. After setting the patterns, she took out brushes and paints. As she inked in the runes she had carved in Reinhild’s tough flesh, a heat started to fill her right arm. As Hyacinth filled them up, the cracks and cuts in Reinhild’s arm started to glow with heat. As she set the final dots of blue paint next to a set of red and yellow, it was overwhelming. Reinhild her arm burned with energy, vigour, and life. Fire leaked from the cracks, lighting up the runic patterns.

“Do you need help putting on your armour?”

“No.”

She struggled to put her armour on. The pieces wouldn’t sit still, it wouldn’t move as fluidly as she wanted, and the straps were too tight and too large. The world was warping and buckling under some kind of strain, and her head hurt with a fever. Colours made no sense and the heath outside might as well have been some construction of endlessly towering painted rolling flames in all the poet’s colours.

“Reinhild,” Hyacinth said to her as she stumbled outside. “Rein? Keep it together.”

“Yeah,” she replied. Words felt thick on her tongue, as if she was coughing up sludge instead of sounds. “My heart’s stopped so walking is difficult.”

Hyacinth shook her head, and dragged her along the long, winding path to the edge of the forest.

Every now and then Reinhild would get frantic bursts of energy, and feel like sprinting the rest of the way, but Hyacinth calmed her down. “Not yet, not yet,” she’d say. Almost completely delirious, Reinhild walked after her friend. The once familiar landscape had warped into an almost unrecognisable cacophony of colour, smell, sensation, all somehow too loud and too bright at the same time. After what felt like a week, an endless week of walking along the blasted heath and dusty trails they reached the edge of the forest.

“Don’t go running off into the forest,” Hyacinth said as they walked along the treeline towards a ruined building.

She was right. Reinhild had been eyeing the forest that marked the border of the Lands. Now, delusional from spells and magic, the forest seemed like an enticing wildernis to get lost in. Get lost in the green, brown and black- crawl on all four, rip out the throat of a boar- “Rein,” Hyacinth said as she saw her salivating, hunched over and growling. “We’re almost there. Hang on for a moment more.”

The stone building had once been an abbey, or perhaps a dormitory for some other place now long lost. They walked in through a crumbled gash in the wall. Inside, on the courtyard, two people were waiting for them.

One was dressed in black, with elfin features like Hyacinth. The other was a young man, in chainmail and colourful cloth. In his hands he gripped a sword- a rapier, more fit for thrusting than slashing, more fit for puncturing than stabbing.

Instinctively, Reinhild reached for her own blade, the shortsword Helmatot. “Not yet,” Hyacinth chided her.

As the young man looked Reinhild over, he became visibly anxious. Afraid. Fear wafted over from him thick in the air, and Reinhild gave in.

“Reinhild,” Hyacinth said sternly but to no avail.

She was already sprinting towards him as she drew her sword. For whatever reason the young man responded by stumbling backwards, which set Reinhild off even more. Gripped tightly in her now burning, blazing, right arm she held Helmatot, and swung it at her opponent hard.

He tried to deflect, but his rapier wasn’t made for that. The thin metal bent the moment the shortsword hit it, leaving it in a borderline unusable condition, and barely slowing down Reinhild’s blow, causing her to hit him hard enough in the sides that he buckled over in pain. His chainmail prevented the sword from cutting him, but that was all it did. Reinhild immediately swung again, but in her dissociative state she wasn’t as skilled as she’d be sober, and cleaved open the man’s skull. The women who had come with him screamed a name.

She howled in victory and dropped on all fours, crawling over to the broken corpse. She tried to get to her opponents soft bits, tender flesh and warm blood, but was frustrated by the armour and cloths in her way, and yelled in frustration.

“Reinhild,” she heard someone call, far in the distance. Someone she knew, perhaps. It didn’t matter. “Reinhild,” she heard someone scream as she finally managed to rip the annoying, interlinked metal rings asunder and sank her teeth into soft flesh. It was sweet, and despite it being rather lean and chewy, had more taste and texture than any preserved meats she had had in recent memory. Plenty of blood flowed from the grisly chunks she tore from whatever it was the flesh belonged to, salty and with a lingering taste of iron. Slowly her mind calmed, lulled to sleep by sweet victory and good food, and she cuddled up to mangled meat and broken armour, and drifted off into sleep.

When she woke up, the sun was setting. She was outside somewhere, and struggled to make sense of her situation.

Slowly but surely, hazy images of a stone ruin and rolling fields came back to her. She was sitting against one of the walls of that ruin, she realised.

“You’ve woken up,” someone beside her said. Hyacinth, beautiful Hyacinth.

“I feel terrible,” Reinhild said.

“You should see the other guy,” Hyacinth said.

“I feel broken. Dehydrated, too. Like my entire body is made of parched leather. My right arm- indescribable.”

“Did I win?”

“You’re still alive. For now. Scattered through the courtyard are the remains of Fleur’s champion.”

“That’s-” she didn’t finish her sentence.

“At least that’s going to make my night easier,” Hyacinth said.

“Why’s that,” Reinhild asked, but then remembered the taste of flesh and tang of blood fresh on her tongue. “Oh,” she said.

“Yes,” Hyacinth replied.

“We should head homewards, then. I don’t want to be out in some field when midnight strikes.”

“There’s plenty of time. It’s not far, and we have until a bit after midnight.”

Reinhild got up, groaning in pain as she did. Blood dripped from the gashes in her right arm. She could feel a wet patch on her back- also blood. At least that was her own blood- in contrast to the dried-up stains on her leather chestpiece and the rest of her clothes.

“Helmatot,” she asked Hyacinth.

“Over there,” Hyacinth replied as she pointed to Reinhild’s beloved shortsword. “I know you prefer it in your hands, but I didn’t feel like being beheaded during your terrible sleep.”

As they walked home, memories came back to Reinhild bit by bit. A strange realisation that this was the same world she witnessed a few hours ago through completely different eyes.

“I want to wash myself when we get home.”

“Not until I’ve disinfected and bandaged you and your wounds start closing up.”

“I’ll freeze to death, then.”

“Then you wash yourself tomorrow. You might get stained still, anyway.”

It was dark when they got to Hyacinth’s farmstead three hours later. Reinhild could barely breathe when she got home- Hyacinth had, to her crippled body, walked at a gruelling pace.

The moment they were inside Reinhild started undoing her armour and kicked away her clothes. She curled up on a rug made out of the hide of some terrible, woolly beast that laid before the fireplace. The eternally burning fireplace that was just slightly too cold to be mistaken for natural fire.

Hyacinth brought her a glass of pomace, which she greedily drank.

She laid herself down again and tried to doze off. She felt unnaturally vulnerable, sleeping without armour or sword, in a building where she wouldn’t hear people outside approaching, nor smell them on the wind. She was too broken to care, and fell asleep.

An hour after midnight it began.

She shook awake, wracked by pain and hunger. The toll had to be paid in due.

“Hunger,” she said, hoarse.

Behind her, Hyacinth embraced her. “I promised,” she said.

“This is worse than opiate withdrawal,” she groaned. “I’m not a child, I won’t scream. I’m not a child.”

Tremors shook her body, and she felt colder than she ever had. Sweat dripped from her forehead.

“So hungry.”

Hyacinth behind her stretched her arm out, and produced a knife with her other hand. She pulled it down her wrist and commanded Reinhild to drink.

Despite being made majorly of paint, Hyacinth’s blood felt, smelled, and tasted quite like the real thing save for the slightest tinge of linseed oil. Memories of the young knight she’d molested came back. The taste of flesh and tang of blood.

Hyacinth’s blood was different. More invigorating, less real. More real than the world around them, less real than Reinhild was. An ethereal pink in colour, though that could’ve been the illumination of the fireplace or her own addled brain.

Beautiful like Hyacinth was, tasted like she imagined Hyacinth would taste.

She howled.

“Be quiet,” Hyacinth said.

“I never know when you’re taunting me,” Reinhild groaned. “More.”

“Do you want me to die of anaemia?”

“More,” Reinhild howled.

Hyacinth tore open her wrist further, and held her arm above Reinhild’s head.

“Closer,” she sputtered as her mouth filled with pink blood.

“You’ll bite me, you animal,” Hyacinth chided her sternly.

“That’s your fault,” Reinhild said.

“That’s your fault,” Reinhild started crying.

“That’s your fault,” she could barely repeat through the tears.

Her face covered in her friend’s blood, her pain waning, she fell asleep, sobbing. Like my writing? Read more over at: https://faroffunhappythings.com/?cat=41

#short story #cannibalism #body horror #problematic fiction #problematic content #far off unhappy things #tw violence #tw cannibalism

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solblog · 14 days

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time flies way too fast

29.05.2024

i went to the gym for the first time in a year! only hit the readmill this time, but i got my heart pumpin', and that's all i needed. i really wanna try some strength exercises sometime soon, maybe if there won't be as many people.

focusing on my life one step at the time makes my days feel longer, and yet it also makes me feel like the time runs by so fast. in the midst of my plans, routines, appointments, meetings, i keep losing track of how long i've been doing things for. what date it is. i forget people.

yesterday was my darling's and i 4th anniversary. we honestly both forgot about it... we still managed to spend time together and we got to make plans for the weekend, so that's nice.

last sunday i went to an art group meeting and spent a few hours with total strangers. and yet, it was still peaceful and nice. drawing in nature with others made me feel like i belong in a community.

i met with my dad on monday, we had coffee while commenting on programs on tv. i showed him my favourite furniture makeover youtube channel too.

my friend messaged me today, asking how i've been. i know keeping in touch is hard for her, just like for me, so i really appreciate that. we want to go on a little walk, to identify bugs and flowers in our area.

being busy can feel great, it makes me feel productive, but i need to remember to not forget people around me as well. they can be draining to me, they often disrupt my routine and make me feel exhausted, but i can't separate myself from them completely. i need to remember that in trying to be better, communication with others is an important step.

#solblog #solcare #fitness journey #relationships #digital diary #dear diary

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hand-painted-5tars · 23 days

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hey, its the hottest spring, speudo-summer i might say. i am considering retaking journalling just because i have the hunch it would do wonders to my mind. drawing is too doing wonders to my mind, both simultaneously creating and allowing some information, ideas relief.

i am 24, writing to an old voice, from a website i barely touch but that craddled my dreams when i entered college. and now after eons im here, i do come here sometimes to just talk to you like this, but i do still come sometimes, the same way you pop on my mind sometimes, lighthearted, not always good, but always lovingly. so im here. 4:30pm still working hours but im on lunch break. i work home. extra time i waste because my organizing skills have always been bad and i heard it has a name and im not medicating propperly for it, but then again i never have and ive come this far. so once again, track lost and refound, im here. 24, sitting at home working, drenched in sweat because the weather is awful, but in front of me theres my keyboard, my screen and to my side its the box i set up yesterday, my first and very own CPU. its black, tall and the left side has a pannel that allows me to see the fans spin and the silver of the processors resistance. something i always wanted when i was a child. a real gamer cpu, bought with my own money, and something i wasnt expecting. assembled throught my own hands. i know i shouldnt celebrate departures but in this case i cant help but being way too happy. way too giddy. y' know the way my head just gets stuck on things and wont let go till a big dawn. i hadnt realized how much i was missing, (a pity my brain just wouldnt let go) being entirely obsessed with several groups and such. uh yeah. the posters are there and the albums are too, but i dont burn like i did, desperate to know what did the kpop boys i like this round do today. they seem to be busy, thats good but its as good as i care, i dfidnt realize until i left how in most cases it felt like it didnt quite fit.

now im back on games stuff, its like i should have come here before, you know i knew i would have enjoyed it, their approach, this peoples approach to art is much freer, much more experimental and interesting and i could cry on how well it feels, not just to see things i think about appreciated but finding people who seem to be on that same wavelength. not that i dont appreciate the time, not that i dont love dearly everyone the past around 8 years gave me. i am just simply overjoyed in what i find today. i guess in the end everythings a phase, beginning and end entirely important. how i enter and how i end, what i got in the process its whats really important. i feel youd get it. but more importantly, and the most importantly is that their approach to art reignited mine in a way i hadnt seen in years, that nothing, nothing ever came close to do in the past decade since after you passed. maybe bts came close, but that only solidifies a subject above that has to do with themes and experimentation of art. but back on track. many times last year and in the past few years i was considering jsut leaving art, wanted to rip it off me. wanted off so i wouldnt disappoint myself every single time i tried and tried and failed, knowing i could be normal if i let go something i was never gifted and pretending would just burn me all over. the whole process has been like trying desperately to bury a living thing and hoping it stops coming out. every feet of dirt i just kept disappointing me further, i kept wishing i could take it all lightly. i was so close to dropping it, entirely.and well the regret the regret of seeing how much does everyone around me with real art careers were improving so much while i was crunching code on websites, most time spent trying to tell myself i could make it without drawing, maybe that will ease me out on the paper. but it never did it never came easier, it became harder and harder, and most times i wanted off as if it never existed in first place. not that i didnt love it i simply convinced myself it would be pointless to put on an effort and be disappointed in the end by the lackluster results i end up giving. im sorry, no amount of eroding edges and softening remove how jagged my insides are, and sorry no amount of regret can turn back time and hone the skills for all the time i lost being afraid, thats always been my pitfall. im sorry i only wanted to make you a drawing to explain how much your art ever meant to me and i never got the guts to truly put you in paper. you have always been the most tender of souls and my lacking hand couldnt do justice. but i think im back now. what i mean is that im back to trying this for real, with the intention of breaking, the intention of what i desperately said i did but i never did. im breaking the bones and instead of burying it im ransacking the fucking grave i guess. it all starts the same place it ends. im back where i was in highschool when i decided my young naive self that i wanted to tell stories through art, obsessed with games and animated series, and you were there too, beautiful, so i thought, i should tell you, because i tell you everything.

and so im back where i started, so much time lost but no regrets i guess. sorry not for dropping the pencil but for the many many times i lied about it. you will have my worse because thats after all the most that could be given, stupid, and worrysome, and unable to stop making all the mistakes i didnt make when i was young and too busying trying to make a daughter my parents would be proud instead of whatever i am so theres so much to pick up. i am to be build from scratch, so much to do, so much rough, so much lack of skills, and so you will have me in all the mistakes and loose ends i left, the splinter in the wood from everything i tore apart and never propperly cleaned, but its all of me, and theres so much to clean here before we can propperly start anew. i will take care of it. anyway, i build a computer from scratch like i wished when i was 14 and i still have some tasks to do for work today, but after that im all yours so if youll have me.

#my moon for you i'd #i guess yet another wordspill to #um #jonghyun #and to art i think #because im way too emotional and its way too hot outside #a love letter to art and jonghyun because to me they mean very similar things to the meanign they have in my trayectory as artists #anyways

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hotasfahrenheit · 6 months

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i don't think i have 15 people to tag but i'll still answer these 15 questions and with answers that are probably way too long to make up for it 🌟

1. are you named after anyone?

not that i've ever been aware of, tho all three of my siblings -both younger and older- are named after family members or family friends. i've never heard a story about where my name comes from, so my assumption has always just been that it was chosen because mum's family was Polish Catholics (Mia is short for Maria but i'm very far from being anything other than a white girl)

2. when was the last time you cried?

it's Sunday today yeah? so probably like Thursday or Friday while having too many emotions about *something*. i am a giant crybaby and get emotional and cry about things all the time honestly so it's not that big of a deal when i do and not worth taking note of 🤣 Saturday i spent at work for 9 hours then immediately on a 7 hour road trip where i slept a bunch so no crying yesterday but before that it could have been any time really.

3. do you have kids?

only friends that i've adopted. going from the nickname Mia to lots of friends calling me Mama Mia was entirely too easy and i'll mom at them all 💖

4. what sports do you play/have you played?

the only time i've ever willingly been on a sports team was when i played youth soccer in elementary school, it was just teams of kids from mixed grades all from my school and we got free tshirts and there was an ice cream social at the end of the whole program and honestly those were my motivating factors for playing (and i was bad at it)

5. do you use sarcasm?

who me no never

6. what’s the first thing you notice about people?

their general attitude and vibe

7. what’s your eye color?

hazel, in the blue/grey/green variety, and they look like they change depending on what colours i'm wearing

8. scary movies or happy endings?

happy endings for sure, i will like... read plot synopsis of scary movies sometimes but i don't like watching them, my brain is too visual and repetitive and scenes get stuck in my head and it's not fun

9. any talents?

lots of general art things, like i can draw some and sew things and do leatherwork etc etc.

10. where were you born?

in the northeast United States but i moved away long ago

11. what are your hobbies

playing video games, listening to kpop, watching Asian media, LARPing, making things primarily for LARP stuff

12. do you have any pets?

an elderly gentleman bastard cat, Xanatos, and a trash gremlin cattle dog known commonly as Poops

13. how tall are you?

taller than my sisters and my mother but shorter than my father

14. favorite subject in school?

well i have a bachelor's degree in literature with a minor in history so those

15. dream job

theoretically i was doing that for a while where i was working for myself making things (sewing, doing applique, dyeing fabric, doing some leatherwork, etc) on commission, but i struggle with self and time management, plus my income was incredibly inconsistent and variable so my bills just weren't getting paid. so really i guess a dream version of that would be one where i was getting paid better and had the ability to stay on task 🤣🤣

thanks for tagging me, @callipigio 💖 i think most people i would tag already have been so if you see this and wanna do it and you haven't been, pretend i tagged you and do it anyway 🌟

#survey things #mia answers things

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twelvedaysinaugust · 9 months

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Hi, Mod !

Mediocre storytime alert:

Before using tumblr, I used stan twitter a lot and used to have a larrie mutual that was very funny and, despite being irritated by some things she did, such as exaggerating in a strange way a part of louis' personality (like all blouies) and having harry as a favorite (which is no problem at all to have a favorite, this was just not my case), I always came back on her page because she always seemed to be very smart.

Last night I spent two hours scrolling through her page, because I was intrigued to see that she had stopped following Harry’s career and also had deleted her fic (and as I had already said, Harry seemed to be her favorite and it had only been a short time since she had gone to his show). And I found out that she had dropped Harry and created a narrative in her head that they broke up, which is also fine with me because, in fact, there is no way of knowing.

But for me it's very little about her opinions and more about the way she acts about it. For example, she always followed all of Louis' sisters and commented on everything they did/do (as if she knew them, their personalities) as a way to force a relationship between her and louis, to look intimate and thus seem that she is superior because she 'knows everything', and began to make fun of those who continued to believe that they were in a relationship. What in my head is very crazy that you base your treatment with people on opinions you have about the nuances of the life of a third person we don't know. We can have an idea about the values of our idols, we can admire his art and be happy with his victories, but the truth is that we only see him (for a long period of time) in situations in which he feels loved and important (shows, subscriptions, signings etc) and therefore, we always see the best part of him in those events. But we don't know his dynamics with others on normal days, we don't know his flaws, we don't know what happened and much less in details, so to stop following Harry for being frustrated with the expectations she created about how he should act is stupid. We don't know Louis' career goals to assume that his team is incompetent and that everyone wants to sabotage Louis (including the fans themselves by making jokes saying that they wanted less demand to get a ticket) as she does and as the radlouies do. We don't know details of Harry/Louis' relationships with the others members of the band to speak ill of the others members of the band. And it makes me sick to know that this kind of relationship can exist between an artist and a fan, and it is very sad to see this kind of thing, because it spoils a little to be in the fandom for me. Sorry if there were too many subjects in one, I was just very upset yesterday and wanted to share it with someone and I don't have many friends in the fandom with whom I can talk about it.

Hi, nonnie.

I’m sorry you’re feeling alone in the fandom (or were when you sent this ask). It’s really hard to lose fandom friends or realize that their values and opinions don’t align with yours.

I won’t lie - the ecosystem of fandom twitter (in particular Larrie twitter) is completely foreign to me. But I do think it’s always possible to find people you like and respect regardless of which side of the fandom you find yourself leaning towards. Sometimes those circles can just be smaller than others - and that’s okay!

As you said, fans only see a very tiny portion of Harry and Louis’ lives, and to draw sweeping and definite conclusions probably isn’t wise. I do think fans have every right to take a step back from Harry, Louis, or any other artist if the artist is no longer resonating with them. (In fact, I’d encourage fans to do that, lol.) But at that point, I think it’s best to let bygones be bygones and I also tend to unfollow when I see post after post chastising Harry, Louis, Larries, Antis, etc. after a fan changes their opinion on any of those topics.

Hope you’re doing well and finding a way to navigate fandom that feels fun and enjoyable. 🤍

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