Sketchbook Shoutout - 34
When people request my own OCs it makes me so so happy, Ulf has many hats but I wanted to put in a Dead City callback!
These requests are available for $10 patrons and $10 kofi commissions
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I posted 4,183 times in 2022
That's 769 more posts than 2021!
502 posts created (12%)
3,681 posts reblogged (88%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@aflawedfashion
@rosamundpikesource
@maiagaru
@lonely-night
@soupsnakessss
I tagged 4,123 of my posts in 2022
Only 1% of my posts had no tags
#stranger things - 663 posts
#joyce byers - 495 posts
#winona ryder - 467 posts
#otp - 459 posts
#jim hopper - 336 posts
#aflawedfashiongif - 336 posts
#the wheel of time - 299 posts
#joyce and hopper - 289 posts
#david harbour - 277 posts
#snowpiercer - 274 posts
Longest Tag: 138 characters
#i knew they’d stop making music but they always seemed to love performing so i figured they’d dust out their hits periodically and perform
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
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1,927 notes - Posted January 23, 2022
#4
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1,963 notes - Posted May 28, 2022
#3
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2,055 notes - Posted January 20, 2022
#2
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3,304 notes - Posted June 3, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
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3,654 notes - Posted August 15, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
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it's always funny when you see stuff that is so obviously preemptively written to ward off Posting. the most overt manifestation is marvelesque lampshading of cliches ("hey isn't it stupid that we were saved at the last minute?") but there's other types of it. there's writing that addresses criticism in-text (Marvel Lady #24 owning a hater who says that Marvel Lady #24 is antifeminist) or fan responses like shipping (that one plotline in bbc sherlock that shows moriarty/sherlock shippers as weirdos nobody likes) or even stuff like worrying the reader won't understand the characters (EVERY instance of characters using therapyspeak in a story.)
to the insecure artist, the shadow of the Poster looms large over them. they can never mentally escape the fear that someone, somewhere, may be making memes about how their art sucks. and you know what? that's just beautiful
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you were raised in comparison.
it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.
you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.
you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.
what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.
it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.
you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.
you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?
a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.
you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.
it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.
something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.
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A quick sketch of my OC Ulf who I love dearly!
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𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 Veritas Ratio is something that always keeps you on your toes, never sure of what you can expect. Sometimes his kisses are slow, languid and deep, seeking every crevice of your mouth and memorizing the taste of you as if it would be the last time he'd get to do so. The back of his hands deftly brush over the swells of your cheeks, feeling the heat beneath your skin and if you managed to reel in your faltering focus you could almost feel him smiling against your lips. "Utmost adorable how you keep chasing my lips," he coos in a honeyed tone, thumb brushing over the dip of your bottom lip. "Even after I've stopped kissing you."
But there are other times where you can feel the hunger radiating off him when he cages you between his body and his desk. His lips are more demanding, hungrier, devouring you whole without an ounce of remorse. It's hot and wanting, overwhelming and dizzying all at once. He pours every last ounce of his soul into swallowing your moans and whimpers, shushing you while your mouths move needily and messily over each other because kisses like these only end in one way. "Needy little thing, I can feel you trembling," he teases, a husky tone that sends a shiver down your spine. "You need me to fuck you? Pleasure you? Is that why you're whining against my lips like a little bitch in heat?"
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