#I feel like I’m relearning how to draw ;;-;;

[thebaratie]

sanjis cookin 🍔

#one piece #op #black leg sanji #blackleg sanji #sanji one piece #sailors log #feel like I’m relearning how to draw like every 5 days and he’s always front and center #not perfect with how I imagine him but fine enough! #accidentally made him look like a whataburger employee.. cant help being texan lmao

[callilouv]

drawing is kinda nice actually<3

#ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ idle chit chat #still hav a lot to learn but tbh i’m content w my current skills hehe #IDK i’m at that point where i just genuinely enjoy the process #sobs my drawings used to take like . 10 hours minimum back then but now i can complete a drawing in 2-3 hours :(<3 if i hyper focus on it ww #i want 2 branch out more and draw something more than just characters looking pretty :3 #since i’ve basically mastered how 2 draw the human body now i think it’s time 2 suck it up and explore more ideas #art is just so nice tbh . overtime i’ve learned to just enjoy the process and i think it really helped me a lot #but tbh i’ve gone like 4 months without drawing bc i was so burnt out after basically . forcing myself 2 improve faster and faster #abt something that will rlly only improve over the years #i don’t want to go back there again and relearn the stuff i learned LMAO🗿 #ever since i just told myself to take it easy #being an artist is hard but sometimes . sometimes i enjoy it .a lot<3 #IDK ever since i was a kid i’ve always just been an art kid #i’d draw in class and my teacher would pin my drawings on our board thing where u can pin pages wwww #and everybody would just go ‘oh name? yeah she’s the art kid’ #apparently i inspired one of my classmates to start drawing and aaaa my heart feels so happy when they go to me to learn fhdjnfdi #yeah :3 art is good <3 #SORRY ABT THIS RAMBLE HELP IDK WAHTS GOING OM WITHH ME IM USUALLY CRYING ABT ART BUT TODAY IS DIFFERENT❕❕

[chknbzkt]

Nothing like getting smacked by art block while actively wanting to participate in art fight :’)

AGHHHH i wish to bite things

#bzkt spkz #IVE GOT AN ADORABLE REF SHEET IN THE WORKS THOUGH #It’s a variant of Sun but like… so far removed from security breach that I’m sure I can use it #how y’all feel about baby Mer #no not a Mer… I’m debating the opposite… a sky mer?? a Mer but… in the sky #I’ve been inspired by Sky Children of the Light… been playing that again lately 👀 #he’s so damn cute I just gotta relearn how to draw scales ;_;

[valeriehalla]

I don’t know what to do about the internet. It’s getting worse, and getting worse faster than I think any of us ever could have imagined even just six years ago. Tumblr shot itself in the heart at the behest of Apple, at the behest of whichever nameless evangelical finance perverts are in charge of credit card policy, whereupon people like me (artists and people who like art) fled in droves to Twitter, the present state of which I don’t have it in me to be funny about.

Even after that one-two punch, Twitter and Tumblr are still the only (major) social media platforms I can stand to use. I mean, they’re the last ones left where you can, for example, see posts that your friends have made. I might have said that that seemed like the whole point of social media; every digital elsewhere has now collectively agreed that it is, in fact, social media’s greatest flaw. Your friends like to hang out and post weird jokes and titty drawings — they don’t know the first thing about your favorite marketing trends, let alone your unslakable thirst for 30-second phone videos. We have to move on: I’ll die if I think about it.

Uh — I wanna let you in a little. Here’s where I’m at, okay? I’m working on this project. I like it a lot: it’s a writing thing and an art thing and a music thing all at the same time. I’m still struggling with art burnout, but every day I get to sit down and write or compose for this thing is an unending delight, so on the balance it’s been great to work on. It’s taken me a while to get here, though — I’ve blown past all my estimates about when it’d be done. Still, it won’t be much longer.

In the mean time, I keep having these compulsive worries. I feel that I should be posting, but the nature of a long-form project like this is that I don’t have anything to post. I tweet complete nothings now and then, as if to announce my presence, like a lighthouse pulsing in the distance. And every week the websites get worse. They’re bleeding out, and it feels like some of my blood’s in there, maybe. Like, maybe you’d call me naïve, but it wasn’t that long ago that I really, really liked all this online stuff. I never had the hustle culture mindset about it: by good luck alone I managed to make a living posting the stuff I wanted to post on the places I wanted to post it.

The places I liked to post don’t exist anymore. My experience of using the internet feels hostile, alien. The ground beneath all our feet feels eggshell-thin.

But I have to use the internet: it’s where my stuff goes. It’s where all of you are. Here is where art and artists and art-likers live.

The things I love live here, in precarity, as the saw blades and lava traps of our digital dungeon grow every day more numerous.

Anyway, what I’m saying is that the web sucks now, but as long as we’re here — and we will be here — I want to try loving it again anyway. I want to untangle myself from all this disappointment and expectation and try simply “vibing” again. I wanna use cohost more: I’ll even crosspost stuff to Tumblr like I keep saying I should. I’m making a cool thing and I should show it off! I should relearn how to draw a little doodle and post it without feeling like it’s a suboptimal use of my time or whatever!! I want to believe in what joy may find us, though our world be a dumpster.

#text

[dcvina-claires]

i talked a bit about this with my friend who watched ofmd but i feel like i need to say it on here too. izzy wasn’t the only disability rep on the show. i’ve seen people complain that they killed off the only disabled character and if they do realize that other characters are disabled, they say it doesn’t matter because “it wasn’t as serious as izzy” and like… that’s the whole point. that’s what makes it good. spanish jackie is easily one of the most powerful characters on the show. she has like 20 husbands. she’s universally feared and she does all this with a missing hand. and then there’s ed. i’ve seen a lot of people say that his disability is a headcanon but he literally wears a knee brace. you don’t do that for the aesthetic. being upset that izzy died because it takes away from disabled representation and then refusing to acknowledge ed’s is straight up just hypocrisy. lucius is also easily recognized by the fact that his finger is literally made out of wood. there was a whole episode surrounding its amputation. and that might not seem like a big deal but lucius is an artist. i’m also an artist. i don’t know how i’d relearn drawing if that happened to me so the fact that he works around it and finds a way to keep doing what he loves is so meaningful. he’s also in a relationship with another disabled person, pete. pete has a speech impediment and cleft lip. he’s still seen as a fun and desirable character. he’s one of the only main characters who’s married. he has his flaws, he’s a compulsive liar and says the wrong thing sometimes, but his disability is never made into one of those flaws. i understand being upset that izzy died. he was a great character who represented a lot of people, but he wasn’t the only one. you don’t get to pick and choose which characters are disabled enough for you. disabled people aren’t your tragedy. they deserve to have stories outside of that too

#our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd #izzy hands #israel hands #spanish jackie #ed teach #edward teach #blackbeard #lucius spriggs #black pete

[the-modern-typewriter]

And so they all lived happily ever after.[1]

Theodore could finally breathe.

The two of them had bought the quiet, peaceful cottage that they had always talked about[2] and filled it with things[3] because they were allowed to do more than simply need now.[4] They were allowed to want, and build a home because home no longer had to be wherever the resistance had camped up for the night. Honestly, Theo had thought he’d be dead before that ever happened. Being born the chosen one, nobody had ever expected him to survive fate long enough for the aftermath, least of all him. [5]

Didn’t that mean he had the earned the right to be happy, now?[6]

“Theo.” She sat opposite him at the kitchen table, and took his hand, and looked at him like the world still needed saving, like he hadn’t done enough. “This isn’t working,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

It came out of nowhere.[7]

***

“I don’t have nightmares,” he said.[8] “We won. I killed the Shadow King, if anyone should have nightmares-”

He forced his expression to ease. He shouldn’t resent Adina her nightmares, if she had them. He knew the battlefield they had met upon. In a world of blood and conquest and power that made him feel like he was going to sizzle from the inside out, she had been a cooling balm. She had made him a man, instead of something out of legend.

“I know you were there too,” he continued, because she was acting like he’d somehow forgotten that. “But it’s over.” Didn’t she see that it was over? “Whatever nightmares you have, we’ll get through it together, yeah? They’re only dreams.”

“Memories.”

His jaw clenched. “They can’t hurt you unless you let them.”[9]

Her mouth clicked shut and she swallowed hard. At some point, during the argument, they’d both surged to their feet. Her arms were crossed against her chest, defensive, like either of them should have any need for defences anymore. They were safe with each other. She knew that! Before she started this conversation, they had been fine. Hadn’t they been fine?

“If there was a button that could make me feel differently,” she managed. “I would hit it in a heartbeat. God. I’m not – I know this isn’t your fault. I’m not saying that. I know you’ve gone through enough. I know this isn’t fair, but I—”

“You just need time.”[10]

They had time now, didn’t they? Walking through the woods filled him with a calm he’d never known before. The green trees, dappled by sunlight, made it impossible to dwell on the cold feeling of bloodied stone against broken bones. Everything was light, and air, and the freedom to run.

There were no people to be responsible for, no important envoys to encroach upon the time they managed to snatch together, always wrenching them apart. It was him, and her, and they didn’t have to live in a stolen moment anymore. Wasn’t that enough?[11]

“How can you be so okay?” Adina’s voice crumpled on the question, so small, and it felt like a knife between his ribs because it sounded like an honest question too. “After everything…” Her eyes were big and desperate - he recoiled. He could finally breathe, and she would have him drown.

After everything, he was allowed to be okay. Was he supposed to live forever feeling guilty for everything he could have done better? Was he supposed to have died too?[12]

Maybe, yes, in her story he should have.

It was easier to love a legend than a man. It was easy to make promises to someone who wouldn’t live to hold you to them. For a second, he hated her, more than he’d ever hated the Shadow King. He didn’t want to be a thing of hate anymore. He didn’t want to fight anymore.

“Everything?” He repeated, oh so softly. His fists curled, nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood and he didn’t want to ever draw blood again either. He stopped.  He relearned how to breathe. “You do not get to hold ‘everything’ against me, Adina. I did everything you asked of me. That all of you asked of me. For you. For this.”

“Theo…”

“We love each other.” He turned away because he couldn’t look at her. “That’s all that matters. We’ll get through this. Happily ever after.”

She flinched in the corner of his vision.

“Please.” He closed his eyes. “You want to talk about everything? After everything, let me have this. Give me this. It is the only thing I ever asked of you.”[13]

She exhaled a shaky breath. The silence stretched. Then, she kissed him sweetly, gently, like everything was okay. She whispered the words against his lips:

“I’ll try.”

***

It was better again, after that. Their fight became another battle of the past to be buried with their dead and forgotten. 

In the mornings, they would paint the sunrise that they had once spent hours trying to picture, when the endless night of the Shadow King’s reign felt like it never might never break. The first time Theo had seen that the sky could truly be pink he thought maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t made it through after all. But he had.  In the afternoons, they would walk hand in hand through the woods and he would tell her about all of the new growth he was learning about. He liked the names. The colours. The hope.

It wasn’t perfect. Now that she’d pointed it out, he stirred sometimes in the night to find her awake still. When he caressed her face in the dark his hand would come away wet with silent tears.[14] On those nights, he would kiss her honeyed and slow because he didn’t have to kiss her like she was oxygen anymore, until she melted in his arms and smiled again. [15]

The weeks turned into months, which turned into years.

She stopped crying, with time. She healed.[16]

The shadows were gone.

And so, they all lived happily ever after.[17]

----

[1] Happily ever after! It was just another bloody thing to fail at, wasn’t it?

[2] He’d always talked about it. He was happy. The cottage was perched in the middle of the woods, far enough away from civilisation that she could pass days without seeing another person. Sometimes, it felt like they must have lost, because the world that she knew wasn’t there anymore.

[3] She shouldn’t resent him his clutter. He deserved clutter. She knew he deserved clutter, his houseful of little wooden figurines he carved, after everything. 

[4] She hated the clutter.

[5] It was a terrible thing to want happiness, but not know what to do with peace; she’d learned to love him fighting. But now, he loved gently, sword forgotten, armour laid to rest, and that was not the version of him that she’d fallen love with.

[6] She missed the man she’d fallen for.

[7] She couldn’t do this anymore.

[8] Because he was the only one who had truly suffered.

[9] Was it so simple? Had she got it wrong? Was she merely not trying hard enough to move on? His expression told her that, yes, she needed to try harder. They were supposed to be a team but, to his mind, when it came down to it…he’d been the one alone against the Shadow King, hadn’t he? So, if he could heal then why couldn’t she? She hadn’t been the one buckling under the weight of prophecy. She had no right.

[10] That was the other thing everyone always said, along with happily ever after. Time healed all wounds. She just needed time. But how much time was that? Too much, it seemed. There had been a woman she met in the aftermath of the battle at Sunburst fields. She had lost her lover. Adina couldn’t remember the woman’s name, only what she had confessed when no one else was there to hear her.

[11] The woman said, “I’m not allowed to mourn her. No one knew we were together, you see. She had a husband. But she loved me, and I… no one will ever know now, and I must mourn her like she wasn’t mine to mourn. Like I might mourn a stranger.’ The woman’s voice dropped barely audible. "And I think it might just kill me. How do you heal a hurt when you have to pretend it’s not there? Like it’s a papercut instead of a bullet wound?"

[12] He fought to protect her. To protect all of them. In his story, she was the victory he came home to. She was his happy ending. She was not supposed to be broken.

[13] He had fallen in love with her when she was selfish. A good, selfless girl did not love in a stolen moment, after all. Stolen moments had to be taken from someone. But he didn’t want selfish now. He didn’t want someone who had done battle, who had hurt, and been hurt. He didn’t want a woman with a shadow in her heart.

[14] And, so, he fell out of love with her in the way that a person forgets their wallet on the train – with that stabbing sense of panic, of leaving something vital behind, without yet being able to place what was gone.

[15] Instead, he fumbled and groped for the debris, the receipts, the bits of change and dust at the bottom of the bag of them that had meant something important once. He began to look at her like a stranger when she reminded him that she was sharp. That he had loved something sharp, once.

[16] He looked for clues for what was missing.

[17] He would never find her.

#Not sure the footnotes work for tumblr but here goes #but another story of mine I don't think I've shared on here #happily ever after #short story #writeblr #fiction #creative writing #original fiction #fantasy

[willoillo]

... Okay this is going to take a bit of explaining. Some animations on Youtube reminded me that Pokémon Mystery Dungeon existed, and I decided to pick it up and finally finish it. I grabbed Explorers of Sky because I had heard it was the best written one. It emotionally destroyed me. So in order to help process those feelings, I proceeded to spend a week relearning how to draw Pokémon and, in the process, turned my exploration team into OCs. So meet Team Softpaw, my exploration team!! The Eevee is named Chloe and the Vulpix is Kitt. Idk if I'm gonna draw them more but I am very happy with how they turned out n_n

If you like my work and want to support me, my commissions are open!! For prices and examples you can check out my website, or DM me for more specifics~

Posted using PostyBirb

#art #illustration #willoillo #artists on tumblr #illustrators on tumblr #pokemon #eevee #vulpix #crystal cave #pokemon mystery dungeon #feral #oc #fanart

[fiveredlights]

we should be worried i’m listening to moon song by phoebe bridgers and thinking about maxiel…i’m giving it twenty seconds before i can think of a fic to write (i lied i already have a plan for the fic if you wanna hear it, if you don’t too bad it’s here)

okay so it starts with maxiel breaking up around 2021/2022 or 2018 i haven’t decided yet, but i wrote a bit that i think sums up with they broke up:

“I would’ve given you everything,” Max says quietly.

He knows. Daniel knows it so deeply. “You were a kid and you looked ready to spend the rest of your life with me.”

“Don’t call me a kid.” Max bites back, angry and hurt. He’s digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand and Daniel reaches out to unfurl them, like he used to do a thousand times when they were younger. He regrets it, instantly.

He forgot how much he liked holding Max.

The world always seemed a much quieter place with Max in his hands.

i can’t decide if it’s max or daniel who calls it off, because i think the whole reason daniel would call it off is because how scared he is of max—in the sense that he would literally do anything for him. daniel probably wouldn’t know what to do with that so he does what he has always fallen back to and it’s to run. max, i can’t think of a reason rn but that’s a future me problem.

anyways cut forward to the future, daniel’s back at red bull etc etc he retires in 2026/7. but during this redbull s2 stint they start falling back into old habits. they’re not together, far from it but it’s so achingly reminiscent of their relationship in the beginning. max is also dating someone else during this time and daniel knows if he said anything max would break up with them in an instant, so he’s very careful to draw these lines.

max’s wedding is in 2028 and daniel’s invited because of course he is (and he attends because he loves to hurt himself.) you know that part where it’s like “if anyone has any objections speak now or forever hold your peace” daniel is looking at max who to his horror is looking right back at him. like he’s daring him to say something. nothing happens, they get married and it’s probably the final breaking point for daniel, he can’t still be thinking about max a decade on. he goes radio silence and moves back to perth.

2030, max divorces his wife and shows up in perth unannounced. daniel closes the door on him because he knows what max is here for. a couple hours later he opens the door to leave and max is still there on his veranda. it’s a bit pathetic, daniel thinks—but he takes pity on him and lets him in. they argue, they fight, max still tells daniel he loves him and it hurts so much. for the words to come out so easily like they’re still people with absolutely nothing left to lose. then max hears a baby crying and the floor falls beneath his feet. he very tentatively follows daniel, to where he’s bouncing a baby in his arms, trying to get her back to sleep.

it’s there for the first time where max realises (for the first time in his life) that daniel has always had the option of moving on. he did, so why did he feel like daniel couldn’t? and max does what daniel to him ten years ago and he runs. he leaves, has to start properly closing the chapter on daniel ricciardo. he sits in his airport rental car on daniel’s driveway and wonders where did it go so wrong for them. he sits there for a good thirty minutes before daniel knocks on his window and sits in the passenger seat next to him.

and for the first time in probably three years daniel talks. he talks and he talks and he talks. he learns that it’s just daniel and his daughter. she’s about three months old. tentatively, slowly, max reaches across the console to hold daniel’s hand. daniel allows him.

they can’t be the same people they were ten years ago, but they also can’t start from the beginning. they’ll start in the middle, relearning everything about each other. it’ll be slow, it’ll hurt but they’re together now.

—

this whole thing revolves around these lyrics:

And if I could give you the moon / I would give you the moon / You are sick, and you're married, and you might be dyin' / But you're holdin' me like water in your hands

this will literally take me 6+ months so like daniel ricciardo trying to lower everyone’s expectations about the performance of VCARB—don’t hold your breath….

#please scream about this with me in my ask box i can’t stop thinking about this #moon song verse #daniel ricciardo #max verstappen #maxiel #wip #f1 fic

[egg-baby-official]

I feel like I forgot how to draw him and I'm relearning it because he looks wildly different every time I do. Michael my boy I'm so sorry for abandoning you.

#egg baby drawing a character looking off to the side in front of a plain color background for the 500th time: wow this is revolutionary #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #michael afton #my art #doodles

[tropes-and-tales]

Oh my gosh, more prompts! 🤗

Because I watched it recently, may I request “you can kiss me, you know” OR “come back to bed” with the one and only Sheriff Hassan?

Hassan grew up and lived in the city for most of his life, so he’s not prepared for a lot of the realities of island living.

The quiet, for example.  The darkness, for another.  Crockett Island is so small and sparsely populated that Hassan has to relearn how to fall asleep without the ceaseless sound of traffic and city noises.

There’s also the proximity to nature.  In the city, it was often easy to pretend that nature was a tame thing, something to bind up in manicured parks.  On the island, nature can be fierce and unpredictable and right outside his door.

Like the storm rolling across the tiny island.  Hassan stands at his bedroom window, watching it.  Lightning flashes leave blue-white afterimages floating behind his eyelids  The lightning bursts illuminate the sheets of rain drumming from the sky, the wind bending the scrubby trees nearly in half.  The first roll of thunder woke him up, but you?

You grew up on Crockett Island.  You don’t wake when the storm starts, but you stir now—he hears the rustling of the sheets, the sleepy groan you make—and then you wake.

A moment later, he hears the soft thump of your feet hitting the floor, and a moment after that, he feels your arms slide around his bare waist.

“Enjoying the show?” you ask, and your voice is sleep-rough, smoky.  

“Never had storms like this in the city.”

“You did.  You just never noticed because there wasn’t as much sky.  It got blocked out by all the buildings.”

He hums in agreement.  He gets an arm around you, then gently pulls you to him until you’re tucked under his arm and against his side.  He turns his head to drag his nose through your hair, to take in the familiar scent of you.

You stand together at his window and watch the storm.  When a particularly close-sounding peal of thunder booms, he jumps and it makes you laugh.

“Tough guy sheriff scared by a little rain?” you tease, and you draw your fingernails along the naked skin of his side, making him squirm at the ticklish sensation.

“I’m not scared of anything,” he replies, and he drops his voice, makes it gruff to sound tougher.  You laugh again.

“Duly noted, Sheriff.”  You release him, and you tilt your head up to him with your lips pursed until he grins, bends his head, and kisses you.

“Come back to bed,” you add.  You do a cute pirouette as you spin away from him, back towards the bed. Hassan watches you in the half-light of the bedroom, takes in the sight of you in his discarded t-shirt, your hair mussed and wild.  

Another crack of lightning startles him from his reverie, and he—taller, with longer legs—takes a few strides to catch up to you.  He scoops you into his arms, your surprised squeal ceding to laughter as he carries you the rest of the way and then unceremoniously dumps you onto the bed.  He dives right in, follows you down and cages you in with his arms as he arches his body over yours.  He dips his head and kisses you again, this time with more intention.

Maybe he’s a little scared of the storm.  He’s not used to such wild weather right at his door—but island living has its upsides, like weathering the storms…in bed…with you.

#ask game #sheriff hassan #sheriff hassan x reader #sheriff hassan imagine #sheriff hassan el shabbaz x reader #hassan el shabbaz #sheriff hassan el shabbaz imagine #midnight mass #tropes and tales

[batwynn]

It’s wild to me that I went from loving bugs and frogs and what people generally consider ‘ugly’ animals like vultures etc. as a young kid to disliking them because my peers loudly hated them, and my autistic ass was already terrified of being Wrong and Weird by the end of my first day in preschool. The same with the music I liked, and the movies, and the books, and hobbies, and any interests I actually had. What I didn’t stuff down early on, got bullied out of me over time until I only ‘liked’ what others liked. Did what others did.

And how it took years being away from that kind of environment to re-learn what I really liked and cared about. And even now I’m not 100% there yet. I still hide things that I like. I try not to talk about them, or draw too much of (thing), or be too excited about something. Because that’s what ✨trauma✨ does babee. 👍

Anyway. This is your gentle reminder that you can relearn to love the things you genuinely love. It’s hard, but it’s integral to getting back to feeling like yourself again after years of being someone else. It’s so worth it, I promise.

#autism #actually autistic #autistic masking #autistic things #tw: bullying #tw: bugs #I mean this is also a little bit of a gender thing #perceived as a girl for my childhood #assigned Girly Likes and Dislikes by peers #like I vividly remember a group of girls screaming at me because I had a fun time on the playground and had a little dirt on me #never mind when I was hyped up about the frog eggs #or fucking anything that I was curious about or enjoyed #also got bullied for thinking the class hissing cockroach was cool #anyway #love your interests #it’s ok #it’s ok I swear #I promise you #it’s ok to be you

[ofwraithsandwords]

I’m typically one to steer clear of drama on social media, especially if it’s petty fandom drama, but the bullying and harassment surrounding Halsin and Dave Jones has literally gotten out of hand.

So, since certain people have forgotten how to interact with fiction, Prof. Wraiths is here to hold your hand and help you relearn media literacy:

The definition of “fiction” as it is explained in Wikipedia is “any creative work, chiefly any narrative work, portraying individuals, events, or places that are imaginary or in ways that are imaginary.”

“But what about morally bad stuff like murder, abuse, sexual assault, or even pedophilia being portrayed in fiction?” You ask.

A long answer would be that it’s okay if these things make you feel uncomfortable. Some of them make me uncomfortable, and at one time, knowing some people draw or write about subjects like these in a non-educational or tactful way made me very unhappy. That’s normal. But somewhere along the way, I realized something very important:

It doesn’t matter what you say or do, there will always be somebody out there who makes problematic content; reporting or doxxing them doesn’t help those who have actually been affected by these subject matters in real life in any way that feasibly matters.

For the short answer to the question, see:

For everyone who does not like a fictional character, congratulations! You have just experienced a fascinating aspect from being alive. I also have fictional characters I don’t like.

Specifically in relation to Halsin, I have seen people give reasons like “he’s a creep”, or “he comes on too strong”, and even “he’s boring and kind of a useless character”. These are all valid reasons. You are allowed to feel this way! I can even see the arguments for them.

What is NOT valid, however, is harassing people who actually like him. Social media is not your playground and I am not interested in having to witness your temper tantrums drag innocent people into them. Especially if it gets so bad that you end up bullying someone off a platform. Maybe you don’t like a real life person, too! That’s also fine. But accusing them of serious crimes or morally bad behavior when they have not exhibited such behavior in any way that even remotely holds water, you have now crossed into the

Timeout Zone.

This means that you need to log off and really think about what you’re doing before you ruin your life, the person you’re harassing/accusing’s life, both, or many others. Go take a walk. Read a book. Make your lunch for tomorrow. Do the dishes. Anything to help you calm down.

For a summary of the above text regarding how to deal with things you don’t like, please see:

Thank you, everyone. Have a nice day.

#bg3 #halsin #halsin silverbough #dave jones #fandom drama #harassment #bullying #media literacy #ah I also forgot to mention #if you don’t like a character have you ever possibly considered that you’re just not the target audience #amazing what can happen when you use that weird wrinkly pink stuff in your head

[secondarily-firstly]

Requested by @arrloww (Hehe yay! First request!)

Kyle Garrick x genderfluid!insecure!Reader

unedited | sfw | “Monster in the Closet” | Masterlist

Themed around Reader’s discomfort with their body, so I’m counting it as a warning

Might make a part 2 at some point with actual comfort but here’s something for now (I gotta relearn how to write fluff tbh :/)

It’s not very good — I haven’t written in a WHILE

Standing before the long mirror in your room, which had long ago been hidden behind the door to conceal it, the breath in your lungs just felt…stale.

A shirt too baggy to fit your figure. The folds of the cloth extending in a halfway decent crumble around hips far too shaped for displeasure. An uncomfortable feeling of suffocation around your neck from the collar, and you tug on it twice to try and loosen it. Eyes drifting down to the way the shirt also draped over your chest…

You let out a soft groan as you tucked the mirror back behind the door, eyes catching yourself one last time. Wearing a face, and a body, that just…didn’t feel your own.

The evening was supposed to go well. You’d been chiding yourself to live up to its expectations all week, knowing full well that you likely still would let both yourself, as well as your boyfriend, down.

He had gotten back this morning, and of course the first thing he’d done upon walking through that door, was to bring you into his arms. Holding you tight against his chest, one arm around your waist to draw soft shapes into your back, the other raised over your shoulder to gently hold the back of your head against his cheek. In that moment, his warmth, as well as his love, had bathed you in familiarity you’d so rarely feel when he was deployed. He loved you. Oh, how he loved you.

The glitter of the exchange melted away into a comfortable setting, by the time he’d kissed you. Smiling against your lips as he always did, with each little kiss across your lips, cheeks, and forehead. With one final kiss to the tip of your nose (“because it’s such a cute nose, sweet’art!”) and a stroke of his thumb across your cheek, he disappeared into the bedroom to shower and dress down to his casuals.

Which was how you got to where you are now, standing hiding from the mirror as though it were the monster in your closet, dressed in a shirt that felt too big, pants too long, fighting your hair without a mirror to prepare for a night in with your boyfriend.

You smile when he emerges from his shower, a towel held around his waist with a sheepish grin, walking past you to grab a set of clothes from his closet. You only watch, giving him a soft look. Eyes he’d fallen in love with long ago.

You loved him. He loved you. But oh, how you sometimes wished you could love yourself. The way he so shyly ducked back into the bathroom upon emerging in such undress…as though he had something to hide. He was beautiful, you thought. A beautiful man. With a warm smile and eyes that always seemed to carry with them a sense of ease. Soldier or not, sergeant or not…he was your Kyle. Your beautiful Kyle.

You look down at yourself again, bottom lip between your teeth. Pulling uselessly at the hem of your shirt, and tugging up the waistband of your pants. Awkwardly shuffling your feet as you glance up at the bathroom door. You hear shuffling, and the sound of the sink running so he could wash up his face. A routine you could recite with ease. You wondered how he could face that mirror so easily every time, sometimes just watching him get ready for his days, or for dates. In awe of how easy it seemed to him. An ease you wished you could possess as well.

The bathroom door opens, and your smile returns to your face. Hands at your sides, as though they weren’t just tugging at your clothes, or pushing around skin you’d grown to hate. Marks of old pain or old habits which had long since grown numb to your abrasive touch. A body you wished could just go numb with them sometimes.

You meet his eyes, and he meets yours. That smile on his lips lighting up the room, and he opens his arms for you again.

The glitter in his eyes just makes it so hard to tell him no.

#Unedited #call of duty #kyle gaz garrick #cod gaz #kyle garrick x reader #Genderfluid reader #x genderfluid reader #reader insert #If I’m missing tags pls let me know #Seconds writes

[brisquad-unit-4402]

hello i’ve got some thoughts and updates for this blog.

i’ve been on a bit of burnout for a while, including life outside of writing. naturally the termination has sped up that burnout. i’m exhausted and struggling to be graceful about it, but that’s to be expected. i’m not one to sit on my feelings even though i’ve lacked the energy to write. which really bites because that’s my number-one passion really.

however i’ve taken some time to relax by diverting my attention away from social media and niji streams. i’ve relearned an old hobby and splurged a little too much on a new one, and i kind of can’t believe how much i missed drawing on real paper with a real pen and pencil. and thank god the love and deepspace sponsorship wrapped up before the termination, because that game has me in not just a chokehold but like one of those umbilical cords from astral projection. the silver cord? that

i’ve been watching other vtubers lately as well. i’ve always considered adding holostars en to my list but hesitated because everything else on my blog was niji-related.

consider this confirmation that i will be adding holostars’ tempus hq, vanguard and armis, and first stage productions’ avallum to my list of characters i will write for. i admit i’m not as familiar with armis, but i’ll be paying closer attention in the near future as i branch out from strictly watching niji only.

(might also be adding idol corp’s e-sekai? maybe? i watch them once every few months and i haven’t seen pochi or yuko stream since they debuted 💀 no clue on their gen 2 either)

i’ll be overhauling my masterpost for organization soon. so apologies for the horrors about to come… to be clear i will not delete any of my writing so don’t worry!

i’m unsure how much niji i’ll write in the future. give me some time to think as the situation hopefully cools down. i appreciate your patience.

and who knows maybe i’ll write for non-vtuber fandoms too

i think it’s about time i clean my inbox out soon too. i‘ll answer what asks i can and delete the remaining ones. i’ve had a few requests sitting in my inbox for nearly a year now and i’ve recently realized how stressed i was over them and learned about some boundaries i didn’t know i had beforehand, among other things, so so it’s about time i face them head-on. i apologize if i never got to your request! please don’t take it personally if i don’t answer your request. but above all else thank you for being patient, understanding, and kind enough to send in a request. even though i tend to bite off more than i can chew i always get so happy whenever i see a notif in my inbox and i appreciate your time for a little unit 4402.

even though i’m not watching niji streams atm i’m hesitant to stop writing for them because, like, i keep thinking of this clip of doppio saying he feels like he’s allowed to buy healthy/organic food because of fan support and donations, and among other reasons... it’s very easy to make conclusions on people you only know through a screen and i just can’t bring myself to cut them out so abruptly, even if i’m a fan creator on a site none of them use.

idk when i’ll post next and it feels nice to say that. i usually try to post once every 2 weeks, but considering how i’m trying not to think about niji right now and am instead embracing other parts of my life, i dunno. it’s nice. this blog is a major source of joy for me and it feels like i’m preserving what makes it so special for me instead of turning it into a chore. hopefully with time and rest i’ll have a clearer idea of where to go from here.

that’s pretty much everything on my mind, i think? thank you for bearing with me and my yapping. i hope to return soon and that the next time you see me, my blog will be cleaner, more expansive, and with a fresh mindset. take care of yourselves and don’t get immersed in toxicity. don’t forget to do what you love 💛

#unit 4402 reporting #this post was drafted at 3:30 am so hopefully i covered everything

[the-likesofus]

Crushes, Shivers and Bruised Knuckles

9-1-1 on Fox | 9k words | kickboxing fic | pining, getting together, eventual happy ending

eddie realizes he's in love with buck, freaks out about almost killing a dude, and goes to therapy

Based on this title prompt from the lovely Jenwyn @elvensorceress

Read on AO3

Sometimes Eddie wishes that Frank wasn't so good at his job. Sure he's helping, he's doing a great job of helping Eddie work through his traumas and emotions, helping him to "unrepress" himself as Buck keeps calling it. But sometimes, when he takes the lid off yet another mental box of memories and conflictions that Eddie thought he had tucked away for good, he thinks that Frank might be too helpful. 

“How did you get on with your homework this week?” Frank asks and Eddie barely looks up from where he is picking at the seam of his jeans with a nail. Truthfully Eddie’s homework had resulted in a minor mental breakdown, two panic attacks, and a lot of deep breaths behind the washing machine while he hid from his son. Not his proudest moment. 

Franks waits patiently for Eddie to reply. If Frank being too helpful is the worst part of therapy then this is the second worse. Frank established very quickly that he is not the kind of man that finds the need to fill silences and he is quite happy to spend their whole half-hour session waiting patiently while Eddie avoids talking about the proposed topic. 

“Homework was fine.” He says.

“Can you elaborate on that for me? I asked you to take stock of your meaningful relationships, outside your son. Were you able to do that?”

“Yes.” Eddie’s nail snags and pulls painfully, leaving a jagged edge that stings. He tucks the end of his finger between his lips and sucks as if he can draw the pain out that way, siphoning it straight from his bloodstream. He wipes the dampness on his thigh and takes a deep breath. Frank is watching him closely when Eddie looks up. His face is blank and impassive, as always, so Eddie can never tell what he is thinking. 

“Okay. And what did you learn from that?” Frank asks slowly like he’s talking to a child and sometimes that’s how Eddie feels. He walks out of these sessions with his soul stripped bare and his mind wiped clean as the day he was born, his entire world tilted on its axis as he tries to relearn every thought and emotion he’s ever had.

His breath feels like it’s caught in his throat, growing and bubbling with nervous energy, painful almost to the point of agony and he lets the words spill out of him because he doesn’t know what to do with them otherwise and if anyone is capable of helping Eddie to sort through his newest emotional turmoil it is Frank. “I think I’m in love with Buck.”

--------

The first time Eddie realized he was in love with Buck was at 2 pm on a Wednesday. Chris was at school and Buck was sitting on Eddie’s couch pairing and folding socks while he ranted and raved about his babysitting date with Jee-Yun the previous weekend. He started making plans for them to take her and Christopher to the park on Saturday. He didn’t even need to ask Eddie if they were free, if they had other plans, or even if they wanted to go. He just knew. 

Eddie excused himself to the bathroom and spent fifteen minutes sitting on the closed toilet seat taking deep breaths with his head between his knees as his heart constricted painfully in his chest. I love him, I love him, I love him repeating on loop in his head like a stuck record, his heart scratching at the ridges that Buck had carved away in his chest, where he had made a home for himself amongst Eddie’s darker afflictions. 

When he returned to the couch Buck had just smiled at him, all soft and patient, and made some joke about how long he had been gone, how he was worried Eddie had fallen into the toilet bowl. 

On Thursday, Buck shows up for their shift with coffee in hand. But not any regular coffee, no this was some ridiculous, limited-time Starbucks concoction that Eddie would never order for himself but paid a little too much attention to when it was advertised on TV the night before. It is delicious and Eddie’s heart thrums even as it tries to hammer its way out of his chest. The way their fingers brush when Buck hands him the coffee sends sparks flying up Eddie’s forearm and for the rest of their shift, he is acutely aware of every inch of contact Buck makes with him. Their knees pressed together in the engine, their shoulders brushing as they walk side by side. 

Over the course of 12 hours, the hope and terror that bubbles up and burns in Eddie’s gut becomes unbearable. He needs some kind of release, relief. The pressure presses outward at his hips and downward to the ends of his toes until every inch of his body feels like an overfilled air mattress threatening to split at the seams and spill love all over Buck’s shiny regulation boots. The urge to filet his heart on a platter and present it to Buck is almost as strong as the urge to punch something and so he goes with the second option because bruised and bloodied knuckles feel safer than a broken heart. 

The punching bag in the station gym crumples and swings under his fists, the rhythmic thwack thwack of skin against canvas takes the sharp edge off the tightness in his chest but does nothing to unclench his jaw and halt the grinding of his teeth. Eddie can feel that horrible urge that filled him right before he let Bosko convince him to join the equivalent of a fight club. He knows she never intended for him to take to it in quite the aggressive and unrelenting way he did and he swore never to go back there, he promised Buck that he would talk to him if he ever felt like that again. But he can’t talk to Buck about this. 

“What did that bag do to offend you?” A voice comes from beside him and it shakes Eddie out of his single-minded focus. He lets his arms swing freely at his sides and turns to find Chimney leaning against the weight rack. 

“How long have you been there?” Eddie finds himself asking and Chimney just chuckles and shakes his head.

“Long enough to know you need a water break.” He picks Eddie’s bottle up off the floor and hands it to him. “Seriously man, you have ridiculous stamina. Have you ever tried kickboxing?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him as he gulps a few mouthfuls from his bottle. The water has gone oddly warm from how long it’s been sitting on the ground next to him. 

“Okay, come on.” Chimney laughs again. “I meant at a proper gym, not an abandoned parking building. You know, regulated? Legal?” 

Eddie rolls his eyes but leans back against the support pole next to the punching bag. “No.”

“Maybe you should look into it. There’s one over on 6th in Koreatown. Kevin tried to drag me along a couple of times but I was never much good at it.”

“You really think you should be encouraging me to get back into fighting?”

“It’s not fighting, Eddie. It’s fitness. Some vices can be good for you, but knowing boundaries are too. If you don’t think it’s worth risking falling back into old habits then that’s fine. But, think about it, yeah?” Chim stands up and makes to head up to the loft when he turns back and calls over his shoulder, “Hey, I’ll even go with you if you want. But I did say I’m not very good.”

Continue on AO3

#buddie #buddie fic #meegs writes stuff #911 fox #911 fox fic #eddie x buck #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #christopher diaz #evan ‘buck’ buckley #howie chimney han #this fic got long cos frank has a lot to say #frank 911 #kickboxing fic

[d-andilion]

a gesture

my first prompt for @whataboutthebard!

prompt: whump: destruction of sentimental property/theft, wuv: giving gifts, mending clothing

(geraskier, T, pre-relationship, s2 compliant, post-mountain angst, hurt!jaskier, hurt/comfort, 1k, read on ao3)

Geralt can’t for the life of him think how everything went so wrong. This was supposed to be a good moment. He was supposed to be presenting his bard with a thoughtful, timely, and very expensive gift. They were supposed to be making up for lost time, maybe mending some old wounds. Jaskier was supposed to be happy.

The bard is not happy.

Even if Jaskier’s body language—tight shoulders, clenched fists, eyes pitched low—weren’t enough to clue Geralt in, the refusal to lay so much as a finger on the instrument lying on the bed between them certainly does. Where he was lounging comfortably mere moments ago, Jaskier is now perched like a leaf on a cliffside waiting for the slightest gust of wind to send him toppling over, and the lute before him might as well be a gathering storm for the glare he gives it.

Geralt would never claim to be an expert on the subject, but he thought the lute was just fine when he purchased it at the market yesterday. It could never compare to the elven one Jaskier received all those years ago, but nothing ever would. Surely the bard knows that. If he is waiting for another ancient heirloom from the elven people to fall into his lap, he’ll be waiting until the end of time.

This one is a perfectly good replacement. It’s used, but in good shape to Geralt’s eye, and the merchant was spoken highly of when he asked around. The finish is intact, the strings are brand new. It even has delicate yellow flowers embroidered into the shoulder strap. Geralt had thought it a fine gift. A chance for him to show Jaskier that he’s trying.

But Jaskier hates it. Worse, he almost looks frightened of it.

“You’re upset,” Geralt says, forever stating the obvious.

“I’m not,” Jaskier replies, smiling tightly. Geralt suppresses a frustrated groan.

“You don’t like it? Is it… I don’t know, the wrong wood?” The merchant said spruce was standard, but Jaskier has always liked to be different. Would be have preferred pine? Cherry? Do those kinds of lutes even exist?

“No, it’s lovely,” Jaskier says, though he makes no move to retrieve the instrument. “Thank you very much, darling.” 

Jaskier isn’t lying about that, Geralt can hear as much, but he clearly isn’t pleased. On the contrary, he looks to be at the brink of tears, and he’s rubbing his fingers together the way he does when he’s nervous. It’s a new tick of his, one more thing about him that Geralt has had to relearn since their parting. Jaskier does it all the time now, even when his hand was still bandaged from his run-in with—

With the fire fucker. Fuck.

Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s hand but the bard snatches it away. It stings more than it should. Another reminder of all the liberties he hasn’t yet earned, the ones he once took for granted.

“You told me you were healed.”

“I am,” Jaskier lies, heart skipping.

“Let me see.” Geralt holds out his hand, an offer this time rather than a demand. Jaskier doesn’t accept it.

“It’s fine. See?” Jaskier waives his hand quickly in front of his face before tucking it into his lap. “Barely a scar.”

“But it’s still bothering you.”

That earns a hollow laugh. 

“Does it hurt?” Geralt presses.

“It doesn't anything anymore, Geralt!” The admission yanks at whatever remains of Jaskier’s composure, bringing an edge to his voice and a tear rolling down his cheek. He’s trembling a bit, anger and despair curling sourly in the air around them. 

“I have no feeling there,” Jaskier continues. “I... Sometimes I think I feel something, but it’s never real. It's gone.”

Geralt can’t think what to say to that so he says nothing, letting the silence draw out into a long tense pause.

Jaskier sucks in a shuddering breath. “This is the one thing I can do without ruining it. If can't do it anymore, I'd rather not find out. I don’t think I could bear it.”

Frustration with Jaskier for keeping this from him builds and dissipates in a single breath. The bard has always been quick to hide his hurts, terrified that Geralt would leave him behind. And he did, didn’t he? Things have been better since Voleth Meir, Geralt thinks, but he has hardly earned the full breadth of Jaskier’s trust yet. Not even close, he wagers.

If things weren’t so broken between them—if Geralt hadn’t been the one to break them—he might have some hope of offering Jaskier the comfort he so clearly craves right now. Tactile is Jaskier’s base state of being, even more so when he’s upset. But now he pulls away, curling in on himself instead of reaching out for Geralt the way he has so many times before. 

Geralt doesn’t dare reach for Jaskier again, but he lays his hand on the blanket between them, beside the offending lute, a gesture of whatever Jaskier will accept from him right now.

“You don’t ruin things, Jaskier.” It earns him a watery smile he probably doesn’t deserve. Geralt returns it with a small grin of his own. “You know how to play like you know how to breathe. If you practice, you might get the feel of it again.”

“Maybe,” Jaskier agrees. He doesn’t look quite convinced, but not entirely hopeless either. Geralt can work with that. “I need a bit more time, I think.”

Geralt nods. He can give Jaskier time. “And this?” he asks, nodding to the lute. It looks imposing now in a way it wasn’t before.

Jaskier picks the instrument up with shaking hands and sets it in his lap. It doesn’t look quite at home and neither does Jaskier, but Geralt is certain that will change. It has to change.

“Might as well keep it, hm?” Jaskier smiles. “It really is lovely.”

“Not sexy, though?”

The bard laughs brightly at that and it drenches the room in warmth. He holds the lute a little firmer. “Maybe a bit sexy.”

~~

w.a.t.b. masterlist

#wuv the bard #whump the bard #my fic #mine #geraskier fic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier #x geralt