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rucapable3 years ago
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r u capable of moving your soul in time?
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inkskinneda year ago
i think some men hear聽鈥渉unger鈥 and think: the body when it is an ache, but only just-so. a hunger can be ignored. a hunger can be tricked.聽
but this is not my hunger. the hunger of daughters. i inherited it from my mother鈥檚 throat, and she cut it from her mother鈥檚 ribs, and she stole it from her mother鈥檚 hipbones. this is a hunger honed properly. it is not a single empty plate. it is sixteen seasons of starving. this hunger did not erupt. it was taught to me by the sweetness of a closed fist. to be and take and have less.
the hunger is not of food, although sometimes it is of food. each taste of it comes craving up my tongue: tonight's desire to speak up is a lime orange, frothy and hot. i savor the slime yellow of shoving anger down, of unhysteria, of learning how not-to-shrill at the snakebite. i crunch the holiday venom of slapped on the ass and click it over my teeth at trainstations.聽
i am unasking of my boyfriend. i do not nag my father. i let the man talk over me. i smile daintily and laugh quietly and shove all i am into this hole in me, this sliding that never gulps enough, and i say: i will be going into the kitchen now, do you need anything?
i am always, always, always hungry. some days i think if i start to consume i will simply never stop, that i will unhinge from the back of my ears and be able to shove every snippet of sugar i denied myself, every backtalk or unladylike or starving. i will shove cakes and a whole roast beef and every man who thought he knew hunger into my bones and i will say: see! this is hungry! to not only be denied but to teach myself the art of denying, that even i refuse myself the fine things, that even i hold back and cut carbs and stay sitting. that to take feels wrong, and ugly, that to be wanting is selfish, that to desire is raw.
this is hungry: that full should be so ugly that we remove ourselves from our own lives in taxes, to be聽鈥渘ot too much鈥, to be small, and quiet, and passive. this is hungry: when i go to sleep i dream of a knife and only understand it in the context of cutting.聽this is hungry: that even my desires disgust me.
we daughters with our sallow eyes. we understand: she was committing an act of war, the beautiful persephone.
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rucapable3 years ago
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r u capable of feeling that there r times which require deeper patience?
breath it and trust
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rucapable3 years ago
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r u capable of notice the bond between your soul expressions and your face curves?
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underleavesa year ago
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Commissioned painting for a Harry potter fanfic. =)
A big challenge concerning coloring because I am terribly uncomfortable with halftone atmospheres. It was necessary to contrast the gray and dull world of humans, to the one much warmer and full of promise of magic. I really struggled to find a balance 鈥
Aussi, trop de lignes droites, la nature c鈥檈st tellement plus facile 脿 dessiner ! X鈥橠
Une peinture command茅e pour une fan-fic Harry potter. =)
Un gros challenge niveau couleur car je suis terriblement mal 脿 l鈥檃ise avec les ambiances en demi-teintes. Il fallait contraster le monde gris et terne des humains, 脿 celui beaucoup plus chaleureux et plein de promesses de la magie. J鈥檃i vraiment eu du mal 脿 trouver un 茅quilibre 鈥
Also, too many straight lines, nature is so much easier to draw! X'D
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claybrownie75662 months ago
No one else gonna talk about how Wilbur Soot and Harry Potter have the same limbo/afterlife?
No? Just me?
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purplelamaarta year ago
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Bro, this is like a,,, colloege AU?? Anyway they went to a Christmas party with remy. Roman is sleepy boi
If you want to send in prompts for this peice or just art requests, I am very interested in that babayyy!!
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archimapsa year ago
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Inside the emperor鈥檚 waiting room of the Nordbahnhof, Vienna
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dreamsclock3 months ago
I rewatched the beginning of Quackities newest lore stream god dammn that was creepy. The classical music, too happy and too elegant for what is shown on screen, like it's the rest of the server dancing in ignorance . Now that I think of it, they literally just dumped a cornered animal into a cage and thought it would help. They thought to put Smp!Dream in the prison and be done with him. Leaving an unstable person to the mercy of another unstable person. oh my god not agai -trainstation anon.
THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE BECAUSE I COMPLETELY AGREE WITH YOU ,,, that whole part was so so disturbing and i loved it so much KCSHVKD
warnings: disturbing themes/content, dark themes/content, violence, violent thoughts, torture, abuse, drugs mention, alcohol mention, death mentions, mental instability / deterioration, mental illness, emotional distress, weapons - c!quackity is DARK in this, jsyk !!!
The sun is shining. The birds chirp overheard. It would have been lovely to wake up to if he hadn鈥檛 stopped sleeping some time ago.
Before he leaves his bedroom, he ticks off another day on his calendar.聽
(Day twenty nine comes and goes.)
There鈥檚 something about living in Las Nevadas that stops tiredness: or, at least, stops sleeping. Quackity sidles between flashing lights and glimmering machines with a smile on his face that belies his thrumming exhaustion. Hey! What does he have to be tired for? Las Nevadas is the city that never sleeps, the country that keeps on going come hell or high water. He鈥檚 no exception to the rule - he鈥檚 a businessman. He can sleep when he鈥檚 dead.
It鈥檚 a chipper song he hums as he prepares for the day ahead: first a glass of bourbon, because hey, it鈥檚 a Sunday, it鈥檚 what the Lord would鈥檝e wanted, then a netherite sword, a netherite axe, a set of shears in his inventory, and then he鈥檚 good to go. It鈥檒l be a long day - Quackity doubles back to pick up lunch. Who knows when he鈥檒l get hungry during his work?
The further Dream SMP is just waking up when he gets there, a sleepy, pleasant atmosphere settling over the cities like smog. Quackity passes Ranboo and exchanges brief pleasantries with him, promises to come to Snowchester for dinner with him and Tubbo - 鈥渋t鈥檒l be nice to get out!鈥 He says cheerily,聽鈥淚鈥檒l catch up with you soon, man!鈥 - before continuing on his way. Lodging his pickaxe in Ranboo鈥檚 skull and watching him writhe in pain would鈥檝e been nicer: how Tubbo can be happy with Dream鈥檚 goon, Quackity doesn鈥檛 know (how Quackity can put up with his friend living with a traitor like Ranboo, he doesn鈥檛 know either). Instead of thinking about it, he urges Ossium and his violent thoughts onward, leaving Ranboo behind. He can dream later.
鈥淢orning, Quackity!鈥 Niki greets him, catching him dismounting from Ossium near his place of work.聽鈥淚 just baked bread: would you want some?鈥
Quackity grins.聽鈥淎w, you got me. How much?鈥
Niki laughs, shaking her head in amusement.聽鈥淧romise I can visit your country in the future and you can have it for nothing,鈥 she says warmly, and Quackity thinks it鈥檚 pathetic now that her anger has sizzled out: she鈥檚 vulnerable now, happy and smiling without any power, delusional in thinking that power comes from recovery and not from anything else, but when he鈥檚 given three loafs of bread for free, he鈥檚 not gonna complain. Instead, he beams, handing her one of his business cards that isn鈥檛 stained with blood.聽
鈥淎ny friend of mine is a friend of Las Nevadas,鈥 he tells her with a wink, and Niki snorts,聽鈥渙n your first visit, I鈥檒l even provide you with your payment for the entertainment.鈥
There鈥檚 a glint of curiosity in her gaze that Quackity is addicted to. He shrugs playfully, mounting Ossium again with ease.聽鈥淪top by at the opening and find out!鈥
鈥淕oodbye, Quackity,鈥 Niki laughs, and Quackity chuckles as Ossium canters away, whistling a tune that Wilbur had taught him under his breath,聽鈥淚鈥檒l see you soon.鈥
When he stops whistling, the music doesn鈥檛 stop: it dances round his head, leaving him tapping his sword against the ground to the beat as he enters the prison.聽鈥淢orning, Sam,鈥 he greets brightly,聽鈥渋sn鈥檛 it just a beautiful day?鈥
Sam looks run ragged: he鈥檚 not cut out for this kind of work, Quackity knows sympathetically, but hey, a man鈥檚 gotta do what a man鈥檚 gotta do.聽鈥淗ey, Big Q,鈥 he replies heavily,聽鈥淚 guess so. Are you ready?鈥
鈥淵ou know me, Sam,鈥 Quackity chirps, and he鈥檚 let in.
He鈥檚 more than a little familiar with the prison process by now, so hums, unbothered, as Sam lets him bypass the security checks and the usual precautions - really, Quackity thinks, it鈥檚 sweet of Sam to give him the shortcut in now, maybe he should give him a bottle of whiskey or something as a present (the guy needs it) - until, five minutes later, he鈥檚 standing in front of the usual lava wall, unperturbed by the thick tense silence he breaks with his humming. It鈥檚 a good song: lacking in lyrics he doesn鈥檛 think Wilbur ever got to finish before his death, but it sticks in Quackity鈥檚 head anyway, and seems to get under Sam鈥檚 skin with how unsettled he seems.
And oh, there he is - Dream is lying on the ground, still covered in blood and wounds (rude of him not to clean up, Quackity thinks, covering his smile with something steelier) and clearly only semiconscious. He struggles up when he realises the lava wall has fallen, backing against the obsidian like he can ward the inevitable off, but Quackity is already crossing over the bridge with brisk steps.聽
鈥淎lright, okay, good to see you again,鈥 Quackity says brightly, pulling out his axe. It鈥檚 still bloody: oh, man, he hates to look lazy, he really does, he鈥檒l have to clean it extra hard when he gets out.聽鈥淎re you ready?鈥
Dream cringes back.聽鈥淧lease don鈥檛,鈥 he says in barely a whisper, and that鈥檚 all the encouragement Quackity needs to swing his axe down with a wink.
Hours pass. Sam calls him when it grows dark outside. Quackity sighs, disappointed and mildly frustrated, but like any good businessman, keeps his annoyance to himself.聽鈥淎ny luck?鈥 Sam asks, deliberately not looking at him.
Quackity gets why. He鈥檚 covered in blood: it鈥檚 all a pretty unpleasant business, but hey, it鈥檚 worth it in the end.聽鈥淣ot yet,鈥 he says brightly, dusting off his shoulders and shaking his head.聽鈥淚鈥檒l crack him soon, though. Don鈥檛 you worry about that, buddy.鈥
Bidding Sam goodbye, Quackity lingers outside the prison, crouching by the water and beginning the process of washing down his weapons. It鈥檚 annoying, sure, but it has to be done: he doesn鈥檛 want anything less than crisp perfection, after all, and having dirty tools is ruining that.聽
鈥淏ig Q!鈥 Tubbo greets cheerfully.聽鈥淩anboo said he鈥檇 bumped into you this morning. How鈥檝e you been?鈥
鈥淏elieve it or not, Tubbo,鈥 Quackity sighs regretfully, turning round 鈥淚 actually just got in a fight with a mob. Excuse the mess.鈥
Tubbo brushes it off.聽鈥淵ou鈥檙e okay, though, aren鈥檛 you? That鈥檚 a lot of blood. Like, a scary lot of it. You鈥檙e fine now?鈥
鈥淵eah, yeah.鈥 Quackity pats his back, gets blood on his coat. It fits Tubbo: Quackity remembers how easily Technoblade鈥檚 blood could have been on their hands too, and a twinge of regret rises within him.聽鈥淩ight as rain, buddy. Hey. You should see the other guy.鈥
It鈥檚 as easy as ever to talk to Tubbo, and they part after half an hour of eager talking. Quackity, heart warmed, makes a plan to have dinner with Tubbo and Ranboo tomorrow -聽鈥渞ight after business,鈥 he promises - and also to tell Tubbo all about Las Nevadas, within reason, of course.聽鈥淎 good businessman has to keep some of his tricks secret, you know,鈥 he tells Tubbo playfully, and the younger boy whines about it, but ultimately gives in.
Tomorrow, five pm. Hey. Dream will be pleased to cut their session a couple hours short, that鈥檚 for sure. Quackity eats his lunch on the way back to Las Nevadas and promptly puts his clothes into wash - blood is a nightmare to wash out, after all: he doesn鈥檛 want to let it dry too long. And the rest of the night passes in a cotton candy haze of drugs and money and the blinding casino lights, and Quackity collapses in bed at the end of the day exhausted, but ultimately satisfied with his work for the day. Some blood, some sweat, some tears, and, as always, one step closer to the answers he needs.
Dream鈥檚 screams fill his mind through the night, and Quackity lets them, gazing up at the ceiling and imagining blood pooling on it, dark and red. The hours tick by and he can鈥檛 help but wonder what Dream is doing right now. Is he awake? Can he sleep anymore? Has he died in the middle of the night for good, taking Quackity鈥檚 precious source of knowledge with him? The next day dawns bright and early, and Quackity sits upright with a smile on his face, pushing back against the nausea that thrums under his skin and the exhaustion that stings his eyes.
The sun is shining. The birds chirp overheard. It would have been lovely to wake up to if he hadn鈥檛 stopped sleeping some time ago.
Before he leaves his bedroom, he ticks off another day on his calendar.
(Day thirty comes and goes.)
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