I make digital collages and write fanfiction. Credit to @sparrrorow-art for the art that is my profile picture, and stickynotecemetery for my header. My AO3 is GrownUpChangeling too. Warnings for some sexual art as well as occassional posts about disordered eating and abuse 18+
Hi! I'm finally making a pinned post for my art.
You can call me Changeling (for short and for now) and use she or they pronouns for me.
I have the same handle (GrownUpChangeling) on AO3, but as some of my collages aren't really fanworks, I haven't posted them there. You can find my collages on here with:
Fannish 50 , autism month collages, and collage.
Please note that I didn't tag the Fannish 50 collages with "collage" since I hadn't expected to get so into collaging and keep doing it once I finished the Fannish 50!
If someone out there is paying more attention than I think anyone is, you may have noticed that I haven't posted 50 collages for the Fannish 50 to my tumblr, or AO3. Some of them I only posted to Dreamwidth as they're more personal. If we're buds, feel free to ask for my Dreamwidth and I'll DM you.
I have some poetry that's very vent post-y on this blog too that I don't think is worth pinning here, and I also sing and like knitting, but I don't post that here. I also have a short story I wrote in high school buried somewhere in the depths here that I can post again upon request.
If you like my work enough to consider something like tipping, or if you've just got money to spare, please consider donating to this fundraiser for Ahmed and his family to survive the genocide in Gaza. I'm available be for work on writing and/or visual art and/or singing commissions for the fundraiser. Prices/donation amounts negotiable.
Thanks for checking out my art! I'm an adult and as such my art and this blog contains adult themes, including sex. Navigate at your own discretion.
631 word Hazbin Hotel ficlet, set in the world of of my Hellspawn kidfic series.
~
It was a dreary, drizzly day that had darkened early and turned stormy as night drew near. Now fat raindrops were throwing themselves in rolling ratatat waves against the big picture window of the Hotel library, making the view of the city wobble and ripple under the intermittent flashes of blue-white lightning that sent rumbles of thunder rattling the window glass.
There was a fire flickering under the heavy mantle, the green tinge to the flames giving away that Alastor had lit it by magic to warm the room. Warming things in a different way was the cathedral radio atop the mantle, its ornate face aglow with the golden incandescence of vacuum tubes—or at least of a lightbulb playing their ghost while transistors did the real work within. Turned down low, the rich aural fabric of slow smooth jazz wove itself through the room, shot through with the faint velvet hum of electromagnetic power.
That fabric lay like a blanket over Alastor where he lounged comfortably across a sofa near the fire, one hand holing the book he was reading, the other occupying itself by twirling the stubborn cowlick curl in the front of his son’s hair where Elio had fallen asleep in his lap some half hour ago. At the table, pens scribbled and a borrowed typewriter occasionally dinged as Lucia and Sasha worked on a project they had decided would be way cooler if completed entirely in analogue—a decision which, when told to Husk, had prompted him to look over at Alastor and say, “Yeah, these are your kids.”
He’d pretended, melodramatically, to be offended by that assessment.
The tickity-tapping of Sasha’s typing stopped. “Hey, Awa?”
“Mm?” Alastor acknowledged, letting his shadow turn the page of his book for him so he didn’t have to stop playing with Elio’s hair.
“What’d you call the thing how me and Daddy don’t really pronounce our R’s at the end a words?”
“You have non-rhotic accents,” Alastor answered. “As does Cherri.”
“Thanks.” She resumed typing.
Lucia leaned over to peer curiously at her sister’s page.
A flashbang burst of light from outside shook the hotel with the sound of the sky being rent apart, atom from atom, made the girls jump, Alastor’s ears flatten, and Elio startle awake, clutching at Alastor’s shirt as all the lights went out.
Alastor took a deep breath, exhaled, and vanished his book in a little pop of verdant sparks so he could use both hands to gently but insistently pry Elio’s sharp-clawed grip loose. “This is not the first time the hotel has been struck by lightning,” Alastor said with haughty calm, his shadow stretching completely the wrong direction towards the fire, now the only source of light in the room, to twiddle the radio knobs, bringing it back to warmly glowing life and turning the music up to better cover the sounds of the storm. “Nor, I’m sure, will it be the last.”
“Well, I guess we’re done with homework,” Lucia said brightly. “Can’t write in the dark.”
Elio shot her a skeptical look then glanced pointedly at the fire.
“We have night vis—”
Lucia clamped a hand over her sister’s mouth, then quickly pulled it away again. “Don’t fuckin’ lick me!”
“You really brought that one on yourself, cher,” Alastor noted, conjuring a lantern to hand and nudging Elio the rest of the way out of his lap so he could sit up. “But your sister is right that we all see quite well in the dark, and,” he lit the lantern with a snap of his fingers, holding it up to illuminate his own puckish grin, “you did say you wanted to go all analogue with this project.”
Lucia sighed and slid out of her chair to go take the lantern from him.
i think this captures the defining pathology of the collective social media psyche right now. we are in the thrall of people who are wantonly cruel but who also demand to be coddled at all times in every way
a film called satluj starring one of india’s biggest artists, diljit dosanjh, got released and pulled from streaming in india within days. the film covers a truly awful time in punjab when a separatist movement started a peaceful protest that became an armed insurgency, which lead to indian military and police forces committing unbelievable police brutality and extrajudicial killings, with thousands of punjabis going missing or cremated in secret. my mom lived in india in the time this happened—her brothers often tell stories of how they were beaten by police on the way home from school, they come up in fragments and haziness. it’s difficult for them to talk about it.
the film spent up to four years in production, including insistences from the censor board to make more than 120 cuts in an effort to minimize parts of the story. it was pulled from streaming with no explanation. this is horrifying and devastating. india is still murdering any separatists to this day and still stoking anti-sikh hatred.
under the dictatorship of alberto fujimori, USAID funded peru's "family planning" program, which was used to sterilize 300,000 indigenous women, often through deception or in exchange for basic necessities such as food or medical care
A system of incentives and sanctions reinforced the policy: healthcare providers received cash or in-kind payments for each sterilized woman, while promotions, demotions, and the allocation of medical equipment were tied to the fulfillment of sterilization targets and quotas. The program was also implemented through mass campaigns. DEMUS reported large-scale operations aimed at recruiting women for tubal ligation, including so-called “ligation festivals,” which promoted sterilization as a path to happiness and often offered food or money as incentives.
Deceptive practices were widespread. Many women were misinformed about the nature of the procedure or told it was minor. In other cases, they were offered debt forgiveness related to childbirth or abortion in exchange for agreeing to be sterilized. Within a broader context of poverty and exclusion, sterilization often became a transactional means of accessing healthcare or food, services the state was already obligated to provide.
source
not coincidentally, US president george h.w. bush's administration was very pleased with the mass privatization fujimori's regime was implementing
if you love someone enough you should be able to hug them really tight and pop into the same body as them and never have to leave like its aristophanes's myth of the spherical human
