Ink's the name|22|She/They|Artist|Cosplayer|Professional nerdlSeaweed enthusiasts|Ace Lesbian and monster lover|Please ask permission to repost my art/photos with the proper credit
Hey everyone, I know I’ve said I’ve been on a technical hiatus on here, but I’m going to be extending that hiatus. I’ve just got a lot going on in my own personal life right now, and I need to focus on that. I don’t know how long this hiatus will be, or when I’ll be back, but I just need to take the time to focus on other things in my life. I’ll see you guys when I get back!
Ok, be for people start watching the upcoming vocaloid movie, there’s one thing I feel I have to share with yall. I’m actually really disappointed that the first mainline vocaloid movie is connected to the mobile game project sekai.
(Please do not rip or repost any of the edited images featured above without prior explicit permission)
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Rousing from sleep, you moved but a spell of dizziness accompanied by a wave of nausea made you lightheaded, and you pressed your face deeper into the pillow. Mercifully the sensation soon abated. Once your head was cleared, you thought back on the strange scenes your mind had dreamt of while they were still fresh. It had started out as such a surreal but ensorcelling dream while you were wandering through a dilapidated opera house—only to then morph into a harrowing experience once that marionette came to life and chased you. You were thankful it at least ended before he managed to choke you to death. Dreams as vivid as that one rarely occurred, yet you still recalled those phantom vibrations working their way throughout your body. From how your heart was pounding, how you heard the blood pumping through your ears, to how your throat was burning – it had all felt so real.
You swallowed in an attempt to ease your dry throat. Finding no respite, you pulled yourself out of bed to get a glass of water and froze. Silken sheets. Two pillows, as well as a bolster pillow. A carved bed frame. Flower embroidered, ruched curtains.
Moreover, a powdery musk hung in the air, layered thick like a tome filled with pressed flowers.
This room wasn't your own. Your pulse quickened and dread gathered in the pit of your stomach.
“How good it is to see you awake. Are you not too hurt?” The curtains parted to reveal the marionette. His gaze was soft, half-lidded, with brows naturally downturned, and a small smile on his lips. “Please, there's no need for you to be so tense. You're in safe hands.”
He looked different—much more pristine with a new getup. The silver-blue thread of the pattern against the shimmering gold fabric gave the ruched shirt the appearance of dragonskin scales. The edges of the shirt's high collar, jabot, and casing cuffs, along with the panes of its bishop sleeves, were all trimmed with crocheted, gold lace. A prince right out of a storybook.
Had he been a regular mannequin, you would have taken more considerable time to admire the outfit's craftsmanship. Outward appearances aside, he was still an anomaly; his cordial disposition could be a front. He had sat in this room waiting for you to wake up. Had he been watching you this whole time?
“Why did you chase me then?”
“Yes, not one of my brightest moves when you were already in such a blind state of panic. I tried calling out to you, but you kept running. I had to go after you in case you grievously injured yourself. I'm awfully sorry for frightening you like that.”
“...Is that why you brought me here?”
“Indeed. Under normal circumstances I would have helped you onto a chaise longue and passed a small jar of vapours under your nose, but neither were within reach. This room was the second best option. Spacious and not too overwhelming. Of course, since I couldn’t revive you, I had to keep watch until you reawoke to make certain you were in fact alright.”
“I see…That’s very considerate of you.”
You shifted to a more comfortable position as you pondered on your next question.
“Where are we?”
He raised his chin and lifted his arms from his sides, as if he were unfolding wings. Like a bird his voice took flight. “You are within the walls of the Dormiveglia Theatre. The crowning jewel endiademed on Mnemosyne's brow during the Golden Age!”
You cast a furtive glance to the deserted hallway. If only that jewel were still as polished as the day it still sat on that diadem.
“Now,” the marionette placed a hand on his chest. “Do you know who I am? Does my name precede me?”
You tilted your head, studying his androgynous visage. The shapes of his eyes and nose and the way his hair and markings were stylized were…eerily similar to the poster that hung in the vestibule.
“The Decadent Dreamer?”
The edges of his lips curved at those words. “I am indeed he.” With a deft step forward, the marionette angled his torso and leaned in toward you. In a graceful sweep he caught your wrist and brought your hand to his mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to your fingers. “My stage name, to be exact. A title I've held for many years. But you can call me, Enmu.” His eyes held yours, and he watched your pupils widen.
That was him rather than who he was modelled after? “But that's…How've others…” You pursed your lips before you spoke again. “If it's not too bold of me to ask, what are you exactly? Are you an animatronic by any chance?”
“Whatever is an animatronic?” inquired Enmu as he let go of your hand. His eyelids blinked down and then up, making small tinks. “Ah, I see. I don’t know the exact meaning of that word, but I can assure you I'm human just like you. I’m simply…enhanced, if you will.”
That only puzzled you more.
“I see you're still distressed. Allow me to invite you to come walk through our gardens.”
“Your offer is kind, but maybe it's better I should go. I'm sorry, I hadn't meant to trespass–”
“Please, it's I who should extend my apologies. The Dormiveglia Theatre is meant to move its guests to rapture, not to repel them. It'd give me great pleasure if you could join me, and give me the chance to rectify this before sending you on your way.”
You looked down to your hands. The idea of taking a leisurely stroll with a…puppet…was ludicrous in itself. Yet his apology sounded so sincere and he promised to let you go if you accepted his offer. Your fingers trailed over the skin of your throat but it did not sting. Maybe your fear was misplaced.
The corners of your mouth rose, and your gaze softened. “Very well then.”
“Wonderful,” his voice had a low, sweet note in it, like the trill of an aeolian harp. “I shall grant you privacy then for you to freshen up.”
“Freshen up?”
“But of course,” the marionette walked over to a mirrored armoire and opened one of its doors, revealing dresses as pristine as his own attire. “What kind of host would I be to deny you the finest wear and not match this fine afternoon? I dare say that you'd make it even brighter.” He curtsied low, and then walked backwards out of the room. “I'll be waiting until you're decent.”
When the door shut with a click, you uncurled your legs, creases smoothened out beneath you as you got off the bed. Stiff muscles stretched, causing you to wince.
You perused the dresses hanging inside. It had to be a dress that wasn’t too complicated to put on. You picked a layered periwinkle dress that consisted of a floral silk robe over a chiffon gown and a darker sash band that emphasized the high waist. It was made of such fine material, it felt airy against your skin, almost as if you were wearing nothing at all. You turned to the large mirror to see how the dress looked on you. Much to your surprise, the apparel seemed to be cut precisely to your measures. Its design was sleek, perchance simplistic, yet also elegant. You marvelled at your reflection. A tingling was budding from your fingertips and toes; your lips then parted in a smile that was beaming. Liltingly, you twirled in front of the mirrored armoire and admired how the bell sleeves and the hems of the silk robe moved with a languid, water-like motion—you looked beautiful from any angle.
After fixing yourself, you met up with your host again.
“...That's a tea gown,” remarked Enmu, his polished face still a formal beauty.
“It is?” Your brows pinched together and you inspected your dress. While you knew women of his time wore different wear depending on the time of day and the occasion, you assumed what you had picked was appropriate. Your thoughts tangled up on each other as you tried to recall every dress code to be able to tell what was out of place. In all fairness, you were not up to date on the types and extravagance of outerwear the way a contemporary was.
Enmu took your hand in his, pulling you out of the threads of your confusion. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. You look as radiant as I'd imagined you to be.” His other hand settled on your mid-back. “Come.”
While being ushered, you couldn’t help but wonder about your host's awareness of the opera house's decline. As much as there was a beautiful crudity to a garden having gone uncultivated, doubt sprouted in your mind as to whether the marionette would share your sentiment. Already you were anticipating his reaction when his hand reached for the door handle leading to the courtyard. The brass handle turned.
Herbaceous borders, manicured to meticulous perfection, sprawled in colours galore before your eyes. Each bed vied for your attention – from the poppies bursting with vibrancy like plentiful rubies – to the clustered buds of sprouting tuberoses, soft in pink like freshwater pearls of a collier. Haltingly, you walked about. A gust of wind blew past you, fluttering your dress to and fro. The coolness of its breath lingered on your skin, almost imperceptible yet impossible to ignore as well, making you feel you were a spectre wandering through Elysium. Your hand drew across rhododendron scrubs – through the bend of delphiniums spikes – then up against the wisterias garlanding the trellises.
“How…” Hardly had the word left your lips when you came down from your momentary disconnect from reality. You turned to the marionette. “...How's this possible?”
“Our horticultor, while not the most affable, knew how to preserve and prolong the lifecycles of flora better than anyone else in his field. Hence why he was hand chosen by the Dramaturge.” He tipped a sprig of rhododendron. “Only the best of the best were accepted.”
“Who is the Dramaturge, exactly?”
“The Dramaturge,” Enmu began but then stopped himself and chuckled. “No, to say he was a man would be an injustice. He was so much more than that. He was a conductor, architect, engineer – the true definition of a polymath the world hadn’t witnessed since the Renaissance. All of what you've seen was made to his exact vision.”
“What happened to him, then?”
“Pardon?”
“If he's such a man of great genius and the Dormiveglia Theatre used to be the crowning jewel in the world of opera, how come neither names are passed down in history?” Why is the opera house the way it is now? Was what you wanted to add but refrained.
His eyelids descended in a slow blink, tinking when they closed together. “Brilliance does not come without darkness – jealousy, that being. Drawing those that cannot or won't reconcile themselves to their own inferiority. When they cannot compete with it, not outshine it,” Enmu covered the part of his cheek that had been chipped, “they resort to the vilest methods instead. Break down one's dreams, spirit, and name – all to elevate their own station.” He then placed his hand on his chest. “Such is the sad truth of my world. For back when the Dramaturge was about to select a soloist, my flight tried to break my legs.”
Your eyes widened.
His features resumed their usual serenity. “They failed, of course, as I was taken under his wing anyway and made far greater than any of them ever could be.” Enmu extended his hand in invitation. “I owe everything to the Dramaturge, and it's the least I show what remains of his greatness to you.”
A gloom passed over you. The world of ballet was not what little girls dreamed it to be, that much you knew. But the thought of a group pinning someone down and pressing planks against their legs until bone cracked was hard to stomach. You clasped his porcelain hand in yours. “I'm sorry someone attempted… such an awful thing…”
“No need,” his voice lowered to a soothing croon while he offered up his arm, “they're all shadows of the past now. Come, I promised for you to be untroubled, after all.”
Passing through sweeps of gently rolling lawns set against groves of trees, an intermittent glimmer darted at the edge of your periphery, just perceptible enough to turn your head and capture your attention. Somewhere in the far-off distance light reflected, yet its origin was obstructed by the thicket. Your quizzical glance became scrutinizing. Subtly, you uncoupled yourself. The Decadent Dreamer's hand slid to the small of your back as he pulled you to him again. Promptly guiding you down a step where you were then brought before a stately wrought iron gate.
Once through the gateway, what you saw next seized your emotions in a spell of awe and wonder. Hordes of deep chalice-shaped roses stood in bloom, above and around, nodding at you in the wind as if to bid you welcome. Dew-sprinkled petals of a light blue hue flashed like the masqueraders that had danced in the prism of your daydream. Delicately your hand swept across the outer petals of the nearest flower. Velvet they were of touch rather than coarse. Your breath got caught in your throat. These were actual blue roses; the unnatural made natural.
One particular specimen captured your attention; cresting the arbour, one blossom sat as aloft and full-blown as the moon. Devoid of blight or flaw. With outstretched arms and rapt and upturned eyes, you reached out for the reverend blossom dangling down. Your hands hovered over it in a caress; a falling sunbeam cast a faint nimbus round the head. You pressed your face forward. Like an aquamanile its core poured out an essence which your nose drank in and let its redolence permeate the inmost depths of your being. Eclipsing any other rose that had radiated in the past.
A rare lightheartedness enveloped you. Making you feel you were a child again, captivated by the simplest enchantments the world around you used to be teeming with. All of the other roses that you had lain eyes on through shop windows or in historic streets seemed now meagre of beauty; insignificant compared to this very rose that you formerly believed only fairytales could cultivate. It had you wondering, would one missing from among myriads upon myriads of blossoms be permitted, or perceived as an offense?
“Plucking this rose will not incite any god's or beast’s ire, if that's what worries you.” He bent closer to you and his whisper was soft, coaxing in your ear. “It's yours by right.”
Impelled by desire as percolating as the falling beadlets, you felt the stem, which snapped with lissom ease, and loosened it from the other blossoms. Alight were your eyes when you drew your treasure out of the trove and held it close. While it was apt to grow faint, it was dearer than any sapphire. Your gaze shifted back to Enmu and you mouthed your thanks.
Further down gave way to a water terrace. Like a flurry of wind, you rushed towards it and skipped down the embankment dividing the rectangular pool. Your periwinkle dress swayed and pirouetted while you flitted from sculpture to sculpture, each a testament to the artist's skill; from hippocampi in mid-dive, to nereids being gaily dragged alongside, embracing the storming sea-horses by their thick necks, or clinging to urns like sea stacks. You pivoted around, taking in the full scope of verdure. What a blessing it was to roam through this curated space where natural and made beauty and mysticism coalesced into a haven of unparalleled ethereality.
At the selfsame moment you spied a gazebo on an island, chiselled in the same style as the opera house's hallways, with its pillars pooling into the stairway like a cascade lapidified. You directed an expectant look towards your host, who seemed endeared with your enchantment, and nodded his assent. Together you crossed the bridge. Below, irises, digitalises, and pickerels empurpling the banks were reflected amongst crowned lily pads. The rippling surface stretched the assorted palette to thin streaks that swept across the waters like impressionist brush strokes. But rather than study each minute differentiation in the tint of paint from behind a glass pane, light and colour were shifting and interblending right before your very eyes. The unuttered wish to step into pictures of old now granted.
“This place is unlike any other. It all feels like a dream, almost.”
“I'm delighted to hear that,” Enmu replied. “As am I to see how much you've bloomed with joy. You're practically radiating.”
You fingered one of the rose's velvet petals.
“Why, you're flushing. If I hadn't known any better, it'd appear no man has treated you with a modicum of decency.”
Your smile faltered.
“...That's because most have dropped all pretences and only engage if there's something …physical in it for them in the short run. Otherwise it's a waste of time. The flesh is what only matters, apparently.”
“How classless of them. Such a pity to treat a fine lady with such disrespect.” The marionette's hand gently gripped yours as he softly pried away your fingers that were delicately cradling the rose's head. “Pay them no mind, for they deny themselves the chance of beholding your beatific smile.”
“Say now,” he graced you with a charming smile and released your hand. “Have you ever heard a harpsichord solo before?”
“Only recordings, but never a live performance, no.” The gleam of your eyes gave away your excitement.
The Decadent Dreamer made a little bow to you. “Then allow me to do the honours of giving you your first.”
With a magician-like flourish he removed the sheet to reveal a harpsichord, unaged, unweathered. In unspoken astonishment, you stroked the rim of the harpsichord's lid till you were beckoned to step away. The lid was raised with great care; the inside bore a painting of Leda and the Swan embracing on a river bank. The Decadent Dreamer then motioned you to sit down. You witnessed how his hands awoke the tones of the ebony and ivory keys. There was magic in the touch with which his supple fingers drew out the music slumbering in the keys. Music that was light and ariose whilst the strings were being plucked by the plectra. You closed your eyes and let the beauty of the song wash over you.
Enthralled, your whole being listened to the final cadences of the prelude glittering like the surrounding waters, and you could envision yourself reading in the calm of the morning sun. Inbreathing true, unadulterated, fresh air whenever another page was turned – the lily blooms opening up alongside the book's spine. Here, embosomed in profound solitude. No disturbances, distractions, nor din. Complete and utter in the idyll of summer.
Drifting along improvised ornaments, the rise and fall in the music's rhythm invigorated and soothed your spirit like blessed cool winds coming after sweltering days just past. Worldly cares being carried off like dandelion pappi dispersing.
The performance concluded and the final chords came out like a sigh, as if even the instrument itself was satisfied with the performance now that it was resting. Its strings pulsated for a few seconds until their vibrations stilled, fading like a whisper on the wind, before a gentle applause filled the air in their absence. The Decadent Dreamer acknowledged the compliment with a graceful nod. Once the lid was shut, the pair rose to their feet and slowly resumed their promenade through the expansive garden.
As you turned a bend, you came upon a large fountain in the centre of a small clearing. An elliptical limestone vase set upon an ornate base, flanked by bronze peryton statues on either side. Their front hooves rested on volutes embellished with acanthus leaves, while their heads were raised high. Small jets of water spewed forth from their mouths that filled the vase to the brim.
Sitting down on the ledge, you placed the blue rose aside and listened to the sound of water flowing over the vase's rim and into the large basin. A fine spray of droplets was showering onto your shoulders. You closed your eyes and allowed the sound of running water to fill you, attending to nothing else, except for letting in a deep lungful of fresh air. Soon, you’d have to return to your own world, and leave this place that not even your dreams could replicate. You didn’t want to bid farewell to it just yet, but the responsibilities of your ordinary life were waiting for you, regardless of your feelings and wishes.
Smooth hands enveloped yours and you were charily pulled out of your reverie. Enmu spoke out your name; both his eyes and his voice were soft. “Did you enjoy everything?”
You gave him a sweet smile. “I did. I couldn't have dreamed of anything better, and you’ve been a most gracious host to me.” His thumb stroked once, then twice, against the side of your hand. “But I’m afraid I have to leave now.”
Then, a slow realization seemed to take hold of him as the smile faded from his lavender lips. “Leave?” Enmu's voice was staid. “Why do you want to leave? Are you unhappy?”
You frowned, nonplussed at the question. “No? I told you I had a wonderful time.”
“Then whatever's the rush? You said this garden was unlike any other you've ever seen.” He held your hand with both of his. “Why part ways already? Do not tell me it's because of my harpsichord solo, is it?” He spoke with a teasing lilt to his voice. “I suppose after a century's sleep these fingers aren't as nimble anymore to hit the right keys at the right tempo.”
“No, it isn’t because of that; you played it beautifully. I had a wondrous experience, truly I did. But I've…responsibilities to get back to. In my world, time waits for no one.”
The Decadent Dreamer levelled a look of ambivalence towards you. “Time…much like a tyrant, is always forcing us to obey while it keeps taxing us, stealing what's precious to us. It'll deprive you of everything if you keep letting it take from you. Drink in the beauty my dear, have your fill. Don’t prematurely end the dream when it needn't be so. A beautiful soul such as yours is meant to thrive.”
Thrown off balance by those words, you were in a quandary as to what to do. Ignoring time altogether was not without consequences. Even the most innocent of indulgences came at a cost that you needed to keep in mind. Your eyes shifted to the misted rose. When, however, would the chance come again of finding yourself in a place of simplicity and unfettered bliss? Would it be that grave to be oblivious to the obvious world for just a little while longer?
“Alright, I'll stay just a bit longer then.”
“Marvelous.”
The corners of his mouth pulled up into a subtle smile as he continued stroking your hand. You'd see all his wonders – that, he promised to himself. As a performer he was to enrapture his audience, and the only audience whose unbroken attention mattered more than anything now, was you yourself.
(This came out so good Whisper’s!!! All the work and passion you put into this chapter is so clear with how detailed this chapter is! The way I can so clearly visualize each scene is amazing, this is truly such a good chapter!)
"this person posted a cnc fantasy. they're obviously a rapist" do you think Suzanne Collins murdered children with a bow and arrow in real life because she wrote about it?
And that's part of why the potential for people to be convicted of crimes using their art (namely the RICO case involving a rapper named Young Thug) is so insidious. I don't care what he's done, what he might do, or what he says he'll do in his music, no artist's art should be able to be used against them to convict them of crimes.
I know this is an extreme compared to internet randos accusing people of doing what they write about, but its actually a serious issue to look at someone's art and think you know anything about them enough to openly, publicly accuse or confront them about it.
Reblogging this to celebrate the Ghost movie releasing in theaters! I’m planning on seeing it sometime next week! (Please no spoilers in the comments or reblogs!)
‼️mentions of dark topics, such as r@pe. Please note that I do not condone things like r@pe or anything related, this post goes more into depth about that, but if you are uncomfortable with that subject matter being mentioned/discussed, please just scoll on and continue your day/night. Do not comment anything hateful, do not hate reblog and do not send me hate in my ask box. If any of those actions occur, you will be blocked. Hateful anon asks regarding this post will be ignored/deleted.‼️
TLDR: don’t go around harassing people or accusing people of things if they interact with media that has darker/uncomfortable subjects, especially when you do not know or interact with them.
I think this needs to be said, especially because I have a close mutual who is being wrongfully accused of condoning actions such as r@pe and inc3st. Just because a person reads/watches/plays any FICTIONAL show/movie/book/manga/comic/video game that deals with subject matter of r@pe and/or inc3st, DOES NOT MEAN THEY CONDONE THOSE ACTIONS!!!!!
I’m getting tired of seeing people being wrongly labeled/accused of something they are not or have not done all because they maybe read stuff that has subject matter like r@pe, especially if that story they are reading is FUCKING FICTIONAL!!!!!
A mutual of mine is being accused of condoning actions like r@pe and inc3st all because she follows a fanfic writer who writes fics that contain those subject matters. This mutual, while she is also a fanfic writer, does not write about r@pe or inc3st, nor does she condone those actions, yet she has been wrongly accused of condoning and fetishizing those actions all because she follows another writer who not only states multiple times that their work is dark/uncomfortable but who writes FICTIONAL stories that involve that kind of subject.
Onto my side of the situation, I DO NOT CONDONE THOSE ACTIONS EITHER!!!! I am simply wanting to make others aware and stand up for my mutual. As someone who is an SA victim, I will never condone those actions, as I know they are morally wrong (as does my mutual), but I understand that those topics can happen/exist in FICTIONAL MEDIA!!!!!
I will say that, yes topics/subject matter of r@pe, inc3st, and even pedophilia being depicted in fiction (be it a positive or negative depiction) can be understandably uncomfortable and morally wrong in some cases. What it really comes down to is the maturity and understanding of the person interacting with the media that depicts those topics.
A small example would be me saying I like the Saw films. Does that mean I condone Jigsaws actions? Hell no, because I understand that those films take place in a FICTIONAL story, with FICTIONAL characters, and a FICTIONAL setting. I have the maturity and understanding to know that what Jigsaw is doing is morally wrong, and his actions should not be repeated or replicated in real life. The same goes for people that engage with fictional media that involves darker and uncomfortable subject matter. If you aren’t mature enough to understand that what is happening in said fiction is wrong and should not be replicated in real life, then you should not be engaging with that media.
It’s one of the reasons why so many adults are so adamant about people under the age of 18 not interacting with media that is NSFW in general. While they aren’t really noticeable at first, there are sadly dangerous people in these adult fandom spaces that see minors wanting/trying to interact with these NSFW fandoms and they take advantage of that. These dangerous people know that minors should not be in these spaces, and they use things manipulation tactics to ultimately use these underage people for their own disgusting reasons.
And on the other hand, having to constantly be on edge to not make a minor uncomfortable in an NSFW/adult fandom space just makes it less fun. Not every anime/show/cartoon/movie/book/video game/band/etc is going to be geared towards all ages, which is why so many adults in fandom are adamant about keeping underage people out of NSFW/18+ fandom spaces. We as nerdy adults want our own spaces where we don’t have to censor ourselves.
Now with that out of the way:
Do not go around and harass, accuse, or label others of things when they engage with fictional media that involves dark and uncomfortable subject matter. Especially to people online that you do not know personally, or that you have not interacted much with. You do not know their personal thoughts, opinions, or life experiences. Do not go around harassing people and accusing them of things or labeling them when you do not know them.
Going around and interacting with people like that cannot only lead to discourse and such between individuals in fan communities, but it can also lead to just overall negativity in the larger aspect of fan communities.
Fanfic is exactly what it is, fan made FICTION!!!! It is a vast sea of stories and topics and subject matter, not all of it is going to be for everyone, so please have some understanding that just because someone engages with fiction that depicts uncomfortable subjects, it does not give you the right to harass them, accuse them of VERY REAL ISSUES, or label them as a predator, especially if they are a random stranger on the internet that you have never met or interacted with.
Internet curtesy is just as important as internet safety. Please be safe on the internet, but also be courteous to others on the internet.
I’m sorry I haven’t posted in a while, things are incredibly hectic and stressful. I’m opening commissions soon! I desperately need the money because long story short:
I’m being disowned.
I’m being sent back to my dad who is states away and I’m packing my things as I type this. I’m literally saying goodbye to my life, my content life in this tiny apartment I’m being forced to leave from. I had an unused bookshelf, and unused bed, and unused clothes, I was going to get my license, and get a job this summer.
I don’t know what to do, but I really want to make enough money to find a stable job to I can live on my own with my brother when I’m of legal age. (2-3 years from now.)
I don’t have anything left after this, I’m so sorry that I’ve been neglecting my mooties lately but this is what’s been happening to me. I don’t know if I’m even going to come back after this post (my phone might be confiscated).
Just a little heads up, even if you’re not reposting my art from here, I still would at least like some credit if you repost anything from my account! It’s not a huge deal since it’s not my art, but it still would be nice if like a link to my original post was added to this.
(I left 2 comments since they had message receiving off. I’m not wanting to be that rude person saying “credit my stuff or take it down!” I just wanted them to be aware that I would like at least a bit of credit to my account on here.)
Edit!!!
Just putting this here as well since my bio isn’t fully visible on my mobile app unless I go into edit it for some reason, but I have it stated in my bio that you must ask me permission to repost anything from my account with credit.
(And by anything, I mean like stuff that I originally post. Stuff like reblogs I have no control over) but if you are going to repost something that I posted on here, please ask permission first, and then properly credit me/this account if I give you the ok to repost something from me.
