#working through it

[remotetrash]

Hey guys. I just wanted to come on here and apologize about the lack of new original artwork. I struggle with viewing my art in a positive light, and it's been a bit more extreme these past few days with how popular some of my posts have become. I only started posting here thinking I'd get a couple likes and a few follows, and now there are over 1,000 of you! I'm really so incredibly grateful that you all enjoy my work (especially when I struggle to enjoy it myself), but unfortunately the concept of so many eyes is exasperating my already overly critical attitude towards my work. Art block is a bitch 😔

Trying to mimic the dispatch style is very tricky and very time consuming. I wanted to post this to let you all know that until I get out of this funk, I'll probably try and develop my own style some more. I know most of you probably follow me for the posts like "Fembert" but it's just a little overwhelming now to try and keep up with my own unreasonable standards when using that style. I will definitely post more art like that in the future!! But it will be supplemented with the style that comes easier to me and my self criticism.

There are exciting things coming in the near future though! My waterboy whump comic is still on track to be completed, and I just started writing a waterbae fanfic that further explores that universe! Keep an eye out for those soon :)

Thank you all for your support and kind words 🙏💕 I really enjoy being part of this community and I'm always excited to log on here ☺️

[forevermsj]

"That ain't no man, that's the devil." -Jessie Murph

  Some people hear that line and think it’s just a lyric.I hear it and think: I’ve met him. I survived him. When Jessie said that, it hit me straight in the center of my chest—like someone finally naming the thing I’d been too scared to look at. Back then, I didn’t have the language for what I was living through. I saw the red flags, the quiet cruelty, the way he made me stare at myself in the mirror until I didn’t recognize the girl looking back. And still—I stayed. I swallowed the warnings like communion. His girlfriend hated the idea of me, hated the child he and I created, hated the history we had—the almost‑marriage that should’ve been a blessing but would’ve ruined me even more. I’m grateful now that it never happened. Some doors God keeps shut for a reason. And I’ll be honest in a way people don’t like: for a split second, I felt guilty for feeling relieved when he died a few years after I left him. Not glad—never that. I would never wish death on anyone. But hear me out. For the first time in years, I felt like I didn’t have to watch over my shoulder anymore. I didn’t have to wonder when I’d run into him in public, or if he’d stalk me again like he did after I left. I didn’t have to brace myself for the next time his girlfriend would find a way to harass me, threaten me, or remind me she once said she’d kill me if I ever claimed my daughter was his again. I was more afraid he would shoot me than anything else, because of his fixation with firearms. He also loved to “joke” about  m u r d e r s u i c i d e  — about unaliving me and then unaliving himself — as if that was something to laugh about.  That’s the kind of darkness I lived with. Not to mention, he drugged me in ways I wasn’t aware of until it was far too late. The realization that I had been living a lie was unbearable — soul‑crushing and dehumanizing. I believed I loved him at the time, or at least I thought I did. But looking back, I’m honestly unsure. When I taste the words “I loved him,” it used to hurt my chest to even say it. Now I feel nothing at all. It’s like remembering a bad dream or the strange ache of wanting to be wanted — just in the worst way possible. I would walk through every ounce of that pain again if it meant getting my daughter, the one miracle he never bothered to meet. He died before I could confront him, before I could drag the truth of his abuse into the light, before I could get the closure he owed both of us. He left this world the same way he left everything else — unfinished, unanswered, and running from the consequences of the life he built. And somehow, even after all that, I’m made to feel like I’m not allowed to grieve what he did to me. I’m not allowed to speak about the abuse without someone whispering, “Don’t speak ill of the dead,” as if the truth dies with the body. The same people who say that are the ones who hated him when he was alive — hated how manipulative he was, how controlling he was, how he hollowed me out. But the moment he’s gone, I’m expected to swallow my story and pretend it never happened. It’s not my fault that the truth makes him look bad; he did that himself. And if calling him what he was makes people uncomfortable,  then Jessie didn’t lie—that ain’t no man.  That’s the devil I survived.

[000-saba]

art fight 2025 (varying levels of seriousness)

yeah i had zero consistency ………. regardless everyone was fun to draw and i hope to do more next year if they dont nerf me with moving boxes again🔥

(aough i’m sorry if someone in this list doesn’t want to be directly tagged, pls lmk and ill put a slash after the @ !! same goes for if i credited the wrong person somehow)

No-Name by @carrrrino

Radio by @thedarkzyxabyss

Hellborn by @moonstardream

Shattered Dream Variant by @galacii-gallery

Hollow by @inkywellcrow

[radiocurrency]

Armand changing his mind about making a fledgling after 500 years

Armand changing his mind about making a fledgling after 500 years because of Daniel

Armand tying himself inexplicably and eternally to DANIEL

ARMAND AND DANIEL

[uwudonoodle]

#24 for the fic writer asks! :D

#24) How do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

I had to think on this one a minute. While I try to write some every day, I'm also not opposed to taking a couple of days off if I'm feeling stuck. Sometimes that means working on a different scene for a bit, and other times it's a break from writing altogether.

If I'm feeling down about my skills, I'll go re-read a scene I'm proud of, to remember that feeling. I also like to do something else I'm good at, to boost my morale. That's usually cooking. I can make a nice meal and say, "See, I'm good at things."

I'm really lucky my partner volunteered to be my beta reader. If I know something is going wrong, but can't pinpoint it, he can usually talk me through the problem. It often comes down to, "Why are you focusing on this other thing when the story should be about their relationship?" Anyway, when you're writing a romance, asking how this will impact their relationship, is a good thing to constantly be asking yourself. The couple should be growing together, even through their individual arcs.

Sometimes I'll take a little walk outside between writing sessions, no headphones, just silence, and think about the scene. Think about what you want the ultimate emotional impact to be, so you have something to work towards, even if you don't know how you'll get there yet.

I try to read (and also watch) a variety of stories. Some will have me drooling at their prose, others will have me wondering how they made such a gripping action scene. Joining a book club where I'm forced to read books I'd never pick up on my own has been very educational. I think almost any book can teach you something, even if you end up not liking it much.

At some point, I will sit at my keyboard, and try to brute force it. The muse strikes those who are already working, as they say. I got over the annoyance of going back and making changes, which makes trying things less scary. While it hurts, I'm not opposed to deleting things that took me hours or even days if they aren't working (I once deleted 10 pages, and started from scratch). It's okay to throw out bad food if it's only going to make your story sick. It's also okay to write it messy, because you can always edit it to death later (I edit everything to death, and it usually gets better).

It helps that I get to read my chapter to my beta (husband) when I'm done. Those times are so special to me, so it's really motivating to push through, so I can see his response. Especially since I'm not posting my story yet, pleasing my audience of one is very exciting for me.

[indigoslimeflower]

Blue Prescription

The sensation skates along my neck,

Burning,

Down the unpolluted night sky

You still miss me,

You cannot just be.

And so the injury,

Is still plain to see.

You zoom on by,

Claiming you will try,

To give me a place in your sky,

though you act like you may die.

I would fill your spaces,

Though you run past my graces.

These were never races,

Some ego it showcases.

One day I knew you would pull away,

It feels like it's now, to my dismay.

Though my fears you try to allay,

I also swallow them down each day.

This poem is from a really difficult time in my life. I don't recognize the injury that brought the words to life, what I see is my trauma response (hypervigilance) and my fawning. I see a person I never expected to become, and who I hope to never be again.

But this was me, when I thought my peace was never going to return. This person was someone who was willing to bend out of shape until they just can't be anymore.

Isn't that who I always have been? But no, I asked for boundaries so often in my past that I have an empty contact list to show for it.

So was this different? Am I different? But of course I am not the person I was at 18. 20. 25. 28. All those points that say "I am a person who sets boundaries and stands up for themselves."

They're also all between points I made myself small, I put myself away, I bent because I was the one strong enough to do it without breaking.

And maybe if I did it for the right person or right reasons, maybe that can be ok. Maybe strength isn't just the times that I got what I wanted by doing what I want. Maybe being able to be humble is it's own kind of choice made by someone who isn't strong in the other ways?

[mellow-wishes]

just finished writing a bit of dust today, its around 3k words, and very unorganized help!!!

happy to say that i am proud of how the story is going, so it will not suffer through the threat of deletion heh