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clumsiestgiantess · 1 month

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Survivors — people barely a foot tall who were forced to take refuge in our world — have become a normal part of society. Unfortunately.. it’s not in the way they were hoping.

(original story here)

There’s no way I lost my 90 dollar ball. Are you kidding me?! I spent months saving up for that thing; how could I lose it? I’d torn up my bedroom in search of my prized possession: a professional-grade soccer ball. It had come with me to every practice session since the day I bought it. I stormed out of my room, heading towards the garage. Maybe I’d left it with my gear.

“Woah! Where are you headed so grouchily?” My older sister asked snidely as I stormed past her in the hall. “You wouldn’t care,” I huffed. She shrugged offhandedly, “That’s probably true.” Digging out all of my equipment — even my old stuff that I knew couldn’t possibly have my ball in it — I still couldn’t find it. Ohh wait… One of my friends had shown up halfway through practicing at a nearby park. He’d dragged me away to a local store because one of our favorite games was on sale. Dang it, I left it there, didn’t I?

“If Mom gets home early, tell her I’m at the park!” I yelled through the doorway. “Why are you going to the-?” The door fell closed on my sister’s voice and I rushed to my bike. The park wasn’t too far from my house; I could be there in 15 minutes if I hurried.

“Hold it.” Julie stopped me as I wheeled it to the garage door. “Mom told me to keep an eye on you today. Where are you going again?” “The park,” I responded innocently. “For?” “I think I left my soccer ball there.” “Oh? The survivors have probably taken it by now.” I sighed at her joke. Ever since the little human-like creatures had stolen the phone right out of her purse while she was distracted — true story — she was constantly referencing it. At first it was out of spite, then it became a habit. “Come on, I’ll drive you. It won’t be long, right?” I shook my head, grateful for the lift.

As I rode along with Julie, I begged the universe for things to work out in my favor. Please let it still be there. Don’t let someone take it. By the time we reached the park entrance, my anxiety was calmed. I could see the white spot of my ball towards the end of the field. “Yes,” I cheered quietly as my sister pulled into a space. “Alright, go get it,” my sister nodded.

I stepped out of the car and ran across the field in a half-jog-half-walk. But I stopped as I got closer — staring in open-mouthed horror. My ball was lopsided; punctured toothmark holes of a large dog pierced the sides. “Are you kidding me?! At least if somebody took it I wouldn’t have known they’d done this!” Angrily, I ran up the last few feet and kicked the deflated ball as hard as I could. It sailed across the field and hit the fence as a startled yelp reached my ears. Below me, a survivor was hunched over on the ground, looking around in fearful confusion. He gasped, scanning the sky above him intently.

“Huh? What are you-? Oh.” Following his gaze up to the sky, I watched a hawk or some other large bird circle around overhead. “Are you hiding from that bird?” The survivor glanced fearfully at me, then back up at the sky, whispering something I couldn’t understand. “Right,” I sighed, “You have your own language.”

The survivor was.. different than the ones I’d seen — maybe because they looked to be about my age, or maybe because they were actually alive and well rather than the few depressed half-dead ones I’d seen before. Whatever the case, I didn’t feel like leaving them there to get picked off.

I went to go collect my ball so the survivor would have cover again, but he yelped and rushed after me, cowering under my shadow. His gaze finally tore away from the sky and landed on me. Eyes wide, he asked me something I didn’t understand, but I could guess.

I sighed, but nodded. “Come on,” I gestured for him to follow me, and began walking back the way I’d come. The survivor sprinted after me. Halfway across the field, he wheezed something that vaguely sounded like he was asking me to stop. Oh man, even when I’m walking I’m going too fast for him. Poor guy. I stopped and let the little guy catch up with me. He sat down on the grass, out of breath. However, that bird noticed we’d stopped moving. I watched as it swooped down and landed on the telephone wires beside the field.

“Dnimreven! M’i enif! S’tel tsuj teg tuo fo ereh!” the survivor gasped, scrambling to his feet. He walked on and I kept up with his pace, walking beside him at whatever speed he wanted. It was slow going, but when we reached the parking lot, he stopped. “I.. hhu.. t’ndid yllaer kniht siht raf daeha.” Glancing around the lot, he looked over at the bird, then glanced up at me. “What?” I asked, “It’s alright, I’ll follow you. Just go back to the woods or something.” I waved a hand at the woods, but he slowly shook his head. “You.. no? Don’t you live there?” He just pointed at the bird and shook his head. I squatted on the ground beside him. Still he was shorter than me, but not by nearly as much as when I stood.

“Hey, it’s alright! Just go hide in the woods for a while. That bird will have to stop following you eventually.” A car horn startled both of us just as the survivor was about to speak. “Hey!” Julie called, “What are you doing? I thought you said you’d be quick! Stop pestering that little survivor and get in the car!” “Alright!” I shouted annoyedly back, standing up again. “I’m coming! One second!” I started walking to the trees nearby and the survivor raced after me. When I got to the edge of the parking lot, I stopped and pointed towards the forest. “Go on. I’m sure some other survivors will come along and help you.”

But would they? He gave me a solemn look and trudged towards the underbrush like I was exiling him. The car horn startled him again and he ducked away into the foliage. “Ok! Ok! I’m coming!” The whole drive home I was, according to my sister, ‘unnaturally quiet’. I blamed it on my popped ball — and normally that would make me angry — but I was just too caught up thinking about that survivor. I tried to remember every time I’d ever seen one. Surely one of them looked like they were doing ok, didn’t they?

Yet, as much as I wracked my brain, I couldn’t think of a time when I’d seen one happy. They always looked scared. At best they seemed kinda.. out of it. At worst they were, well, dead. I hope that survivor doesn’t end up like them. He was my age. Surely he’ll survive better than the older ones, right? But there was that bird… I was up the whole night coming up with a plan to sneak out of the house and return to the park. I had to go find him again — to make sure he was safe.

I’d never actually interacted with a survivor before. It wasn’t at all what I expected. My friends said they were little scavengers who liked to steal. All the articles about them said they were a kind of mimic of us from a whole other mimic of our world. But everyone made them sound like little animals. The guy I met today — he seemed so familiar in a weird way. He spoke to me, gestured for me to understand, and even his expressions were so human I could understand him just by reading them. Then again.. maybe he was just a really good mimic.

During lunch the next day, I passively mentioned going to hang out with some friends at the soccer field, and was thankfully met with little opposition. My mom reminded me to wear a helmet when I went out, but that was all. I wrapped up half a grilled cheese I made for myself, tossed it into my bike basket, and pedaled off. I think I beat my previous record of biking to the park by a few minutes, that’s how anxious I was. I scanned the sky as I arrived. No predatory birds in sight.

Stepping over to the place where I left the survivor the other day, I made my way into the woods. I searched the ground with every step until I came across a survivor laying on the ground. A sickening feeling lurched in my stomach watching flies buzzing around them, landing on unmoving limbs. Shit... I’m too late. I carefully stepped over to the body and knelt beside it. I turned away after only a moment, but as I went to cover it with dirt, I realized their hair was much too long to be the survivor I saw before. Holding my breath, I bent down to get a better look.

Firstly, their chest had been torn wide open, and their arms and legs picked clean down to the bone. The position they were in looked painful, as if they’d been struggling. I realized in my examination that the survivor was a female, and let out a relieved breath. Whatever had caught it.. caught her — had eaten her. Wait. I shouldn’t be relieved by that! What the hell am I thinking!? I was just glad that it wasn’t my little friend who’d died, but I felt extremely guilty about thinking of this survivor’s death in that way. She’d died likely being hunted — eaten. Was she still conscious during all of it, or had the animal killed her by then? I just hope I’m not too late to help the other survivor.

Gently taking a few handfuls of dirt, I covered the little corpse. With a quick glance around myself, I spotted some wildflowers, picked one, and laid it carefully on the small mound. “I would’ve helped you too,” I said softly, as if that were any consolation for how horribly they’d died. No wonder the guy I’d met yesterday had given me such a desperate look when I sent him out here. I was basically sentencing him to a horrific struggle for survival in a place where he wasn’t meant to live in.

Standing back up, I backed away from the little grave and headed in a different direction. “Hello?” I called, “Survivor dude I met yesterday? I’m sorry I don’t.. know your name. And I’m really sorry I left you alone out here! Please be alright...” I walked through the forest along the outskirts of the soccer field, watching my every step and calling out once and a while. I began giving up hope as I rounded the end of the field, but something stopped me before I could turn around: my popped soccer ball. It wasn’t left where I’d kicked it earlier. It was tucked beside a tree a little ways past the wooden fence that separated most of the park from the overgrown trees and whatnot that I’d been trekking through.

Heart pounding, I raced over to the ball and yanked it away from the tree. A fearful yelp came from beneath it as the survivor from the day before huddled up against the side of the tree with his arms over his head. “Hey! Hey, it’s alright! It’s me! Remember me from yesterday?” I asked excitedly. The little guy looked up at me with a bewildered expression before his face slowly fell into shock — recognizing me. “Tahw? S’tahw gniog no? Tnaig edud, t’nod llet em er’uoy ereh rof ruoy llab niaga…” I had no clue what he said, but I was too relieved to even listen. He was alive — still using my ball for shelter. “Oh, here! I brought you something.” Digging into my pocket, I pulled out the bag of my half a grilled cheese and took it out.

“I wasn’t sure if you had anything to eat out here, so I brought you this. It.. might actually be a bit too big for you.” Laughing slightly, I handed the piece of sandwich off to him. It was half his height, but he took it eagerly. I sat down lightly, keeping watch for anything that might hurt him as he chowed down. “Yeh tnaig?” The survivor startled me from surveillance. “Hmm? What’s wrong little guy?” He pointed to his throat, then cupped his hands and pretended to drink. “Oh! You’re thirsty? I have some water, but it’s back with my bike. Sorry, I should’ve brought it.” The survivor gave me a confused look. He didn’t understand me. I knew he couldn’t, but I kept forgetting. He looked so normal that I expected him to speak a language I knew.

“Come on,” I gestured for him to follow me like I had the day before. He promptly got up and headed after me. The pace was even slower than yesterday. In the field, the little survivor could easily keep walking all the way across, albeit his steps were much shorter than mine. Here in the uncut forest, he had to weave and duck through the foliage like it was a jungle. He was exhausted after only a short time, and made the same gestures for a drink again, as if I hadn’t understood him the first time. I wanted to go and bring him one, but that body I’d found had me scared. What if I left him and something attacked? I’d feel awful if I came back to find a similar scene to the first survivor.

I.. I can try taking him there myself. But is he going to run away from me if I do that? Wild animals generally don’t like being held. But he wasn’t some wild animal. Surely he was smart enough to understand that I was helping him. Taking a knee, I slowly reached for him. “I’m just gonna help you out, ok little guy?” The survivor backed away from my hand uncertainly, but he didn’t run. “I'm just taking you to get a drink, like you wanted,” I told him, pointing towards the edge of the woods and the parking lot.

The survivor glanced between me and the distance he had to travel several times, then eventually glanced down at my hesitating hand. I came closer again and he held his hands up slightly, squeezing his eyes shut. However, he stood perfectly still.

His reaction hurt slightly. Doesn’t he know I won’t attack him? He looks scared of me, but I’m not a predator. I’m a person; I wouldn’t eat him or kill him for no reason. Slowly, I gripped his torso in a light fist and lifted him into the air. He yelled — dangling legs instantly pulling in against himself as he rushed to grip my fingers. The survivor’s eyes were wide open now, looking around himself fearfully.

“Hey, come on, really?” I asked, causing his head to whip back around towards me. His breathing picked up against the palm of my hand. “Is it really that scary?” Apparently it was. He readjusted, trying to cling even tighter to my fingers. I sighed, “Man, you’re like.. the same age as me! Can’t you tell that I’m not some big scary animal?” I headed back to my bike with him in my hand. He struggled so much I nearly dropped him accidentally. It wasn’t violent struggling like he was in danger, but still.

Finally, I reached my bike and released him on the asphalt. He scrambled backwards and tripped over his own feet, glancing around at the sky before taking a few steps closer to the bike, shying away from the open space. “It’s alright," I assured him, taking out my water bottle and pouring him a capful. “I’ll shoo away anything that tries to get you.” “I- I t’nod tnaw ot eb tuo ereh,” he said nervously, ducking closer to the bike’s wheel until he was pressed against it. Tsuj- t’nac uoy ekat eht retaw revo ot eht sterof daetsni? Stnaig t’nod yllausu ekil em gnignah dnuora ni eht nepo, dna eht sdrib ekil ti a elttil oot hcum.”

I chuckled and shook my head. “I have no clue what you’re saying, but you sure are talking. Here, have some water.” I handed him the bottle cap filled with water, but he only pointed to the woods. I didn’t move until he begrudgingly took it. Sitting on the curb beside my bike, I watched the little survivor. A few dogs passed by on the opposite side of the lot. Both of us eyed them warily, but they were well-behaved pets. They ignored us and continued on after their owners.

Wait.. pet. I glanced down at the survivor. He’d relaxed a bit once the dogs passed us, but he was still on alert. I’d been thinking about that body — the poor survivor who could do nothing to save themselves from such an awful death. “Hey little guy? What do you think of becoming my pet? Some people keep survivors and train them, you know. You’d be a lot safer with me! I’d have to hide you from my family, though,” I grumbled. “Maybe I can make you a little home in my backyard or something. What do you think?” He just gave me a blank, confused look. “Right…” I sighed, “Before I teach you any tricks I think I’m gonna have to teach you some words first. At least you understand gestures.”

The only thing my musings were met with was a small gesture for more water. I thought for a moment as I refilled the survivor’s bottle cap. “I guess I should start with a name. Hmmm.. should I give you a human name or more of a pet name?” I thought for a moment, “What if I name you Bandit? Because you took my soccer ball? My sister did warn me that your kind likes to steal things.”

Once Bandit was done with his drink, I stood up decisively. He startled, but calmed down soon after. That was until I reached for him again. Bandit dodged away from my grasp and stepped away from my bike. Pointing towards the woods, he told me something and started walking in that direction. “No, look! I’m going to give you a real home now! Your name’s gonna be Bandit and I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to fight to survive out here anymore.” I stepped over to him and tried to pick him up again, but he took off at a run — surprisingly fast for something so small. Thankfully, it only took a little jog to catch up with him and corner Bandit with my hands.

The survivor began yelling as I stood back up. His legs were pinned in one hand and his torso in the other. “Tahw eht lleh?! Tahw era uoy gniod htiw em?! Tup em nwod! I t’nod tnwa uoy ot yrrac em dnuora; I nac klaw tsuj enif!” He sounded angry, but he just didn’t understand. He probably thought I was taking him back to that sad little spot I’d found him tucked up in. “Man, you gotta calm down!” I told him surprisedly, “You’re yelling like I’m going to murder you or something. I’m literally saving your life!”

As gently as I could with all his struggling, I placed Bandit into my bike basket and hopped on. He peered over the edge for a moment, confused. However, he gasped and ducked down inside as I lifted the kickstand. “Yeh! I- I thguoht ew erew sdneirf! Erehw era uoy gnikat em?” “That’s right,” I said softer than before, “I’m getting you out of here. Now hold on tight! We’ll be at my house before you know it!”

I biked slowly through the parking lot and across the road, but once I hit the bike trail, I took off — excited to bring home my new pet. Bandit yelled a few more times, and I slowed down each time. However, I kept forgetting and speeding back up again. About two-thirds of the way there, my little pet finally had enough. While I was focused on a blind turn up ahead, the little thing lept out of the basket. A heartstopping thwack resounded off the dirt path as he hit it. I came to a screeching halt a few feet further and dropped my bike to the ground, rushing to his side.

Blood had begun pooling through his pant leg as he hastily scrambled to his feet before immediately falling back over again. “Bandit! Holy shit! Why’d you do that?! I thought survivors were smart enough to know not to jump out of a moving vehicle!” An agonizing cry stopped me from scolding him any longer. “Shit, I.. I gotta get you home and bandage that up.” Scooping him up in my arms, I drove the rest of the way single-handedly — Bandit gasping and whining the whole way back. The sound made me sick. I don’t understand! He knew it was moving! They’re supposed to be the second smartest creatures in the world besides humans!

I drove straight into the backyard when I got home, rushing for the back door. However, when I threw it open, my sister stood in the doorway, arms crossed. I had quick enough reflexes to hide Bandit behind my back, but that was all. “I knew you were up to something when Mom told me where you were going!” she accused. “No!” I yelped, covering up a groan from my little injured pet. “I was at the park! I swear!” “So why are you sneaking in the back-” Julie’s face paled mid-sentence. “Ritchie? Is that blood on your sweatshirt?” Shit. It was. Bandit’s leg must’ve bled into my clothing while I was holding him tucked against my chest.

There was no use trying to lie. Julie was a veterinary major — specializing in surgery. She knew blood when she saw it. “I- I can explain.” Before I could explain anything, she grabbed my arm and fearfully yanked it out from behind me. Bandit cried out in pain as he was jerked forward. Protectively, I tucked him back against myself as my shocked sister let go of me. “I knew you would go back for that survivor,” she said under her breath. “But what the hell did you do?”

“I- I didn’t do anything! He jumped out of my bike while I was riding it and-” “Give him to me.” “What? No! What are you going to do with him?” She held out her cupped hands, “What do you think I’m going to do with him? I have to stop him from bleeding like that or he will die. Please, just let me have him.” “I- It’s not that bad!” I lied, backing away, “This stain isn’t even that big!” “It is to him.” Julie’s voice suddenly turned hostily serious. Hesitantly, I tried to give Bandit to her, but he gasped and tried to avoid her hands.

I was about to tell her that I should just bring him wherever she wanted him, but Julie spoke first. “S’ti thgirla; I t’now truh uoy. M’i ereh ot pleh uoy.” I blinked, dumbstruck. Even Bandit stopped struggling. “Did.. you just speak survivor language?” I gawked. Less than a second later, Bandit practically flung himself out of my grasp and into Julie’s arms. He started speaking so quickly, even she gave him a confused look. “Tsuj gnah ni ereht,” she said gently, “Ll’i teg uoy dexif pu.” She rushed off into the bathroom. The rumbling of medicine bins filled the air along with the sound of rushing water. I was so stunned I stood in the doorway for several minutes before quickly closing the back door and rushing after my sister.

#the characters came to me in a vision #had to do something about that #if y’all enjoy this I’ll post part two!#g/t #giant/tiny

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spama · 1 year

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this is what praying is supposed to be like right

#ultrakill #gabriel ultrakill #what listening to discipline by nine inch nails does to a bitch #in my defense. its a banging song #i keep having Thoughts about v1's grapple arm #had to do something about that #except the rope's red because uh. yknow. reasons.#i plead the fifth #spama's art

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inkskinned · 9 months

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because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

#almost wrote the champagne line as ''effervescent'' but legit could not write it without saying ''effervescent like a snail''#ah tumblr...#writeblr #warm up #idk . having trouble writing rn #ps i don't like to talk about it . it is my medical information. but before you ask. yes this is about being on the spectrum #i really don't like when ppl make my writing about how im [whatever ID]. i want it to ring true for the people who it rings true for #i don't want it to be like ''awwwww look at this person!!! she's the EXCEPTION!!! :)" .....#no.... not really.....#idk something gross happens whenever i admit to certain conditions and i turn into like inspiration p*rnography #like yes they actually let us use keyboards these days #furthermore i just... dont feel comfortable talking about this part of me. i had too bad of a childhood. adhd is one thing...#this one im like. still coming to terms with. which is like. my own journey.#idk. just please be kind. some things are more private than others. this one feels private to me.#i do not know how to help others w/this . and i do not know how to help myself. i will talk about it if im ever ready. idk if that will #actually ever happen #ty in advance i love u im kissing you we are kissing somewhere on the spectrum

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cozylittleartblog · 1 year

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not that we didn't already Know belos was full of shit, but it's even funnier knowing the titan was still alive the whole time and probably judging him

#toh #the owl house #emperor belos #papa titan #the titan #art #doodles #comic #fanart #watching and dreaming #captioned #brief visit to ye olde days of memeing on belos... those still get spread around #i hope the titan saw him get his shit stomped in before they passed on #like yes luz was right there but did the titan actually get to see it. i hope so #shoulda been broadcast on penstagram too #there's a piece of fanart i wanted to draw after. i think o titan where art thou. but i never got around to it #because it had animation in it. and im regretting it now #maybe i will finally do it. and something else too #the whole titan reveal brings with it a lot of tropes and ideas that absolutely destroy me personally #and i need to Draw about it #edit - thank you anistarrose for the caption!#''he wasn't Really alive'' you're right they were a secret third thing. the heart still beats. they were still Somewhere #but it's easier to just say Alive. it's not Technically wrong #i try to keep my captions short ok

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krasnyel · 1 year

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regular ascot-loving-mystery-solving family

#idk this idea just couldn’t leave my brian for like two days so i had to do something about it #philip is the other dad #knives out #glass onion #benoit blanc #scooby doo #fred jones #krasnyel post #fanart #artists on tumblr #digital aritst

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seancefemme · 1 year

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ellie & joel

#the last of us #tlou #the last of us fanart #joel miller #ellie Williams #pedro pascal #been feeling so blaghhh about my art lately I needed to do something experimental and messy #my old botw piece was getting a ton of notes lately so I wanted to do another scenic piece #also I saw on tiktok someone saying that pedro pascal has the easiest face to draw so I just had to try it out #and then i had to torture myself by adding the horse don’t look at it #my art #mine

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stil-lindigo · 7 months

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the fox god.

a comic about a trickster.

creative notes:

–

all my other comics

store

#cw: emotional abuse #cw: gaslighting #cw: animal death #charity - a god whose name was only ever meant to be ironic #i love playing with the concept of religion like this #im not religious at all but i did go to a christian school for twelve years #and i remember learning about the story of abraham. who long story short gets told by god to kill his son to prove his love for god.#and at the veeeery last minute god goes sike! this was a test to see if you'd do it! here's a lamb to slaughter instead #but the whole concept of that exchange in and of itself is so #anyway #one thing i meant to include in the creative notes but i ran out of room for is that charity never calls cunning by his name.#it's just “fox”. which was a small touch to indicate that he never acknowledged cunning's identity outside of being something exploitable.#but for all charity's hidden disdain for cunning #he still stole all his strengths and coveted them. he became known as the fox god.#so maybe some part of cunning survived. despite everything.#“give me your heart.”#“my god. it had always been yours.”#comic art #hearteaters #stillindigo art #stillindigo comics #one more comic to go until im finished with this collection!!

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bigfatbreak · 19 days

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Birds of a Feather previous / next

#my art #feralnette au #birds of a feather #long tags #sorry I went apeshit in the tags #LETS SAY IT ALL TOGETHER NOW #I - M - A - G - OOOOOOOOO #its fun drawing marinette's back to Alya and having her appear stout and unstoppable and totally logical #and then you see her face and she's like two seconds from completely snapping and is keeping it together by a thread #as a note just because mari feels very certainly abt smth doesnt mean she's right. feelings can be valid and also irrational #in the throes of grief she decided it was better to be alone than to lose someone again so she started pulling away #and lila made pulling away very very very easy to do #shes also vaguely aware she's being unfair in pinning this on alya which is why she started spinning the drain on cockmoth again #legitimately all the shit that's happened to her wouldn't have been so catastrophic if he was never in the picture and she knows it #but the bitterness of her bestie choosing a fantastic liar over her at the worst of times stiiiiiings #alya's personal timing was bad but lila really took advantage of the fact that marinette had been acting off and weird #she basically clocked marinette as being unstable from SOMETHING and made up a lie about her #knowing she wouldn't have the strength to defend herself #between her social life going tachy bc of lila and losing fu in a way that felt like personhood death marinette was really put on the spot #and alya doing her thing of busting in there and assuming her bias is correct was a terrible combo #essentially marinette is highly unstable and alya is just realizing that #busting in and giving her a lecture when she's slightly hysterical and definitely delirious from exhaustion is NOT the way #to show her she's self sabotaging #cuz thats just gonna make her double down on self sabotaging. bc marinette will not accept that she is also a CHIIIIILD

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fudgecake-charlie · 4 months

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beloved friend sent me one of scar's newer tweets and i HAD to draw it

#hermitcraft #desert duo #this is so rushed and inconsistent but like WHATEVER i had fun!!!! i Needed to do something fun today #didn't they have a moment like this in last life w skizz or something??#grian #goodtimeswithscar #art out the oven #if i have another case of ''shitpost art gets more notes than art i put a lot of effort into'' i will. not explode actually it's funny #sorry about scar's wheelchair i am not referencing anything!#this is from my vague memory of the wheelchair i had to play basketball #edit: also hi gemmy im sorry youve ended up the mcyter punching bag /j this comic is gemmy erasure

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natjennie · 3 months

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something about "your anger isn't scary to me" is making me so emotional. something about as above so below, cassandra as a mirror of kristen. something about "I've been dropping the ball a lot lately" and kristen's struggles with adhd. something about teenage girls and rage and fury and justice. something about adaine's vision of ruining fallinel and the sylvaire looking for revenge. something about sadness and doubt and anger and love. something about "I choose to understand" being the absolute core theme of d20 in general. something something.

#something about kristen's adhd making her fuck things up and being mad at herself and that manifesting #as her deity being overcome with rage #something about fear and anger and shame and the inability to do better even when you're trying so hard #and something about people loving you anyway #something about 'your anger isnt scary to me'#as someone who had undiagnosed pcos in early high school and got so fucking MAD #something about adhd and how you're always failing and you have no one to blame but yourself #and how heart breaking it is to watch your life fall apart around you KNOWING you could do something #but being unable to do it right. always forgetting always slipping up #and how mad that makes you. at yourself.#this fight is so much #fhjy #d20 #dimension 20 #fantasy high

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repliiku · 2 months

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when im in a devastating character that the fans never talk about competition and my opponents are the harlenglish kids

#homestuck #jake english #jade harley #the way hussie uses fire and fireplaces in the crockerbert homes as a loving family memorial that is perceived as welcoming #maybe a tad weird to jane and june #while fire to the harlenglish is a gross haunting memory of something they had to do at too young of an age #think about it everyday

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inkskinned · 11 months

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the thing is that they're so fascinated by sex, they love sex, they can't imagine a world without sex - they need sex to sell things, they need sex to be part of their personality, they need sex to prove their power - but they hate sex. they are disgusted by it.

sex is the only thing that holds their attention, and it is also the thing that can never be discussed directly.

you can't tell a child the normal names for parts of their body, that's sexual in nature, because the body isn't a body, it's a vessel of sex. it doesn't matter that it's been proven in studies (over and over) that kids need to know the names of their genitals; that they internalize sexual shame at a very young age and know it's 'dirty' to have a body; that it overwhelmingly protects children for them to have the correct words to communicate with. what matters is that they're sexual organs. what matters is that it freaks them out to think about kids having body parts - which only exist in the context of sex.

it's gross to talk about a period or how to check for cancer in a testicle or breast. that is nasty, illicit. there will be no pain meds for harsh medical procedures, just because they feature a cervix.

but they will put out an ad of you scantily-clad. you will sell their cars for them, because you have abs, a body. you will drip sex. you will ooze it, like a goo. like you were put on this planet to secrete wealth into their open palms.

they will hit you with that same palm. it will be disgusting that you like leather or leashes, but they will put their movie characters in leather and latex. it will be wrong of you to want sexual freedom, but they will mark their success in the number of people they bed.

they will crow that it's inappropriate for children so there will be no lessons on how to properly apply a condom, even to teens. it's teaching them the wrong things. no lessons on the diversity of sexual organ growth, none on how to obtain consent properly, none on how to recognize when you feel unsafe in your body. if you are a teenager, you have probably already been sexualized at some point in your life. you will have seen someone also-your-age who is splashed across a tv screen or a magazine or married to someone three times your age. you will watch people pull their hair into pigtails so they look like you. so that they can be sexy because of youth. one of the most common pornography searches involves newly-18 young women. girls. the words "barely legal," a hiss of glass sand over your skin.

barely legal. there are bills in place that will not allow people to feel safe in their own bodies. there are people working so hard to punish any person for having sex in a way that isn't god-fearing and submissive. heteronormative. the sex has to be at their feet, on your knees, your eyes wet. when was the first time you saw another person crying in pornography and thought - okay but for real. she looks super unhappy. later, when you are unhappy, you will close your eyes and ignore the feeling and act the role you have been taught to keep playing. they will punish the sex workers, remove the places they can practice their trade safely. they will then make casual jokes about how they sexually harass their nanny.

and they love sex but they hate that you're having sex. you need to have their ornamental, perfunctory, dispassionate sex. so you can't kiss your girlfriend in the bible belt because it is gross to have sex with someone of the same gender. so you can't get your tubes tied in new england because you might change your mind. so you can't admit you were sexually assaulted because real men don't get hurt, you should be grateful. you cannot handle your own body, you cannot handle the risks involved, let other people decide that for you. you aren't ready yet.

but they need you to have sex because you need to have kids. at 15, you are old enough to parent. you are not old enough to hear the word fuck too many times on television.

they are horrified by sex and they never stop talking about it, thinking about it, making everything unnecessarily preverted. the saying - a thief thinks everyone steals. they stand up at their podiums and they look out at the crowd and they sign a bill into place that makes sexwork even more unsafe and they stand up and smile and sign a bill that makes gender-affirming care illegal and they get up and they shrug their shoulders and write don't say gay and they get up, and they make the world about sex, but this horrible, plastic vision of it that they have. this wretched, emotionless thing that holds so much weight it's staggering. they put their whole spine behind it and they push and they say it's normal!

this horrible world they live in. disgusted and also obsessed.

#this shifts gender so much bc it actually affects everyone #yes it's a gendered phenomenon. i have written a LOT about how different genders experience it. that's for a different post.#writeblr #ps my comments about seeing someone cry -- this is not to shame any person #and on this blog we support workers.#at the same time it's a really hard experience to see someone that looks like you. clearly in agony. and have them forced to keep going.#when you're young it doesn't necessarily look like acting. it looks scary. and that's what this is about - the fact that teens #have likely already been exposed to that definition of things. because the internet exists #and without the context of healthy education. THAT is the image burned into their minds about what it looks like.#it's also just one of those personal nuanced biases -#at 19 i thought it was normal to be in pain. to cry. to not-like-it. that it should be perfunctory.#it was what i had seen.#and it didn't help that my religious upbringing was like . 'yeah that's what you get for premarital. but also for the reference #we do think you should never actually enjoy it lol'#so like the point im making is that ppl get exposed to that stuff without the context of something more tender #and assume .... 'oh. so it's fine i am not enjoying myself'. and i know they do because I DID.#he was my first boyfriend. how was i supposed to know any different #i didn't even have the mental wherewithal to realize im a lesbian . like THAT used to suffering.

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