Doomed By The Narrative: Side A - Round 3

I love the greens! Thank you for tagging me <3

@ anyone who can see this <3

saw this on instagram and thought it was fun!! so let’s do a chain thingy, shall we?

what’s the colour palette of your name?

@paysomeonetopaysomeone @waitingforthesunrise @coffeeforkai @betweenthetimeandsound @27fanficlilies @wishtobefictional @trashmeowcan @ashlakh @malencholic-nyx

I AM SO UNHINGED ABOUT THIS OH MY GOSH. CASS. CASS PLEASE. MY HEART CAN'T TAKE THIS. HE'S JUST A LITTLE GUY.

Part 9!

You have no idea how much I've been thinking about this topic

Part 1

do you ever see a person and you are overcome with incredible fondness? and you just think "oh." but not in a romantic or sexual way you are just filled with warmth and it makes you happy, it just does. and you think "i'm so happy you exist. i'm happy you are somewhere out there in the world, doing your thing". it's love but also not entirely

like people are lovely and i feel it in my entire chest like a burning candle that smells like roses and a sunny day

Helpful and Preventative Stretches for Writers, Artists, and Gamers 💪🎨✍🎮

If you type, write, draw, game, or generally use your hands a lot (especially if you’re prone to RSI or Carpal Tunnel!) try these stretches as both a preventative measure, and on the spot relief. Take care of yourself and your body, friends!

Start with hands up, fingers stretched out.  Stretch your thumb as far as you can over your palm. Hold and repeat 4 times.

Touch each finger to your thumb. Hold each for 30 seconds. Repeat on each hand 4 times.

Start with a fist. Open half way, hold for 2 seconds. Stretch fingers out, hold for 2 seconds. Repeat 4 times.

Start with one arm out, palm up. Pull your fingers back with your other hand. Hold for 10 seconds. Do the same with your other hand. Repeat 4 times

Start with arms up, palms out. Bend wrists down until you feel the stretch, but keep your fingers loose. Hold 10 seconds. Bend wrist upwards, until you feel it in your wrist and arm. Hold 10 seconds. Repeat 4 times.

Meatgrinder Part 13: END

THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO HAS ENJOYEd DEATH OF ME: MEATGRINDER THIS OCTOBER! It was a personal project, one I’ve had since 2016, and I’m REALLY REALLY happy I was able to soend time on it to such wonderful and warm reception :D i hope to be abke to continue DoM next october :)

Previous

Masterpost

Etsy, Patreon, Ko-fi

Greetings all!

I am Ichika, but I also go by Kit, bean, Donnie, and any other nickname you may wish to bestow upon me <3 any and all pronouns are welcome, feel free to get weird with it too!

I tend to just scrounge around and save art of my favorite medias, so I don't know how often I'll post stuff of my own. I do have a few other blogs to keep things tidy (which will be linked), and I'll have some set tags for specific posts and reblogs!

I don't really have much of a DNI list, just try keeping any negative/problematic topics away and we'll be fine :] (this doesn't mean fandoms, just real-world things)

Asks are welcome, and my DMs are open if they're needed :D

Tone tags are appreciated!

Other blogs:

art-go-brrrr- My own art blog that is honestly just collecting dust at this point. Not really much there.

ichika-2-point-oh - My place for long and/or important informational posts.

art-makes-me-melt - Where I repost the art that I enjoy.

Taglist:

#kit babbles - posts with thoughts from my silly little brain.

#kit rebloggles - posts that I reblog from others.

#kit answers - asks that I answer.

#kit favorites - posts that grab my brain and shake it around (aka, all my favorites).

why is it always that the sign that the robot/AI is becoming ~*too human*~ is when they fall in looove

give me a robot who realizes they’ve ~*exceeded their programmed parameters*~ when they get incredibly emotionally attached to their favorite movie and start writing fanfiction about it

My gender is a good idea to be a good person to help you with that but I don't know what to do with it and I don't know what to do with it but I don't know what to do with it but I don't know what to do with it but I don't know what to do with it but I don't know what to do with it but I don't know

@ anyone who sees this!

Type "my gender is" on your phone and let your phone finish the sentence, then tag your moots to keep the chain going, I'll go first.

My gender is a little bit more intense than I thought I could have done

@mirukosbitchywife @get-junpeid

hello dark mode users :)

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🔭

What if, when Petunia Dursley found a little boy on her front doorstep, she took him in? Not into the cupboard under the stairs, not into a twisted childhood of tarnished worth and neglect–what if she took him in?

Petunia was jealous, selfish and vicious. We will not pretend she wasn’t. She looked at that boy on her doorstep and thought about her Dudders, barely a month older than this boy. She looked at his eyes and her stomach turned over and over. (Severus Snape saved Harry’s life for his eyes. Let’s have Petunia save it despite them).

Let’s tell a story where Petunia Dursley found a baby boy on her doorstep and hated his eyes–she hated them. She took him in and fed him and changed him and got him his shots, and she hated his eyes up until the day she looked at the boy and saw her nephew, not her sister’s shadow. When Harry was two and Vernon Dursley bought Dudley a toy car and Harry a fast food meal with a toy with parts he could choke on Petunia packed her things and got a divorce.

Harry grew up small and skinny, with knobbly knees and the unruly hair he got from his father. He got cornered behind the dumpsters and in the restrooms, got blood on the jumpers Petunia had found, half-price, at the hand-me-down store. He was still chosen last for sports. But Dudley got blood on his sweaters, too, the ones Petunia had found at the hand-me-down store, half price, because that was all a single mother working two secretary jobs could afford for her two boys, even with Vernon’s grudging child support.

They beat Harry for being small and they laughed at Dudley for being big, and slow, and dumb. Students jeered at him and teachers called Dudley out in class, smirked over his backwards letters.

Harry helped him with his homework, snapped out razored wit in classrooms when bullies decided to make Dudley the butt of anything; Harry cornered Dudley in their tiny cramped kitchen and called him smart, and clever, and ‘better ‘n all those jerks anyway’ on the days Dudley believed it least.

Dudley walked Harry to school and back, to his advanced classes and past the dumpsters, and grinned, big and slow and not dumb at all, at anyone who tried to mess with them.

But was that how Petunia got the news? Her husband complained about owls and staring cats all day long and in the morning Petunia found a little tyke on her doorsep. This was how the wizarding world chose to give the awful news to Lily Potter’s big sister: a letter, tucked in beside a baby boy with her sister’s eyes.

There were no Potters left. Petunia was the one who had to arrange the funeral. She had them both buried in Godric’s Hollow. Lily had chosen her world and Petunia wouldn’t steal her from it, not even in death. The wizarding world had gotten her sister killed; they could stand in that cold little wizard town and mourn by the old stone.

(Petunia would curl up with a big mug of hot tea and a little bit of vodka, when her boys were safely asleep, and toast her sister’s vanished ghost. Her nephew called her ‘Tune’ not 'Tuney,’ and it only broke her heart some days.

Before Harry was even three, she would look at his green eyes tracking a flight of geese or blinking mischieviously back at her and she would not think 'you have your mother’s eyes.’

A wise old man had left a little boy on her doorstep with her sister’s eyes. Petunia raised a young man who had eyes of his very own).

Petunia snapped and burnt the eggs at breakfast. She worked too hard and knew all the neighbors’ worst secrets. Her bedtime stories didn’t quite teach the morals growing boys ought to learn: be suspicious, be wary; someone is probably out to get you. You owe no one your kindness. Knowledge is power and let no one know you have it. If you get can get away with it, then the rule is probably meant for breaking.

Harry grew up loved. Petunia still ran when the letters came. This was her nephew, and this world, this letter, these eyes, had killed her sister. When Hagrid came and knocked down the door of some poor roadside motel, Petunia stood in front of both her boys, shaking. When Hagrid offered Harry a squashed birthday cake with big, kind, clumsy hands, he reminded Harry more than anything of his cousin.

His aunt was still shaking but Harry, eleven years and eight minutes old, decided that any world that had people like his big cousin in it couldn’t be all bad. “I want to go,” Harry told his aunt and he promised to come home.

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