Ladies And Gentlemen May I Present To You

Again I am finding more and more evidence that Donnie and I would be the best of friends because I would totally do this.

Actually I DO this. You should see me in the morning at work 😆🧡🤌🏼💜

i got a bit lazy at the end and i’m no animator but hey this was fun and i hope yall enjoy it too xD

Astronomy Lines Pt. 2

Made some wallpapers featuring the disaster twins because Venus is one disaster of a planet 😆

My toxic trait is that I genuinely think I could be friends with Damian Wayne 😶

*holding this oh so very gently*

“I liked the concept of something unreachable being seen as being very close to you :)”

This hits me harder than it has the right too

fanart for @qoldenskies's caged lungs fic 💥💥

it isn't based on any scene in particular, just my overall interpretation and visualization of things I felt. mostly bad things. but apparently human brains enjoy that. so let's go

I'm gonna ramble now, buckle up

Frankly that's the first personal piece I've drawn in months, and I'm grateful for it. I'm grateful that I was able to feel emotions and wanted to draw something again

I struggle a lot with empathy and understanding of other's feelings and displaying my own but. I hope people will feel something by looking at it, too

I've got inspired by the old tale that we used to read on literature lessons, altho I for the life of me can't remember the name of it, or anything else from the plot for that matter. There were a competition for retrieving the jug from the bottom of the river, where many men tried and failed, as they couldn't reach it. As you can already tell, it was a reflection of the jug that was hanged on a tree all along.

I liked the concept of something unreachable being seen as being very close to you :) hence the whole water situation

generally water is seen as a positive symbol in art but for me it's cold, slippery, you can't see shit in it, misleading and uncomfortable. go figure

and I really like how CL displays yellow as a color with negative connotation while it's classically being the The Most Happy Coded Color Ever.

while I'm at it I wanted to share a song I associate with caged lungs in particular

just let it die!

I would have liked to talk more about how awesome the fic is and how invested I'm in the plot and characters and how noticing details and parallels makes my brain go brrrr but I'm shy and not really eloquent with my words. I hope you will get the idea anyway. I love it <3

& textless version :0

If you spot any symbolism, it's probably there. or not. up to you really. that's how art works. have fun

ask game for fanfic writers

do you know how you want the story to end when you start, or are you just stumbling through the figurative wilderness hoping to find a road?

talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked you dead in the eyes and said “fuck your plan, here’s what we’re actually doing.”

on a scale of 1-10 how much do you enjoy incorporating romance into the average story?

what is the plot bunny you’ve been carrying for the longest? optional bonus question: do you ever wonder why you haven’t written it yet and experience deep existential dread?

have you ever made a playlist about something you were writing as an elaborate means to procrastinate when you could have been actually writing and if yes drop a link, son

do you have any kind of consistent writing schedule or just hoping for the best?

tell us about the plot of the first fanfic you ever wrote

what’s your relationship with constructive criticism and feedback like? do you seek it out? how well do you take it?

in an ideal world where you’re already super successful and published, would you want to see a tv or movie adaptation of your work? why or why not?

at what point in the process do you come up with titles, and how easy or hard is that for you?

what’s something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

do you ever have trouble focusing on writing? how do you get around that? 

talk about a writing experience that has pleasantly surprised you.

what’s your worst writing habit? 

where do you share your writing?

where is your favorite place to write?

what is your favorite line you’ve ever written?

what is your most and least favorite part of writing?

what are some books or authors that influenced your style the most?

what is your favorite trope to write?

pick a writer to co-write a book with and tell us what you’d write about.

describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

how do you deal with writers block?

on average, how much writing do you get done in a day?

what’s your revision or rewriting process like?

do you like to write one-shots or series, and why?

do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished? 28. And who do you share them with?

handwritten notes or typed notes?

give us a spoiler for one of your stories.

most inspirational quote you’ve ever read or heard that’s still important to you.

tell us about one of your characters who’s an absolute joy to write

do characters influence your writing style?

do you start with the characters or the plot when writing?

how do you name characters and places?

tell us about a character who’s very different than you who you love a whole lot

do you base your characters of real people or not? If so, tell us about one.

when creating characters, what comes first: appearance, backstory, motivation, personality, something else?

how many stories do you work on at one time?

are you an avid reader?

best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

what is the weirdest story idea you’ve ever had.

describe the aesthetic of a story in 5 words.

how did writing change you?

any writing advice you want to share?

name three of your favorite fanfic writers.

what time are you the most productive when it comes to writing?

what story are you most proud of?

do you reread your own stories?

do you want to be published some day?

do you plan or do you write whatever comes to your mind?

share the synopsis of a story you work on that you haven’t published yet

how many unfinished ideas/stories are you working on at the same time?

when writing, do you have an outline? and do you stick to it?

what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

five years from now, where do you see yourself as a writer?

what is the last thing that a fic made you google when you were reading it?

what is the last thing that a fic made you google when you were writing it?

where is the most dangerous place that you’ve read fic?

where is the most dangerous place that you’ve written fic?

what was the first commercial property (book/movie/tv show/etc) that you realized was actually professional fanfiction?

what’s the weirdest reason you’ve ever shipped something?

what’s the best insult you’ve read in a fic?

what is your favourite title for a fic you’ve read? 

what is your favourite title for a fic you’ve written? 

when have you felt the most confident in your writing? 

when have you felt the least confident?

how long will you spend on a story or scene before you give up?

how do you write emotional scenes? do you ever feel what the characters feel?

are you very critical of your own writing? how much do you find yourself editing (either during the writing or after the fact)?

how do you balance writing and life? do you ever feel overwhelmed by the amount of writing you have to do?

what do you do if a scene gets too serious?

how do you visualize scenes? do you see it like a movie in your head, or do the words just flow?

are you a planner, pantser, or planster?

do you know how your story ends before you start writing?

what is one essential thing to remember when writing a villain? 

how do you write kissing scenes?

how do you choose where to end a chapter?

are you an over-writer, under-writer, or just-right-er?

do you try to put themes, motifs, messages, morals, etc in your writing? if so, how do you go about it?

if you could go back in time and give your younger self a piece of writing advice specific to you, what would it be?

“proper” punctuation or all lowercase?

less is more or more is more?

said: overused or underused?

what would be on a moodboard for your current wip(s)?

which season best matches the mood of your wip(s)?

does your writing style change depending on the genre you write?

if you could have another author write your wip for you (bc we all dream of this occasionally), who would it be?

sarcastic narrators: entertaining or overdone?

do you notice your own voice in your writing style?

how has your writing style changed over the years?

first, second, or third person?

do you hear other people’s writing styles when they talk?

do you prefer dialogue or description?

do you describe a character’s appearance all right away or in pieces?

romantic/social sideplots: interesting or irritating?

abstract or detailed romance scenes?

what don’t you like about your writing style?

was being a writer a dream of yours when you were little? or did it spring up when your older? or is it just a hobby? 

open question to the writer.

a compiled list of asks for me to reference. they are not my own. just some of my favorite questions i’ve picked out from a couple different lists. feel free to reblog and use too!!

REBLOG IF ITS OKAY TO TALK TO YOU.

Please.

*Kronk Voice* Oh yeah, it’s all coming together.

I can’t tell you how happy this makes my little color theorist heart

-collapses- Okay, This is a project I've been needing to finish because I noticed a number of the colors from @pluvionpc's color pallets were Season 1 exclusives, or were tinted by the scene color overlay and thus not the true bases. (No offense to you man, you did what you could and without them, this wouldn't exist) So my dumbass downloaded all the eps and went through them to find the neutral lighting shots to pull colors from. CJ's were hardest because I didn't have access to the movie at the time, so had to rely on screenshots and concept art. I was originally gonna add Karai to this, but decide I'd dragged ass enough on this. Note on Draxum's magic: That seems to be his main, but it does change color based on the spell? Like the portal to pull Karai out was gold.... Also, you would not believe how much it pissed me off to find out Drax's nose and lips were two different colors, just JFC. Font used originally was @phoebepheebsphibs's rise mimic font, but eventually, I found the Fido Regular font that @thelamebat pointed out and used that for Draxums.

———————————– My Commissions | .Carrd

@fishsticksloser Ah creating mischief through writing snippets for your friends, I see. A worthy engagement indeed, for tis an endeavor I participate inquire frequently. May all the inspiration be upon ye, and your fingers fly swiftly in your story.Show no mercy, my friend. Make him suffer 😈🫡🧡🙌🏼

and if I may be as bold, may I see the destruction afterwards? I do so enjoy a good creative volley

Apologies everyone... I fear I have accidentally killed him. Who knew a cryptid could be so powerful...

YOU ARE NOT SORRY IN THE SLIGHTEST--

DON'T EVEN--

My reactions after reading this

Makes me think of a poem from a friend actually🤔

Vent piece, AU, Rise Leo, Angst

It’s cold in here. Even in pants, sneakers, and a hoodie, the chill of the planetarium still eats at him a little. He’s okay with it, though. It’s not quite enough for brumation, which is the important part. He doesn’t need to completely lose track of everything. He just needs… peace.

And, as he lies across the floor while staring up at the star-covered ceiling, he’s sure he’s found it. He’s certain that, if only for a moment or two, he is finally allowed to rest. Finally able to think of something else than his work, his constant running around, his never-ending parade of personas. Hell, he can almost feel himself drift into nothingness as the light music he hears cradles him to near sleep.

It's always nice, always comfortable, always –

He blinks as he hears rustling. Someone sits in a chair in front of where he’s lying on the floor. And while he wants to call it an accident, his nostrils tell him it's not.

The scent of subtle soap and warm skin. The rustle of pants as legs are crossed and brought apart again. The chair squeaks at the attempt to settle in it, but nervousness is keeping its current occupant from getting comfortable.

He wishes he could say the same. Unfortunately, the cold has a good grip on him and while he’s not brumating, he definitely feels sluggish.

Not that you’ll attack him. You have no way to defend yourself save for a can of pepper spray — the thing smells absolutely vile — and from the presentations he’s seen you give, you don’t have a mean bone in your body, which just… helps.

“Want to stay for the video?”

The thing that impresses him is the way you’ve just… made this look as casual as possible while letting him know several things.

One, you know he’s there. How you caught him when he always takes for the grates the second you have a new group is a mystery — there’s hours, a schedule, and he’s got it all down — but you did. Second, you’ve known for a while. The lack of inflection in your tone indicates experience and redefines your nervousness as one of casual approach. Three, … he just wants to turn his brain off. He wishes he couldn’t understand or care about how an employee knows about his presence and hasn’t called the authorities yet. He knows he could deal with them, certainly if he were a little warmer, but this? This goddamn circus? He’s here to get off work, not…

He sighs. Shuffles. He owes you an answer. He just…

“Knock on the back of my seat for a yes.”

He looks up, away from the stars to you. Your back is facing him, then again he’s in a weird position that puts his head near the seat. He could say nothing, not even knock and watch you squirm. He could crack a joke, say something that might make you laugh or groan as he attempts socializing.

But right now… he just can’t be assed.

He reaches up and knocks against the plastic. You just say thank you and stay there for a bit longer before you get up to rummage for something near the projector. There’s shuffling in the chair you were just seated in before he hears you take off for the doors.

Time for the next group. He wonders if he should stay. If he should do what he usually does and skedaddle before anyone notices there’s a bum on the floor. But when everyone steers clear of the seat, therefore him, he has to wonder what’s going on. What you did to manage it so that, when the lights fade out and he hears rustling, he knows it’s you.

You don’t speak. The video is a speaking one after all. It does make him wonder, though. Even long after the video’s done and he’s left to stare at the stars again, he wonders what just happened and if he should care. He’s not complaining, though, not after getting to finally see the visuals, albeit from an interesting angle.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It doesn’t stop him from returning, either.

It’s been a week. He’s debated whether or not it’s worth risking his neck, his family’s neck over someone knowing he’s using the planetarium as his way to relax. He’s wondered if he shouldn’t tell the fam, or at least his little brother, to make sure it’s safe.

But that would mean letting everyone know. That would mean having to deal with that mess and he honestly… doesn’t want to.

He's tired. He’s done. His brothers, even his dad, have completely drained him dry of anything he could remotely care about. So he goes without hesitating.

He navigates lunch hour and watches the shift change. He flinches as your loud coworker laughs and jokes, reminding him of himself in the most obnoxious way. So much so that he half-wants to punch them for being so annoying. He waits on the floor instead, though, and is grateful when you join him the second they leave, leaving him to knock on your chair.

This behavior is more befitting his twin. He doesn’t care.

“Sorry for that. For what it's worth, the next group should all be teenagers, so no crying children.”

He knows. Presentation hours are for classes. Field trips. And while you don’t necessarily struggle during them, depending on the class, it can get disgustingly loud. Even when teenagers are involved.

He knocks on the chair again. You laugh a little before sighing, “I’m sorry I have to ask you to go. I am getting a break later on, though. If you want to stick around until then, I’ll be happy to show you some interesting features.”

And the tridactyl hand he’s been using to knock on your seat grips his hoodie as he thinks, debates.

He shouldn’t. It’s dangerous. No matter how innocent you are, the mere knowledge of who he is could ruin your existence and his. He’s not here to make friends.

… But the company is nice.

His hand hesitates for a second longer before he knocks. You then hush him away and he goes to the vent where he watches you work and barely get to breathe when you get two classes back to back. And he quietly lets himself in after all the hubbub, laying on the floor as you sit with a breath into the chair he knocks on.

The fact that it gets him a chuckle almost makes him smile. The fact that hears you tap the seat next to you worries him.

“Come on. Best seat in the house,” you tell him, though, and while it doesn’t convince him, it does make him move, make him join you even as the seat creaks under his weight. It has him making sure that you can’t see his face or his hands as he sits next to you. Not that you seem to care, though, as your eyes are fixed on the ceiling and your hands fiddle with a small contraption you immediately bring forward and click on once he’s there.

The lights turn off. The domed ceiling goes from evening to night, showing the stars. And, with another click, lines start drawing themselves across the artificial sky, connecting the stars into groups and images slowly appear, making him blink.

Constellations. He’s heard you talking about those. But thanks to the light pollution, the most he’s been able to spot are the brightest stars and, if he’s lucky, the Summer Triangle. Now, he’s finally able to see them.

He almost gets up. He doesn’t. The moment feels too sacred to break. You seem to notice the shift, though, as he can hear you smile when you speak.

“This is the Greek one, which was eventually taken over by the Romans. There are more, though. The Babylonians had an incredible star chart they left behind, explaining what they saw and why it was important to them. The Mayans had one also, and it's been suggested that other Central American cultures might have either used the same map or had their own variations to it. The most interesting one, though, is the Asian one. Western influence was scarce, so their system works very differently even today."

… Ah. He gets it, now. It's almost funny, too, and enough to make him smile. Make almost reach out in the hopes that you understand that you either don't need to share or that he's grateful. He can't do either, though. No matter how much the world wants to think that there's space for everyone, the fact that he's underground, that the Hidden City exists tells him otherwise. He can't let himself do anything but speak, and breaking the silence feels like blasphemy.

"… Thank you."

He still does it, though. Not for his sake but yours. You need to know he appreciates it, even if some of it is going completely over his head.

"No problem."

Because it's worth the softness that invades your tone. Even if it requires more effort than he has energy for, the payoff gives him just a little more than he thought he'd be given. And he likes that. God, does he.

"Anything you want to see?"

"The star map without the images?"

Because if this is all it takes to get this to work as you click and the images disappear, then he's more than willing to try.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Unfortunately, winter does not seem to agree.

Brumation becomes a problem. His hoodie is no longer enough, but wearing anything else might hinder his movements in the vents. He can't afford to lose the agility, but he knows that, if he's not careful, he might knock out.

Something you seem to notice as well.

Within a month of winter starting, he finds a blanket waiting outside the vent. His careful thanks only get him even more wrapped inside the surprisingly thin yet cozy fleece blanket as you fuss over him while never once looking up as he's asked you to. It doesn't help that every time, you simply smile after he tells you that he's comfortable, tapping a hand against his plastron.

"Good. Wouldn't want you to pass out."

Which only reminds him of what he's doing and how… he's treating this entire relationship.

No doubt you're getting bored. Annoyed, even. Not that you've told him as such and he doubts he'd ever hear you complain, but he doesn't think he's being fair in any way, certainly considering that he's been keeping this up for weeks.

He doesn't hate you. He hopes you know that. It's just… he comes here when everything is just too much. And you pampering him… is just part of it, now.

"Hold?"

"Yeah."

You joining him on the floor between presentations as he buries his face into your side. Him whimpering, trying not to chirp or do anything that would sound remotely strange as he lets you talk about whatever planet has caught your attention or whatever paper you're working on this week. And you chuckling, even laughing sometimes as he does or tries to either give you advice or ignore you. It's all part of the thing that makes him feel a little better, a little stronger by the time he leaves. It's all part of something that makes him feel safe even if he barely says anything.

Because by the time he gets to you, there's nothing left for him to give.

The silence as his eyes burn almost deafens him. He feels you move and almost refuses to let you get away only to realize he's too weak, too slow thanks to the cold to hold onto anything. The cold, the sluggishness he'd fought so hard to find becomes his enemy as you disappear and reappear to help him up and out the doors, your blanket covering him up like a cloak to cover his face. And it's not any better when he steps outside and winter stakes its claim on him and the only thing he can concentrate on is your voice.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The amount of research you have to ingest in the following hours is insane. You figured something of the sort was going to happen, certainly with how closed off he was being, but you'd hoped to avoid any catastrophe involving your new friend.

Alas, from the way he behaves, you should have called this. From his self-destructive behavior, you should have known that he would drive himself to hypothermia, leaving you to figure out how to sort this mess. And that unfortunately means no more secrets.

… You think it's hypothermia. When you see the green skin and the three-fingered hands, you're no longer sure. Certainly when he's not shivering and the only thing that helps are the red crescents near his eyes and under his blue mask.

Blue mask… Where the hell is he from? And does it matter when this is probably going to ruin your relationship? He thrives on secrets and you… Well, you just ruined a whole lot of that trying to save his life after he broke, didn't you?

Either way, he's safe. He'll be alright in a few hours. He just needs to get to a decent body temperature, which he is safely getting to while bundled up in your bed. He seems to have an internal body temperature, after all, just… one lower than yours.

Part of you worries as you try not to hover. The other knows better and simply keeps you busy with making dinner, and you can't be happier with the meal you chose as you let the pea soup simmer. You work on making something warm to drink along with it, too, hoping that he'll be okay with some Chai.

Then again, after an hour, you wonder if he'll be alright in general as you dare enter the room with the food and drink on a tray.

You can hear him breathing. That's much, much better than earlier. The fact that he doesn't really acknowledge you doesn't surprise you, either. If anything, the fact that he's looking at you as you set the tray down is the biggest anomaly. He doesn't follow you. He has too little energy to even begin caring, which you can't blame him for. So this — this is new. And concerning when he doesn't sit up upon seeing the food.

Guilt? A need to hide? The mask and the fact that you've never seen anything of him until now tell you it's the latter. He might not have had any energy, but he did keep you from something, likely only draining him further. It's why you hadn't fought him when he'd asked for your presence on the floor. He needs it, craves a presence he doesn't have to explain everything to. And you have been for the past three months. Something you find absolutely heartbreaking.

"I made some soup and chai. Hope you like it."

And more heartbreaking still is the way he grabs your wrist as you attempt to leave.

You turn to him. Let him pull at your wrist and have you sit on the edge of the bed. He does not let go, though, instead nearing you and settling against your back, curling up there with his shell to the door.

Even if he didn't refuse your offer of getting on your lap before you sit on your bed so that he can, you know it's for protection. It's not the first time he does it, either, even if it's completely unconscious. He cares. More than he lets you or anyone else know. And you're almost willing to bet that's what's breaking him.

He loves. He's just… so tied up in whatever else he has to do that it's not showing properly.

You carefully, sweetly touch his head, something he welcomes with a stretch of the neck and a quiet whimper. You smile as he relaxes, using your lap as a resting spot, and tears no longer in his eyes. He doesn't sleep, not quite, but he chirps, trills, and nudges your hand if you so much as stop petting him. Like a cat, he refuses to let you go until he's had his fill and you're honestly very much fine with it, certainly when, after enough coaxing, you manage to get him to sit and eat.

In fact, the only thing that bothers you is his phone the second it starts ringing, prompting you to fiddle with his hoodie and collect the phone to see who it is.

Another turtle. This one red and massive. Raph is the name on screen. Doesn't stop you from wanting to throw the phone across the room or shutting it down before you resume feeding and petting the one you know to be a slider.

They're supposed to be tolerant to cold. Resistant to brumation. You wonder how badly he's been worn down for this to happen. You also hate the fact that it's making you feel almost violently protective to the point where you want to lash out at the other turtle for treating your friend like this.

… Maybe you should have taken that call. Just to know his name. Then again, you don't want to ruin the trust between the both of you, no matter how little there is. He is at his weakest and he doesn't need to be tested further.

"You think you're up for a warm bath now that you've eaten?"

Besides, from the nod you feel against your shoulder, you have other ways to communicate with him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

He doesn’t fight you. He doesn’t do much of anything, actually, as you scrub him clean. He only blinks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time once you’re done. He only lets you help him out of the bath and halfway back to your room when his hand lets go of yours and he — he looks away as if caught doing something, being somewhere he shouldn’t be.

“Where — where’s my stuff?”

And you realize why very quickly.

“Your clothes are in the bathroom and your phone is in my bedroom.”

“… Did I… get a call?”

“You did. From someone called Raph. I didn’t pick up.”

He’s awake. He’s coherent. His brain has finally caught up.

“… I have to go.”

And his thoughts and words hurt more than you’re comfortable with.

“Go get your clothes, then. I’ll go grab your phone.”

He looks at you with doubt, but turns around and heads back. You enter your bedroom and collect the blue jacketed phone before walking back to the bathroom where the slider is slipping on his hoodie, having already worked through his pants. You set said phone on the sink where he can see it as he works on his shoes next, unsurprised to hear him soon babbling to someone about trackers and getting someone off his ass for something. What surprises you is the tone. It’s animated, filled with a dramatic drawl and flair you had yet to hear from the slider. It’s nothing like you’ve heard, and it makes you realize just why he’s so drained, certainly when you hear “big bro” from his lips.

You cover your mouth. Your eyes burn. He ends the call and leaves your bathroom before anything else can happen, though and, just from the smile that meets you, you know you can’t cry.

“I’m afraid I gotta go. Someone’s breathing down my neck and might break the building if I don’t get going.”

There’s no point in it, after all.

“I’m… sorry I kept you.”

“You’re fine, sweetheart. Things just happen you know?”

“I guess. Do you –?”

“I know my way out. No worries.”

You’ve already lost him.

He gets to your living room where he takes to your window instead of your door. You feel your face hurt as you watch him expertly jump onto the sill.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Will I see you again?”

And it near contorts in pain as you watch his face, his persona break for a second, an instant in which you get your answer.

No. You won’t. You will never ever see the slider again. He’s no longer safe with you, and it has nothing to do with you.

“We’ll see.”

You watch him jump away. You feel your heart break. And you wonder if you could have done anything differently… while knowing there was never another option.

My reaction photos including my niece

CONGRATS AT FINISHING THIS! ✨🧡🙏🏼🙌🏼

This story means so much to me, that I am both so happy and devastated that it’s done. But it was done beautifully, so don’t mind me cheering at work rn

And finally, Aftermath Family Meeting 7 | double post for the special occasion~ :) PREV | FIRST

I cannot believe its finally finished. Aftermath was the biggest project I've completed to date and I am so honored to have so many of you along for the ride with me. Now, you may be wondering: what now?

yeah. Me too. It feels really weird to finally have this completed. But, as a donnie core individual, i have PLANS :3

I will be taking some time off of Turtles, Dreamworks Trolls is currently making my brain all fuzzy and happy so I'll be skerdoodling about in that fandom for a bit before I return to start my next Turtle Project. It's all written. You guys aren't ready. It's gonna be SICK.

Once again, thanks for being here for Aftermath. it means the world to me that so many people liked to read something I made. Remember to be kind to yourselves and that healing isnt an all at once thing, its a every day tiny steps thing. See ya soon :)