and suddenly, i felt nothing

anonymous asked:

May I ask what you didn't like about Hivebent? I just see everyone say it was the hardest slog through the comic but I'd seen the trolls on tumblr so I was hella psyched to see them, so I guess I'm just curious

i just could not bring myself to care about the trolls

i was always more interested in the kids ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ plus i feel like 75% of the trolls are written more as like a list of kinda joke-y traits, and because i was an archival reader, they were there then suddenly they were dead and i just. felt nothing.

it was also just physically hard to read. i hated trying to read the typing quirks so much

I stared at the ceiling and draped my arm over my aching stomach. The emotional pain was building in my chest, too. Nothing I could control.
Suddenly I felt an urge to do everything possible to get away. I wanted to grow my hair to my knees and dye it blonde. I would wear less and smile more. There would be nothing stopping me from changing my name and starting over.
Exept knowing that he wouldn’t care.
—  An excerpt from the book I’ll never write.

“The oldest of us are now reaching our mid-thirties. A couple of years ago, it seemed as if I woke up one day and suddenly felt like an adult. Nothing had changed materially about my life, but my experiences and responsibilities totaled up in a way that equaled grownup. And yet, I still lived in a tiny apartment with an Ikea dining table, a bookshelf I scored from my curb, and a couch I carted home when it was discarded from my office. I never expected to be rich, but I did expect to someday have real furniture and maybe even a house. Achieving those things was always in the future, at some relatively well-moneyed point that I was expecting would roll around— until I realized the future had dawned and the financial stability hadn’t appeared.“

Monica Potts “The Post-Ownership Society”

I decided to answer these both at the same time– 

I still like frussia! I ship it, but it’s not my otp so I’m just not motivated to draw it like I used to. I ship a lot of things that I don’t draw.

I started a new tumblr blog because it seemed appropriate that I did? Overall I just felt like I had changed a lot in general: my ships changed, my style changed a bit, the tone of my comics changed, and it had been a long time since I posted on my old blog too.

I just didn’t feel right suddenly posting again as if nothing had happened, because I felt like a completely different person. I didn’t think it was fair to my followers either, who would probably be expecting my old self.

Like I was looking at my old blog the other day, and it’s super colorful and busy because I was young and had so much free time to dedicate to it… While now I’m older and busier, and everything on this blog is grayscale and minimal. Even my comics are different, like I used to make longer comics because I was trying to emulate doujinshi. But now it’s like w/e, and I just do little gag comics here and there when I have the time or feel stressed out. Lately I’ve been experimenting with new brushes and GIFS, mostly because I’m out of work for the summer and have more free time than I’d like.. I sometimes get urges to do doujin like I used to, but I just can’t afford to dedicate the time to it.

I’m really glad that my old followers discovered me again and still enjoy my work even though I’ve changed a lot. It means a lot to me because probably my biggest insecurity is the thought that people don’t necessarily like me because of me, but because I draw their favorite characters. So when I recognize older followers, it makes me happy and feel like a good cartoonist.

Somehow this got longer and deeper than I wanted it to be… So I’ll end it here. 

Thank you for asking

I was just sitting there silently hearing my voice inside my head and the running shower over my body.
I’ve never felt so little of me,
Girl who have everything
Family and Friends
Something was missing
It bothered me, suddenly I felt nothing
It’s very light weighted.
I close my eyes, I was on top of the earth
It’s dark in here a voice in my head asked me to open my eyes
I saw the lights
Little stars shining in front of me
I didn’t wanna leave
I wish I could freeze the time.
I began to realize the sound of shower hitting my skin thoroughly
That’s where I wake up
Back to reality
Back to perfect life.
I am alone here, I don’t laugh fully
I don’t know how to live.
The tears were soaked
I couldn’t even cry
Because there is no emotion from where I come from.
Do You Believe?

Merry Christmas, @herardentwish! I’m your @secretsantaandsmores secret santa! Remember that last sneak peek I sent you? Yeah. This is not that story. But it is an X-Files au, so I hope you’ll enjoy it anyway :)

Special Agent Robin Locksley raps a smart knock on the basement office door with the backs of his knuckles, and then pushes the door open.

“Nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted,” a dry, feminine voice calls from the depths of the room.

Wonderful, Locksley thinks, stepping over the threshold. She sounds as delightful as her reputation.

It’s difficult not to see this reassignment from Quantico as a slap in the face. Debunking an entire department, even one as small and forgotten as this one, isn’t what he joined the FBI for, though his father would probably have a few choice words for him when he heard, the mildest of which would be I told you so.

He slows his pace, taking in his new environment. The first thing that hits him is the smell. Not the musky dampness of a basement, nor the pungent acridity of toner and paper from the copiers housed down the hallway, but apples. The whole office smells like a bloody orchard.

He snorts and wrinkles his nose, stepping further into the office. The walls are papered with news clippings, charts, scribbled notes on scraps of paper, and a large poster of a UFO bearing the words “I Want to Believe” in a bold, white capitalized font. His new base of operations as it were. Babysitting Spooky Regina Mills.

The woman in question turns, glancing up at at him from behind a charming pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. Dark hair falls to just above her shoulders, straight and stark aside from a few tendrils around her face that have succumbed to the humidity of the basement and curled into small corkscrews. A black blazer hangs from the back of her chair, swinging gently as she returns to the slides laid out on the lightbox.

“Agent Mills,” Locksley says, stepping closer and holding out his hand. “I’m Agent Locksley.”

“The spy,” she replies, setting aside a slide and quirking an eyebrow as she stands. She’s shorter than him, even with the sizable heels she’s sporting, but dressed in a smart white blouse tucked into black trousers matching her jacket. A thin gold chain circles her neck and dips below the first button fastening her shirt.

“Well as we’re tossing sand in the sandbox, aren’t you technically known as Spooky Mills?”

Wrong thing to say, apparently. She scowls and drops his hand, picking up the half-full slide carousel and dropping it onto the projector. “I prefer Agent Mills.”

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