Always Reblog Tips For Writing Good Representation.

Thinking of rebranding, been stuck with this awkwardly feminine username for far too long, and just like my dead name there comes a time where I just don’t wanna keep using it

So thanks little 8 year old me for the idea and the memories associated with them but just like this names origins, I think it’s time we attempt to move past trying to fit a mold.

So for the dispelling of any confusion:

Jexxica_Jade ———-> JCryptid

LIFEHACK TO GET ARTISTS TO DRAW FOR YOU

Find their commissions page and give them money

Why Do We Have Hands?

A master post of Thomas Romain’s art tutorials.

There’s not enough space to post all of them, SO here’s links to everything he has posted (on twitter) so far : 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12. 

Now that new semesters have started, I thought people might need these. Enjoy your lessons!

I like to imagine that in any atla modern au, aang still, for some reason, finds a reason to beat ozai’s ass

It’s my BIRTHDAY and I’m gonna rant about Jonathan Sims. Because I do what I want on my birthday.

A lot of the fandom has a problem with Jon because they think he’s cruel or just overall don’t like him because of how he treats others. But that’s an inherent misunderstanding of the character for the following reasons.

Starting off Jon is *very* clearly autistic coded. He has to be told when things are jokes and doesn’t really seem to understand social interactions (ex: when Tim thinks he’s sleeping with Basira and Jon doesn’t really catch on to what’s being implied). So that in itself very easily explains some of the rude or “cold” behavior going on. He doesn’t do it on purpose. Secondly Jonathan Sims does not give a single flying FUCK about himself. Ever since he was eight years old he’s been hating on himself and he’s lost almost anyone that got close to him or had them hate him for things he can’t control. Both his parents died, it’s explicitly stated his grandmother didn’t try and hide her resentment of having to raise him, and the grown adult that was bullying (beating him) got eaten by a giant spider and no one believed him. So of course he’s naturally closed off and keeps people at a distance. He doesn’t see himself as worthy of good things and he knows something bad will eventually happen. Even his relationship with Georgie that ended *well* still ended in completely cut contact. Thirdly, Jon is not a logic based character. He’s an emotional one. Every choice he makes is based on immediate emotional reactions. He finds out Martin was trapped in his house for a week? Immediately offers him to stay somewhere safe and insists on it. The archives are basically his safe space and the only thing he has and he offers them to Martin without thought. He finds out Sasha was replaced? IMMEDIATELY takes an axe to the thing he thinks did it without considering the consequences. The reason everyone says he’s a worse archivist than Gertrude is because he can’t slow himself down long enough to think of something other than protecting the people he deems more worthy than himself. Even when they treat him like shit which brings me to the next point. EVERYONE in Jon’s life blames him for what is entirely Elias’ fault and/or things they themselves have partaken in. And he thinks he deserves it. Jon is a good man. And a really really hurt one and it makes me a mess every time I think about it. Because he didn’t ever get peace. Another good point I feel like should be brought up is the way people often misinterpret the Jmart dynamic. Martin Blackwood kicks ass. Martin Blackwood is not a soft baby who can do no wrong. Man was down for murder. He was prone to anger and jealousy on a much more intentional front. Which is of course no hate to Martin I love him more than air. But I do think it’s interesting that certain parts of the fandom love to condemn characters for being people with flaws and tend to overlook Martin entirely in that assessment. Anyway! That is all. That is my rant.

guess whos back with another shitpost comic its me

@comicaurora i was told it was important you see this

Finding A True Name

The woods are quiet at this time of morning, when the sun is barely peeking over the horizon and the forest be thick with mists and glittering with morning dew. At the base of an old oak I pick up an acorn and fashion its cap smooth like a bowl, carving down the stem into a base before I toss the seed high between a fork in the tree's upper branches.

I miss of course, but that's hardly the point. I have no offering for the little or hidden people, hardly believe in them besides an idle fascination with little rituals like these, a bowl of morning dew I'd carved but moments before and set aside between then twisting roots of the old tree, and a mandarin in my hand that I begin to peel as I lean against it and try to listen to the morning sounds of birds.

I hear a voice beside me ask what I am doing there, and I give a little shrug. It's a public forest, and I figured a morning walk would be nice, no need for the inquisition.

"You ever thought about climbing it?" they say, and I tilt my head. "When I was younger," I tell them, "I could climb a smooth pole if I wanted to, but no… not anymore. Maybe… maybe someday, but I'm not as sure those branches will hold me as I am,"

"This tree is special," they tell me, "It is old and it is tired, but it is a home to anyone who might seek its shade, for a price of course"

"Maybe," I tell them, "It's not like I didn't leave anything though,"

"So I see," they say, "but trees get water every time it rains, every night when the cool settles on their leaves, what could make them want some in a little bowl they can't even drink from?"

"Wasn't so much for the tree," I say, a small smile building on my lips as I pull free another piece of the mandarin and stick it in my mouth, "More for any hidden folk, should they want it," I swallow the piece of fruit down, "This oak gets plenty of what it needs, water, sunlight, nutrients from the soul, the freedom to grow, I figured all more it could want was some company, so that's what I offer it in exchange for shade,"

The other gives me an odd look, something of a little gleam in their emerald green eyes as they tilt their head a little to the side, blink twice, and ask me a question.

"Can I have your name, at least?" it asks, and I tell them of course. I give it readily enough.

The green eyed stranger frowns at me, "That's not your name," they say plainly.

"It is though," I say, "The one of my birth at least,"

"But it is not your name,"

"It is a name," I say, "they've never really seemed to stick to me, especially when I came out,"

"So what is your name?" they ask again.

"I already told you didn't I?"

They pout harder, "That's just a name, an empty name," they say, "It's not yours,"

By now I've caught on, whether fact or fiction or something in between,

"I suppose it's right to say I haven't one yet, I'm still trying to find it,"

"Was it taken?" they implore me, "No, that can't make sense if you could still give it freely,"

"I think it just died," I say, with another bite of the fruit in my hand, "It faded, with that part of me that didn't really consider anything else, or maybe it never really was mine to begin with," I swallow it down again, "I've been rotating between nicknames for now, but nothing quite feels right."

"I can feel them," it says, "Nameless, what an interesting thing you are, to be nameless and whole all at once, oh the fair folk would hate you and I would too, had I not the pleasure of your earnestness."

I give a little nod, despite the small swell of unease in my chest.

"Would you like some fruit?" I say, offering the other half, yet untouched but picked clean of skin and grit. It isn't often I can peel a mandarin without piercing it's flesh and spilling it's juices.

The Faerie smiles at me, a mouth full of needle like teeth and eyes that glimmer with gold flecked inside it's too bright eyes.

"I would like that," it says to me, and takes it readily. Popping some of the pulps in its mouth, one after another, and licking the juice from its lips as it chews. Turning over what remains in its hands and smiling a little to itself as it does so.

"What are you here for?" I ask it sweetly, pulling free a knife and idly making another bowl from a nearby acorn.

"I had wanted to steal you away," it says, and I stop a little at the declaration, "It's always fun to have better company in Faerie, with your name I might have been still able to leave something behind that would have others none the wiser,"

"And now?"

"I couldn't charge you if I wanted to," it giggles a little under its breath, "I haven't your name nor your thanks, instead I have two gifts freely given, and nothing but the utmost pleasantries from you on my and our friend's account, so I'll tell you what," they say, "I owe you a boon, and so meet with me whenever you are able, and I shall help you find your name, and it shall be all your own,"

"And yours?" I ask coyly, "May I have yours?"

They flick a finger by my ear and I laugh.

"Cheeky," they say, "but you may call me a friend,"

"Then Dionysus appeared to his followers in his most terrible aspect and [he] drove them mad." - John M. Hunt

Have a doodle from my TMA Swan Lake AU! Feat. “The Horned Man” that will lead our intrepid lonely hero astray betwixt the trees

(More details to come, stay tuned)