There is no need to apologize. Take it at your own pace. Be kind to yourself where you can. There is no finish line to mental health. Only what you can do to manage and better it where you are able.

Rest today.

Tomorrow, we fist fight the gods for a better day.

Commissioners looking at me: Blue?
Me:🍽️

There is no fighting those demons. He will devour. He must fill his mouth and feast with the points of his teeth; to feed the ever present starvation, unsatisfied, unquenchable.

That is to say, I may be unseen for a week or two at a time but I AM still working and illustrating. It feels an odd pressure from social media to keep waving around my activity to stay relevant, like some machine of wires and teeth...

But I'm vibing back behind the walls of this digital page.

AHH HELLO LOOK AT HIM MY BABY GIRL !! EYE HOLE OUT -- what a fantastic treat to wake up to--

HE looks so concerned and serious it's so damn good 💙

The lipstick marks are driving me INSANE Oh goodness

Ahh Thank You! 💙

I love my baby girl bastard old man. I'm not always so coherent or consistent with the words, or have enough lore art out there, but I've been trying to talk more about him where I can.

Would. Have. Would again.

I don't know about me being any kind of celestial being-- more a cryptid in the crawlspace. But I'll chew through the plaster to give you a lil affection~

It is horrific and disarming. A sensation that holds no comfort to feel your every system pried apart under the reach and will of another and forced to do as he commands that it will; regardless of its complaints and its limits.

When I do have the particular pleasure of writing Faurox's magic; it is a terrible thing. It is distress. It is pain. It is pox and plague in the guise of something engrossing in it's haunting charm. A bewitching and beguiling force that was meant to harm, used to twist your inner chords and mend.

Although he can, and does, use an aetherical touch. He prefers the act of sewing flesh by hand. It is in many ways more controlled. More intentional. And far less cruel than the aether he uses to bend people's bodies to his instruction; not unlike calculated threads to pull at marionettes.

There is a sense of care and love he offers a suffering wound that he doesn't give out to people. To bend flesh to his whims and his will. To fit it just so, with just the right tension, the right cut-- to allow it to rise or fall with the thread betwixt his crooked fingers.

This doesn't make him a good fit for clinic settings or intimate, low risk situations. He has very little bedside manner. But there are some choices he offers that some might find odd. To be deep under one's incised wound, to fit it together for the perfect stitch; to ask "Do you want this scar"

HA- ITS NOT ABOUT HIM- LET HIM DROWN. THe nasty bastard of a man deserves to live his undead life at the bottom of a lake

Sven, he's drowning!!

I have many many thoughts about the systems of magic and the body in this game, about the connection a healer can serve between characters. To hand wave it feels a disservice in so many ways-- I could yell forever about the topic and its many facets-- but alas. Socmed word limits