#and this account captures where to draw the line

[cdlum]

I just wanted to say I think your art style is awesome! I was wondering if you had any tutorials on how you draw anatomy in your style (hips and legs especially)? Sorry if there's already one posted and I just didn't see it 🥲. Happy New Year :>

thanks for the kind words. i tend to draw people pretty stylized and then some so a good bit of artistic licence gets used. these tips are just what i use so feel free to take them with a grain of salt. with anatomy in particular you can kind of talk in circles because human/animal bodies are that complex so ill just zone in on the points you specified. here's a little image with a bunch of pointers:

the above image condenses a lot of the points I'd make, but basically the key parts are to start with the bare essentials and build up that complexity. using a line of action is a good way to get a quick, rough start. you draw a line out in the general direction of the pose and do your best to adhere to it to give the pose a sense of flow.

you can also draw smaller, thumbnail versions that throw a lot of caution to the wind but capture the basic energy of what you're going for. even having a tiny little stick figure version of your idea can make for a good guideline of where to take it forward.

when it comes to actual limbs, you wanna consider how they integrate and work together, kind of like how chains do. you can see on some of the parts of pear i've drawn out these wireframes to kind of portray how the mass of her legs works in a three dimensional space. for aspects like the waist/hips, i use that X technique i highlight above a lot, particularly for the lower torso. a lot of the times, even when drawing a character totally naked, imagining them wearing things like skintight underwear can help a lot to guide you in the right direction.

its also a good idea to consider things like gravity and weight to a degree. humans are essentially big meat sacks and gravity is always pulling down on that, but theres all kinds of aspects that effect that, such as character build or clothing. pear technically isn't naked in this, but i've tried to imagine her as such and take that into account.

if you are drawing digitally, don't be afraid to take advantage of the convenience you get with that workflow. you can retry and iterate on things a lot faster that pen and paper, and do things that aren't really feasible at all when it comes to editing and modifying your existing work. things like resizing certain bodyparts, instantly flipping the canvas, or using selection tools to completely adjust the positions of parts of your drawing. to give you an example heres a timelapse with all the little edits i made just to this demo drawing:

you don't have to use these techniques linearly, either. sometimes ill have a really solid idea for a piece in my head, and go back to basics with certain elements if they’re not coming out right or i just want to brush them up a bit more. some of the tutorial-y parts i added in i didn't actually use during the drawing but often do use so they're there just for demonstration. not every drawing i do starts as building blocks or a really basic version, often ill just start with a face and build it out from there.

i always encourage liberally using references (this can include yourself) and trying out stuff like life drawing or looking at things like existing photographs of real people/places/things if you can, the more you use learning material the better you'll draw up a mental inventory in your head that you can rely on more and more. some of these tips are things i've learned from other artists over the years (the chin one especially i remember seeing a tutorial about lol), so this is a lot of knowledge i've amassed from other sources over time myself. there are plenty of times ill use all sorts of reference material and its all in service of arriving at the final destination as smoothly as possible. learn by doing, as they say. hope this helps!

[tiny-breadcrumbs]

A Potrait, A Silly Little Doodle, An Art

You know how to do potrait, why you always draw a dumb thing instead of do a serious painting? Was a question I sometimes got from a very young artist.

Well, I think it simply because that dumb things make me happy. It makes me giggle and cackling like a madman while I draw. and in turn, perhaps someone out there needed the same little joy to make their day a bit brighter with laugh.

Art can be like that, a silly little thing, a small joy, instead of a grandeur like monalisa. I still do a potrait here and there for practice, and it often incredibly cliche as I keep drawing whoever I like, again and again just for the sake of that joy. It would be a lie if I say I practice with potrait for better capturing diversity or study anything seriously. I found myself chasing the satisfying part of creating something I like and sharing it with people first, before the studious aspect of doing potrait for the sake of "perfecting" my art. What is perfect anyway? What is better? I guess there is no finish line.

I saw a lot of self taught young artist nowadays, at least from where I come, tend to put themself against this impossible race to prove who can draw better, who's having a better artstyle, and who can reach that pinnacle of potrait study faster. Worst, I met one or two who spiralling into depression because they think they are not talented enough after two failed attempt at realism potrait.

You just need to draw. Keep drawing. Draw something you like. Draw whatever dumb idea in your head, laugh with it. It doesn't need to be perfect. It certainly doesn't need to be something as big as a potrait study.

Just create something you like first. Share it with three or four people who always lurk around your account. Give it time, you will improve before you know it. I think finding joy in your creation first is an important step to be great at it.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Where is the line when it comes to calling out how people draw black characters? Im genuinely asking. Just did some digging in the elphaba tag. 28/35 of the top art did a great job of depicting her microbraids. Of those 7 that did a bad job, all but 2 of them put in effort to draw microbraids, its just that some of those artists arent very good. So… theyre practicing. Additionally, there were 2 pieces of art (in addition to that 35) that were clearly depicting the musical and book art (obvious fans for years, from before cynthia was cast and the movie). So… wheres the line? Do we call out just those 2 who didnt put in a real effort to draw her microbraids? Do we call out all 7 who didnt draw them well? Do we message them privately, even though we really dont know them at all besides this one piece we happened to come across? Do we send them an ask about it and hope they arent malicious? It stands to reason that they KNOW they should put in an effort, theyre in the *obvious* minority of artists in this fandom so… odds are they do not give a fuck about depicting Black hairstyles well. I dont want to make a fuss where its not beneficial, especially as a non black person, for the obvious reasons of how fandoms typically treat black fans. But, there IS an issue, however small a percentage… so wheres the line?

I must admit, this one gave me an off vibe 😅 To one of your concerns, Let me put it this way:

"I know that Nazi will never change his mind, so I'll let him keep speaking loudly in the room where I and everyone else is sitting. It won't make a difference if I say anything to him. If we ignore him, he'll go away."

Is that true?

Or will speaking up let that Nazi know that at least ONE person in the room hears their bullshit and doesn't accept it? Will speaking up let the people in the room that the Nazi was targeting realize that everyone else in the room isn't also a Nazi that condones the way they're being treated? Will it allow them to feel stronger in speaking up? Will it at least show that you are not a fellow Nazi, because your actions are what deliver- and silence and tolerance delivers nothing, in this case?

"Making a fuss where it's not beneficial"- I always say here that my entire purpose is not to change your minds, but to shatter the excuse of your ignorance. I could have always just ended it with "everyone's a goddamn racist for funsies on here and I hate all of you"- because in my experience when we talk about "where's the line" on here, it's almost non-existent for the majority, not the minority! It's incredibly tempting to damn you all!

Instead, I made an entire blog to give people a chance. If I, who actually undergoes the very bigotry I teach about, have the grace to do that for you, I do believe that everyone else can reach inside for the strength to apply and hold accountable. There's always a benefit to speaking up against racism and injustice, even if it's not "changing their mind".

Now, if you genuinely just don't want to do that, then don't- but recognize that that's not because nothing can be done! That said, you don't have to fight every battle, and every battle doesn't have to be a fight! For those who you genuinely think are just "new" or "learning" artists, when you point out the issue, you can offer guidance. "Hey, here's an idea on how to better capture this braid pattern in a way that more accurately reflects Black hair". It doesn't have to be a "callout" off rip. If they don't take it well, then that's on them. That's a reflection of their character, not yours. And as a nonblack person, that is a role in your allyship that is important, because I don't expect Black people to have to show grace and teach to those who do wrong by us.

So no, I can't give you some statistically defined line of "oh this is antiblackness". because it's not that simple and it never has been.

[sugar-omi]

a request for baxter x cove ship from *this anonie  i didn't think i'd get this one done in time. i had like.. 2-3 different ideas on this one... but it ended up like this, and now you have to wait until next year for part 2 🙊

DAY FOURTEEN — Camshow [ baxter + cove ]

tags : NSFW, no reader, camboy baxter, dom/bottom baxter, sub/top cove, caught in the act, masturbation,

synposis : cove didn't know exactly what baxter did for work, he just knew that he had a specific chest in his room he was banned from touching, steaming equipment and sound proofing in his room, and a simple request for cove to avoid his room after midnight.

which isn't a problem, cove isn't a night owl and he sleeps like a rock. but tonight.. he just can't get to sleep, maybe jerking off once or twice will knock him out. he didn't plan to stubble upon his roommates camboy account. and he definitely didn't mean to get off to it..

[ kinktober '24 masterlist | ao3 ]

this has to be against some kind of law, or against some moral code about watching your roommate get off in front of an audience, talking dirty to them and enjoying every plea for more or degrading comment about how filthy baxter is for showing his ass to the camera, slowly working himself open as he prepares to take a dildo.

but cove just can't look away.

he had every intention not to click on it, he really did. but cove knows those deep brown eyes from anywhere, that pale skin and inky black hair and the mask does nothing to hide the fact that cove knows that face.

his heart is beating against his chest, every inch of common sense screaming at him to stop thinking about baxter, to stop insinuating that this guy could possibly be baxter.

it's rude, it's disrespectful right? it's.. it's him.

cove feels something crash on him, he can't tell if it's embarrassment or something akin to it for finding out his roommates.. occupation. or if it's something else, but he has a feeling it's a little bit of both..

"you guys are so demanding." baxter laughs, the sound cutting through cove's headphones and straight into his ears. it's almost chilling how clear he can hear baxter's voice.

it's a bit muffled through the mask, but he knows. he knows what baxter sounds like.

cove squirms up his bed, propping more of his body against his pillows. even though he's heavy with shame, he can't deny he's turned on...

and it must be the lack of sleep these past few nights that's clouding his judgment, because cove tugs on his pants down just enough to pull his hardening cock out, taking himself in his fist and watching baxter's fingers slowly and hypnotically spread his hole open, scissoring and pumping them in and out, letting a few quiet moans fall from his lips that the mic just barely picks up..

cove looks over at the wall he and baxter share like he's trying to see past his fish tank, poster, and through the wall.

on the other side... baxter is bent over his bed with a camera pointed towards his flushed milky skin, capturing how his fingers stretch himself open, showing baxter's thousand and some viewers how lube runs down his thigh and how his legs quiver.

cove sees someone saying how they'd love to bite baxter where the mole on the back of his thigh is, and he can't help but think "fuck.. i want that too.." already imagining baxter with his legs propped up on cove's shoulders, cove's lips magnetizing towards every beauty mark on baxter's body and leaving hickeys there like he's drawing lines to constellations.

"okay.. that's enough." baxter announces in his smooth voice, a bit breathy, the sound flowing like honey through the audience's headphones and igniting a fire in them if the "i could listen to your voice all day" and the filthy comments about making baxter moan is anything to go by.

baxter leans back against the pillows, hitting a button on his computer to switch camera to the one facing his bed.

"now.. lets try this monster you guys begged me to use." baxter teases his audience, reaching over to grab the toy and starts lubing it up.

cove swallows, slowing down the pace of his fist around his cock, watching with bated breath as baxter prepared to take the toy.

the toy is certainly different from a basic dildo, curved with a girthy knot at the base with thick ridges thinning out the closer it gets to the head, and a comically thick vein going up the side of the shaft.

cove flushes. he didn't know baxter was into those type of things.. well, how could he, because he definitely didn't know or even consider that he was a camboy.

"mmng.." baxter moans, his fist curling into the pillow by his head as he sinks the head of the toy past his wet, puffy rim..

cove bites his lip to hold back the groan building at the base of his throat, slowly stroking his cock head, tightening his grip around his length. god, what he wouldn’t give to be in the place of that toy.

he wonders what sounds baxter would make, what he’d look like when cove sank his cock in to the base. he’d feel better than that toy, right? paired with his lips on baxter’s long neck, his hands pulling baxter against his body..

“god..” baxter gasps, his back arching and forcing a moan from him when the toy sinks deeper because of his movement. “this.. this toy is really thick..” baxter pushes the dildo deeper, the knot just a couple inches away from pushing back his rim..

cove pumps his fist around his cock faster, panting, trying to keep a moan or grunt from slipping past his lips.

baxter takes a moment to adjust to the girth and shape of the toy, exhaling out in a breathy laugh that the ridges of the toy are pressing against his good spots. “‘push it in already, pretty boy.’” baxter reads a comment and he looks at the camera through hooded eyes. “you really wanna see me take this knot, huh?”

he tightens his grip on the base of the toy, and he starts thrusting the toy in and out of his hole slowly, then slammed it in down to the knot, producing a loud, feminine moan from baxter’s throat. cove stiffens, realizing he could hear baxter’s moan through the wall.. clearly baxter’s new soundproofing wasn’t good enough.

he throws his head back against the pillows, letting baxter’s little moans and snarky comments to his chat fill his ears.

“-so good..” baxter groans, pumping the toy in and out at a quick pace, angled it up so it hits his g-spot when he thrusts the toy back in. “it-” baxter swallows thickly, gasping. “it’s rubbing against all my sensitive spots.” he cries, giving shallow thrusts of the toy into his wet insides, the slick sound from all the lube echoing through the audience's headphones, comments about baxter’s “filthy cunt” filling the chat.

baxter's hand falls to his cock, quickly stroking his length as he pushes the toy in, moaning loudly. "god-damn!" baxter cries, and cove can hear the bump when baxter's jolting makes the headboard hit the wall. "the tip- it's, mngh! it's pressing against my prostate..!" he whimpers, and you can just barely see tears pulling at the bottom of baxter's eyelashes from the pleasure..

"take that knot in your slutty hole" cove reads the comment as it pops up with a donation. baxter reads it too.

"nng.. thank- thank you for the donation." baxter forces out, not pausing or slowing down his movements as he reads the comment, the toy bullying his insides, the thick knot at the base pushing against baxter's butt but not quite pushing in.

baxter cries out loudly sometimes from it, the knot of the toy trying to push its way into baxter's pliant hole occasionally from his tough thrusts. he swallows, his adam's apple bobbing with the movement. "fuck- well, with such a generous donation.." baxter whines in the middle of his sentence, trying to pull himself together to look presentable but he just looks like a desperate mess.

"lets try to fit this knot inside me.." he sits up, stopping his movements so he can try to get comfortable before taking the toy. his lips press together, trying to hold back a moan as he pulls the toy out, shuffling and squirming before he finally settles on presenting his ass to the camera, laying his upper half against the pillows.

baxter spreads his legs, trying to calm his trembling thighs as he starts to push the head of the toy past his rim, his body easily accepting the toy, his pretty insides enveloping every ridge and bump on the dildo, his moans trembling as he takes it to the base.

cove gives his cock a long strong, his cock throbbing as he feels himself getting closer and closer to coming.. he doesn't want to finish yet, but fuck he's pretty sure he could come just from seeing baxter work the knot of this toy into his perfect insides.

cove licks his lips. he knows he can't look baxter in the eyes normally after this, he's ruined. and he knows the shame and guilt will hit him after he comes, he's sure of it.

but fuck if he isn't drowning in fantasies of his lips on baxter's thighs and his bigger hands pulling baxter's ass apart as he eats him out or watches the way baxter takes his cock.

and the way his cock throbs and a groan rolls past his lips because the image of baxter's pale skin turning red from the force of cove's thrust is too great.

baxter's thighs shake as he starts to push the toy against his hole, the knot slowly pushing against his insides.

the chat encourages him, not that he could see it from his position, but it's the thought that counts. he knows such gentleness won't get the knot in, and baxter all but forces the knot into his hole, his handle on it immediately falling.

he whines loudly, his thighs trembling as he adjusts to the new girth.

the chat floods with comments about how pretty baxter looks stuffed full with the dildo, cooing about how pretty his whines are and how they wish they were there to give his pretty ass a few spanks, that he'd be prettier with a bruised ass to go with his stuffed hole and leaking cock.

cove's eyes are locked in on the scenery too, and he hates that he shares the sentiment with baxter's chat because he wishes this scene was for his eyes only, no one elses..

it's a selfish desire, he knows that. but fuck if he doesn't wish he could take the place of baxter's chat and devour every inch of porcelain skin and full lips.

baxter gathers himself, finally being able to bring himself to take the toy in his shaky hand and he starts moving it, pulling the knot out until only the tapered tip is inside him..

baxter slams the toy back in, knot included this time, forcing a loud moan from him. he doesn't know it, but cove heard that one for sure, the sound whorish and pathetic.

he keeps thrusting the toy, in and out, pushing it against all his good spots and whining at how the knot stretches him open. baxter doesn't even need to give his cock any attention because of all the pleasure he's feeling from the toy, his flushed cock hanging between his legs and leaking pre.

cove glances at the chat, and he sees a few people coo about how sweet his leaking cock is, or how they wish they could suck him off while he gets fucked.

"fuck! i'm gonna-" baxter whimpers, his face buried in the pillows and his ass arched in the air as he keeps slamming the toy in and out of his ass, pressing the head against his g-spot. "i'm cumming! fuck, i'm cumming!"

cove strokes his cock faster, pre running over his fists as he gets closer and closer to the edge, trying to time his orgasm with baxter's.

baxter's cock drools on the sheets, a pool of pre connected by a steady river from his straining cock. his cock twitches as the knot pushes past his rim, baxter gives shallow thrusts of the toy in and out of his hole, and his last thrust must've hit that magic spot because he blows his load all over his fresh bed sheets, his thighs trembling and a series of whiny moans falling from his lips and hardly being muffled by the pillow.

baxter's body trembles as he cums, his hole tightening around the length and knot of the toy, trying to stifle his sounds when he finally gathers the strength to pull the toy out of his tender insides..

cove slaps his palm over his mouth, muffling his moan as he spills his cum all over his fist, thick ropes of cum painting his fingers and making an increasingly slick sound with every stroke of his cock as he works through his orgasm.

"that.. fuck." baxter laughs, his back facing the camera as he takes some tissues from the box off screen. he turns around to face the camera, revealing his flushed face, the mask clinging to his cheeks from the sweat.

baxter starts to talk to his chat, but cove leaves the browser after baxter ends the stream.

cove drops his phone, his earbuds still in his ears so all he can hear is the hard beating of his heart and blood rushing through his ears. he.. he really did that.. he.. got off to his friend and roommates camshow…

cove knows he should feel more shame for such debauchery on his part, baxter doesn’t know after all, and he clearly didn’t want cove to know. but.. he definitely doesn’t have enough shame because he’s still fucking hard, and the only thing on his mind is baxter.

he can’t sleep in the end because all cove can see if baxter’s pale, blushing skin, the way he spread his legs and exposed his pliant body, his cock hanging so fucking prettily between his legs..

and he can almost hear baxter’s moans in his ears again, the memory of seeing baxter split open on that dildo is at the front of cove’s mind and he curses himself for it…how the hell is he going to face baxter, now?

[mismess]

Hello! I hope you’re doing well!

I’ve been watching Monk for the first time and have LOVED seeing your Monk fanart! The way you draw him is so fun and cool, I haven’t seen anyone draw him in a way that captures his likeness and still retains a creative style! I’ve been trying to draw him for weeks now and have had a lot of trouble nailing his features, any tips?

Hope you have a great one, and thank you for blessing my fyp with your blog! 💜

WAAH thank you !! I'm very glad you enjoy my Monk art! <3

I am shit at explaining myself and half the time I myself don't know what I did to get where I am. So I doodled him a bunch to try and feel out how i draw him.

Right of the bat I think I draw Monk a little rounder than he actually is? When figuring out how to draw someone I usually quickly trace over a photo to get a feel for the person and try to break them down into basic shapes first and build from there, and Tony Shalhoub can be a Very Square man in my eyes.

But I look at Monk and I see a softness that I must get across in my art, so I add some softness. Round his squares out a bit. Sometimes the vibes must be accounted for as well.

To me some of his most important features are his eyebrows, hairline, and most importantly and kinda ironically seeing as how sad his character is, his smile lines.

And you know, sometimes I DO draw him a little squarer, and sometimes I draw him a little rounder, consistency is also... Sometimes... Not as vital as it may seem... As long as the shapes FEEL right. Wish I could tell you my process more but I feel like I draw like that "draw the rest of the fucking owl" meme!

Your style is really cool btw! I love that columbo collection(one day I'll watch Columbo...). sorry if this isn't helpful at all lmao you have a wonderful day and/or night as well ! ^-^

[abibliophobiaa]

firstly I love your new blog layout it’s so fucking cute, secondly I love you 💕 thirdly, for your baby prompts, I’m thinking……… butterfly

happiness is a butterfly

got a little carried away with this one. 3k words of modern day!best friend!eddie munson x afab!reader. contains: fluff, alcohol, confessions of feelings, bisexual reader, two friends in a room who might kiss (they do), suggestive innuendo (eddie’s a sweetheart), and argyle’s matchmaking ways. thank you @breddiemunson and @ghost-proofbaby for always calming my wild thoughts, and katie’s line where eddie asks reader not to make him say what she already knows. genius, that one.

-

“happiness is a butterfly

try to catch it like every night

it escapes from my hands into moonlight…”

happiness is a butterfly - lana del rey.

-

Photo after photo. Swipe after swipe. Endless hopefuls that aren’t really hopefuls, because there aren’t many of those in Hawkins these days.

No—there are merely boys, wearing the skin of men, playing with hearts with a carelessness that leaves damage in their wake. Leaves your heart ripped to shreds; battered and bruised. Wounded, but not broken, with jagged lines where smooth surfaces had once been.

Tonight is no different. Tonight you mourn your relationship with Travis. Travis, who played hockey and apparently a different girl or guy in every state. You’d only found out through social media.

One of the girls he brought back to his hotel room had posted an image on her story while he slept, which then surfaced on another person’s social media account, and then eventually became a social media article on some gossip website you couldn’t, for the life of you, be bothered to remember.

You suppose the “Travis debacle,” as Eddie has been calling it, is your fault. A guy from out of town. The allure of some famous player with a broken down car in front of the Hideout, where you worked as a bartender, that you’d had your friend Eddie fix up as a favor.

You’d tossed him his keys as the sun set, burnt orange and red across the summer sky, and he’d asked, “How much?”

And suddenly you’d spent the week welcoming him around Hawkins, as well as the intricacies of your susceptible heart. Had preened and praised him while he perused his options in the next town over on his problematic apps.

The same apps you’re now frowning at, watching the population around you continue to dwindle with every pass of your thumb.

“You know, they say insanity is—”

“Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”

You shoot a glare Eddie’s way, watching his dexterous fingers pull his hair back into a makeshift bun at the back of his head. Those same fingers reach down to grab your glass, chipped black nail polish capturing your attention as he draws your drink up to his lips and takes a long sip.

“Tequila. Travis really fucked up.” He chuckles. The movement has his cropped shirt billowing around his hips, tattoos on his sides visible where the holes his arms extend through as he settles down beside you. “You know, I think you need to ditch the apps. I did, and I’m much better for it.”

“You got a puppy a few weeks ago,” you point out, finger jabbing him in the ribs. He hisses, cupping his pec. “Getting a puppy is code for throwing in the towel.”

“Ozz is the cutest puppy, I’ll have you know. Look—” He waves to Gareth as he passes by, drumsticks twirling in his hands. “Delete the apps. Take a break. Isn’t there some quote about happiness? That Nathaniel Hawthorne one. You know, the ‘happiness is a butterfly’ one you used in a paper back in school.”

“One, I can’t believe you remember that.”

Your nose wrinkles at the thought of your teenage years. Of you with braces and he himself being the first person to welcome you to sit with him on your first day of school, snapping at Jason Carver when he’d brushed by you and thumped your shoulder a little too hard for his liking.

“And two, the quote is actually ‘happiness is like a butterfly, which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp. But, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.’”

“So stop chasing it. Just let it happen. C'est la vie. Carpe diem. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

You don’t even bother letting him know none of those things mean what he thinks they do.

“Eddie.”

He loops his arm around your neck. Presses a kiss against your temple. You lean into his embrace, comfortable warmth that seeps into your bones and floods you with familiarity.

He’s hard lines against your softer edges. Inky tapestries of collected memories that tell a tale of his adventurous life on the forearm tangled in your hair. His ring-clad fingers delight in toying with the tips, hair shifting between digits like water.

Calming and soothing Eddie. A constant in your life since you were teenagers, now going on ten years of friendship later. Someone you’ve always been able to turn to at the end of the day; someone who never once questions your motives, even if he might suggest you try different methods to your lifestyle habits.

And now, your dating habits.

“I’m just saying it’s worth a try.”

-

Maybe you don’t stop right away. Maybe it takes a date with Joe, Jim and Jessica to realize the truth of Eddie’s words. Maybe there’s some weight to pushing it all aside, stepping out of the way of your own preconceived timeline, and allowing someone to walk in at the right place and time.

And on a night such as this, where Corroded Coffin are getting set up on stage and citizens are packing out the bar to see the increasingly popular band play, it’s easy to remember why swiping on your phone has brought you here. To asshole Andy Lerman standing before you while you work. Basketball coach at Hawkins High and douchebag royalty from what you remember of him back in your years of teenage angst and adolescence.

He’s had a few drinks now. You know because you’ve served him. But all they’ve done is instill courage in him to step over to the girl who people teased in school for being a “freak fucker” by merely being associated with Eddie, claiming time ‘really did wonders for you.’

He’s staring at your tits when he says it, and it takes everything in you to not toss his next drink in his face. But in a town where money is hard to come by, and there’s not much to do by way of work, bartending pays the bills, and you’re not about to mess up one of the few good gigs left.

“Andy, it’s really not going to work,” you tell him, “but here. Your last one of the night…on me.”

With a quick pat to his shoulder, you send him on his merry way with a fuller pocket and a story to warp when regaling his friends with the time he pity-invited the “freak fucker” on a date.

“Don’t look now, my lady, but Eddie Munson is staring at you,” Argyle says, working on mixing a margarita beside you for a patron.

“He’s not staring at me,” you retort, sliding a vodka soda across the bar, thanking your customer for the hefty tip they toss your way. At Argyle’s raised brow, you reiterate, “he’s not.”

“He’s always staring. That’s the look Eden gives me. You know, the look of someone in l—”

Argyle’s words are cut short as Eddie appears on the other side of the bar, bare elbows pressing against the counter, hair falling out of his ponytail, bangs long overdue for a cut shifting every time he blinks.

“Are you okay?” He asks, thanking Argyle as he passes him the beer he knows he prefers. At your arching brow, he continues, “I saw Andy Lerman flirting with you. You looked uncomfortable.”

You snort, getting to work on a moscow mule. “That’s because I was uncomfortable. But I took care of it. I appreciate you always looking out, though.”

He reaches over and grabs your chin. Gives your head a little wiggle until you’re grinning against his palm. Then reaches his fingers over toward you, rests them so gently against your curled palm resting on the bar and pauses. He waits a moment and closes his ringed fingers into a fist, knocking his knuckles against yours.

Then he’s off toward the stage to get ready, leaving you with a knot in your throat and warmth prickling against your skin.

Argyle passes you a knowing smile and before you can yell at him to get back to work, embarrassment roiling in your chest, he announces he’s going to take a quick break and call his wife.

His words spin in your head once more. Comparing Eddie’s gazes to Eden’s. To the nature of the depth in which he cares for you. But you shake your head free of it.

You’ve been unlucky in love.

It couldn’t be so simple.

-

Argyle’s words don’t change much in regards to your Eddie conundrum.

They’re a phantom in the back of your mind. Wispy tendrils of a memory that feels distant now.

Weeks pass, and the warm heat of summer in Hawkins turns to a sweltering hell on earth.

The Hideout becomes quieter most evenings. Those with air conditioning prefer to stay home, remain by their pools, to host gatherings where alcohol and coolers are plentiful.

And you don’t blame them, letting out a long huff as you wipe down the counter, while Argyle counts your tips.

“Oh, how was that date with…Paul, was it?” He muses thoughtfully, beginning to split the money.

“Not great.”

“You said that about the last three. What was wrong with this one?”

And that’s the thing. You sit across from these people, trying to force a square into a circle, trying to sparse out the qualities that they’re lacking.

Not funny enough. Not the right hair color. They lack that unruly smile. That glimmer of brightness in their amber eyes. There’s no dimple in Paul’s cheek. No banter on your date with Jeremiah. Caleb doesn’t like metal, and Kayla thinks D&D is a breeding ground for satanism (you’d thought that one was left in the 80s, but it appears not).

“He said Dio was overrated.”

“Interesting,” Argyle laughs, shaking his head.

You whirl around, damp bar towel flicking water his way. “What’s so interesting?”

“Just funny when two people are so obviously similar and don’t even see it,” he says, humming to himself, conversation over.

And that was that.

-

It’s funny, you think, that it only hits you then.

Like the flutter of butterfly wings on your flowerbeds you’d managed to stumble upon earlier that morning, the flicker of wings on a bird in the sky. The soft beating of both, like the constant thump of a heart in a chest.

A constant.

It’s the word everything hitches on as you sit on that work table in your garage, watching the man who stopped everything he was doing when you’d called earlier at the drop of a hat. All just to make sure you were okay.

That same person who is now up to his elbows in grease, fingers stained an oily black. With his hair pulled away from his face, you catch the determined line of his mouth, the jut of his tongue pushing lightly against pink lips. The corded lines of his arms move as he works, barest hint of stomach on display when he reaches up to slam the hood of your car down once it’s finished.

You toss him a towel, grinning at the shadowy form of him blocking the sun from your eyes. “Sorry you’re doing this instead of the movies.”

“Stop that. You know I’m happy to spend any time with you, sweetheart,” he laughs, wiping the planes of his face that are streaked like the fingers pressing against terry cloth to keep it in place. “Fixed the alternator and did an oil change. Seeing as you always forget anyway.”

He walks over slowly, grunting when your sandaled foot kicks him playfully in the kneecap. “That was why my car made that awful sound and shut off?”

“Exactly.” He curls the towel around his neck. “Day is still young. How about we—”

“Why’d you delete all your dating apps?”

The words fall from you in a rush. A swift exhale that has Eddie’s back drawn ramrod straight. Rigid, but not with anger. Instead, you watch that full mouth part just slightly. Like the words he had been about to say were lost to the wind, left to titter away into nothingness.

He swallows audibly, palm sliding over the towel across his neck. “I…just didn’t see the point in them.”

Determination hardens your resolve. Brings to attention Argyle’s teasing these weeks. The wondering, questioning, burgeoning curiosities brimming. So you utter a simple, “Why?” and try your damndest to ignore the nerves welling up in your chest at the fear of what comes next.

“Just kind of felt like I was using them to get over someone else,” he admits, taking a step closer.

Your bare knees brush the tops of his thighs. Warmth seeps into your skin, bristles at his touch.

Dark eyes drag along your form. Along the dress you wore that evening, covered in flowers, a thin thing that would have fluttered in the wind if you and Eddie had been able to do what you’d planned for the day. Simple drive to the lake to eat some lunch, share a joint and fish (a new hobby he'd picked up from his uncle), then movies at the theater when the sun had set.

You meet his stare. Remind yourself of those eyes that had been on you the whole time Andy had leaned over the bar just weeks ago. Ready at any moment to come to your aid, should you have needed it. He’s never pushed you, never crossed the boundaries of your friendship, trusted you knew best.

But he’d always been there if you ever needed a hand.

You only ever needed to reach out.

Always.

You swallow thickly. “Who?”

“Don’t make me tell you what you already know.”

It’s quiet. A plea for pity that has your heart clenching within your chest.

But it’s not scary.

It’s not frightening at all.

Dozens of memories flash behind your eyes.

Of teenage years, laughing in the cafeteria, trading snacks, sneaking off to the woods between classes to smoke. Of you in community college, and his van screeching through the parking lot to take you to lunch between classes. Of nights at his place, your place, the movies, around town. Of ice cream at Lover’s Lake with his van doors swung wide, trying to make out the shapes of the clouds in the sky.

Birthday parties, milestones, weddings, grieved losses.

To highs and lows and everything in between. To all those shitty dates, to his own failed dating escapades. To that time you had to ice his lip in the back of the Hideout when Jeff had accidentally elbowed him in the face, or when you’d fallen off Max’s skateboard and ripped open your shin and he’d had to hold your hand while he disinfected it.

To this very moment, where he’s just finished fixing your car. To him with his dirty palm tapping lightly against your kneecap, feet shifting awkwardly beneath him.

Your head tips up and you catch the downturn of his lips, frozen in time by your prolonged silence.

Argyle was right.

“What?”

You hadn’t realized you spoke out loud, but confusion swirls behind Eddie’s gaze all the same, mollified only when your hand snakes up around the back of his neck and drags him downward to your level. Only when you pour your affection into him where you’re finally, lovingly, connected at last.

The fullness of his mouth against the softness of yours is hesitant at first, like his brain needs a moment to catch up to his current reality, before he’s tipping your head up with his hand. Until his fingers slide across your cheek, cupping you gently, easing you closer to him.

Before long he’s gripping you closer. Deft fingers in the dough of your thighs, tugging you flush against him, skirt indecently high up on your hips. But you don’t care. Not as your ankles lock around his waist, nor as he hums into your throat while he leaves a sloven path along your skin, learning the sounds you make when he’s tender, sweet—when he scores his teeth against your pulse point and you melt like putty beneath his devotion filled fingertips.

Ten years. Ten years of watching that silly butterfly float away into the sky, only for it to have been there all along.

Only for it to have been the man with his forehead against yours, noses flush together, your fingers beneath his shirt and his around the bend of your kneecaps.

You’re not sure where you start and he ends, but even that incites a new thrill, a new world to explore further. A desire to know the depths of him beyond the limit of friendship.

“Argyle got to you too, huh?” At your nod, Eddie barks out a laugh. Kisses you softly. “Fuckin’ guy thinks he’s Cupid or something.”

“I don’t want to talk about Argyle right now.”

Eddie’s lips curl into a grin. The whites of his teeth flash in your gaze, your fingers trailing along his stubble-lined jaw.

“I don’t either.” His thumb comes to swipe at your cheek, dimple in his cheek twitching slightly. “Got you a little greasy. Just…ten years, you know? Got a little carried away.”

You nod, reaching out to lace your fingers with his. He watches as you hop down from the work table, brow arching curiously as you tug him toward the door leading into your home. “Well, like you said, we’ve got ten years to catch up on. So before I kiss you more, Edward Munson, we’re going to shower.”

“We?” He swallows, voice hoarse. “Like a two people conserving water shower?”

You enter the small laundry room, humming as his chest brushes your own, his weight just enough against yours to press you into the lip of your drying machine. Cool metal chills your skin at the open back of your dress, balanced by the heat of the knee that slides between your thighs to pin you in place. Your body both buzzes with life and oozes honey into your system as you melt into him, pliant under that smoldering dark gaze of your best friend in front of you.

“We,” you nod, grinning into his kiss. “After that we’re cuddling on the couch and ordering a pizza.”

“And tomorrow…I’m taking you on a date.”

-

🦋

[oleworm]

Review to “Glorious Exploits” by Ferdia Lennon

Thucydides for size.

This has to be the best book that I’ve read in several years, or the one who scratches the greatest number of itches among various interests. It begins as a comedy of war, drawing on Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War and Plutarch’s accounts of Athenian prisoners of war who survived the aftermath of the failed Sicilian expedition by reciting lines from Euripides but also—in more recent memory—recreates the emotional weight of episodes described by survivors of 20th century wars. The darkness is viewed, at the start, obliquely, but if the reader does not see it, it is because they choose not to, because it is always present.

As time passes, and the Athenians in the quarry continue to starve, the option will be taken away from them. It is a lot of fun, and I think a certain kind of reader needs to be tricked this way into acknowledging certain realities. You laugh along with one character, an unemployed potter helping his friend to stage a play, while another, right next to him, is experiencing the horrors of starvation—and two minutes ago he witnessed his loved one clubbed to death by a man who lost his son to the invading army. They are experiencing, in simultaneous, two completely different stories. The reader holds these contradictions within themselves for a great part of the story.

Another episode, from close to beginning of the book, as not to spoil the tale: a drunken evening at the pub, described with great accuracy to those settings where such things as pubs exist. An insecure man negs a woman who happens to be a slave, captured in war.

It is effective at what it does, and I commend the author for finishing it, for not giving up—I listened to an interview with him where he said that it took him seven years, on and off. It was worth it not only for the recognition he received for his efforts but because it is a contribution to the human culture. More and more we need to find ways for people to face certain topics that they would shelter themselves from, now when they are most important, even something as basic as recognising the humanity of others. It is a well-researched story set in Classical Greece, but it could not be successful if it weren’t also actual. I have seen some criticisms about how you cannot joke about some of the topics covered in the book, but perhaps it is not for those people, who already understand what they refer to. They can move on to more serious matters, but there are others who understand only through jokes, through lightness, or they feel threatened and cease to pay attention.

I’ll not ruin the ending, but it was the piece that completed the puzzle, in more than one way. I laughed, I cried, I cared a lot. And it made me want to reread The History of the Peloponnesian War.

[bennetsbonnet]

Although I absolutely had a great time at the production of Pride and Prejudice I saw last night, staged by a local theatre group (there truly is nothing like laughing along to some of Austen's dry wit in a room full of people) some of the changes made were quite... startling??? Which was understandably because the bulk of the action had to take place in the drawing room at Longbourn. But still, the more I think about it, the more I'm tickled (if a little frustrated).

It was all going well until Darcy's 'tolerable' comment was only reported on by Mrs Bennet the next day. Not seeing him say it really made such a difference. Then, I was surprised when the first time we actually saw Elizabeth and Darcy interact was at a substitute for the party at Lucas Lodge, except it happened at Longbourn, and they used the dialogue where Darcy asks if Elizabeth wishes to seize the moment by dancing a reel, which takes place later at Netherfield.

Honestly they toned down Darcy so much, he really didn't seem that bad and it was kind of difficult to understand why Elizabeth disliked him so much. The proposal wasn't nearly mean enough either, he insulted her connections once but again, it was difficult to believe she would be so against him.

The first act ended with the proposal and I was honestly having a great time. It featured so many lines that are usually left out of adaptations which I really appreciated, like Caroline teasing Darcy about his mother-in-law and how Elizabeth's eyes will be impossible to capture by any artist. But then, the second act began and it reminded me a lot of this image:

We didn't see or hear the letter from Darcy, just Elizabeth returning to Longbourn and discussing some of its contents with Jane. Then, the narrator explained that Elizabeth went to stay with her aunt and uncle in Derbyshire and encountered Mr Darcy there, who invited her to Pemberley and they found him much improved. But we didn't see it, or hear the good account of him from Mrs Reynolds? Honestly, if I didn't know the novel, I would've been quite confused about how Darcy changed or, indeed, if he even did and perhaps why he even needed to.

Buuuuut I won't be too harsh on anything else because other than those points it was genuinely enjoyable! Mr Collins, Mrs Bennet, Caroline and Mary were particular standouts, and Elizabeth was excellent!

And the limits of the production also amused me in some ways, as they had to come up with creative ways of getting characters alone for conversations. Some highlights included:

Wickham and Elizabeth having their conversation about Darcy at Mrs Phillips's alone in another room while everyone else was playing cards because Elizabeth was?? tired??

Mr Collins dragging Lady Catherine and Darcy off (after they had accepted his invitation to dine at Hunsford Parsonage... pffft) to show them a watercolour he had purchased. Which Lady Catherine abused as ugly and told him off for not consulting her before he purchased it.

Mr Bennet complaining servants had invaded his library with brushes to clean it, so could he speak to Lizzy about Lydia going to Brighton in private.

Overall, it was definitely far more of a comedy than anything else. Which I honestly didn't mind, it worked very well with the audience. Although there was disappointingly little pride or, indeed, prejudice, it was a very fun evening out and it's a novel absolutely intended to be heard aloud!

[wickedburningstudioz]

Joel in ink and watercolor

I detoured from my Acacius art to work on this mixed media experiment.

I've just been trying to get really back into ink after a long time at pyrography and it's been an enjoyable process. The background is watercolor pencils. I was doing a playthrough and have been screen-capping as I go with the idea of drawing out some of the stuff I've captured. Hopefully there are some more things like this in the future. I'm not good with buildings AT ALL so I'm learning some rules of perspective and practicing. :) As usual, more about my life and some progress shots under the cut. Also with the personal stuff this time, serious trigger warnings for OCD and a death in the family.

Dropping the progress pics and then story-time at the bottom so all the triggery stuff is easily avoided. :)

And then the blue up top. As to the journey here, well. Recently my grandmother passed. She was a difficult woman and my relationship with her was equally difficult. The grieving process is never really straight-forward as far as I can tell, but it does feel complicated by the way things were not easy between us. In the wake of her passing, the responsibility for her apartment and her estate has fallen to me. I got through that first week of dealing with her apartment by thinking that on the weekend, I was going to unwind with friends, shopping and food and just . . . relax. Well, anyone with OCD will probably tell you that it likes to pop up the second you think you can finally rest. My issues are mostly around food. Contamination worries that somewhere in the process the food has been mishandled and isn't safe. This is at the packaging level, and nothing to do with the people cooking it. It is especially bad with anything that has to do with rice. For context, I'm also gluten free because of reflux and digestive issues with it. And most GF flours are made with rice flour instead. Also for context, most people know about my GF issues but not about my OCD. It's a newer development. As the day arrived, a friend was exceptionally kind and made a dessert with a GF flour and it soon became obvious to me that I was going to be unable to eat this dessert because of the rice. Along with that was my relative inability to explain why I was unable to eat this food because OCD is so very isolating and shame inducing. I mean, someone went out of their way to make this specifically so I could eat it. And I knew that if I tried to eat it, this kind person was going to watch my compulsion to spit out this food they had made.

I got caught in this loop where I was either having to shakily explain that I've become rather intense with my OCD symptoms or this vision of the faces of everyone having to see it in real time as I physically ejected this food, that I intellectually know well is perfectly safe, and yet I can't convince my system of it. The thing I didn't understand about compulsions before I had this . . . illness, is that I perform them before I decide to. My body acts and my mind follows suit . . .as does the frustration that I had no control over that moment. I ended up telling my one friend that I couldn't go and then ghosting. And now it's been a week and here we are. But this piece? I mean, this day was not my finest moment. I had to contend with how much of a grip this condition has on me. I was losing my chance to recharge before going into another week of clearing out this apartment, largely on my own until the last few days. And I spent a fair amount of time in a pretty dark place. But eventually, what got me to crawl up out of bed was working on this. I remember the effort it took to move even from lying down to kneeling. And then to get to my desk. To find the reference in my PS account. Like moving underwater. But then I spent the evening in lines and color and art and it's not perfect. In some ways I feel like this piece looks as messy as I felt that day. But, I guess the point is that this was just another time that art saved me. It's been doing that my whole life. From here it's back to Acacius I believe. I have done more work on him, so maybe the next post will be about that. :) And much lighter in tone. Maybe.

[synthaphone]

long post talking about making neopets style art, but not in a way that's useful or coherent or proofread

idk why of all the things that i struggle to do, the thing i keep coming back to trying to pull off is 'imitate the neopets art style circa 2004-2007'. i'm really proud of the stuff i make in that style, but i've always got a nagging feeling about how there's like, very few applications for this very specific skill i'm building, and i could be spending this time improving at anatomy or perspective or anything else. i guess that's just the power of 'wanting to learn something really bad' combined with, critically, 'believing im really close to figuring it out'

there's something about the line weights on a lot of old pets that's really hard for me to capture, and i've gone through a bunch of different ideas of why that is- like, maybe its easier to do in flash, or its something about the way i have the pressure sensitivity set up on my pen, or maybe the official artists also carefully shaped and weighted their lines while scaling the drawing down every so often to make sure they 'feel right' on a small scale (lol), or maybe its that shit that artists who've been inking shit for a long time learn how to do intuitively that i'm just not at the level of yet.

i'm looking at this smug bastard like. how do they decide which lines should be thick vs thin. my instinct is to go thicker on the corners of points like the ear tips, but this artist went thinner, and i think weighted the lines heavier on the undersides of shapes where the shadows are? neo artists aren't immune to stuff that frustrates me when i'm making pet art either, almost every pet has some part of their lineart that makes a weird tangent with the damn Circle. the linework on the hands straight up isn't clear at all, but i can tell what the pose is from how the shoulders are positioned and the expression of the character, so i guess that doesn't really matter at the end of the day

im pasting the lines i'm working on next to existing pets with varying levels of detail, but it might be too early to tell if they have the right level of clarity. i'm also i'm back in photoshop because that's easier for me, but maybe i should have tried flash again- doing the art in vectors does give the finished image that hard to detect Crispness that i'm always chasing

in order, these were drawn in photoshop in 2019, photoshop in 2022, and Flash in 2024. i was going to be like 'oh god, the Vully DOES look sharper than the centibyte, it must be Flash' but honestly i got the halloween one to look pretty close?? maybe i scaled down my photoshop images differently in 2019............ i think i've also gotten better at mimicking the lineart style, so it could also be that, but that doesn't account for why the top one looks kind of blurry in comparison. am i crazy. is it visible to anyone else.

anyway ive gone off on a tangent. for some reason this is what i'm obsessed with doing so i'm just gonna keep on trucking until something else seizes my attention instead i guess

[finishinglinepress]

NEW FROM FLP: It could account for the panic by Liz Whiteacre

On SALE: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/it-could-account-for-the-panic-by-liz-whiteacre/

Liz Whiteacre’s #poetry explores accident, #disability, #aging, and wellness. She is the author of Hit the Ground (Finishing Line Press, 2013), and her poems have appeared in Wordgathering, Disability Studies Quarterly, Kaleidoscope, Breath & Shadow, Flying Island, and other publications. Whiteacre is an associate professor of English at the University of Indianapolis. She teaches writing and publishing there, as well as advises Etchings Press.

The composer Meadow Bridgham makes new music from old ideas—a kind of musical upcycling, an antique restoration. Recent appearances of their music include the Rivera Court at the Detroit Institute of Arts, the Utzon Room at Sydney Opera House, and Merkin Hall at New York’s Kaufman Music Center. Meadow holds a Doctor of Musical Arts degree from the Yale School of Music, where their Violin Sonata was awarded the Frances E. Osborne Kellogg Memorial Prize for best composition written in a contrapuntal style. #poetry #music

PRAISE FOR It could account for the panic by Liz Whiteacre

Reading it could account for the panic is a journey into the visceral experience of temporal lobe epilepsy (TLE). A collaboration between poet Liz Whiteacreand composer Meadow Bridgham (who shared their experiences with TLE to forge the poems), the work is taut, lyric, and propulsive. Using Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland as analogue and metaphor, the poems draw us into the TLE mind-body space, amplifying questions of being and identity. In the title poem, the speaker asks, “What if you were injected into a dream, trying to ride a dysphoric, euphoric, chaotic roller coaster, trying to follow disjointed details, forcing a narrative? Did you ever think about that?” With precision, dispatch, and flare these poems revision alternative mind-body spaces from “less than,” or “tragic,” to sites of imaginative possibility. This is a book that will change you.

–Shelia Black, author of All the Sleep in the World

In it could account for the panic, poet Liz Whiteacre and musician Meadow Bridgham invite readers into the surreal world of temporal lobe epilepsy (TLE). With a crip aesthetic, the poet uses defamiliarization to blur reality and drop us down a rabbit hole where nothing is as it seems; when one might see only loss, these poems explore the complexity—beneficial and destructive—of learning a new way of living. The poetry collection ends with hope for the future stating: “I want to work towards our harvest / we’ll pull things up and start over: next season will be better. / We’ll learn from this, grow, & move on.” These poems show us the truth that the disabled live everyday: the social expectations and reactions are often more disabling than the impairment itself.

–Kara Dorris, author of Have Ruin, Will Travel and When the Body is a Guardrail

In it could account for the panic, poet Liz Whiteacre collaborates with musician Meadow Bridgham to bring Bridgham’s experience with temporal lobe epilepsy to the printed page. In poems that range from delicate lyric to raging prose Whiteacre captures the wonderland of experience that Brigham has—not only the emotional, bodily and social challenges but in the creativity that it has fostered. Through Whiteacre’s skill as poet, readers who follow Bridgham down the rabbit hole will emerge with a greater understanding of what a life with temporal lobe epilepsy is like.

–Michael Northen, editor of Beauty is a Verb: The New Poetry of Disability

Please share/repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #read #poems #literature #poetry #music #epilepsy #TLE #disability #wellness #life

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

15 Lines of Dialogue

15 Lines of Dialogue Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

I was tagged by @omgkalyppso tysm!! I'm low spoons so I won't tag anyone directly and its hard keeping track of which of my friends is writing stuff ;;

Majexatli

I grabbed these from a bunch of different places, including some WIPs. But published fics included can be found x x x x

“It’s alright,” Majexatli said, even as the tension didn’t leave them, “My reflex would be to wildshape, not attack,”

“Apologies, I just…needed to get away,” Majexatli said, leaning back on their hands with a sigh, now stripped down to their breeches and laced tunic, rumpled and stained with blood, “I’m not used to… this. People. Before the Nautiloid I would go weeks without seeing other people, now there’s countless every day.”

“Sorry, it’s been a long day, I’m a little… out of it,” They smiled politely, forcing their shoulders to relax as much as they could.

“Having a title you feel you aren’t living up to? Does it hurt?”

“He’s married now. Has children, even. A beautiful family, I’m sure. Makes sense, it’s been 20 years. I haven’t been back since. Word is he’ll make archdruid one day, his friends are highly respected as well, always have been,”

“I don’t care for the title,” Majexatli said, then added, almost inaudible, “Not this time,”

“I told you not to do that, Althyran,”

“Speak of my people like that again and see what happens,”

“I’m not cursed. I chose to be this way. I chose Malar,”

“If you wished that a druid and faithwarden was standing before you, then I apologize, but Silvanus and his balance killed that person without second thought. If you don’t care about that young druid named Faithwarden who died alone, then I suppose it’s fitting you serve Silvanus.”

“I did this selfishly. I didn’t protect anyone. I became this to survive.”

“It’s fine, I’m just tired and not well. I’ll be better tomorrow, if Silvanus wills,” The Oak Father’s name felt bitter on their tongue.

“Perhaps you just haven’t been around enough tieflings,” Majexatli’s voice was calm, tinged with a politeness that seemed at odds with their body language.

“I don’t have another life, just this one, where I met you,”

I can hear the blood in your veins. I hunger to tear open your flesh and devour you. The desire consumes my mind. I will hurt you. It is only a matter of time.

Abjid

It's been a while since I talked about them but they hold a place in my heart. Abjid has a few iterations, most of these are their Dragon Age version, just because I've written the most about that version. Another mix of unpublished and published things, I would give links but I grabbed most of these from my gdrive, with the exception of the d&d abjid piece which accounts for 9-12 which is here

“Apologies, most animals don’t take kindly to my presence,” They said, not looking up from the fire. He recognized their accent as being faintly Orlesian.

“I don’t believe in neutrality,” They said eventually, “You have a blade in your hand, I am giving you a whetstone. Now you are faced with the option to sharpen it or not. I’m not here to coax the blade from your hand, nor coax you to use it. Perhaps I enable you, perhaps not. Perhaps I’m here simply to stoke the flames of your self-torment and draw out your hesitation and conflicted feelings. Perhaps, though, I’m just bored. I’ve done my part though, now it’s in your hands.” 

“I doubt it. One really knows me. You know scary stories and rumors, you think what stands before is the amalgamation of all the half-remembered ghost stories and rumors whispered fearfully by people whose voice shakes the same way it does when they stutter prayers to their god in the vain belief it will wash the blood from their hands. And perhaps that is all I am, perhaps I don’t deserve a proper name if my existence is but a noun too vague and blurred at the edges to be proper,”

“Try not to move, by the way, or exert yourself overmuch. Or panic. You know, all the standard things, you know the drill. I’m sure Anders’ would hate it if I let someone like you die in his clinic. But as always, the Creators and fate like to test me…”

“Mm, well, you know, generally one wants assassinations to be quiet. Rather hard to do if the victim is panicking and shouting as they succumb to poison. Have to choose the right poison, no one likes when things get messy and you have to dirty your own clothes and blade, or at least in Orlais. Shame really, Kirkwall does tend to lack the same... theatrical element to its politics, makes it all quite boring if you were to ask me,” 

“So wanting just revenge is a trait of demons now? I really must have been away for a long time then, glad I left the Chantry a lifetime ago,”

“That’s the problem with the Chantry’s dichotomy of demons and spirits. Nothing’s as clear-cut as that. Demons, Spirits, whatever lives in the Fade, they all are just as diverse as people. There are good people, there are bad people, but most people are some mix of the two. Demons can be good, spirits can be evil, most are far more complex. My husband’s far more versed in the theology of it.”

"There aren’t many job opportunities for abominations, you know. It was this or becoming a politician, and I’ve never been fond of human politics."

“I woke up with a lot of things, so I mean, why not? Being possessed was the least of my concerns then, hardly even noticed it. When I did later, I…,” They laughed again, pain creeping through the cracks, “I figured with everything else that happened, this might as well happen too.”

“I tried-– I tried a lot of things, for a lot of years, but… nothing ever stuck. I tried so hard for years. And I don’t have the energy to fight back anymore. No matter what happens, no matter what I do or what I want, I will always end up killing someone and so it’s best just to… not care.”

“Does it matter what I want? Do you ask a blade what it wants? Should I keep building a sandcastle of hope right as the high tide rolls in? No matter what I build or don’t, it doesn’t stop the tide. I can’t control the ocean, I’m just a body washed up on shore. Should I rage against the waves and try to change the sea? What will that change? All I can do is build those sandcastles between the tides. You don’t have to agree or like me Keane, it’s best if you don’t. But I’m tired. Whether you direct your ire at the builder or the tide, the blade or the wielder, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“I’m tired, Keane. What I want doesn’t matter, it didn’t even matter when I was alive.”

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Four

“How long are you going to make me stand like this?” 

“Claire, the life drawing models do this for an hour at a time, I think you can handle ten minutes.”

“At least they get paid for it, all I get is criticism.”

“Please, try to keep your feet in the same spot, the legs are really important.” 

She sighs and readjusts, planting her feet back onto the two X’s I’ve marked on the floor with masking tape, then stands still for a good five seconds before reaching up to touch her hair. 

I sigh with frustration. “Claire…”

“Sorry, I just feel like my hair looks weird.”

“It’s fine, please can you just…”

“I’m worried you aren’t going to make me look good.”

“It’s not about making you look good, it’s about capturing an accurate portrayal of human anatomy.” 

“Ugh.” She moves her arms back to roughly the correct position, but now her torso has kind of twisted out of position, so I take my gummy eraser and start rubbing out what I’ve already drawn. 

‘Why is this so hard?” I mutter under my breath as I bring the charcoal to the page again, drawing a fresh line for the curve of her spine. It seems like no matter what I do, I can never recreate the focus I have in Ida’s studio. I’ve tried drawing in my sketchbook on the bus, in cafes, while sitting on benches at the park, but my drawings always look off, I don’t feel sure about my talent like I used to. I’m not carrying an inspirational spark with me when I’m outside of the walls of my college and yet, tomorrow is Friday. The day that we all have to lay our sketchbooks out on the floor and critique each other for the work we’ve done during the week, so really I have to come up with something halfway good. I want Ida to be proud. I don’t want the cursed Dean Cullen to be mean, although he inevitably will. His default mode is nasty, but still, I can’t help but want to prove myself. To be good enough. To be the best.

“I’m not going to move, don’t worry…” Claire says. “But I just want to say that I’m getting very cold.”

“It won’t be long, I promise.” I plead.

“Don’t life drawing models also have heaters?”

“It’s not like you’re naked. Leggings and a vest are like, roughly the same thing as a heater.”

“Not at all. And it’s almost winter. Why don’t we at least have the radiators on?”

I shudder at the thought of the last electricity bill, the memory of opening up that little white envelope and feeling like I was going to have a heart attack and collapse onto the wooden floor. It was revealed then that Claire was leaving the heating on pretty much all day from the moment the temperature dipped below fourteen degrees, for the sake of being cosy. Her parents pay for everything, including her half of the utility bills, so really, nothing matters at all to her, and I know she doesn’t really understand why we have to suffer in the cold, or why I kept telling her to buy a hot water bottle instead of cranking on the radiators every time she goes to bed. If I didn’t keep remembering to switch it off our bills would be astronomical every month. I wish I could be the passive-aggressive housemate sometimes and put a padlock on the timer. 

I’m on the student support grant, which just about covers my rent and food. I don’t think she understands that some people have to think about money, that it doesn’t just endlessly flow into all of our accounts, or materialise from thin air whenever we want a new skirt from American Apparel. 

It frustrates me sometimes, the disparity between our finances. I’d never really thought about class, or where I stood in society before I moved away from home, but now it’s all around me all the time and utterly impossible to ignore, woven into my identity. I’ve never associated with the notion of being a working class person from a working class household but when I’m here it feels as though it’s the number one thing that defines me. It saturates everything, everyone’s accents and postcodes under scrutiny. Who’s dad can afford this and that, who has to work evenings and weekends to pay their way, who gets the grant, who doesn’t. I’d never before considered the fact that Claire got a thousand euro for her Confirmation and at my house, the year of the financial crash, we had plain pasta for dinner every day for three weeks, but now it seems as though this was something I should have always been aware of. 

Shane comes into the apartment without knocking, as usual at that very moment, and Claire immediately drops her pose to skip over and embrace him, as if they haven’t seen eachother in a month, instead of every single day. He has his own apartment in Clonskeagh, but is seemingly never there. He’s become our third housemate – the one who never pays rent. I groan and drop my willow charcoal back into my plastic pencil holder. Whatever is on the page now will just have to do. 

“You alright there, Evie?” Shane says over her shoulder, never letting me just have a tantrum in peace. 

“Yeah I’m fine. Just finishing up an assignment.”

“Seems to be going well, sure you look delighted.”

I stick my tongue out at him, and he ignores me. “Bit cold in here, isn’t it?” He comments, and Claire throws her hands up in agreement. “Thank you!” She says. “I’ve been trying to tell her that all evening.”

“She’s cold because she’s in a vest in leggings.”

“That you made me wear for your drawing.”

Shane smirks. “I’m not complaining about the vest and leggings anyway. Come on, just flick the heat on for a while.” He goes over to the thermostat and flips it on expertly, like a man who lives here. Which he doesn’t. He just sleeps here three to four nights a week. Then he comes over and sits beside me on the couch. I try to close my sketchbook before he can catch a glimpse, but it’s too late. He puts his big hand in the way to block me. 

“That’s good.” He says, pointing at the drawing I’ve just done. 

“Is that the one of me?” Claire says, coming over to perch on the arm of the sofa next to him. “Oh, it is good. You made me look very pretty.”

“Not hard to do.” Shane tells her with this dreadful, flirtatious look on his face and I have to suppress a disgusted shudder. 

“It’s fine.” I say begrudgingly. “But it’s not going to be good enough.”

“I think it’s great.” Claire reassures me. “What more could they be looking for?” 

“Perfection.”

Shane lifts the sketchbook out of my hands without asking and starts flipping through it. “So what, is your tutor like some kind of dragon, or?”

I sigh. “Ida is fine, she’s honest but she’s fair. There’s just this one guy.” I take the sketchbook back off him and try to close it in my lap, but he easily slips it away from me again and resumes his snooping. 

“A student, like?”

“Yeah. Dean Cullen. He’s always horrible about my work.”

“I wouldn’t care if some random man was making comments about my work. Sure he’s hardly going to give you grades, is he?”

“No.” I say. “But I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of criticising me.”

“I doubt he sees it like that.”

“Yeah, and do you know him, do you?”

“Obviously not but he probably just thinks he’s being constructive, like.”

“He said the legs on my piece were lazy last week.”

“‘Lazy’ isn’t very constructive.” Claire agrees. 

Shane turns another page thoughtfully. “Some lads just say what they think and they don’t care about how it comes out, though. He’s probably like that.” 

“He’s not.” I insist. 

“Sounds like he’s got under your skin.”

“He hasn’t.”

“Alright so.” A pause. “Is this me?” He holds up the sketchbook on a page of drawings of a man’s head in profile. They’re done in brown pencil. He’s got a short-back-and-sides haircut and a bump on the bridge of his nose where it was once smashed with the butt of a hurl and never quite set back the right way again. 

“Yes. That’s you.” 

He looks at it again, saying nothing for a few moments. Then: “Can I have it?”

“No, I need the sketchbook intact for my grade.”

“Well, can you put it online or something then?”

“Why would I do that?”

“So I can show it to people. Sure it looks exactly the same as me. I’d make it my profile picture and all.”

“Nobody wants to see my work online.” I say, going red.

“Oh they would!” Claire says. “Everyone is doing it now.”

“On Facebook?”

“No, Instagram.”

I pause. “What is that?”

She and Shane exchange a look as though I’m some old age pensioner who just had a ‘moment’, and I sigh with frustration. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is, apparently I’m technologically illiterate.”

Claire whips out her brand new iphone to show me the cute little app that looks like a polaroid camera, and then scrolls through her feed, which is just pictures and more pictures, no text posts, no statuses, just photos. “Everyone with an iphone has it now.” She explains. “You just take pictures and upload them. You can edit them in the app and everything, and you follow your friends so you can see what they post too.”

“And everyone is doing this?”

“Yeah, it’s the new Thing. And look.” She opens up a search bar and types in the word “Art”, and immediately the screen floods with images of paintings and drawings. “You can look at what other artists are doing too. I think you’d really like it.”

“Hm.” I say. “Maybe.”

“Hand me your phone.” 

I obey her, and she starts tapping away at it. I watch as she downloads the app, signs me up for it, and then she follows both her account and Shane’s, who I can see has exclusively posted photographs of himself on the football field. Not content I’d be especially interested in, but I can always unfollow him later. She lifts the sketchbook off the couch and carefully turns to the page with Shane’s head drawings, and snaps a picture. She applies some brightening filter to it and then uploads it, and there it is. My first post on Instagram. 

“Thank you.” I say. 

“Go through my follow list and see if there’s anyone else there you want on your feed.” She instructs me. “And like, find out who else in your drawing class has it. You can all compare your drawings and leave nice comments or whatever.”

“That kind of sounds like a good idea.” I admit. 

“Listen to the good feedback, not just what stinky Dean Cullen says.” She strokes my hair affectionately. “You’re so good at drawing, I’d hate it if someone made you think that you aren’t.”

“Thank you Claire. And Shane.” I say as I get up from the couch and start heading towards my room. 

“We’re going to watch a film, if you want in.” Claire offers, but I shake my head. 

“I think I’m going to keep drawing. I can do more studies of my own feet or something.”

“Okay, whatever you want.”

Prev // Next

[thesulkycroissant]

Link your three favorite fics right now how does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

Link your three favorite fics right now

I feel like this question isn't super clear so 🤣

Top three favorite fics rn that other people have written:

3:16 by partingxshot -> I made an account on AO3 for the sole purpose of bookmarking this fic so I never lost it. It's a Dick & Damian fic, basically a rewrite of the Batman & Robin comics where Dick is Batman, except an AU where Bruce is really dead; it extends into the storylines that continued after he came back from being lost in the timestream. Like. I could write about this fic for hours. It's life-changing.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24559306/chapters/59308723

You Are The Son And I - by lurkinglurkerwholurks -> Bruce wrestling with Clark's otherness and his humanity, also featuring a little Dick Grayson. In my head constantly. Locked fic though.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20116594

Season of Darkness, Season of Light by Birdchild -> Covers some of the same stuff as 3:16, but also very much its own thing. Part of a series. Something I go back to a lot. More Damian & Dick stuff.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32871331/chapters/81572329

For my own fics, my top three would be what is love, if not a risk worth taking? a Superbat fic which primarily features Bruce and Martha Kent talking; I really wanted to capture Martha's voice well, and I felt happy with how it went. (It took a long time.) My current WIP thicker than water (Bruce & Dick), even though Chapter 3 is really giving me fits. 😅 And probably take me to church, which is my most recent Midpollo fic. I had a lot of fun with the religious metaphors and listened to that Hozier song like 6000 times. (My AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulky_croissant/works)

How does receiving/not receiving feedback/support impact you?

It's sometimes tough to not receive a lot of feedback. I really enjoy hearing what other people think about concepts and I think it's encouraging!!! I think sometimes how things will be receives holds me back more than I'd like it to.

How do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

If I'm having a hard time getting the emotions right, I do try saying the dialogue lines out loud, because I feel like that helps tap into the emotions I'm going for. Right now with chapter 3 of thicker than water, I'm really trying to capture the emotion of feeling replaced (Dick with Jason) and it's such a hard thing to get exactly right. Like the contrast of the really heavy emotions with the logical side of your brain saying you know that's not how it is. (And of course for Dick, I think he does think that's how it is, but he's trying to balance that with the fact that it's not Jason's fault.) I think unfortunately it's a common feeling for ppl who have been an only child or the youngest for a while then competing with a new younger child. So, drawing from familiar feelings without necessarily projecting (remembering what separates my experience from the character), that's the trick lol.

Thanks for the asks friend!!!

[haldora]

Hello, I just wanted to say, I love your art style and your intricately done detailing in your works. Your Marius and Armand drawings are so beautiful. I love how you capture the actual descriptions of their looks, Armand being a shorter thicker/softer bodied young man and Marius being a tall and slender, more graceful being. Bravo!

Ahh, thank you so much, anon! <3333 I'm so happy that fandom has reached a point where we can represent the beauty of the characters without erasing their canon features, and I adore depicting physical contrasts. Armand is, at the very least, a robust boy. It's strongly suggested in his canon descriptions, it's far more in line with the standard of beauty within the era and culture he was turned than the eternal waif I often see him depicted as, and we know for a fact that he was getting more than enough to eat. Of course, I can't pretend this is just a commitment to textual accuracy on my part; fat bodies are my preference (to put it lightly--I'm kinda low key about my kinks on this account) and so it's something I like to see on characters regardless of canonicity, but I do hope that it adds something? I find that artists who are actively attracted to certain bodies tend to be better at showcasing the beauty of those bodies than artists who are doing it purely for the sake of textual accuracy or diversity for its own sake. Not that those aren't good things or that artists shouldn't try to depict humanity in all its variations, but I maintain that a spark of horny joie de vivre makes a big difference in how... persuasive a tummy curve can be. <3

[im-no-jedi]

Let’s get some fun recommendations goin around here! What’s a piece of clone content (art, fic, etc) that has stuck with you as being notably excellent? Tag it in your answer so we can all find some new fun to read! If you want, of course; feel free to ignore! 💕

🤩 oh what a fun idea!! I would LOVE to gush about some really cool artists, thank you 😁

I'll start with @shyranno, whose art I absolutely adore. her style is so clean and expressive and colorful, and she makes amazing comics. the TBB Downtime series is exactly my kinda Clone content, filled with lots of fluff and feels. the "baby" batch ones are my favorite, but I'm also fond of this one where Tech gets teased from not being able to grow a beard 😜

another artist I really love is @zaana! she also draws a lot of really sweet and funny moments with TBB, and I'm super fond of her more sketchy style of drawing. she's got a "Crosshair defects the Empire" AU about Cross rejoining TBB sometime during season 2 that I love soooooo much. honestly, all her stuff with Crosshair (especially the ones with Omega) is top tier. although I think my top favorite is this one with Hunter and Crosshair (which @questforgalas also wrote an amazing oneshot about!); it's so simple but so sweet, and I automatically love any wholesome content between these two 🥰

then there's @lightspringrain, who makes beautiful portraits of TBB. I've been wanting to buy some of her prints (and will absolutely do so once I have the money!!) because they are seriously gorgeous. her "Crown" series is the best, it's so lovely! and she does an amazing job capturing the style of the show! to no one's surprise, my favorites are the Hunter and Omega moon crowns. the Hunter one is legit one of my favorite art piece ever; it's been my lockscreen on my phone ever since I saw it 💙

someone I recently started following is @thattoothpick! after seeing her "TBB Happy on Pabu" comics, I had to see more. the best way I can describe her style is "soft". everything is just so soft; the lines, the colors, all of it. it just makes me happy 😊 I have two favorite pieces; the first is this one about Hunter and Crosshair from the Pabu series. literally made me cry. I need this to happen SO badly 🥺 and then this one that I refer to as "the Sad Batch"... oh man. also had me crying (but also simping for obvious reasons LOL) 😭

now for a big one. I can easily say my favorite SW related artist of all time is @lornaka. her art... holy crap y'all. it's so freaking good. she makes everything from simple portraits to stunning dynamic pieces, and I'm obsessed with all of it. she even was featured during SW Celebration last year!! she's that good!! \o/ I have a few favorites of hers. which obviously includes the TBB poster she made for Celebration. still sad I couldn't get my own copy of it 💔 then there's this... lovely portrait of Hunter from behind. oh Lordy 🥵 and finally, my top favorite is actually this simple portrait of Hunter. I had it as my lockscreen for a LONG time. it's just... so good. the colors, the stars, his expression... I'm still obsessed 😍

finally, I can't talk about amazing artists without mentioning my sister @jam-n-ham. her art account is @joyjababanoid. y'all. please just scroll through her TBB art, you will not regret it. I've always adored her cartoony and expressive style, and it makes for hilarious Clone content LOL. she did a bunch of drawings for Inktober last year, solely focused around TBB. she's also done some comics that I've had a part in helping her develop (specifically the Padme pin-up art and the AZI going on a mission). but my absolute favorite is by far the Valentines collection. y'aaaaaaaall. I had the Hunter one as my phone background for over a year haha. she knows how to personally get to me, let's just say that 🥵

oh, and one last thing I wanna mention is that the one thing these folks all have in common, aside from being fantastic artists, is that I love how each of them draw my bae. seriously, y'all draw Hunter so good, and I'm smooching each of your different versions of him 🥰😘

thanks for letting me gush about some cool people!! everyone show them some much deserved love please!! 💙💙💙