#art block killer for real

[kruelsaffron]

Go away Gary!!!

this is prob sized really small it’s just a screenshot Since I can’t download the actual drawing ^_^’’

[tapipolouzer]

art block sycks and the only thing i've been able to draw are unhinged stuff !!

[paperibbon]

ink stained hand (will you hold it?)

chapter i: bookstore girls pairing: poly!feysand x reader series sum. A bookseller’s simple life turns upside down when she becomes fast companions of the Night Court’s Inner Circle. When she develops feelings for the most powerful couple in Prythian, how will she get over the golden thread of fate that pulls them ever so far apart?

The sun was high in the sky, and the sweat stuck to the back of your shirt with a vengeance, plastering the material to you like a second skin. As forgiving and endearing as summer was, children laughing in the streets, people bustling about in sheer, bright colors, the heat could be killer.

Especially waiting in lines like these. 

The queue snaked around the block, everyone from fae that lived on farmland outside of Velaris, to shopkeepers, to families of all shapes and sizes. You’d thought the heat might thin it out a bit, maybe send some people to find shelter and shade, to stand in front of an icebox maybe; but alas. It was just as long as it was a few hours ago. You clutched the papers you’d written up months prior to your chest, lifting your hair from your neck in an attempt to elicit some sort of cooling effect.

You, like many, many others were grateful to your High Lord, and newly minted High Lady for these meetings. Even if not everything was fixed, most people walked out with a respect you were sure you couldn’t say other courts held for their rulers. And the papers you’d slaved over, finding just the right words to propose your idea, well, you hoped they’d hear you out, if nothing else.

Smoothing down the front of your skirts, you surveyed the people in front of you. Three bodies. Three people. Three more appointments to suffer in the heat until you were face-to-face with people who could grant your dreams, or crush them kindly in their fists. Your heart stuttered, thick, humid air winding its way through your nose, and out. Two. Then, the curly haired fae with a sour expression on her pale blue face that had stood before you for the past three hours marched into the heavy open doors, and you were twisting your fingers in flighty anticipation. You couldn’t hear her voice, even at your proximity, and it relieved something in you to know that this wouldn’t leave this room. Your sorry request, your whimsical fantasy would stay stuck in the air between your High Lady, High Lord, and you.

The guard positioned at the gate gave you a wry smile, a rosy hue to her cheeks, the sweat slicking her orange hair to her brow. You were sure you looked similar, frazzled and sweaty, sickeningly anxious and delighted all at the same time.

“You’ll be fine.” Her voice was accented lightly, like nothing you’d ever heard before. You grew up here, in the Night Court, barely a child when Amarantha terrorized the land, now, a fully grown female with stars in her eyes.

You nodded your thanks. She simply smiled wider.

When the doors opened again and the fae from before walked out, a wind flirted across your cheeks curling in your hair. A greeting.

“First door on your left. Can’t miss it.” A smooth wink, and the door thumped shut behind you. 

The marble tiling was smooth, dark, and flecked with silver. How Night Court. You couldn’t stop your head from swiveling as you traversed the hall, ornate art hung on either side, a show of wealth, of power. You recognized some of the scenes, the High Lady fearlessly facing off against Hybern’s forces at the Rainbow, the Night Court’s general sweeping low onto the battlefield, the Lady’s sister, fearsome, cloaked in silver flames like a phoenix. Your eyes shifted towards the open doorway, thick wooden carvings of an animal you couldn’t place, scales expertly carved, fangs and talons almost as sharp as you’d imagine the creature carried in real life. Absently, your hand curled around a claw jutting from the frame, the stable wood almost warm beneath your fingers.

“Admiring the woodworking?” A soft voice cut through the silence, and you turned, abruptly, eyes wide. 

“I’m so sorry.” You stuttered, the words falling out without a thought. The High Lady was standing, a stunning lilac dress tailored to her form, golden and silver stars stitched delicately in sporadic patterns. A golden circlet, plain, yet stately sat at her raised brows, warm sea blue eyes crinkled into a smile. You balked, face pinching into an expression that could only be described as shameful, hands twisting in your old linen skirt, the drab color sticking out like a sore thumb. The High Lord was absent, the chair next to hers empty, but you felt no relief from that. The High Lady was just as imposing.

“Don’t be.” A flick of her wrist towards the chair across from them sent you into action, and you lowered yourself into the plush seat. “Would you like anything to drink or eat? How long have you been out there?”

Her voice seemed too perfect, too hypnotic for your ears. You found yourself blinking, twice, three times before you registered her question.

“I’m okay, truly.” Food would make you barf, so bad move there. From the looks of this place, any glass they’d offer you was likely three times the sum of your rent, and your shaking hands would send it shattering across the floor. “And not long, my lady.”

“Hm.” The sound was low, like the rumble of the ground beneath your feet, and your head felt inclined to dip. The High Lord was just as intimidating as you’d expected; dressed in all black, a matching circlet to his mate’s glinted in the faelight, his hands folded neatly into his pockets. “We don’t take kindly to liars.”

The expression that flickered across your face must have been comically scared, from the way the Lady’s eyes hardened to sheer ice.

“Rhys.” The lovely voice, the bells you would follow to the ends of the earth, possibly, shot out like a crop. 

The High Lord leveled you with a look that would have sent males twice your age running for the hills, and you thought about it. You considered hiking your skirts up, tucking your pitiful tail between your legs, and dashing out of here as fast as your legs could carry you. Instead, you smoothed out the papers in your hands, lowered your gaze, and began to read from the page.

“Thank you for your audience.” You began, eyes tracking your scribbling. “I wanted to first extend my gratitude for not only this moment, but the neverending support that you both have shown your people. I thank you for that.” A glance up, and your eyes connected with the starflecked violet gaze of your High Lord. Something in your gut twisted violently at his lowered brow, and your hand passed briefly over where your heart titered in your chest. “I here to ask for something that may be small to you, but is quite big to me.”

The rest of the words bleed together on the page in front of you, and with a sigh, you fold the paper along the edges, and cover the square with your palms. You know what you want, it swirls in your gut, tugs on your heart. It’s hanging from the biggest and brightest star, and this is the only chance you might have to dream for it, to hope that it might, one day, be real, might be a whisper of fruition eddying towards your open arms. 

“I’ve dreamed for my whole life that one day, I might make a difference. That someday, something might make me matter to someone.” Your voice teetered on breaking. “My mother and father are long gone. I have no brothers, no sisters. I don’t have many friends to speak of, and I’m sure I speak of them more than they speak of me. What I’m asking for is stupid, but to me, it’s a dream.” A saccharine smile aimed at your twisting hands, before your head pulls back to finally look at the two most powerful people you’ve ever known. “Have you ever had stupid dreams?”

The question hangs in the air like a feather. Your fingers flex, like you might reach out and snatch it back.

“No dream is stupid.” The High Lord’s eyes blink with stars. It’s mesmerizing. It’s terrifying. His gaze doesn’t stray from you, and it spreads a heat across the tip of your nose, peaking your ears. 

You pick at the edge of the paper neatly pressed to your thighs, peeling a corner back, folding it on the edge, and ripping along the seam as you swish your thoughts around in your head.

“This one might be.” Your smile is wistful, if not sad, like a flower blowing in the cold wind of winter, the laughter of a grown child. 

The scrape of a chair, and your High Lady has inched ever so close to you, her knees almost touching yours, the hazy purple gauze flirting against the skin of her legs as she shifts. It makes your heart beat that much quicker, her beauty, her close proximity, the power you feel rolling off her. You’ve been caught in storms before, but she’s like lightning itself. Soft, strong hands cup yours, and you almost jerk back out of sheer surprise, but the quirk of her lips makes your own soften into a smile.

“It’s okay to wish for silly things.” 

Years ago, you might have agreed with her.

Today, you aren’t so sure.

“High Lady, High Lord,” You say, eyes stuck on a freckle at the base of her thumb, tracing the lines of the jet black tattoo that curls up her wrist. “I want to find purpose.”

You could hear a pin drop.

The High Lady’s eyes glazed over, the stormy sea calming to a rolling fog. Daring a glance at the High Lord, you noticed a similar look in his eyes, the purple sky a calming shade of lilac, his eyes unfocused. You didn’t dare breathe, catching a gasp in your chest when they both finally resurfaced, a sharp snap in their gaze like you’d clicked your fingers for their attention. It was odd to have such resounding attention from two people who could crush the world around you with a blink, who could kill you without batting an eye. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, but you weren’t sure if it was terror, or great awe.

“That’s your wish?” The High Lord’s voice is startling all of a sudden, though you know it shouldn’t be. You blink, once, twice, and then nod, a simple strong shake of your head.

“That’s my wish.” You feel pitiful as you shrug your shoulders, but the High Lady squeezes your hands in hers. “I understand if you can’t grant it, I do. I greatly understand. In fact, I know you probably won’t be able to. And that’s alright with me. I’m just glad you’ve listened.”  It’s lighter than the rest of your conversation, the almost laughing tone your voice takes on. You pull back from the hands on top of yours, nodding gratefully. You hope you look sincere as you lower your head in a makeshift bow. “Thank you for that. For your hearts.”

You stood, not waiting for dismissal, which might have been a stupid decision. It might have cost you more than just pure embarrassment, the flush taking on a different, less welcome heat as it cloaked your shoulders and pressed into your chest. You did a poor curtsy, out of nothing more than a sorry excuse for respect to the two, and fled the room without a glance in either direction, even as something molten, something tight in your chest tugged away at you.

You didn’t even realize in your haste, the paper you’d meticulously, ever-so-carefully tended to for the last months had toppled to the floor, scrawled with sprawling words. 

Your wish.

-

The sun was still hot and high in the sky as you slunk into the shop, and the book you were using as a fan was doing nothing to combat the heat. Leaned against the entryway, holding the hair off the back of your neck and rapidly flapping the flimsy romance novel in your hand in hopes that even the smallest breeze would cool you down. The magic that typically kept the shop well ventilated was on the fritz, sending wayward gusts of air that ruffled through the pages on hand before stopping altogether, levitating teacups and coffee mugs in the air before dropping them and sending any liquid spilling onto the floor, opening and closing the curtains at will. 

“Hi, lovely!” The seamstress across the way waved at you with a lacy handkerchief, brown hair piled high on her head, a sheen of sweat dotted across her brow and smearing the silvery make-up she’d carefully used to decorate her eyes. 

“Hi, Dia.” You raised the book in greeting, letting your  hair drop from your hand. She sent you  a smile in greeting before escaping inside her shop, the wooden sign in her window swinging proudly from CLOSED to OPEN. 

With a great sigh, you tipped your head back and listened to the busy street with shut eyes. Children squealed on the street, couples tittered back and forth. Some called your name in greeting, and you waved lazily, eyes still shut, lulled into a sense of hazy drowsiness. Your flushed cheek pressed into the door sleepily, until a wet, cold object was shoved under your collar. 

Eyes flying open, the book fell to the floor, hands flinging to the back of your shirt, hopping from one foot to the next. Finally, the ice cube dropped from your dress to the floor, and you whirled on the culprit. 

“Sammy!” The accused giggled, eyes slit in amused mischief. “You pest!” 

Sammy was the delivery boy, and the bane of your existence. He was a child, only seventeen, with a boyish roundness to his cheeks and an inane personality that would make the sweetest person in Prythian think about bashing him on the head once or twice. It was his mission to make every day you lived harder than the last, but his mother, the owner of the neighboring bakery, thought it was because he fancied you a tad. You couldn’t tell if she was having a laugh, or had too much faith in her only child. You were much too old for him anyways.

“Who said I even did anything?” His blue lips pulled into a pout, his ears flicked and his red eyes widened like that of a street dog. “Mean, mean girl.”

Setting your jaw and bending down to swipe the book from the floor and make your way into the shop, you shot him a mean glare, something to make flowers wither, and little boys cry. He was standing by the back door, a sure sign that a shipment was docked, tightening the string on the front of his sleeveless tunic. Sliding behind the counter, leaving the book on the top, you moved around him to peer at what he’d delivered. 

It was a small box, unusual, but not uncommon, with a dainty golden lock holding it shut. You tilted your head around the boy, trying to get a better look at the thing. It was probably a special edition for one of our wealthier clients, but you hadn’t seen any sort of order like that go through in months, hadn’t heard a whisper of what this could even be. Without thinking, you started towards it out of sheer curiosity, but Sammy stepped in front of it with a sharp toothed grin and held his hand out.

“Payment first, please.” 

You rolled your eyes so hard, the planet did another spin.

“Greedy.”

Shouldering around him, you made your way to the lockbox and shook out a few gold pieces. His palm was cold and damp when you passed them over to him, and with a smirk like an alley cat, he disappeared down the alley and left you with the mysterious package. 

The box was ornate and wooden, the lock glinting on the outside with the winking of the sun through the windows. Approaching it with cautious curiosity, you reached out and grasped the lock, feeling its cool metal under my fingertips. Giving it a good tug, your feet slid out from under you, sending you sprawling to the floor in an instant; the box was heavy - like it was filled with a million rocks, ten ton weights, and a heavy book. Stretching your leg out towards the thing, you nudged it with the tip of your toe, hoping for some kind of movement but, alas - nothing. Abandoning caution, your leg reeled back and kicked the thing as hard as you could, only to be met with searing pain that reverberated through the bones of your shin. With a resigned huff,  you stood, brushing off dust from your skirt, and left it behind the counter with another, less fierce, more defiant kick for good measure.

Stupid thing. 

The box seemed to respond, the smallest of noises —the faint shuffle of the lock settling into place. It wasn't laughter, of course, but in that moment, it might as well have been. 

The day was sluggish and hot into the afternoon. Little to no customers stopped in, and Elias, the owner of the store, had left me alone for the morning. You did your duties; swept the aisles aimlessly, fronted all the books in the history section, wiped the counters at the tea stand. You even ventured to organize the pillows and blankets in the reading section, which was a loathsome task due to the sheer number of them littered about. Finally, when the sun was high in the sky with no promise of a cloud, Reana, the only other worker at the shop, slunk into the shop. 

Her inky hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and the clothes she wore were thin and airy, a short cream top with no straps, and a loose matching skirt that showed off a fair bit of her long legs. Her tanned skin was flushed with the heat, and her glasses sat low on her nose, the chain that held them along her neck softly clinking against itself.  

“I am sweating through every layer of clothing.” Her voice was scratchy, like smoke on a foggy day.

“Elias needs to re-up these stupid wards before I try myself.” Crossing the room from the little nook you’d been tidying up, you offered her a smile as a greeting. 

“Oh, don’t do that to us.” She snorted. With a flick of her hand, the tea stand bustled to life. “The last time you tried, it set us back decades.”

She was exaggerating, of course. The last time you’d tried to enforce the feeble wards on the store, it’d knocked every book out of the shelves and broken almost every mug and cup in sight. Your magic was not strong, it wasn’t practiced, and it sure as the Mother wasn’t controlled.

“Can you make some cold drinks? Maybe?” You plopped yourself down on a rickety red stool, chipped and discolored from use. “Milk tea would be lovely.”

Reana works the tea and coffee portion of the shop. While you could make an adequate cup, she was versed in fancy drinks and conversation; two things you did not have the skillset for. Her head dipped as she moved towards the counter, working meticulously to pull together the things she needed. Each movement was a choreographed dance, as she deftly poured and mixed, her fingers moving with the precision of a seamstress. The glasses sitting on her nose fogged up as she leaned down to sniff the spiced pot of tea on her small stove. She set the milky drink in front of you, the icey glass heavenly against my hands as you sipped at it casually, lolling my head back and forth as you drank. As the both of you sat in silence, the ambient sounds of the bustling street outside drifted in through the open window, mingling with the soft clink of ice cubes in our glasses. 

Gratefully, she doesn’t ask about the meeting you had today. Gratefully, she keeps her eyes trained on her tasks. Gratefully, you don’t have to explain anything to her.

Until…

Until the bell on the front door rings, and in steps the High Lord, the paper you’d apparently forgotten pinched between his thumb and his forefinger, the smile of a jester playing across his lips.

“Hello,” Voice like smooth, rich coffee colors the air. “I believe you’ve forgotten something.”

[chellestrash]

After work

Fox Mudler x F!Reader summary: You decide to make the unwinding after work a bit more interesting for Mulder warnings: teasing, mentions of smut, implied smut. Just something short, sweet and fun for the end of the year. word count: 2.2K a/n: this is me trying to get out of my writing/art block. ALSO, first time writing Mulder! Thank you @chelseasdagger for editing this!

You lay on the small couch in Mulder’s apartment, resting on your side, turned to face the room as the gentle light from the TV shines onto your face. Some low budget horror movie plays quietly on the small screen, but to be completely honest, you don’t pay much attention to it, choosing to have it on as a means of killing time. You usually finish your work before Mulder does, even on the off chance he might leave the office at a normal hour. Killing time until you get to see him in the evening wasn't an unusual thing for you now you didn't mind it.

A cheap gag in the movie makes you sigh quietly before you look away, glancing up at the small window above Mulder's desk. You frown, suddenly realizing the late hour. 

You check the time, squinting at the clock on the bookshelf next to the sofa, before glancing at the phone on the desk. 

The thought of calling him passes by your mind, but you brush it off quickly. You weren't too worried about him, not today, the case him and Scully have been currently working on didn't seem particularly dangerous or high risk, at least not from what he's been able to share with you over the phone. 

The subtle sound of house keys on the other side of the door to the apartment makes you smile, perking your head up and turning to face him.

“Well, well, well…look who's here.”

He speaks first, pretending he wasn't expecting to see you there. 

“You mind telling me how you managed to get into my apartment, ma’am?”

Rolling your eyes at the tease, you turn away to face the TV again.

“I broke in using the keys you gave me.”

You explain without taking your eyes off of the movie, snuggling into the pillow harder while he pulls the work jacket off his shoulders and makes his way over to the couch. 

“Well, damn.”

He mumbles quietly, his usual monotone voice makes the corner of your lips pull up slightly.

“I need to be more careful about handing out my spare keys, huh? I mean, what is this? It's like anyone can just walk in, lay on my couch and make themselves at home.”

“Oh, anyone?”

You raise your eyebrow, glancing up at him in an accusatory manner.

“Well…”

His lips push into a small pout.

“You got me, I give up.”

You breathe out a small laugh as he leans down, pressing his lips to the side of your head gently before moving away. He loosens the tie around his neck and tosses it off to the side before he unbuttons the top couple of buttons on his shirt.

“So…”

He starts after a moment once you pull your legs closer to your chest to make room for him on the couch by your feet. He sits down, lifting your legs up slightly just to rest them gently in his lap.

“What are we watching?”

He asks, fingers slowly rubbing up and down your calves.

“Ummm…not sure. Killer clowns, I think?”

“UUUuu, spooky.”

Mulder hums, unimpressed, and you chuckle at the reaction. There's a pause and you both actually pay attention to the movie for a short while.

“Aliens?”

You glance over at him, catching the small smile when you ask the work related question.

“No um… no, it was vampires, actually.”

He explains and you nod.

“Real ones?”

The smile widens as you seem genuinely interested. At least somewhat.

“Well…technically, yeah, you could say that but, you know.”

“No evidence?”

He shrugs.

“No evidence.”

“I mean, it's a possibility, right? You've handled cases like that before.”

You state, and Mulder nods, agreeing with you, his hand slowly rubbing over your thigh. He turns away from the TV, now looking directly at you.

“Do you think I should remind you that that is classified government information, you technically know nothing about, huh?”

“Oh, I'm soooorry.”

You talk back, head now propped up in your hand, face turned away from the movie you found yourself no longer interested in watching.

“Guess I just overheard it when you were talking in your sleep.”

“Hey!’

Mulder reacts immediately, and you can't help the laugh leaving your body when he pulls you up and into his lap with a slightly offended expression.

“.... I talk in my sleep?”

He asks, hands rubbing over your lower back while you throw your leg onto the other side of him, straddling his thighs in effect.

“Oh, not at all.”

You mumble quietly, pushing a couple strands of hair that fell forward onto his forehead away from his face with a soft smile, and he offers a small one in return.

“You know what? If I didn't know you any better, I would've said that didn't sound too convincing.”

He points out in the quiet, monotone voice, and you shrug your shoulders softly.

“I mean, I could’ve just read your mind, and you'd never know.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He asks with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“You're changing your confession now?”

He teases in a typical Mulder manner, and your smile grows bigger as you tilt your head to the side, letting him continue after a moment.

“So what-what you're trying to say is I work a case all week, and then I come back home to relax, and now I have another X-file on my hands? Is that what you're trying to say?”

You smirk, glancing up at him innocently.

“Oh, I'm not trying to say anything except that I missed you.”

He smiles so big, his teeth shine in the light of the TV screen.

“Me? You, missed ME?”

You hum quietly, confirming your confession as you rub your hand up along his chest.

“Well, that's good to know. Why didn't you call to tell me earlier, hmm?”

“Didn't want to interrupt you at work.”

You explain yourself, and he shakes his head gently before whispering your name softly. 

“You are the only person who I want to interrupt my work, okay?”

His thumb brushes over your cheek, and you lean into the touch, staring into those dark brown, puppy dog eyes. 

“Okay.”

“So you missed me?”

He goes back to your earlier point, and you breathe out a small laugh.

“I need to try and remember that next time I'm at the office, huh?”

“I mean.”

You brush your hand over his shoulder and down his arms.

“I wouldn't complain.”

You shift your position in his lap, and he grunts, feeling the weight of your body now directly between his legs, his grip on you tightening slightly. 

“Oh, but I know you have your vampires and aliens and things you need to deal with over there.”

You speak softly, your fingers gently tracing over the shirt. Your head tilts to the side slightly as you try to make sure your words actually reach him. His eyes jump around your face as you talk, stopping at your lips for longer than they would in a usual conversation before he tilts his head down, eyes now fixed on the spot where your body presses against him between his legs. His hand moves up your back, pushing at the hem of your shirt.

“Hey.”

You start again when he doesn't respond.

“Earth to Mulder?”

“Hmm?”

He mumbles, questioning what you've just said, clearly too lost in the situation to pay actual attention to what's being said.

“When did you stop listening?”

“What?”

He blinks a couple of times before frowning, offended that you’d question his ability to listen to you…under the circumstances.

“Oh, I actually heard everything, for your information.”

He states confidently, and you raise your eyebrows, doubting his words.

“Oh, you did?”

He nods, slipping his hand right under your shirt, his palm flat against your bare back now.

“Yep, everything, yeah. Loud and clear.”

Still slightly out of it, he nods again quickly, doing his best to sound as convincing as possible despite the evidence you feel, oh so clearly, pressing against your body from underneath you.

“So, what did I say?”

You push.

“You said you missed me.”

He starts, and you can't really argue with that.

“And then you also mentioned how I am the best looking federal agent you ever dated, I'm pretty sure.”

Not giving you much time to disagree, or call him out, he raises you off of his lap, swiftly helping you lay back down on the couch. You lay under him as he leans closer to you, his hands playing with the hem of your shirt, his eyes stuck on yours. 

“I don't think I said that.”

You frown.

“But you said you missed me.”

He points out again.

“And you called me an X-File.”

You mumble, unimpressed, and he laughs, shaking his head before it hangs low above your chest.

“I mean, you could argue that was a compliment? Maybe?”

You roll your eyes, a smile back on your face as you decide to let him have it this one time.

“Okay, yeah, that's what I'll do.”

You glance down, slowly raising your knee up, nudging at the bulge in his gray slacks. 

Mulder hums quietly, grinding his hips down slightly as a response to your move. His hands linger over your body, one now under your shirt, the other on the side of your neck.

“Yeah?”

He asks, his voice soft, his touch gentle but impatient.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah and-”

He leans down, pressing his lips against your neck, and you tilt your head back slightly in response, a silent invitation for him to continue.

“I think I deserve some extra credit.”

He mumbles, his words breaking up between the kisses. He slowly moves lower and lower down your torso as he pulls the fabric of your shirt up to expose more and more of your skin, until finally pulling the fabric off and over your head. He tosses the shirt off to the side and his lips find their way back to your body, right above the waistband of your jeans.

“Credit for?”

You glance back down, your hands pushing through his hair when he looks back up into your eyes, lost in the moment, in the kisses and in the feel of your body under his.

“Creativity?”

You laugh, head falling back down onto the couch, fingers still in his hair as you feel his lips back on your body.

“Yeah, okay, I'll give you that.”

You purr softly. As gentle as possible, you scratch at the back of his neck, the short hair prickling the tips of your fingers softly. He lets out a satisfied hum, resting his head right below your belly button, facing you with his eyes directly on yours. You push your hips up slightly, feeling his fingers brush over the sides of your body, and he glances down between your legs before turning his head up to look towards your face again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you get extra points, Agent Mulder. Now c'mere.”

Instructing him to move closer to you, you push your lips against his when his face is inches away from yours. He moans into the kiss, and in response you do the same as the kiss deepens more and more. Feeling his touch firmer on your body now, you reach down, palming the bulge through the fabric of his pants. There's a loud grunt, he breaks the kiss, his lips parted, eyes closed as his lips curl up into a big smile.

“Well, good job, me.”

He mumbles quietly, tracing his hand down your body, fingers curling under the waistband of your jeans while his big, brown eyes open and find yours once again. 

“I think maybe-maybe I should try to earn more of these points, huh?”

Mulder asks, his thumb rubbing over the skin above your jeans.

“I think you really should.”

You agree quickly, nodding and pushing your hips up slightly at the same time.

“You got any-”

He pauses for a moment, placing a wet kiss on the skin right under your belly button, and you feel the warmth between your legs grow significantly stronger.

“Any idea how I could do that?”

He kisses the same spot again, then moves slightly lower, then lower and lower again before working the zipper open. Slowly pulling the fabric down your thighs, he brushes his lips over the newly exposed skin, and a moan slips past your lips.

He chuckles loudly at the sound, shaking his head when you look back down with a soft smirk.

“Oh, Agent Mulder, I think you know very well how you can do that.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He asks, in a lighter tone this time.

“I mean, I'm pretty much just guessing here, I-”

He quickly glances between your two bodies.

“I have precisely zero idea what I am doing here right now.”

You scoff loudly, pushing his face away and letting your head fall back onto the couch again.

“Too much sarcasm, too little action there, Mulder.”

You squirm impatiently under his body, hungry from the promise of pleasure.

“Copy that.”

He nods quickly, the big smile never leaving his face for even a second before he buries his face between your legs.

[weird-alex125]

Here’s an older drawing that I love because art block is a real killer

[faiszt]

✦ ⠀.⠀° ⠀BOT DUMP :⠀ by⠀﹫⠀faiszt ⠀/ᐠ - ˕ -マ⠀♡

NOTES⠀. ᰰ⠀ hey, babies! i wasn't planning on releasing these five bots today, but i was really looking forward to it and wanted to give you guys something special ˊᗜˋ ~

PS.⠀remember, bots are not real. take care of yourself.⠀🩶

▸⠀CHALLENGERS⠀*⠀˖⠀🎾

𝅭⠀trick or treat?⠀.⠀art donaldson⠀૮⠀since childhood, halloween was art's favorite holiday along with trick-or-treating. but, after his retirement, divorce, and the fact that his daughter barely wanted to spend some time with him, he started ignoring his favorite day... until you showed up, much to his delight.⠀♡ gender neutral!

▸⠀GROTESQUERIE⠀*⠀˖⠀🩺

𝅭⠀internship⠀.⠀charlie mayhew⠀૮⠀halloween night, the worst time of year to work all night as an intern in st. agatha general hospital, especially if you hated halloween with every fiber of your body and hadn't had a proper rest in days. charlie was really worried that your past traumas wouldn't let you work.⠀♡ gender neutral!

𝅭⠀briarcliff asylum⠀.⠀charlie & kit⠀૮⠀when he chose to be a therapist, charlie never imagined that he would become the therapist of a serial killer, not to the point where the court decided that he was responsible for bloody face himself. the main question was the same, was kit the criminal or the victim?⠀♡ female!user

▸⠀AMERICAN HORROR STORY⠀*⠀˖⠀🔪

𝅭⠀comforting madness⠀.⠀kit walker⠀૮⠀accused of crimes he swore on his life he didn't commit, kit was increasingly at rock bottom, with no way out and alone. he just wanted to give up on life once and for all, until he found someone as imperfect as him.⠀♡ gender neutral!

𝅭⠀sharp-toothed husband⠀.⠀harry gardner⠀૮⠀his innocence in believing that moving to a beach town for the winter would help him forget about the creative block that haunted him. harry was lost and more frustrated than ever, trying to hide his bloodlust and sharp teeth from a pregnant you. oops, too late for him, you caught him red-handed.⠀♡ female!user

[sqoks-aesthetics]

ok listen Those ships make me uncomfy too but judging someones morals solely on dark/weird FICTIONAL media they consume with no evidence whatsoever that they support it irl is such ass backwards logic please think critically about this

ty for answering my last ask; if proshippers dont do their freak shit here can they rb ur stuff?? or nahhh

[ that would make me uncomfortable is the answer i can tell.

im saying this bcus like????? they didnt do freaks stuff on tumblr except other social medias??? i gotta be honest thats the weirdest and suspicious shit ive ever seen. bcus that still mean that they're STILL proshipper but in keep it secret on this site 😬 i know this bcus i've met someone who secretly proshipper but pretend to be not till i found out that got exposed on their twitter acc

so what im saying that if anyone here proshipper OR secretly is, do not interact is still do not interact. stop play pretend "hehe im not proshipper so im with you guys!!" while you sniffing over your obsession with minor/adult ships in freako way behind us!! im sick of it! i've had enough!!! im so tired]

[cupcakeslushie]

Any advice for someone who's going through art block?

Art block is so difficult, because I really think it’s down to each individual person finding what helps for them.

For me, I more often just try to power through. Because if I do stop to take a break, there’s a danger, where I know I’ll get stuck for weeks, just lazing about, not getting anything done. Then it’s really hard to get back in the swing of things. But this method of being stubborn, might be horrible advice for someone whose mental health really suffers from staying in that mindset of “failing, failing, failing”. Because that’s what it can feel like, when you’re not seeing the results you want. It can be very frustrating, and it either causes you to grow even more stuck, or it lights a fire in your ass to keep you going until you’ve forced it.

Both of these methods aren’t necessarily unhealthy or bad, but they simply work for you, or they don’t. And what helps, can often change based on your mindset and energy levels.

If powering through ever does fail me, (like it kinda has recently lol). Then, I’ll throw up my hands and accept that life is telling me to take a freaking break. In a week or two, I can come back when I’m rested and inspiration hits again. Because even I have points where I just have to listen to what my brain is telling me—despite the fact that all I want to do is be drawing nonstop lol.

Ill watch some tv, listen to some music, read, cook. Whatever is relaxing. And most of these things will provide me with enough chill vibes that I can jump back in when I’m ready!

It’s all about listening to yourself and knowing when to actually give your mind and body a break.

But, If you’re coming in well rested and bright-eyed, and the art block is still popping up, maybe it’s less art block, and more just your brain being slow to switch tasks. Do some warm up sketch exercises, get up and jump around to get your blood pumping. Browse your feeds for inspiration, but set an alarm to give yourself a certain amount of time so you don’t fall down the rabbit hole. Play some banging music to get your energy up. Staring at a blank, white canvas is hardly the proper kind of stimulating activity lol. You’ll rarely find any ideas that way.

There’s plenty of methods to handling art block. The real killer of it, is more when you let it pull you into this loop of self deprecation/sabotage that only gets worse the longer you sit in it. Art block isn’t failure on your part, it doesn’t need to be punished, or mean you’re lacking as an artist.

It’s an unavoidable part of the creative process, you learn how to handle it, and how to sail through it when it hits.

It’ll either blow over when it’s ready, or when you’ve developed a good strategy to hurry it along.

[seireitonin]

Quick rant on some stupid discourse

“This fandom doesn’t take horror seriously!1!!1!1 it’s just a bunch of ocs!1!1!1!1😡” Bro, Creepypasta has always been goofy af. Even the word“Creepypasta” sounds goofy. Literally every Creepypasta Character is someone’s oc, made my a traumatized angsty teen or young adult in 2011-2016. You expect us to read some silly shit like Jeff the Killer and be shaking in our boots? (Still like Jeff btw) Get real. I like the “realistic and scary” portrayals of the Creepypasta characters too! But I also love fanon. This fandom was literally based off fun. I hate when ppl come with this “im better than you” mindset bc they don’t like fanon/ want them to be scary only. I really can’t stand it. This fandom has always been based on fun and comfort. Everyone made the popular Creepypasta characters for fun and sometimes to vent/ be a self insert. Ppl are acting like we didn’t have comics and fics where they lived in a mansion together and chilled like a family with a y/n insert because ppl were comforted by these characters , myself included. Ppl act like we didn’t always have goofy/ silly fan art. Ppl act like these aren’t vent characters that brought comfort to lots of ppl. Ppl act like the creators themselves didn’t make silly, goofy fun content with their own characters. (Laughing jack, ticci Toby, bloody painter, etc for example all their creators drew them/ portrayed in fun ways in content I still rewatch) Let’s not forget our roots. Creepypasta (the character based side of it) is still so loved and popular because of the fun stuff like that that people can look back on fondly. Why does it make you so mad that ppl want to use the characters differently than you/ make fanon content? So these “ocs” are only decent/ okay when you use them your way and have your seal of approval??? Please be serious. This is coming from someone who likes Fanon and canon. One isn’t better than the other. You’re not better than everyone else because you want to make them “realistic and scary” let that mindset go. Let people have fun. Let people find comfort where they want. Seeing people having fun and being comforted shouldn’t make you mad. The block button exists and is free. Just block them and only interact with the side of the fandom you want to see. There’s multiple sides of it. I block content I don’t want to see all the time. Doesn’t mean I hate these people or their content, I just don’t want to see it personally. But I don’t go around unironically shaming people for content I don’t like. Because that’s dumb. (Unless it’s something awful like using offenderman, demonizing mental illness etc I have called people out for this, semi - respectfully before) Shaming people for not portraying Creepypasta characters made my angsty teens and adults in the way you specifically want to see them/ be portrayed is just so silly. This fandom doesn’t revolve around you and what you want. Or anyone for that matter. Respect other people. No one’s “better” than anyone. Because everyone sees and uses and portrays the characters differently and that’s always been the best part of this fandom. The freedom, creativity, fun and comfort. That’s how it’s always been. Nothings changed.

[bettyfrommars]

Nightmare Eddie fluff 🥹 🤡👻

nightmare!eddie x reader

The light is blinding, and you try to blink it away, eyes watering a bit at the sudden violence of it.

"It's okay, you're with me," you can hear Eddie's voice, coaxing you into his world. "You're safe."

You're in a wide-open field with grasses up to your knees, and the high noon sun bore down on you like the Eye of Sauron. You focus on his face, the shape of it framed by dark locks, and the way his skin sparkles.

You take a moment to make sure your dreaming eyes aren't playing tricks.

"Are you...covered in glitter?" You ask. He looks like a kindergarten art project, or one of those disco balls made of tiny, mirrored squares, and when the rays reflected off of him, it makes you see spots.

"Is it too much?" He asks self-consciously, placing a hand on his cheek. "I thought you would like it?"

"What?"

"Like those vampires in the show," he blinks a few times. "The ones that sparkle. They're scary, right?"

"Eddie, um, could you turn the sun down just a bit?"

"Oh, sure, right," he pushes a button on his digital watch and the sky fills with clouds, like fluffy stage curtains, blocking the ball of fire above, making you exhale a sigh of relief.

"So, what do you think?" He scoots closer and takes your hand. Every exposed inch of his flesh looks like it's covered in faerie dust now, or metallic body paint. He darts one eyebrow up and down a few times dramatically. "Are you scared?"

You nod, thoughtfully, mirroring the way one side of his mouth kicks up in a playful grin.

"You look like a real killer, baby."

[necroromantics]

Reminder that Tumblr has a filter tag feature so if you dont like certain posts you can always block them 👍 I personally dont feel comfortable reading NSFW content so I just block the tags and move on. No need to hate on people creating things even if its not what you deem ok, good, or comfortable. Art is art, and it's authoritarian to tell people what they can/cant make

And the Creepypasta fandom has always been a half/half of horror and fun. The dynamics between the two are what make the fandom so unique. Having fun with fictional horror characters is not the same as romanticizing serial killers, or disrespecting real life issues. As important as it is to handle serious topics with respect, we also need to understand that 1. The OG stories are barely serious in themselves 2. These are fictional characters made by kids back in 2010s for fun

You are absolutely free to value the horror aspects of the fandom. Personally I do enjoy deep diving into the more realistic and dark/disturbing/uncomfortable aspects of the Creepypasta characters in a psychological horror type of way, but there is a lot of beauty in taking something scary or horrible and creating something so full of love and joy out of it. To take something tragic or dark and make it into something lighthearted and happy is very human. Theres a lot of value in being able to enjoy things like that

[ninathekillerzblog]

ninathekillerzblog's intro

* name: nina, mutuals can ask for real name

* pronouns: idrc

* interests: indie games, horror (analog, found footage, physiological, elevated, arg), cryptids & internet myths

what you'll see on this blog

creepypasta, marble hornets, everyman hybrid, slender verse, nina the killer, original characters, original aus, undertale posts, slasher films, cringe fiction, me and @jeffthekillerzblog 's au!! + more

disclaimer

as of right now this isn't a roleplay blog i just really like nina...

#art credits to my fran jeffthekillerzblog

extra

creepypasta + internet horrors have been my special interest for a long time now, if you dont like it then block the tag because its all i talk abt lol. feel free to interact, tag w/ or dm me idm, i love making new friends

[liminsendhelp]

Don't pet the flea cat

Price×f!reader

Tags: slight description of reader (chubby, muscular, strong, denying gender as a concept), possibly slightly sociopathic/autistic reader, profanity, denial of authority, evil scientist on the way to becoming.

I don't speak English. I didn't proofread the text.

enjoy.

Part 1. Part 2.

You're quiet in bed. For real. Without the pretenses and masks of a woman subordinate to someone else's dominance, when you're not alive enough, not human enough. When the beast of animal desire inside makes you dig your nails into your palms. When you want to put out cigarettes on yourself to block out the unbridled power of the urge for sex.

It's always been a problem. People have crumpled their gut. They put on layer upon layer of approval and expectation.

Your essence was causing the thin material of socialization to fray at the seams.

To top it all off, you're easily obsessed.

Your blood boils at the sight of beauty.

He's ugly. Like everyone else.

Ordinary.

Yet you can't name a single time you've looked at Price without wanting to rip his face off.

He says, in that quiet and understanding tone of his, in those chuckles and snickers of his.

You're not even a nurse. You're a researcher in a tiny development lab. You have no education whatsoever (except for art), taken in by acquaintances to help you out, before asking you to finish some psychiatry courses just to make sure. Science dragged you down so that you were up to your ears in philosophy, psychology, old treatises and other crap.

So there you are, cleaning animal cages, helping out with easy experiments, coaching timid grad students on how to interact with small rodents. And then, at one point, you're set up as a lab technician. And you're not dumb, you have ideas, you have a desire to understand the workings of the brain. straighten it out, twist it back up and straighten it out again.

Of all the specialists, you're a little more interested in behaviorism, a little more obsessed with crime.

Brain cutting brain.

You're quiet, calm, frighteningly cold. Your gaze is dark, like a constantly dissecting blade. So what? You're better than those idiots, even without a proper education. You're smarter, more thoughtful, thorough, workaholic. Those above you - senior researchers, PhDs and postdocs - know you're good. Good enough to keep you around.

The institute is a restricted facility. It's not weird that they moved the labs to an outhouse inside the fucking military base, is it? No. After the incident, half the staff went on paid leave. Understaffed, overworked, stressed out. Neuropsych, cognitive-behavioral, experimental, psychiatric, chemical-pharmacology and blah, blah, blah labs downsized in limited space.

Each department used to have animals to do research on. Now your work is all theory and documentation. This problem was soon promised to be solved, but no one really hoped for a super secret lab with experimental subjects for every taste. From mouse to human.

They have unwanted prisoners, don't they?

Anyway.

You were transported to the base after a small-- Terrorist attack at your institute. Again, pathos on an all-cosmic scale, nothing of the sort happened, but "national brains and serious research" must be saved, come on.

No one was hurt.

Not even injured.

And now it's not like you're severely stung for budget and space, despite the relatively small footprint of the allotted space.

The most significant downside here at the base is that even while trying to stay out of the allotted space as much as possible, you see extra people. Military.

They're all killers. They're killers, and you have a taste problem. They want to clean up the developments for the good of the military, and you imagine the horror they're going to be in when, under interrogation, people break their teeth on each other while overdosing.

They walk under your windows, stand against the opposite wall when you go out for a late night smoke, show up in the lab to stick their noses where they'll get their balls bitten off and shoved up their asses.

The military are no more welcome than they should be, after all, the scientists here have only themselves to thank on the heads of the fucked up officials who decided it would be a good idea to sign you all up for this cohabitation.

And doors slam, eyes scrutinizing your white coats and circles under your eyes, hands reaching for developments, noses poking into all your dirty laundry.

But they shouldn't be anywhere near it.

You're in your second month of work, trying to function as you're used to - mechanically. But today your senior's not here, Dr. Moon's away at a useless security conference. Usually she'd be kind enough to bring you a bunch of food from the cafeteria.

You're not a little girl. You can't live on a stash of sweets and coffee without worsening your already obvious gastritis. And you need a normal amount of food to keep your body functioning. You've always been meaty, no match for thin, slim, graceful girls, some of whom had the superpower to survive on a lettuce leaf (not taking into account goddess nymphs with healthy appetites and excellent metabolisms, such creatures were a myth in the flesh).

But, you don't want to go out to this mess of heads and dirty mouths.

You clench your hands into fists, pressing your nails into your skin. You're going to have to do this anyway. You're perfectly capable of not eating for a week, thanks to your unhealthy relationship with food, but you're not going to torture yourself. After all, you've been on the wrong side of self-loathing for a long time now.

Now what went inward is actively being broadcast to those around you.

So you put on your coldest mask, clench your teeth tightly, and pretend not to notice the scrutinizing stares from all sides. You're stared at by your coworkers because you never go out into the light. The soldiers stare at you because you look like a pathetic mound of snow among their dusty greenery.

You think you're perfectly capable of eating alone because your coworkers are permanent idiots in their surprised stares and whispers.

But when you sit down at the table, with seemingly as disinterested in each other as possible eaters, both soldiers and medics begin to stare even more intensely. Like little kids. Are those some marshal generals of all the earth at your table?

How's your diplomacy going over there?

"Can I sit here?" You ask evenly, almost forgetting to give your voice a questioning tone.

"Of course, miss." The voice is deep and soft.

You definitely sat down with the wrong people.

"Thank you, I won't take long."

You don't look at them. No need to. Dr. Moon is coming tomorrow and you won't have to crawl out of the sink anymore.

You eat fast, two minutes for the whole meal. The military must realize that's possible, right? They used to mock you for that ability. Now, you unconsciously take it personally when they laugh at you from afar. That's why you hate the school system. Cafeteria, really? Just give us each a bag of dog food.

You rise from your seat to escape into your reports, hypotheses, and research.

"What's your name?"

No. You didn't hear that question.

It's probably rude, since they're high-ranking.

You'll be out of here faster than they can take offense.

"Miss?"

Will you fucking calm down, you idiot?

"Run me through the database." You almost growl, speaking in lower case.

Stupid. Startled, you look up.

The blue-eyed freak, so appealing, puffing with calm control, seems amused rather than pissed off.

Thank the Goddess, thank any Force that covered your ass and you were taken as entertainment.

Blue eyes make the dry semblance of shame in your chest scrape sandpaper across your ribs.

"I can already tell by you that you're a bitch." It sounds from behind you. Expectedly. You can clearly see from the face of the man in front of you that he's unimpressed by this outburst. The burning blue melts you from the inside out with two heartbeats, and you dare to interrupt the deafening silence of judgment around you.

You drop the apology and carry your body back to your lair. You only exhale as you lock the door from the inside with the key. As if that will save you. People won't forget.

Dr. Moon reprimands you from the doorstep the next day. You fell asleep at your desk again. She shoves you onto the small couch in her office. While she shreds the mail, you sleep peacefully for a couple hours.

"Honey? Come here."

Oh, that tone. Are you in trouble because of last night?

They couldn't be more touchy, which one of those mutts snitched on you--

"Your initiative has been approved."

You find yourself on your feet, your hair tousled, your clothes askew, but all your attention is on the screen.

Confirmation letter… authorization to conduct data analysis… for detection… with command support… attachment to teams… supervised access to files….

You blink, then reread it again.

"What's that?"

"You didn't think they'd let you play spy, did you?"

There was hope. But no, it's the other thing that's weird.

"I only asked for an archive. Ideally to observe from afar and interview recruits."

"You and I both know, darling, you're just waiting for a chance to sit your ass down and duck your head into papers. You wanted the internship, go get it." Dr. Moon sits back as contented as can be. She was the force that kept pushing you, wanting to create a diamond.

You wished you were more like hydrogen. To be present everywhere so that you couldn't be seen anywhere.

"And what am I supposed to do?"

"One team is available. Someone from the local legends. But they've agreed to work with you."

No! You let out a low scream. Then you squeeze out a loud sob.

"Can I say no?"

"I'll put laxatives in your next meal."

You sigh.

"Acting like a child, Doc." The good-natured, acerbic face in front of you contorted for a second. She hated being called that.

"That's not for you to tell me, sweetheart. Get your work plan in here, we'll review it. You go to work tomorrow."

[taffywabbit]

im also anti proship but calling rugrats porn drawings "child porn" really dilutes the severity of actual child porn. we shouldnt be confusing actual cp that hurts real children with just weirdos drawing porn of cartoon characters that happen to be kids, the two things are not at all on the same level

ok i suppose this was inevitable, i may as well get into it.

(CW for some discussion of CSA and child pornography, obviously)

first off, "i'm also anti proship but" is a terrifying way to start your message, and to go and follow it up with some extremely common proship copypasta i've heard a million times about "taking attention/resources/severity/etc away from real CSA victims" or whatever kinda makes me wonder how "anti proship" you actually are...?

kind of the point of this whole debate is typically that "proship" folks insist that fiction, or in this case "porn of cartoon characters that happen to be kids" as you put it, has no effect on reality or people's mindsets. and so-called "antis" like myself generally respond to this idea with something along the lines of "well it sure seems to affect the reality of your cock and balls", and point out how repeatedly consuming media with a particular focus or message has been shown time and time again to quantifiably influence the way people view the world around them, in ways that subsequently affect how they act, or desensitize them to things that might otherwise upset/offend them. y'know, like political propaganda! or blockbuster movies about killer sharks! obviously some people are going to be more resilient against that sort of influence when the real-world equivalent of "porn of cartoon characters that happen to be kids" is something so blatantly unacceptable, and nobody is really claiming that the impact of fictional CP is "on the same level" as its IRL counterpart.

but at the very least, most people who would be considered "anti proship" WILL tell you "hey, i'm not trying to say that you jerking it to twitter porn of Gwen Tennyson or Tails or whatever is LITERALLY THE SAME as committing CSA, but it's still really fucking concerning and creepy that the majority of your sexual fixations are all specifically cutesy vulnerable cartoon characters under the age of 12, many of whom also have canonical adult designs that you conveniently avoid in favor of sexualizing the ones that are barely old enough to learn long division. you should maybe do some introspection and figure out why that is and whether or not you're really comfortable with what it implies about you. personally i know I'M not comfortable with that shit and i'm not going to keep hanging around you unless you make some serious changes." except usually in my experience the conversation ends up being a lot shorter and ends in a block pretty quickly. like i'm not a psychologist and i don't keep a bunch of studies on hand to throw at you about how fictional CP is often a factor in grooming, but i DO have a brain and can pretty clearly see when someone is rationalizing behavior that will lead them to places i'm not willing to follow.

ANYWAYS to focus more specifically on the actual reason we're talking about this (which was, to be clear, a mobile ad Tumblr served me that depicted one of the dads from Rugrats having sex with his 3yo daughter): yes, actually, that shit IS illegal to create or distribute. it's not the SAME as literal photographs of real children, OBVIOUSLY, but it's still also extremely fucked up in its own right, and any reasonable person in your life would probably stop talking to you if you told them you got off to it.

don't believe me about the legality part? check this out:

so like, I GUESS you might get some legal leeway with cub furry art or sonic porn or stuff that isn't always obvious in how much it's intended to parallel real children? if you really care? but this ad was literally multiple illustrations of a human adult man having intercourse with a human toddler. it's pornography centered around openly fetishizing the sexual assault of a child by a parent. i fail to see how referring to that in shorthand as "child porn" is inaccurate in any way that matters.

and Tumblr is a US-based company, beholden to the laws shown above, so they are at least somewhat responsible when illustrated pedophilic incest porn gets shown to thousands of their mobile app users in an ad they got paid to display. THAT was the original point i was making in my post. but thank you for trying to derail it to interrogate my "anti proship" views or whatever, i have had multiple people send me fairly nasty asks about it in the past year and you finally caught me in a moment when i was already pissed enough about something else that i felt like going off about this stuff. sorry if you actually agreed with most of this and i came off as overly rude/harsh, but if that's the case then this response is for all the other anon asks and replies i've gotten too, i guess.

now we're all clear about where i stand and i hopefully don't need to talk about this again - it's kind of a fucking bummer to think about this stuff and i've been avoiding the subject intentionally. you are always welcome to just block me if you have a problem

[deoidesign]

Two things

Any tips for line work?

Any tips for drawing eyes?

You’ve got a killer style for that and I struggle for things like that, so was wondering what you do for that and have any advice for a young artist? Also Steve is gender goals and me and him have the same haircut which makes me happy. Comics with an older queer character are nice, makes me happy to see someone like me get to get older like that :]

This ended up really long, sorry...

"Style" is really just an amalgamation of every decision an artist makes. When you're starting to learn, your brain is processing a LOT on the technical and fundamental side. In time, these will become tools for you to use as you please.

Your style is in you already, I assure you. It's the clothes you love, your favorite color, the season that makes you comfy... Art is a form of communication, and the first person you have to learn to communicate with is yourself. It's a lifelong process of growth, self love, and personal expression. It's nothing to rush!

these are from 2011, 2016, and 2023!

(13, 18, and 25 years old)

You can see how my skills have evolved, but my tastes are rather much the same. I've still got an absolute ton to learn.

When it comes to lineart, if you find yourself regularly struggling with "losing energy from the sketch", then making your lineart thicker might be a solution; thicker lines are a lot more forgiving!

This is a common issue many artists struggle with. It happens because the sketch has multiple lines, so the brain gets to choose which one it likes most. When you do lineart that choice isn't up to the brain, so it's not tricking itself to seeing all its favorite lines anymore.

Lineart can also help you define depth. Generally speaking, thicker lines tend to be on closer objects, and further away objects have thinner lines. You'll also lose more and more detail (and sometimes edges) the further away an object gets.

It can also define light in your lines. solid blacks can block out entire sections of shadow. Another option is hatching, and another is stippling. It doesn't have to define light, though, many styles define their light through various other shading methods.

My biggest tip for lineart is to practice "line confidence." fill a sketchbook page with lines that span the entire length of the page, evenly distanced, as straight as you can, without lifting the pen. Do this every day. Fill a page with ellipses, fill a page with circles. Do this every day. Eventually, you'll learn to 1: draw with your entire arm, which will save you a lot of quite literal pain in the future, and 2: you'll be able to draw the right line the first time more often, which will save you time and frustration!

I didn't have an example offhand so I did this to show what I mean, but I highly suggest doing this on paper in ink and not on the computer, if you can.

When it comes to eyes, definitely look lots to real people, and also pay attention to how artists stylize them! There's generally 4 main things to keep in mind:

1: the top lid. This one is major for defining the expression, so it changes a lot depending on context.

2: the bottom lid! this one doesn't move nearly as much.

Each lid has a vertex, and changing where the relative high and low points are on them between characters can change a lot about what the eyes are saying.

3: the sclera (whites of the eyes), iris (color of the eyes), and pupil (the hole we see out of)! These change an absolute TON based on style.

4: the eyelid!

and here's me just moving each of the elements around! it changes a lot about what the eye is saying as you change each element, play around with them! try not to always go with your first choices.

There's a lot more to eyes than this, and a lot more to lineart as well... but I hope this is something of a starting point! Getting better about art is about learning to think and study everything you see. I genuinely see the world differently than I did 10 years ago, and I'm much happier for it (and a much better artist!)

And when it comes to writing stories about queer characters who get to be older and still happy, I hope to someday see you making stories that bring someone the same sense of comfort you had reading my work. I hope it someday becomes normalized, mundane even. And I know it starts with people like you deciding it's important! We're here, we've always been here, and we're not going anywhere.

Best of luck on your artistic journey, I wish you a long lifetime of growing closer to yourself through your art.

[jellyjack-cheese]

I've been gone awhile and it's time for an "art" dump lol

↑ some Yomiel sprite edits (with one Sissel)

↑ New poster for my Ghost Trick slasher AU, Phantom Killer

As an artist I am legally required to admit that this is all traced so no one yells at me for stealing art

I promise I'll post some original stuff soon, I've been hitting an art block recently and sprite edits have been the only things I've really been able to do recently.

I'll likely return to real art once I'm done with a self insert spritesheet I've been trying to make.