#here’s a WIP of something I’m working on!!

[perplexingly]

I know it wouldn’t work for tumblr but sometimes I wish I could reupload a picture and it’d change for all the reblogs, because I have this tendency that if I’m really unhappy with something, I’ll keep fiddling with the drawing (like, putting some different colours directly on top to see how I can fix), but then feel like it isn’t worth to go through with it if I’m not improving it massively

Here’s what i mean, on the left original, on the right testing potential fixes

Also when i was looking through these I found another bazillion wips oops….

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Not a Word 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a life in hiding, away from your father and the world, until a man decides to drag you into the light. (non-verbal reader)

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: 😻.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You hear your father in the garage. It’s a comfort knowing he isn’t in the house. You’ve learned to navigate so that you rarely run into him. The fact of your existence only ever seems to irk him. 

That day, there’s a low rumble between the clank and clunk of his tools. You’re not sure it’s the engine or something else. The last time you glimpsed inside the garage, the engine wasn’t even in that old Bronco he’s worked on for seven years. 

You rub smooth the lines in your forehead and give a long blink. You’ve been squinting at the diamond art for much too long. You sit up and roll your shoulders. You need a break. 

As you emerge from your room, you feel guilty. A break from what? Doing nothing. That’s what your dad always says. Then he laughs and finds something to throw at you. 

You take his lunch box from the floor by the shoe mat and bring it to the kitchen. You open it up and clean out all the containers. Those things you do, as small as they are, like cleaning and making his meals, aren’t enough. He doesn’t fail to remind you of that. 

You dump the uneaten crust from his ham and cheese sandwich as the door from the garage clatters open and lets in the smell of oil and dirt. You turn your attention to the sink as you put the container with the rest. It’s only as you flip the faucet on that you realise the steps aren’t your dad’s. 

“Scuse me,” Sy says. “Don’t mean to bother, but, uh, had a bit of an accident.” 

You face him as he holds out the front of his tee shirt. You gulp. There’s a smear of shiny oil across it, ready to drip onto the floor. Your eyes round. 

“I can clean it in the bathroom, I see you’re busy.” 

He goes to turn away and you put your hands up. The oil won’t come out if he just wipes it into the shirt. You would know since you deal with your dad’s stained jeans.  

He nears as you sidle down to grab the baking soda from the cupboard. He looms, his shadow moving in your peripheral, and you shift the faucet to off. You grab a paper towel and turn to him. You hesitate to reach for him, that seems too much but before you can make a move, he peels his shirt off. 

You flutter your lashes and point to the counter. He lays the shirt out and you open the box of baking soda. He stands back and watches. Heat trickles down your back as you focus on the task. You sprinkle the powder over his shirt. 

You let it soak up as much as it can then blot daintily. 

“You’re clever,” he muses. “Helpful.” 

You shrug. 

“How lucky’s that daddy of yours, huh? You out here cleaning all his mess. You make his lunch?” He peeks over at the sink and you follow his gaze. You nod. “Hm, think he’d be nicer then, wouldn’t ya? Well, I know him, he ain’t a nice fella.” 

You return your attention to his shirt. If your daddy isn’t so nice, why does he come around? You wouldn’t ask even if you could. You can barely concentrate with him exposed like that. 

Your eyes dart over in a fleeting peek. His chest is hair and his stomach thick, his arms too. You’re always aware of how big he is but at that moment, he seems even larger. You look at his shirt. It’ll need more time to soak and wash. 

“Could wash it with the hose, don’t wanna ruin your machine,” he offers as if reading your mind. 

You frown and shake your head. You hold up your finger and flit away with his shirt. You put stain remover on it and dump it in the machine. You set the cycle then hesitate. What will he wear now? 

Your dad isn’t as big. He’s a pretty small guy. He might have something... 

You hurry into the closet of old things and search around. There’s one of those tees he got from a case of Labatts. They always pack the XLs and nothing else. It has some sports team logo on it. 

You go back to the kitchen and offer it to Sy. He crosses to you and accepts it with a smile, “thanks, sugar. That’s mighty nice.” His fingertips brush yours.  

He unfolds the shirt and shakes it out. He pulls it over his head and your eyes crawl down his torso unintentionally. You back up a step as he tugs down the hem, though it hangs short of his belt. Even that is too small for him. 

“You’re not scared of me, are ya?” He asks as he curls his shoulders as if to make himself smaller. 

You shake your head. Shy is all. You’re not eager to mingle with anyone. Nor they, you. 

“You know, I might have a word with your daddy. He shouldn’t be so nasty to ya. ‘Specially all the work you put in.” 

You shake your head frantically and clasp your hands. You know better than that. Even if he’s trying to be nice, it’s the worst thing he can do. 

“What’s wrong? Huh? Just wanna tell him what a good girl ya are,” he crosses his arms and seems to double in size. 

You pout and press your hands together. You cower and takes another step back. His expression turns dire. 

“Sorry, sugar, hope I didn’t upset ya there. I was only... only bein’ nice, ya know? Seems you’re not used to all that.” He drops his hands to his hips. “Fine then, I’ll just have to save them sweet words for you, huh?” 

You look down and chew your lip. You’re not used to the attention. Your dad’s other friends, if you can call them that, just ignore you or laugh at his jokes about you. You nod and turn, gesturing to the sink. You walk up to it, clinging to the excuse to get away. 

“Yeah, I know, you workin’ hard,” he praises. “I’ll be outta ya way now.” 

You bob your head and turn the tap on again. You work at scrubbing the containers, waiting and listening for him to go. When he does, you can breathe again. You’re not so sure why he’s being nice. Not like you can do much but stare. 

💘

When your dad’s at work, you’re as close to peace as you’ve ever been. There’s still that constant restlessness that follows you. The gnawing reality that time is passing you by. That you have no purpose. No direction. 

You envy others. That they have a reason. That they have everything you don’t. They have other people, ones that care, not those burdened with them; they have important work to do; they have fun things to celebrate; graduations, new jobs, marriages. They have voices and you remain unheard. 

You busy yourself with the tidying when he isn’t there. If you try to clean with him around, he only antagonizes you. There’s a roast out for dinner. It will last a few days. Most times, you lose your appetite. You spend all day craving and making the food then lose all desire the moment it’s before you. 

The small pleasures you once treasured fade with each day that starts and ends the same. You can’t feel too bad for yourself. Your dad doesn’t have to keep you. You’re an adult now. Maybe he’ll never say so, or even show it, but he must care, right? 

You finish mopping and start on chopping up the potatoes. You arrange them in the roasting pan around the slab of beef. Then carrots and celery. You save the onions for last because they make you cry. You’re saved from tears by the rumble of thunder on the horizon. 

Curiously, you set the knife down and go to the window. Would your dad be home early? Some days, they shut down the shop when business is slow. 

It’s not him but you recognise the grating on the truck’s nose. The large truck sends up dirt and gravel as it cuts across the worn roadway. Your confusion floods to panic and you rush out the front door.

Is your father hurt? Why else would Sy be here? 

You hover on the top step as he grinds to a stop and shuts the behemoth truck off. The driver’s door creaks as it opens and Sy jumps down. Instead of his usual camo cargo shorts and sweat-dampened tee, he wears a button-up with short sleeves and a pair of brown slacks. It even looks like he combed his beard. 

Your face twists in a grimace. What’s going on? Why is he here? 

He reaches back into the truck and brings out something behind his back. You can’t see it as he keeps his arm bent behind him and shuts the door. He grins and walks up to the house as you watch. 

“How’s it goin’?” He asks brightly. 

You blink. You look at his collar, the top button straining against his thick neck. You lower your gaze to your loose blue tee and barrel jeans. You’re dressed like a laundry line. Your clothes offer no shape, nothing. They just do the job. 

“I, uh, I wanted to surprise ya, and uh, I was thinkin’ ya know, this place deserves a bit of colour,” he chuckles then clears his throat, “and you deserve good things, so, uh, here.” 

He reveals the flowers from behind his back and you blanch. You stare at the dainty petals, white with violet edges. They are pretty. Too pretty for this place or for you. Besides, why would he do that? 

“You don’t like em? Should I have got roses?” He asks. 

You flinch. You don’t want to hurt his feelings. You come down the steps and cautiously reach for the paper cone. He hands it over and you stare at him. Then you smell them. You think that’s what you’re supposed to do. 

“Smell good?” He asks. 

You peer over the petals at him and nod. You’re not sure how to react. What do you do now? You can’t just leave him out in the yard. You raise your thumb and point it over your shoulder and tilt your head. 

“Sure, I’ll come in,” he accepts. 

He steps forward, a bit too close, and you hop backward up the step. You barely keep from tripping. You get onto the porch and spin around, scurrying to the door. You open the door and step to the side to hold it for him. 

He laughs again, “now, I’m a gentleman, sugar.” 

He grabs the door and gestures you through. You take his directive without pause. You hurry inside and he follows. As he stops to take off his shoes, you continue on into the kitchen. 

You search for an adequate holder for the flowers. You find an old canister and set them in it with some water. His presence lurks behind you. You put the bouquet on the table as he looks around. 

“You cookin’ a fine dinner, huh?” He says. “Like I tell your daddy, he’s a lucky man. Any man’d be lucky to have that waitin’.” 

You shrug. He shifts. 

“I don’t mean to take advantage of your kindness but I was gonna ask ya a favour.” 

You look at him blankly. He reaches in his pocket. He pulls a length of silk. A tie. 

“Couldn’t figure this out,” he explains. “Thought maybe you might...” 

You stare at the tie. You remember tying your daddy’s for your grandma’s funeral. That was a long time ago but you think you could remember. 

You swallow down your nerves and approach him. You take the tie and he glances around. He pushes a chair out and sits. He leans his head back. 

“Just wanna make sure I look good for ya,” he says. 

You flip up his collar and bring the silk around his neck. As you do, your thumb brushes his coarse beard. He hums. 

“Don’t worry bout pullin’ my hair,” he scoffs. “Won’t bother me none.” 

You line up his tie, knuckles brushing his shirt as you go through the steps in your hand. You pull the tie snug and fix hit collar. You step back and he sets his head straight. You hug yourself and give him a questioning look. 

“Ya like your surprise?” He asks. 

You look at the flower then nod. 

“And what about the other?” 

You face him again and your brows draw together. 

“Me,” he snorts. 

You purse your lips and shrug. What does he mean? 

“We’ll wait for your daddy, huh? Then I’ll ask his blessing.” He rests his elbow on the table, “and you’ll have dinner all ready, won’t ya?” 

[signanothername]

it might be an awkward question but-

HOW DO YOU MANAGE TO DRAW SO MUCH?? how do you get so many beautiful ideas? how do you keep yourself motivated? tell me your secret I will sell you my soul

🩵 🫴 take it.

Why thank you 🫳🩵

Ah the question ever

Truthful and simple answer is that there’s no secret

This might seem contradictory considering how much I post, but I genuinely am not as motivated or as inspired as I seem to be

I struggle a lot with ideas and motivation and that is a problem I have on a daily basis that’s been happening for years (I have SO many wips that I never shared)

It’s not about the struggle, it’s about how I curated my art to that struggle

I’m at a constant threat to experience burnout (certified chronic pain and chronic fatigue haver), so to combat that, I take measures to make sure I don’t burn myself out and actually reserve the very little energy I have to continue doing artworks/comics

To give you a specific example, if you notice with my comics, they’re always sketchy and are never colored, that’s not because I don’t want to make colored comics, but because of knowledge from previous experiences that if I actually forced myself to make colored comics, I’d immediately plunge to burnout and would probably not be able to draw for a few weeks after because of it (in fact the last time I made a colored comic was here, which is a rare occasion even then btw, and that comic caused me to experience a near burnout)

Which was extremely frustrating to me at some point might I add, because before 2021, I had no problem making so many colored comics and artworks at a short span of time, I actually had motivation before (something that is lost to me now), so you can imagine how genuinely frustrating it is, it even made me feel like I’m not a “real” artist

(The concept of what is considered a “real artist” is bullshit btw, someone who draws stickmen everyday is as much of a real artist as someone who makes diverse fully colored artworks with backgrounds and everything, as long as you use your creativity and turn it to something meaningful, you’re already a real artist, regardless of skill or the extent of which you are able to conceive with your art)

That being said, it’s all about finding your own footing and workflow, what works best for you? What doesn’t?

Some things that you’d love for them to work (in my case making colored comics) might not work in reality, life is disappointing like that, so it’s also about acceptance

Acceptance of yourself as you are, maybe it’s not what you truly strive for, maybe you wish you could do more, but sometimes taking a step back and looking into yourself to see if you can actually achieve what you want with the resources you have could be life saving

So when it comes to motivation? Find your workflow, what are the things that you know could make you lose your motivation? On the other hand, what are the things that preserve your motivation?

Not only that, but time management is also a contributing factor

Of course, my own way to preserve my motivation/energy is as follows:

1- never force myself to finish artworks/comics if I feel like I can’t (even if I really really want to), I save them up for later when my motivation for them kicks back in

2-let perfectionism go, if I keep fretting over whether every line in an artwork looks good I’ll never accomplish anything but destroy my mental health (certified perfectionist speaking btw)

3-comics stay as sketches, as much as I want to make beautifully colored comics, I know this will only contribute to my burnout, so keeping it real with myself and what I can accomplish with my own resources (energy, time, health, etc) is important

4-making multiple sketches in a day then choosing what fancies my brain that day, or getting back to older sketches I already made before (sometimes months before) to see if my brain has the itch to work on any of them, by doing that, then I’m giving myself actual diversity in choices to choose from, which helps me feel like I don’t have to be forced to work on anything new, or something that I don’t wanna work on

For clarification, I’m talking actual sketches, not cleaned up ones, if you make clean sketches you won’t be able to make multiple ones in the same day

Here’s an example of what I mean by sketches

5-stop beating myself up over things I can’t control, if I keep being harsh on myself over the fact I couldn’t finish an artwork or the fact I’m not satisfied with it, it’ll only contribute to make me feel bad about myself and that would only contribute to me losing even more motivation which contributes to beating myself up and so the self torture cycle goes on, myself deserves to be pat on the back gently and be told “it’s ok, you’ll get there in time”

6-teach myself that it’s ok to lose motivation, there are times in which I do not open my art app for weeks, instead of hating myself for it, I tell myself “you need time, you’re tired and you need the break”, and it’s true, if you lost motivation, it’s most likely due to something else contributing to it

So i just ask myself what’s up, sometimes, I’m overworked in other life aspects, other times I’m in too much pain, so instead of forcing myself through my demotivation, I take care of these factors demotivating me so I’d feel comfortable enough to be able to work on artworks again

If I couldn’t identify a factor contributing to my loss of motivation, then I take it as my own brain telling me that it needs the break, it needs the dopamine if doing something different and I do that, whether by watching my favorite shows, playing my favorite games, trying a different hobby like writing or reading, etc

7- work on my own time, sometimes I do finish artworks quickly, and I do have the capacity to do so, but I’ve noticed that my loss of motivation became less of an issue when I gave myself the actual time to work on artworks, sometimes, a simple artwork that I could finish in 20 minutes takes me weeks to finish, not because I can’t finish it earlier, but because I intentionally worked slowly on it as I’m working on other artworks just as slow, that way, I don’t overwhelm myself and I’m making progress on multiple artworks/comics at the same time, and seeing such progress gives me even more motivation

Cough, anyway, got lost in talking about motivation ghcchch

As for your other question about how I get my ideas, it’s usually something I saw that inspired me, whether an artwork, something irl, etc

Or even sometimes, my own artworks inspire ideas for comics, so I’d draw something, then ask myself (asking yourself questions is such a great helper when it comes to coming up with ideas) why is the character doing this? How did they get there? Etc

That helps me come up with answers which are then answered via comics or multiple different artworks

For example, this comic, what inspired it was me asking myself one simple question, “what would happen if Murder actually asked Nightmare for a visit home for once, instead of running away like he always does?”, and that immediately got me to work on the comic

Of course, it doesn’t mean I always am on the ready for an idea, in fact, a lot of the time my mind is blank, nothing up there to help me, which is why I turn to mindlessly sketching sometimes

I just open a canvas and start sketching, what? I don’t know, I’m just gonna sketch something, could be a character, environment, scribbles, meaningless lines etc, it’s my iwn version of a warm up, and it helps a lot with making my brain get into the zone

That’s all I can think of off the top of my head

Enjoy a look into my brain chhcchch

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hello everyone and welcome to another wip wednesday ❤️ I was tagged by @thequeenofthewinter and I am tagging:

@bougainvillea-and-saltwater @dirty-bosmer @captain-of-silvenar @lucien-lachance @pocket-vvardvark @theoneandonlysemla

@firefly-factory @ladytanithia @sulphuricgrin @changelingsandothernonsense @umbracirrus @moriche

@hircines-hunter @scholarlyhermit

So I have been encouraged by some lovely friends (you know who you are ❤️) to explore a Modern AU Theomar as spies. Have no idea if this will end up on ao3 as life is in a strange place right now but I've been playing around with how to incorporate events of Skyrim into a modern context. But this snippet is mostly them flirting at the bar 😛 Under the cut because suggestive a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up whore ass behaviour

“Can I get a between the sheets, with Colovian brandy if you have it?” 

“I’m afraid we’ve only got Cyrodiliic brandy and Geef.” They have Geef but not Colovian? Puzzled as to how the brandy from Morrowind is more common here, she orders the closest of the two.

“I’ll take the Cyrodilic.” As her suspicions were correct, the bar is almost empty save for a figure on the other end, it takes no time for her drink to appear. “Thank you.” 

The citrus of the orange liquor is delicious and burn from the brandy is familiar, thoughts of having five or six more tempt her; nursing a hangover at work was not the worst. That too was familiar, once she had even given a briefing to the Director after an attempt to empty the city’s sujamma supply. Wretched headache but she was good at her job. If not for the fact there was a meeting scheduled for first thing in the morning tomorrow, a meeting to establish the collaboration with those Altmeri Dominion diplomats, Theodora would have thrown her uncharacteristic caution to the wind. But tomorrow required everyone to be at their most professional to be thrown into the den of vipers, as her colleague Dram put it. Dramatic as always. Yet, she harboured a few concerns of her own. An odd way to describe them as even she knew they were not here in the spirit of diplomacy, that was evident based on her prior interactions with the Thalmor in Cyrodiil. Sarce they were, but it was obvious they had a need to put their golden hands over everything. The war hadn’t stopped, it just became hidden. 

As she finishes the drink, the last of the liquid is not yet swallowed when another is brought to her. 

“From the elf over there.” Too focused on drinking and thoughts of work, the agent forgot such a basic skill in her line of work: observation. Bringing the figure from her periphery to the centre of her vision, her concerns about the Altmer she’ll meet tomorrow are exchanged with intrigue at the one looking at her. Looking at his strong jawline and thinking about how satisfying it would be to grip his black tie, it doesn’t matter that he has a buzzcut. Different in very many ways he was. Offering him a smile and downing the drink, she approaches the stool beside him, sitting as she starts the conversation. 

“What are you drinking?” It’s almost unfortunate how handsome he is, now close enough to see the details on his face. Only somewhat knowledgeable on guessing a mer’s age, she can tell his over one hundred but beyond that she’s uncertain. Not that it matters. The slight chuckle he does is attractive, as is his voice. 

“Supposedly a Fine Elven Wine.” Very fitting she thinks. “Yet it is neither fine nor a wine, certainly not Elven.” Taking the glass from his hands, swirling it for a moment before she sips. Gagging at the taste. The mer laughs harder now. 

“Gods, that is disgusting. Here, let me get you something better.” Once again flagging down the bartender, she orders him a Collequiva, a fancy imperial wine. Watching as he has a taste, it seems it is satisfactory. 

“Hmm, better than I expected. Thank you…” Ah names, might be good to do that now.

“Theodora” she says. 

“Ondolemar.” 

Introductions out of the way, names all that needed to be exchanged; personal details kept under wraps due both to the secrecy of her work and her desire for privacy. Any other information he would need could be figured out after. In the event she found herself in his lap she could let him know what treatment she expects; deciding to start leading them there, she asks him a question. 

“Do you often buy human women drinks from across the bar?” His people in particular frowned upon such relations, would be good to gauge where his thoughts on the matter lied. 

“Would you believe I do not?”

“I would actually.” Why did he then… 

“You look too exquisite to sit alone at the bar, I have a feeling that this was not part of your original evening plans.” A bit taken aback but such a compliment as she was used to very different words from men, but the rest of his response is curious. It was a leap in logic to assume that off of what she is wearing alone, but it was correct. How did he know that?

“And what would you know of my plans? Maybe I wanted to get dressed up just to sit at the Winking Skeevar?” He dryly chuckles, drinking more of her recommendation. 

“Well then. I would say there are better bars to do that at. This one leaves much to be desired.” 

“Then why are you here?” She says. 

“My residence is nearby, it is convenient.” A reasonable enough answer, she had done many things because it was convenient at the time, many men fell into this category. Not the best but around. Good enough for the job that was pleasing her. Perhaps her eyes should not have lingered on his forearms, the neatly rolled fabric that was tight around the middle of them. Not lingering now, they trail up and over his torso as she imagines ripping the white button up off, let the buttons scatter and litter the floor. 

Returning to his initial comment on her appearance, she questions the word he used. 

“So I look exquisite?” A straightforward start, she’s curious where he’ll go with it. 

“You do, that is a lovely dress.” A straightforward answer, safe. It’s too safe so she amps things up a bit with a little test to figure out what kind of guy he is. 

“Hmm, well I’ve been told before by men that it does not leave much to the imagination.” 

“Then they do not have a very good imagination, now do they?” Another sip, more than a sip, a full mouthful and then he continues. “A simple man imagines merely the body, they neglect to think all which you can do with it.” Her widened eyes have him mistaken that he overstepped in his words, something which could not be further from the truth as she is imagining all the things she’d like to do with him. “I may have already had too much to drink.” 

“Oh I wouldn’t say that, Ondolemar.” Her hand reaches for his tie, tracing her hands along the complex knot securing it and enjoying the fact that although he is smirking, how he tenses does not go unnoticed. “I like a man who is forward.” 

[lubdubology]

—WIP Wednesday

Nobody asked, but I decided we need a timeline cleanse and I really fucking like the tone of this entire story I’m working on, so eat my babies. Old Man Logan x reader. Because I love him. I’m also working on writing from Logan’s POV instead of the reader’s, so let me know what you think!

Your thumbs dig into the meat of his palm, a low groan slipping from his throat before he can stop himself. You bite your lip, but Logan can see the sly smile beneath.

“You help take care of everyone else,” you begin, rubbing the lotion further into his calloused palms. “Who helps care for you?”

Logan feels flayed open, that pull that spins him into your orbit only growing stronger as you see down to his very soul. Caliban swore you weren’t a mutant but Logan still couldn’t shake the idea that you were something more.

“What are you?” he asks, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, watching you concentrate on his hand.

You slide your fingers along the pink, puffy lines between his knuckles, a slow hiss escaping between his teeth as you massage the tender flesh. He wonders if you know how sensitive his skin is now, how each time his claws come out it hurts just a little bit more than the last time.

“I’m human,” you reply, positioning his hand to focus on the back, tracing the fine scars there. “Same as you.”

“I ain’t human.”

Your eyes flick to his as you drop his right hand and reach for his left. “You’re human where it counts,” you say, beginning to massage his hand.

Logan scoffs. “Yeah? And where’s that?”

You release his hand and place your palm in the center of his chest, your fingers splayed over his heart. “In here.”

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to where your fingers are resting against him. You touch him like you’re unafraid, undeterred by the metal in his bones and the sometimes primal rage that courses through his blood. His killed—for the sake of war, self preservation, and for reasons not so innocent—but you can somehow still see past that, to some soft part of him that still lingers.

Logan itches to touch you, to pull you closer and—

“You can touch me,” you say, as if pulling the thought from his head. “I like when you touch me.”

I tag: @eupheme, @ovaryacted, @yxtkiwiyxt, @pedroscurls and @flowersforbucky. And you!

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Wip Whenever

I think I might sequester wip posts to once a week on a Thursday (coz it's Thursday). I'll post art and maybe a writing snippet if I'm up for it. Just gotta keep wips low-key.

anyway I got tagged by @skyrim-forever @firefly-factory @pocket-vvardvark Tagging @nyarevar and @archangelsunited. No pressure 🫂 The rest of the post is under the cut.

I've been working on the render that I started in December, just have his hair and some extra lighting details left.

And an idea for the next render

And a snippet from You, where Josh gets harassed by Hircine again.

“Fine,” I finally replied, shoving the ring back in my pocket, “What do you want me to do.”

The spectre nodded again, pleased with my answer, “I see you’ve matured since we last met, Blodskaal. I expected to hear protests?”

I sighed, “An what would refusing the Lord of the Hunt do? I’m old Hircine, I’m too fucking tired to argue.”

“You are a strange one, Nerevarine but I will make use of your—” The spectre paused for a moment and blinked its large eyes at me again, “Compliance.”

I grit my teeth as Hircine continued to rattle on, my hand still clasping the ring that I had shoved into my pocket.

“The one who stole my ring has fled to what he believes is his sanctuary,” Hircine continued, “Just as a bear climbs a tree to escape the hunter but only ends up trapping himself. Seek out this rogue shifter who has lost my favour, flay the skin from his body as you once did centuries ago and make it an offering to me.”

I shook my head as I finally let go of the ring in my pocket and folded my arms, “You want me to do what I did to Heart-Fang? Why should I do that? That kid’s done nothing to me.”

“Did Tharsten Heart-Fang do anything to you in the Hunting Grounds, Blodskaal?” Hircine countered, “Or was he acting on his nature?”

I rolled my eyes, “Heart-Fang attacked me in that maze, I don’t much care for his reasoning. That kid back in the gaols did nothing but annoy me a little. It’s not an equivalent.”

“It hasn’t stopped you before, Blodskaal.”

‘He’s right, Sero—'

‘Shut it,’ I mumbled under my breath. The last thing I needed was Nerevar’s input. It’s his bloodthirstiness that got me into that mess out on Solstheim in the first place. I was content pissing my time away watching that mine.

“Not an equivalent,” I spat, replying to the two of them. I’d killed my fair share of people for ridiculous reasons, sure but I didn’t relish in having blood on my hands. Well, not the part of me that I associated with my old self anyway. There was a part of me that relished it but I’d always attributed that to Nerevar’s influence. A partial melding between the two of us that didn’t quite work in his favour.

It's a part of me that does not mix well with who I want to be. It churns about in my gut and merges with my paranoia like a demented slurry. I’d always tried to push that desire out of my mind, but there's always something that grabs me and throws me back into wanton violence. Then I spend all my fucking time justifying to myself why I did it in the first place. If they attacked me, then I have a reason to kill as I wish.

The thought just makes me feel sick.

“There is no retribution in the hunt, Nerevarine. I do not seek vengeance as you do, no. Merely the glory of the hunt,” Hircine’s voice boomed throughout the clearing, and I struggled not to cup my hands around my ears. That kind of vulnerability in the face of the likes of Hircine would be a grave mistake on my behalf. Though it seems that the spectre noticed my discomfort regardless, “Nerevarine, there are countless others that would gladly accept my favour. They will hunt him while you delay. It is your choice.”

“I’m not looking for your favour,” I replied flatly, “If I recall you orchestrated this whole thing to lure me out of hiding. Why the fuck would I seek you out of my own volition?”

“Be careful with your words, Blodskaal,” Hircine threatened, “Do not think you have the upper hand here just because you possess my artifact. You may have once been favoured by Azura but she has long abandoned you. You crave that favour again. That is why you will do as I command, because you are compelled to do so by your very nature—”

I spat on the ground in front of me, the taste of ash burning in my throat as my fury rose. I hated this sort of tactic, insult aspects of myself that I had no fucking control over and attribute everything I do as an inevitability because of that. As if I was never capable of change. That I needed to be treated like shit just to get me to comply. I was no stranger to it, whether it was my bastard of a grandfather, Orvas Dren, Caius Cosades, Nerevar, the Daedric Princes, the fucking Tribunal! Fuck even you at the end reduced me to nothing but the curse that corrupts my flesh!

Everyone who ever believed in me is either dead or too far away to help me right now. All I had at the end of the day was myself and I’d been fighting alone for two human lifetimes at this point. The only person who could stand up for me is myself and I knew there was one thing this fucker was wrong about.

Azura never truly abandoned me, I abandoned her.

“Fuck this,” I growled, turning away from the spectre. I was done parlaying with a fucking Daedra. It’s rid myself of the ring in some cave or a deep hole or something and hope that it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass again. I heard my guardian move and crackle as Hircine’s voice boomed through the clearing once again.

“You never had a choice.”

And my own voice echoed his words as I hit the forest floor.

[blossom-adventures]

WIP Wednesday!

Hi, I’m back! Going to try and get back to being active on here

I’ve been tagged by @sylvienerevarine to share something for WIP Wednesday so thought I’d start now

In terms of writing, I haven’t got anything new to share, I’m wanting to get back to my writing but I’m currently working on some cosplay stuff as my next convention is at the beginning of February

I’m adding the final part to my Ardyn cosplay, his sword!

The details are the last thing I need to do on it so it is nearly done

It’s completely hand carved out of foam and it has been a mammoth job, but I’ve really enjoyed the process and it adds more skills to my cosplay arsenal! My friend who I’m helping has been a massive support for me and I can’t thank him enough for that!

As well as this I have also been helping my close friend with his cosplay, I offered to help him as he currently doesn’t sew, that project is nearly done and I’ll be delivering that to him soon

Still can’t get over the fact my mum bought me a tailors mannequin

Going back to the writing, I’m wanting to prioritise my Skyrim fic but I’m also wanting to work on the others too, which will hopefully happen after the cosplay is done ☺️

I am intending returning to tumblr again, I’m wanting to but I’ve just had not much to share 😅

Hopefully I’ll be back again soon ☺️

And I will tag… @oblivions-dawn @thequeenofthewinter @seradyn @bougainvillea-and-saltwater and @savage-rhi

Take care everyone 💙

[bropunzeling]

to motivate myself to get back into working on seattle au (i wanna be DONE by SUMMER) here is a wip wednesday snippet featuring our favorite wrecking ball, brady tkachuk

As soon as their game against the Senators starts, Leon’s certain he made the right call about not going out for drinks after. For one thing, Ottawa scores three goals on them in five minutes to start everything off, which isn’t exactly something Leon appreciates. For another, Leon gets the distinct sense that Brady did not like him slashing Tim when the refs weren’t looking, which, whatever. Tim can take it, even if he did double over. He’s just being dramatic like always.

Brady’s opinion of him seems to really start going downhill during the second, though. First, Leon manages to score, bringing them within one; next, it’s Matthew’s turn, notching his second of the night and grinning obnoxiously at the Senators’ bench as they circle around for their fist taps. Once the game gets tied up, the stupid penalties start coming—tripping on Carson, then matching cross checks for Joseph and Big Rig. Despite all that time on their admittedly shitty PK, Matthew seems to only be getting more amped, bouncing next to Leon whenever they’re not skating, barely able to keep his ass on the bench as he yaps in Brady’s general direction. Brady, however, looks steamed, red-faced as he yells back at Matthew. By their last shift of the period, Leon has the same distinct sense of looming danger as a scientist handling nitroglycerine in an earthquake. It’s only a matter of time before something blows up.

Except it’s not another goal or Matthew saying something that finally sets Brady off. No, it’s Leon, chasing after the puck in the corner, only mostly looking where he’s going and managing to knock Tim on his ass. Again.

The whistle goes. Leon groans. “Fucking Christ, Tim,” he mumbles, “stay on your goddamn feet.”

That earns him a hearty fuck you back as Tim gets to his hands and knees, but it doesn’t register nearly as much as the fist suddenly in Leon’s jersey, yanking him off-balance. “I swear to god, Draisaitl,” Brady hisses, even as the refs are trying to get between them, “if you keep targeting Tim—”

“I’m not targeting anyone,” Leon protests, trying to twist around so he can shove Brady off. “Get the fuck off me—”

“What’s going on?” Jesus, now Matthew’s here too, trying to wrestle his way into the scrum. Surely that will help. “Hey, let go of Drai—”

“Matty, I swear to god, if you can’t rein your boy in I’m gonna do it for him,” Brady hollers, still trying to haul Leon in by the neck of his jersey no matter how hard Leon tries to wrench himself around and whack at Brady’s shins. “I don’t care how much you like him—”

“Lay off,” Matthew shouts back, “Tim’s a fucking diver and you fucking know it—”

“I’m fucking warning you,” Brady says as the linesmen finally break them apart, Giroux tugging Brady back while Matthew clamps a hand on Leon’s shoulder and Lars comes in to put another body between them. “Fuck around with my guys one more time and I’m dropping the gloves.”

“Is he really gonna fight me?” Leon asks when at last the period ends and they shuffle down the tunnel to the locker room.

“Nah, he won’t,” Matthew says, in a not entirely reassuring tone. “He’s just pissed that we tied ‘em up.”

“Wait, who’s fighting?” Yanni asks as they peel off to find their stalls. “Drai, are you fighting?”

“No,” Leon says flatly.

“Sounds like Tkachuk wants to,” Adam adds in his most unhelpful tone.

“Shit, dude, the fuck did you do to tick him off?” Borgy asks. He sounds way too delighted at the prospect of Leon getting his nose broken. “Piss in his coffee? Sleep with his girlfriend?”

Leon glares at him, then grabs a water bottle full of sports drink and chugs some. “Fuck off,” he says after wiping off his mouth. “I didn’t do shit.”

“I mean, I’ll fight him if you want,” Will says. “Chucky, tell your brother I can fight him.”

“Boys, let’s talk about how we’re gonna win this fucking game,” Coach says, and thankfully all discussion of fighting Brady gets tabled.

[zeldaseyebrows]

WIP Ask Game

Thank you @sparklyhyperbole and @raurusthirdeye for tagging me! I have too many WIPs, so I'll do the ones I'm actively working right now:

Sacrilege and Sororities Chapter 16: Oh Balls (New Year, New Me)

Link meets their eyes, one by one. "I need to know that you are all who you say you are. Tell me something only you would know."  Sir Xavier answers with a straight face, “Your security answer to the question 'What is your favorite food to eat?' has always been 'p***y.'” Link breathes in through his nose.

2. Ganondorf's (Rude) Awakening- The Roommate AU. Modern!AU Link and Ganon are forced to be roommates. It doesn't end well.

“I just happened to notice that there’s been a lot of hair in the shower drain recently,” Ganondorf said, spinning his lunch salad in the spinner with perhaps more violence than usual. “Hm.” Link shrugged and popped another pizza roll into his mouth. “Maybe I’m shedding.” “I’m not sure it’s all yours. Has your friend been taking showers here?” “You mean Zelda? I’m sure it’s not her.” Ganondorf’s fingers tightened and clenched on the spinner handle. In front of him, the salad appeared ready to fly away and take off into geosynchronous orbit. “The extra hair is blonde. And long,” Ganondorf gritted out. Link raised an eyebrow and gestured to his own hair.

Also wanted to give everyone an update that I am working very hard to have the next chapter of Sacrilege and Sororities done asap!! It has not been forgotten or abandoned. I've just been disgustingly busy and I don't write linearly. And this is the writer type that I am, so take that as you will about my ridiculous method of writing long form content haha (thank you @linksthoughtbrambles and @bahbahhh for tagging me!)

And if anyone would like to do this meme, please consider yourself tagged! I'd love to read about your WIPS!

[ladylucksrogue]

I was going to wait til Monday to post a bit of this, you know for mental health Monday but I decided to roll with it now.

I don’t post a lot of real life things here because this tends to be my little fandom safe space where I love posting my fandom messiness and thirsting over clones and posting my fanfic.  But I have noticed a lot of peeps that I interact with are going through a rough patch.  Post Holiday blues, January blues…something.  It’s rough out there, especially in the real world.

Went through a bit of a slump myself.  Prior to the holidays, I did up my writing plan for all my WIPs.  It was very…ambitious for lack of a better word.  Like damn, I know I can write a lot in a session but we’re talking like a fic a day and that…just hasn’t happened.  So, when I missed a couple days of writing, I was hard on myself.  I hold myself to impossible standards sometimes and forget to give myself space.  

I was pretty hungover on January 1st, the wine got to me a bit more than usual and I just wasn’t feeling writing at all, though I did push myself to write a few words.  I was able to post my New Years story a couple days later but I remember posting and thinking this is shit.  This isn’t your usual, though it’s not terrible in retrospect.  I just…it got to me.  So instead of following my crazy plan I focused on some drabbles and doing Whumpuary, which is thankfully every other day, so it gives me a bit of space.  I have been working on my next installment of my fix-it, which the first scene is light hearted and it’s been fun but slow going.

Had a bit of an epiphany a couple days ago, because of a comment someone said.  And it sent me into a bit of a tail spin.  An angry tailspin that my hubby had to catch the brunt of.  He is fabulous though and just rolls with it, lets me rant and knows that I’ll feel better for it.  Someone in our extended friends group cracked a joke about me not working yet and how I’m just enjoying sitting around at home.  It was meant to be light hearted but it hit wrong on so many levels.

I lost my job last year due to a company restructuring.  It was sudden and I was really angry at the circumstances of it.  And more importantly, because it was the second job I had lost in two years to no fault of my own.  But I still gave myself the fault in all of it.  There was a time where I really struggled to hold down a job for a variety of reasons after I got out of the military, and every time something like this happens, it digs up a bunch of stuff from then…

But the fact of the matter is, since losing my job a lot has happened healthwise and I am actually on disability.  As of right now, I can’t work.  It’s something that has been a long time coming and the timing just happened to work out.  At the same time, people who know react one of two ways, oh but you’re fine, you don’t look sick, why can’t you work, or they start on some BS about must be nice, etc.  I won’t even start on the whole who is deserving and mooching off the government stuff, because I will just make myself upset.

It isn’t nice.  For someone who has worked all their life, I would much rather go to work every day than sit at home.  Weird but true.  And I feel doubt and second guess this and wonder if I can go to work and all this is just me being weak, etc.

Comments like that from people don’t help at all.  And then it happened, the moment of clarity…because usually I’m fine on most days.  And then I was working on a scene, got up to make myself some coffee and I had a moment.  There was a sound in my apartment, no clue what it was, but it set something off in my head and for a good moment, I had this really disorienting moment of not really knowing where I was, like half in a memory and half in the present and trying to sort it.  It’s happened before.  I have PTSD, an autoimmune condition, and a whole list of things, so the amount of times something has gone wrong suddenly is long.  But I’m standing there at my kettle like nearly going into a panic attack and managed to calm myself down and sort what happened.  Had this happened at work, I would have had to go sit somewhere for a bit, wasting work time to pull myself out of it and then pretend to be productive for the rest of the day.  Because, in the immediate aftermath of this, after I calmed down, I was dizzy and exhausted and just done.  No energy left.

And the fact that I was home allowed me to go take a nap for a couple hours and reset so to speak, which is probably the best and most effective way I have found in dealing with a PTSD attack.  It works for me personally better than any med they have given me.  Can’t do that working.  Not to mention, if someone is next to you when stuff like this happens, most people are not willing to understand.  You are immediately judged and ostracized (in my experience) because you do not fit into society’s mold.  

But after all this, it made me realize that I need to give myself a bit of grace.  To allow myself moments to feel bad.  To focus on myself and be accepting.  I think it is a big part of self-care we all forget.  Like even people that don’t have medical conditions or diagnoses need to remember.  We all cannot be perfect and productive always.  Sometimes we need a break.  We need to allow ourselves that.

Especially during this time of year, when stress is high and people are frustrated.  We just all need to give ourselves a pat on the back, take things a day at a time and practice a little acceptance.  Like if we finish that chapter or art or whatever in a day, that is fantastic.  On other days we might not do much of anything, and that is ok too.

This is in no way a message saying I am taking a break btw, so no worries! To those who follow my writing, I am here and writing, just on my own time. So at times, I'll probably post a bunch at once and other times, it'll be a bit slow going. Also, keep asks and interactions coming, absolutely keeps me sane and happy to keep interacting!

[zorangezest]

The skybound comics currently haha xD

God I adore your art, I can't wait to see more of it. Even if it isn't transformers, it's just so fun to look at haha!

But the fact that you adore Soundwave makes me so happy because I adore him too and I can always come here and just go through your art

HELLOOO I see you interacting with my stuff (I KNOW ALL YOU REGULARS YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME) and it cheers me up each time and ohhhh my gosh TYSMM it truly means the world when you enjoy my non-fandom content AHHHHHHHHHHH

DID SOMEONE SAY SOUNDWAVE???????????

[daffi-990]

✨ Inspiration Saturday ✨

So instead of working on the WIPs I already have, my brain decided to think up a new one 😅

Current working title is LA Lonely and here is a mood board and a rough little summary:

Buck meets Eddie and they hook up. Buck feels an instant connection but doesn’t pursue it because he’s only good for one night, no one wants him for keeps. Cue him running into Eddie almost everywhere he goes, like the universe keeps putting Eddie in his path. And Eddie is kind and never makes their interactions feel awkward and the way he smiles at Buck has something warm fluttering to life inside him. Eddie eventually asks him out on a proper date and Buck is so confused because no one wants him for more than a fun time. They don’t want to keep him.

(snippet under the cut)

“Buck!”

Buck turns towards the voice calling his name to find none other than Christopher from the class field trip at the station last week walking towards him, red crutches click clacking against the floor.

“Hey Chris! What brings you here? Another school field trip?”

Chris scrunches his face up, looking at Buck like he’s grown a second head.

“It’s Saturday.”

“Right. I knew that, I was just checking to see if you did.” Buck says as he points his finger at Chris causing the boy to giggle.

Buck scoots over on the bench making room for Chris to sit down beside him.

“Are your mum or dad with you?” Buck asks as he scans the room behind them for a frantic parent.

“My mum’s dead.”

Oh. Well. Buck has no idea what to do with that.

“Uh, I’m sorry buddy, that’s uh- that’s rough.” He looks around the room again. “What about your Da-“

“Christopher!”

Buck’s head whips around to find a man striding towards them. As he draws closer, Buck's eyes widen in recognition and disbelief because shit, Buck knows him - has seen him naked, felt his body pressed against his own as the guy shoved his cock so deep inside Buck he swore he could feel it in his throat. The memory of their encounter is still fresh in Buck’s mind a week later because it was that good.

“Dad!” Chris says happily, smiling bright and big and holy fuck his hot hookup who gave him one of the best orgasms of his fucking life has a kid.

And is standing right in from on him.

Buck scrambles to his feet, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he smiles nervously at Eddie. “Uh hi.”

Eddie looks shocked to see him but it quickly melts away, his eyes softening. “Buck, hey.” His mouth quirks up in a small smile and Buck remembers exactly why he brought Eddie home last weekend. He’s so fucking pretty

No pressure tagging: @diazsdimples @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks @wikiangela @puppyboybuckley @exhuastedpigeon @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @evanbegins @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @athenagranted @rainbow-nerdss @rewritetheending @shortsighted-owl @steadfastsaturnsrings @thewolvesof1998 @try-set-me-on-fire @theotherbuckley @tizniz @devirnis @disasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @giddyupbuck @hoodie-buck @homerforsure @honestlydarkprincess @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @lover-of-mine @ladydorian05 @loserdiaz @captain-hen @bekkachaos @nmcggg @monsterrae1 @missmagooglie @mellaithwen and as always, anyone else who wants to share something -> consider this your official tag ❤️

[hplonesomeart]

Wohoo animation update I guess wow cool fast paced camera pan stuff wowwww

[bookinit02]

two’s a crowd

[shima-draws]

shima it's been so much fun seeing your art on my dash this year!!! genuinely so glad you got out of your slump and are passionate abt drawing again. good luck w/ the charms ! can't wait to see how they turn out (:

SOBSSSSS THANK YOU OMG that means a lot for me to hear!! Especially since like. Me personally, I was very frustrated at the lack of art last year. Ofc none of that was really my fault, like I’ve mentioned before I had fucking awful chronic back pain last year that lasted like six months so I couldn’t even sit down in a chair properly for more than an hour at a time. (And on the other side, depression was hitting HARD. It’s never easy to draw when you’re just Sad. Or when you have major art block which I ALSO had RIP)

So now that I’m doing art again and way more frequently I’ve been SO happy…mostly bc I just. Love to create!! I love making things!! And I love sharing them with you guys! And seeing and hearing your reactions to them!! It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve been in such a good place with my art. Hopefully I don’t run out of steam anytime soon and can keep drawing fun silly cute things 🥰

And thank you aaaa!! I just finished designing all of the One Piece charms I want to make, so things are progressing smoothly. Once I get closer to finishing all the designs I’ll be sure to share them with you guys ;)

[sapphicmonsoon]

So I may be working on a little something something… 👀