#if extremely tedious to draw

[h-didanart]

I’m feeling very Epic the Musical lately

So I had to draw something

*throws au thing doodles at your face*

Circe, my lovely dear

Mr Ruthlessness pre-sashimication

WOULDNT YOU LIKE A TASTE OF THE POWER WOULDNT YOU LIKE TO USE MORE THAN WOR—

And those two basically

Cool, imma go back to listening to the entire Epic Soundtrack for the third day in a row now

[acaesic]

i drew dallon in roblox like 2 months ago. if this gets 5 notes ill give him another eye

[thedreadvampy]

my friend invited me to go with them to a show tonight

and the thing is it was not good. it was a cabaret with some amazing circus acts but each of them got like. 5-10 minute slots. and were interspersed with 20+ minutes EVERY TIME of some of the most tedious standup work I have ever seen from the MC and the same 5 physical comedy bits repeated ad nauseum. this guy literally did a Borat bit. in the year of our lord 2024. he sang 2 entire rounds of the Family Guy theme.

and it just KEPT GOING. it was meant to be a 90 minute show, which imo is already a slog for a show starting at 11:30PM but within the bounds of reasonable. it finished. at fucking 1:50 AM. ALMOST TWO AND A HALF HOURS OF THIS SHIT. and it did not help that the 5 bits were all of the 'OH NO SOMETHING HAS DISRUPTED THE SHOW' variety which is funny for a bit, less funny when you're literally 45 minutes past the end of your scheduled finish and still fucking going.

HOWEVER. what I did not realise was that this was in fact. my friend's favourite comedian. and if I had known this I might not have gathered up my stuff and walked out during the curtain call and probably would not have announced on the way out, 'that was the most tedious fucking thing I have ever endured.' and I almost certainly, when someone overheard me complaining about the length and tedium and said 'yeah it ran a bit long huh,' have replied, at the actual near-shouting top of my voice, "I AM GOING TO KILL MYSELF."

I feel. bad for spoiling the show for them.

in my defence I have been very tired this week, I got home at 2:30 AM, and raked seating really hurts my hips so I was in agony by the end of the first hour. but mostly I'm just a bitch who loves to hate tbh.

[scribefindegil]

there is no real meaningful distinction between Art and Craft, however i personally can only do the type of Art that is also extremely Craft. i need to make physical things with my hands and use tools and manipulate little objects and hoard all the specialized knives. otherwise i will start biting.

[sysig]

Can’t, too busy flirting ♥ (Patreon)

[mochaclaws]

Drawing I did for someone on Instagram yay 🎉

[arctic-hands]

Mayaps NEXT New Year switch medical binder/bujo padfolio to a filofax (or knockoff) system bc shells seem more durable (filofax users tell me if I'm wrong, I want a zippered one) than the twenty-dollar padfolios I'm buying every few months bc they keep disintegration, AND gridded refill paper is somehow more accessible in an A5 6-ring format than gridded paper in a standard 8.5 by 11 format that I usually have to hole punch myself? Also it's easier to stuff in my emergency backpack when I go to the hospital, last time a doctor stopped me as I was leaving because they thought it was about to fall out bc I couldn't zip my backpack up around it, and it was an awkward three minutes as they futily tried to help me

[froody]

Medieval scribes writing things like “fuck the abbot” (their boss) and “I am so hung over I feel dead” and “that goddamn cat got in here and pissed on the manuscript” and drawing penis monsters and purposefully unflattering portraits of public figures and animals in the marginalia is funny, yes. But more than that it is so deeply quintessentially human. It reminds you that they were largely just frustrated young adults who did an extremely repetitive and tedious job 6 days a week during daylight hours in poor conditions and felt the same malaise young adults feel now.

[kala-mies]

Drawing all of the flowers was both extremely tedious and extremely fun

[comicaurora]

Hey, sorry if you’ve been asked this before, but I have ADHD and I’ve been following your comic for years and just now have started to write my own comic (partially because you really inspired me). But I’m really struggling with staying on the project even when it’s boring and getting myself to work on it in the first place. Do you have any tips on how to keep your brain invested or just to make yourself do the work at all?

I have excellent news, I literally just figured out something really important about this.

So when you're an ADHD kiddo or otherwise have difficulty staying on task in a structured environment where Task is the Priority, the main way people try to MAKE you stay on task is by removing your access to anything that is not The Task. No phone, no TV, no doodling, no going outside, etc. In practice, this just makes us miserable because it takes the boredom that's always simmering around a 2 or 3 and cranks it all the way up to 11. In the same way that you would have difficulty staying on task if you were in physical pain, this crushing existential monotony makes it very difficult to work. The work might get done simply because you have no other options, but it will not be done quickly or well, and it will take a while to recover from how much it hurt.

What I realized earlier this week is I caught myself doing this to myself. I had 42 pages of background colors to do, and I thought to myself "this sounds really tedious, but I suppose I have nothing better I can do." And I realized what I'd just thought, and got very alarmed.

Because back when I was an ADHD kiddo imprisoned by school scheduling and a million little factors that keep children immobile and restrained, I couldn't stop thinking about how big and exciting the world was, and how much I wanted to be anywhere but here. When I was feeling really crushed in I'd pick a random spot on the maps on my wall and just imagine being there instead of my bedroom. This was the impetus behind almost all of my creative energy. I've said it before - anything is a prison if you can't leave, and being in a prison makes it easy to imagine how amazing things could be outside of it. Aurora's initial worldbuilding was forged in the crucible of fifth grade misery. My enthusiasm for art and my creative drive are inextricable from my sense of wonder and yearning for excitement in the real world. Not escapism, but appreciation. Wonders unimaginable are out there, and I gain just as much joy seeking them out as I do conjuring them up in my head and sharing them with all of you.

So now that I'm a grown-up with actual freedom in every way I've been able to get, the idea that I was staying on task by making myself believe the world was small and not worth seeing was extremely alarming. It could keep me on task for an afternoon, but at the cost of slowly extinguishing the thing that made me want to make art in the first place - the hunger to experience and draw inspiration from all the myriad complexities in the world.

So what I've been doing is I've been purposefully and intentionally taking excursions whenever I catch myself thinking "I could take a break but it wouldn't be worth it, it's the same outdoors as always, I'll be uncomfy and unproductive and tired." Because that is never true. Every time I've put down the stylus and gone out, I've been renewed in one way or another, and when I come back to comfort fully recharged I get a lot of shit done. Because it is easier to work on anything if you remember why you wanted to make it in the first place, and it is self-defeating misery to just lock yourself in with it and tell yourself you're a bad person if you can't get it done.

I honestly don't know how widely applicable this is. I have worse wanderlust than anyone I know, so for me this has always been modeled as imprisonment vs freedom. I've also been extremely lucky to find myself in a profession that lets me set my own pace on literally everything I do. But I genuinely believe that when it comes to making art with ADHD, you need to give yourself freedom to move laterally, not just in the direction of obvious forward progress. We don't think linearly in any other part of our lives - art is no different.

[unbizzarre]

Enki Eating Worms

Obviously the mans gonna be a little grumpy, the guys got worms in his tummy!

(artist note: The number of anime girls eating ramen I sifted through to find the right pose reference for this stupid drawing was simply untenable. Turns out writhing masses of worms/noodles are extremely tedious to sketch but pretty fun to render! I got really tired of the project about 75% of the way through, so I gave up on drawing a background and lifted directly from the game. Shoutout to Miro Haverinen, creator of funger, and also its illustrator. What a cool spooky artstyle!)

Here's a little bonus animation I did of Enki having snackies.

Cheer up little guy, you're not you when you're fungry!

[recareels]

compulsive consumption

character: sunday warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem reader, messy sleepy sex, dubcon at the start (somnophilia), extremely codependent relationship, a hint of a daddy kink, size kink/size difference, a lil bit of blood, overstimulation, creampie words: 2.3k

notes: maisie said exhausted almost asleep sex with sunday and somehow, this is what transpired

It’s become a ritual at this point; something special, something sacred, a ceremony you ardently anticipate each and every night, a sumptuous way to conclude the day and enter into sleep.

Because Sunday’s work day is long, tiring and tedious, and too often are there instances where you don’t see him at all—not a flash of silver-blue hair, nor a glimpse of ivory feathers—during your waking hours. 

But he always comes back to you in the deep of night, after the moon as passed its highest point in the sky, after you’ve slipped into a fitful dreamland, incomplete without its master. 

This you can be sure of. This you can expect eternally, always. 

He’s dead on his feet by the time he returns to the sanctuary of your shared bed, linen steeped in your scent, engulfing him in a sweet embrace the moment he burrows between the sheets. 

But it’ll never compare to the real thing. 

Large hands snake through the fabric, navigating it expertly, as they’ve done every single night before, as they’ll do every single night after. 

You’re wearing one of those lace-trimmed silk babydolls that he loves so much, shimmery material pooling around his wrists in bunched waves as eager palms slip beneath the garment. Lithe fingers curl around your hips, nails nipping the skin in a way that’s almost tender, embedding themselves in your flesh as Sunday anchors a good grasp. 

No panties—good girl.

Then he’s tugging you toward him, your limp body obeying easily, a soft noise vibrating deep in your throat. Little hands grope instinctually at the air, clawing at nothing in search for him, before you roll toward his heat, a moth to a flame, a bee to honey, an addict to their fix. 

Instinctual, automatic, right. 

“Sunny?” 

“I’m here, darling,” he nuzzles into your cheek, ribcage expanding against your torso as he inhales, deep and hungry. A slow exhale follows, as if he’s savouring the scent, intertwined with a soft hum. “I’m here.”

No other words are spoken as he shoves at his waistband, freeing his incessantly aching cock, one palm splayed on the mattress by your shoulder, keeping him precariously hovering above you, the other curling around the base of his cock, squeezing twice. 

He’s been thinking about this. He’s always thinking about this. 

It’s an insatiable craving that inevitably (and predictably) begins to flare up a few hours before it’s time for him to retire; an unbearable itch birthed behind his sternum, clawing at his heart, growing, spreading, infecting each limb and organ as time ticks by so that it has enveloped his entire form in torrid yearning for you the moment he’s off the clock. 

The blood in his veins prickles, surges with each step that carries him closer to his lover, almost as if it’s attempting to escape, becoming fervent at the thought of being close to you.

The only reprieve to be found is when he sinks into your sweet cunt—ill-prepared, Sunday’s desperation casting a dense haze of lust over his brain; a sick pressure pressing against the walls of his skull, rendering logic incoherent and unnecessary, reducing him to something primal and salivating.

Delicate skin stretches, strains, splits as your body opens itself up for his cock, a soft hiss inhaled through the gaps of your teeth, jaw clenching with the action. 

“I know, I know, I’m almost in,” he soothes, voice already gone hoarse from the way your body swallows him down, cunt gorging itself on his cock, cute little hole fluttering around his shaft as he bottoms out, almost as if it’s striving to suck him in further, draw him in deeper.

Greedy little thing. 

He always allows himself a moment to bask in the feeling—to bask in the warmth of your body wrapped around his in the most intimate, complete sense: cockhead pressed snuggly to your cervix, your thighs embracing either side of his hips, your ankles instinctually linking behind his back in a possessive grip, heels digging into the dimples cushioning the base of his spine as they try to push him in more.

A sigh decompresses his chest, his body draping itself over yours as all of the trials and tribulations of the day seep from his pores, your cunt an automatic remedy, an instant rhapsody. 

You’re drooling all over him, he can feel it—eager slick that pools around the base of his cock and streams down to puddle in the folds of his balls. It’s awe-inspiring, the way your body immediately reacts to his own—you’ve already soaked him, neatly trimmed silver curls dewy and glistening as they sop up your slick, and he’s done nothing more than fill you up with his flesh. 

A moan pries its way past his lips, an involuntary reaction, his hips grinding down into you, smearing your arousal across his skin in a thick glaze. It’s slippery, his pelvis gliding against your body with fluid ease, pubic bone rolling over your swollen clit in slow, hard motions. 

You’re murmuring something, pleads wadded up between your molars, gurgling on the back of your tongue as you burrow your face into his shoulder.

“Okay, okay, sweet girl,” he’s pacifying, the mattress dipping as his knees dig into it, bare palms running along your thighs in a smooth, tender caress. 

Nimble fingers hook behind your knees, gently unlatching your legs from around his waist and pushing them up, up, up, until your thighs are on either side of your torso and your heels are resting on his shoulders. 

And then, he begins. 

There’s no gradual build up, no anticipation or teasing—neither of you have the patience or restraint for that; not tonight, not ever—and his pace is ruthless right from the start, his thrusts kept quick and deep as his hips piston into you.

The harmony of wet, sticky slaps fills the room, intertwined with your little whines and his husky growls as his balls, thoroughly drenched in your essence, smack against your ass, a sordid metronome.

Sugar-stained breath wafts across your face in dense pants as his body shrouds yours again, crushing your thighs between heaving chests, the tops of your toes curling around the nape of his neck. The mattress dents further beneath his knees, strong muscles flexing as his rutting accelerates, the head of his cock grinding against your g-spot in harsh, shallow jabs. 

His name oozes from your lips, thick and lazy and swathed in spit, bastardized by his motions into a single syllable, your tongue never quite able to get the word out. It sounds like you’re drowning in it, almost, a precious garble of Sun-Su-Da-ay collecting at the back of your throat, sliced to pieces by pleasure. 

Lashes fluttering against drowsiness, your head raises off the pillow, yearning to string a smattering of sloppy kisses along his jawline. Sunday hums, head quirking to the side and presenting to you his stretched neck, a silent request for more. 

And you obey, like the perfect little angel you are, tongue following the curve of his neck in one smooth, flat, fluid brush—from the hinge of his jaw to the protruding knob of his collarbone. It gleams in the dim light and you sigh a little, proud of your work. He looks so pretty painted in strokes of you. 

Soft lips follow the path of saliva back up his throat, sealing yourself into his skin and giggling sleepily at the quivery little whine your motions evoke, Sunday nestling clumsily into your kiss. 

Silver-blue tufts cling to his temples and his forehead, plastered with sweat into defined points, his sunset eyes gone dark and glimmering, framed by heavy lids drooping beneath the combined weight of exhaustion and ecstasy. 

Despite the fatigue of the day, of his duties and obligations, he’s still absolutely ethereal, glowing in the radiance of your combined love, reinvigorated bit by bit with every sound he manages to tug from your throat—precious little moans and broken little gasps that he breathes in, gulps down, devours in time with the pumping of his hips.

They’re traded in exchange for sounds of his own, quiet whimpers and soft grunts exhaled onto your waiting, wanting tongue with every plunge of his cock. The appendage curls, hugging the sounds, melting them in the heat of your mouth and steeping your tastebuds with him before it darts back out again, tip lapping ravenously at his parted lips—tracing along his cupid’s bow, licking at the edges of his teeth, teasingly brushing the point of his own tongue, enticing it to come out and play. 

That earns you a chuckle, something wispy and warm spilling down your throat, genuine amusement molding his mouth into an open grin.

He gives you what you want, tongue lolling out from between spit-slicked lips—an offering to you, and one you take gladly, greedily, suckling it into your scorching mouth to wreathe your own tongue around it in a slippery embrace. 

A shudder ripples through his flesh, muscles seizing, and he whines low and needy in his throat, the only warning you get before he’s surging forward, front teeth clacking against your own, pinched lips splitting between sharp enamel. 

Copper floods his mouth, tangy and pungent, but it does not deter him, his own tongue charging at yours with such force you nearly choke on it. You swear he’s attempting to lick down your throat, tongue jammed at the back of your mouth and sweeping across it, as if it’s desperate to venture deeper.

His breath his hot against your face, ragged pants exhaled through his nostrils beading on your cheeks and upper lip. The snapping of his hips has turned vicious, voracious, fucking into you in time with his tongue, stuffing you full from both ends.

It’s a divine sensation, being so filled up with Sunday—whole, right, one, like you were incomplete before this moment, and will be incomplete after he’s gone, something vital missing—and you keep trying to siphon him in further, throat constricting as it swallows around the tip of his tongue.

He wants to give you more, front lips mashed between sharp incisors as his mouth shoves forward, another spritz of blood—yours, his, doesn’t matter—smearing across chins, sticky and watered down with saliva, a pale pink glaze. 

But his lungs are burning, huffs of breath tangling together within your conjoined mouths and scarfing down each other’s air, coughing around your lover’s exhales while oxygen slowly but steadily dissipates. 

He breaks apart with a discontented whine of his own, clammy forehead resting against yours as you each gulp down air, stuttered and wheezing. Wrecked, raw little noises spill into the space between your lips, continuously shattering your attempted inhales, fucked from your chests with the wild bucking of his hips.

Rapture has been building within the both of you, brought closer and closer by each drive of his cock, each drag over that swollen spot deep within you, each teasing drift of your clit over his skin, his thrusts turned jerky and desperate as he chases that bliss, as he endeavours to deliver it to you.

“Please,” you’re begging for it, the one thing only he can give you, a single piece of heaven, of him, carved from his soul and gifted to you every night. “Please, Daddy, please, please—”

He’s nodding against you in short, swift motions, forehead grinding into your own, his tongue laving messily at your lips, as if attempting to sop up the remnants of your moans. 

“I love you,” he manages to gasp out, rhythm never faltering, each ram into you harder and faster than the last. “I love you, I love you, I—a-ah—”

Hot cream fills your cunt suddenly, his cock throbbing almost viciously as it spurts endless loads of cum into you—so much, too much; your little womb can’t nearly take it all, stuffed and bulging before finally overflowing with his seed, thickly dribbling past the tight seal of his cock to gather in the ridges of the sheets, little rivers of silky white slowly seeping into crisp linen.

He always cums quick during these nightly rituals; you both do, too eager to have one another—a piece of one another—buried within you, or sheathing hard flesh and soaking into it, saturating it with your essence.

But it doesn’t stop there, because you can’t, because it is not and never will be quite enough to satisfy the ravenous craving you each harbour for one another. His hips don’t still, won’t still, not even after he’s emptied his balls into you and milked himself dry, jolting in erratic, juddering motions. 

Your own pelvis rolls up in lazy ruts and sloppy circles, half-baked sounds of pleasure drivelling from the corner of your mouth with sleepy spit. Sunday has since collapsed on top of you, his weight pleasant and grounding, his breath a humid constant against your sticky skin. His palms outline the contours of your body as his hips rock, fingers sinking into plush flesh to knead and grope in appreciation. Delicate vessels snap beneath his grip, tissues flooded with navy and violet, leaving a smattering of fingerprints seared into your flesh. 

You fuck until you’re both layered in sweat and slick, bodies gliding together effortlessly in smooth, wet movements, skin shimmering with one another beneath beams of silver. You fuck until your cunt is raw and puffy, chafed from the ceaseless rubbing, until you’re both sucking in hisses and jittering out strained whines from the shocks of overstimulation, routinely coursing through your frames in thick electric waves. 

You fuck until you’re both too exhausted to continue, pathetic humping slowing to something tender and sporadic before it finally halts completely, Sunday still buried to the hilt, and you fall asleep stained with each other—you in his sweat and his breath and his fractured, hummed out moans; him in your cunt with evidence of your conjoined arousal glazing his pelvis and his thighs and his balls, sticky sweet like syrup. 

It is the most blissful heaven either of you could ever dream of, nothing more pure than the ecstasy of entering sweet dreams submerged in one another, saturated with one another, bodies stitched together into a singular, perfect entity, breathing and being as one.

[physalian]

Pacing your Story (Or, How to Avoid the "Suddenly...!")

Arguably *the* most important lesson all writers need to learn, even for those who don’t give a damn about themes and motifs and a moral soap box: How your story is paced, whether it’s a comic book, a children’s chapter book, a doorstopper, a mini series, a movie, or a full-length season of TV (old school style), pacing is everything.

Pacing determines how long the story *feels* regardless of how long it actually is. It can make a 2 hour movie feel like 90 mins or double the time you’re trapped in your seat.

There’s very little I can say about pacing that hasn’t been said before, but I’m here to condense all that’s out there into a less intimidating mouthful to chew.

So: What is pacing?

Pacing is how a story flows, how quickly or slowly the creator moves through and between scenes, how long they spend on setting, narration, conversation, arguments, internal monologues, fight scenes, journey scenes. It’s also how smoothly tone transitions throughout the story. A fantasy adventure jumping around sporadically between meandering boredom, high-octane combat, humor, grief, and romance is exhausting to read, no matter how much effort you put into your characters.

Anyone who says the following is wrong:

Good pacing is always fast/bad pacing is always slow

Pacing means you are 100% consistent throughout the entire story

It doesn’t matter as much so long as you have a compelling story/characters/lore/etc

Now let me explain why in conveniently numbered points:

1. Pacing is not about consistency, it’s about giving the right amount of time to the right pieces of your story

This is not intuitive and it takes a long time to learn. So let’s look at some examples:

Lord of the Rings: The movies trimmed a *lot* from the books that just weren’t adaptable to screen, namely all the tedious details and quite a bit of the worldbuilding that wasn’t critical to the journey of the Fellowship. That said, with some exceptions, the battles are as long as they need to be, along with every monologue, every battle speech. When Helm’s Deep is raging on, we cut away to Merry and Pippin with the Ents to let ourselves breathe, then dive right back in just before it gets boring.

The Hobbit Trilogy: The exact opposite from LotR, stretching one kids book into 3 massive films, stuffing it full of filler, meandering side quests, pointless exposition, drawing out battles and conflicts to silly extremes, then rushing through the actual desolation of Smaug for… some reason.

Die Hard (cause it’s the Holidays y’all!): The actiony-est of action movies with lots of fisticuffs and guns and explosions still leaves time for our hero to breathe, lick his wounds, and build a relationship with the cop on the ground. We constantly cut between the hero and the villains, all sharing the same radio frequency, constantly antsy about what they know and when they’ll find out the rest, and when they’ll discover the hero’s kryptonite.

2. Make every scene you write do at least two things at once

This is also tricky. Making every scene pull double duty should be left to after you’ve written the first draft, otherwise you’ll never write that first draft. Pulling double duty means that if you’re giving exposition, the scene should also reveal something about the character saying it. If you absolutely must write the boring trip from A to B, give some foreshadowing, some thoughtful insight from one of your characters, a little anecdote along the way.

Develop at least two of the following:

The plot

The backstory

The romance/friendships

The lore

The exposition

The setting

The goals of the cast

Doing this extremely well means your readers won’t have any idea you’re doing it until they go back and read it again. If you have two characters sitting and talking exposition at a table, and then those same two characters doing some important task with filler dialogue to break up the narrative… try combining those two scenes and see what happens.

**This is going to be incredibly difficult if you struggle with making your stories longer. I do not. I constantly need to compress my stories. **

3. Not every scene needs to be crucial to the plot, but every scene must say something

I distinguish plot from story like a square vs a rectangle. Plot is just a piece of the tale you want to tell, and some scenes exist just to be funny, or romantic, or mysterious, plot be damned.

What if you’re writing a character study with very little plot? How do you make sure your story isn’t too slow if 60% of the narrative is introspection?

Avoid repeating information the audience already has, unless a reminder is crucial to understanding the scene

This isn’t 1860 anymore. Every detail must serve a purpose. Keep character and setting descriptions down to absolute need-to-know and spread it out like icing on a cake �� enough to coat, but not give you a mouthful of whipped sugar and zero cake.

Avoid describing generic daily routines, unless the existence of said routine is out of ordinary for the character, or will be rudely interrupted by chaos. No one cares about them brushing their teeth and doing their hair.

Make sure your characters move, but not too much. E.g. two characters sitting and talking – do humans just stare at each other with their arms lifeless and bodies utterly motionless during conversation? No? Then neither should your characters. Make them gesture, wave, frown, laugh, cross their legs, their arms, shift around to get comfortable, pound the table, roll their eyes, point, shrug, touch their face, their hair, wring their hands, pick at their nails, yawn, stretch, pout, sneer, smirk, click their tongue, clear their throat, sniff/sniffle, tap their fingers/drum, bounce their feet, doodle, fiddle with buttons or jewelry, scratch an itch, touch their weapons/gadgets/phones, check the time, get up and sit back down, move from chair to table top – the list goes on. Bonus points if these are tics that serve to develop your character, like a nervous fiddler, or if one moves a lot and the other doesn’t – what does that say about the both of them? This is where “show don’t tell” really comes into play.

4. Your entire work should not be paced exactly the same

Just like a paragraph should not be filled with sentences of all the same length and syntax. Some beats deserve more or less time than others. Unfortunately, this is unique to every single story and there is no one size fits all.

General guidelines are as follows:

Action scenes should have short paragraphs and lots of movement. Cut all setting details and descriptors, internal monologues, and the like, unless they service the scene.

Journey/travel scenes must pull double or even triple duty. There’s a reason very few movies are marketed as “single take” and those that are don’t waste time on stuff that doesn’t matter. See 1917.

Romantic scenes are entirely up to you. Make it a thousand words, make it ten thousand, but you must advance either the romantic tension, actual movement of the characters, conversation, or intimacy of the relationship.

Don’t let your conversations run wild. If they start to veer off course, stop, boil it down to its essentials, and cut the rest.

When transitioning between slow to faster pacing and back again, it’s also not one size fits all. Maybe it being jarring is the point – it’s as sudden for the characters as it is for the reader. With that said, try to keep the “suddenly”s to a minimum.

5. Pacing and tone go hand in hand

This means that, generally speaking, the tone of your scene changes with the speed of the narrative. As stated above, a jarring tonal shift usually brings with it a jarring pacing shift.

A character might get in a car crash while speeding away from an abusive relationship. A character who thinks they’re safe from a pursuer might be rudely and terrifyingly proven wrong. An exhausting chase might finally relent when sanctuary is found. A quiet dinner might quickly turn romantic with a look, or confession. Someone casually cleaning up might discover evidence of a lie, a theft, an intruder and begin to panic.

--

Whatever the case may be, a narrative that is all action all the time suffers from lack of meaningful character moments. A narrative that meanders through the character drama often forgets there is a plot they’re supposed to be following.

[admirxation]

彡 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟑𝐫𝐝 - 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤

♡ 𝐬𝐮𝐦. Choso is curious to try the new changes the readers body undergoes after having a baby (wc: 1.9k)

𝐜𝐰 — afab!reader x Choso Kamo. 18+ smut mdni, porn without plot, modern/no curse au, reader and Choso have a baby (hence the next warning) , lactation kink, mommy kink, handjob, praise, dirty talk, and cum -> you've been warned; continue at your own discretion.

Choso always had a large preference for boobs; when people asked the question, ‘so what do you prefer’ you would always have the people going different by pointing out thighs or the insufferable answer of ‘personality’. However, he was never one to hesitate that he was a boobs guy. He loved yours, and ever since you two started to become intimate in the relationship, he would love to squeeze them during a steamy make-out session, rest his head on them when going to sleep, and lick and pinch at your sensitive buds whenever he was bored—idly playing away at the body that wanted his to touch.

After years of being together, you two finally had a baby together, and he was over the moon about being a father. Even with the plethora of late nights spent bouncing the baby and changing diapers, he was in such awe of finally being a father—and having his beautiful wife alongside him.

But there was also a taboo fantasy he seemed to enjoy in the aftermath of your pregnancy. Of course, many guys like it when their girlfriend’s boobs get bigger. Still, they mainly say it as a one-off crude comment in the thought of thinking they were funny, but Choso was left always thinking about your heavy and swollen tits, full of milk for your newborn, but having such a taboo fantasy of wanting to suck on your leaky nipples.

He knew it wasn’t extremely out of the ordinary, many people tried it out of curiosity, but he knew it wasn’t just a curiosity for its taste; he experienced extreme arousal whenever he saw you dragging your top down to expose your swollen breast, or he saw your bra and t-shirt darkening in wet patches, his heart aching just to latch on and drink, getting more closer to you as he looked up at your pretty eyes. Just the sight made him excuse himself and hide the blood flow between his bands underneath the elastic band so as not to draw your suspicion. Oh, how his cock got hard when he thought about resting his head on the push of your thighs, letting your fingers roam in the soft strands of his dark locks as he laps his tongue around your leaking nipple, making you coo compliments as he closes his eyes to take in the warmth of your taste. But now, he had to keep that as a fantasy; he didn’t want to embarrass himself or be a burden for his taboo thoughts, even if he was so desperate to drink from your dripping tits.

Tonight, you were sitting on the sofa, the television on in the background, and you continued to pump. You hated how tedious it was, but you hated the swollen and tight feeling your breasts had when it was overdue for a release. You heard the metallic sound of the key inside the lock turning—Choso had come home from work—and when you saw his face, you smiled at him.

“Hey, honey, how was work?”

He was trying his best not to stare at your form too long, but doing an awful job at hiding the red dust of blush on his cheeks as he saw you continue to pump: “Er, yeah, yeah… just the usual… stressful but okay… Um, have you put him to bed?”

“Yeah, you know what he’s like; after he’s been fed and burped, he’s straight asleep,” you giggled, with Choso releasing a breath of amusement at your one-off comment.

This was so difficult; all he wanted to do was stick his face right into your ample cleavage and just be closer to you, but he didn’t want you to look at him in a different light; he wouldn’t be able to recover if he made his loving wife uncomfortable or even turned off by the sight of him because of his taboo fantasies. He just wishes he could get a hold of this.

You cursed under your breath, making his head turn over to you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked with concern.

“I just ran out of bottles.”

“Oh… Is there no more?”

Don’t, stop, she’s just teasing it right in front of me now; he thought to himself as his heart thudded against his chest, feeling a cold sweat start to the brim around his hairline as he took a deep swallow at the tension he felt that he was making a shiver run through his spinal cord.

“Seems like the rest of it will have to be wasted,” you whispered.

You hated this more than anything, knowing you had more to empty but having nowhere to put it, and pumping was a tedious thing that made you sore, so knowing you had to endure soreness for it all to go to waste wasn’t a pleasing thought. Choso knew this and felt sympathy, knowing the proces could be painful for you.

“I mean,” he had a breath caught in his throat. Did he want to admit it? No, that would weird you out; maybe just pass it off as a joke and try to see your reaction and work from there, he thought, with the gears in his subconscious continuously rotating as he tried to see your reaction. “I’m always here, haha.” He rubbed the back of his head as he released a shaky and amused breath, trying his best to mask it as a joke and feeling his blood pump through his veins at a quicker pace; he didn’t want you to think he was weird, it would break his heart if you thought less of him.

“Actually… It wouldn’t be so bad.”

What?!

His pupils soon swallowed the colour of his eyes as he stared at you taking the pump off, sitting there with your top half down, and the drips dropping out of your nipples; he couldn’t help but bite his lip as you looked at him with anticipation, and he couldn’t hesitate any longer as he lost balance crawling over to rest his head on your thighs.

“Wait, are you messing with me… because if you are, that’s not a nice joke.”

You giggled before responding: “Look, I know you’ve been curious. I’ve been with you for years, and I can read you like a book.”

“Really?” he asked in a sheepish smile. Was he really that easy to read?

“Yeah, I can see when you look at me pumping or leaking… It’s kinda cute seeing you try your best to cover it up.” You smiled as you looked at the blush appearing on his cheeks. “Now come on, lie down, and you can make that fantasy a reality, sweetheart.”

He settled himself on your lap, looking at you in awe—was this really happening? As he lifted one of his hands and massaged one of your breasts, the tip of his index finger rubbed and moved your hardened nipple with a rubbing and rolling motion, his cock hard while he watched the small amount of milk trickle down and drip down into the palm of his hand, making him shudder and shiver at the thought. This was actually happening, and it felt like someone had to pinch him to get him out of the dream, but after all, if this was just a dream, he didn’t want to wake up from it.

“Can I, please? I wanna taste you so bad. Are you sure you want me to do this?” he pleaded through low murmurs, his eyes fixated on your pebbled nipple.

“Oh, of course you can; we wouldn’t want it to go to waste now, would we?”

His heart fluttered before he lifted his lips to your skin, pursing around the hard nipple of your left breast. You softly hummed at the feeling of his hot and wet tongue licking over your sore area, his soft lips attaching and suckling gently. Your fingertips travelled through his hair as he groaned at the sensation of your warm liquid dripping into his mouth and splashing down his throat; his eyes closed as he suckled, with his hand continuing to massage your other, neglected breast.

I shouldn’t find this hot, you thought to yourself, but when you saw how your husband was angled for you and the way his dazed eyes looked up at you, you couldn’t help but feel a pool of warmth collect at your core, your slick soon protruding against your lace barrier between your thighs. Your bottom lip was soon caught between the tips of your teeth, stroking his hair with one hand and supporting his head with the other.

“That’s a good boy,” you cooed in his ear and heard his muffled groans.

“You taste so good,” he muttered, “you’re so sexy like this; let me taste you more.”

“Hm, no one’s stopping you, hun.”

“A-are you sure? I know it’s weird, and I don't want you to—”

“No, I like it.”

His heart jittered, swallowing the lump in his throat at your confession; you actually liked it. You both had this little taboo thing going on, and he adored it, something for you both to share and no longer have to live in the realm of fantasies and dreams.

“Fuck, you’re so sexy, mommy,” his lips soon latched on with a wet sucking sound filling the air.

You arched into his touch, letting your tit further squish into his mouth, watching as the tent of his pants was soon rising.

“Oh, you really like this,” you teased, only hearing him hum in reply, more focused on the feeling of your milk pool in his hot mouth.

A wicked grin started to curve on your lips as you watched his bulge twitch under his tightening clothing. You unzipped his pants with one hand, sloppily taking her large erection out of his pants and hearing the vibration of his hitched breath against your sensitive skin; he didn’t know what you were going to do, but he was accepting of any touch, as long as it was from you—he was obsessed with anything you would give him. Your soft hand wrapped around the base of his cock, feeling him pant as you continued to rub up and down, watching the glistening of his pre cum start to dribble out and gloss over your fingers.

“Oh, who's a good boy?” you coo at him, looking at his fluttering and heavy eyelids as he watches you.

“Me, mommy, I’m your good boy.”

His hips instinctively rocked into your clasped hand, the weeping head splurting over your fingers as you continued to softly rubbed his thick shaft, watching those pretty eyes of his flutter as he took all your milky tit in, feeling his tongue circle around your sensitive bud, lapping up every bit.

“Mm, you feel good,” you softly hummed out as his tongue flicked over your nipple, not wanting to waste a single drop as you continued to pump faster on his member, biting your lip as he thrusted his dick into your hand, watching his thighs shake as his moans getting in the way of his sucking.

“Ah, you taste so good, mommy,” he murmured between his muffled squishes into your tit, whimpering at the feeling of his cock fucking your fist; his cock started to clench and twitch as his balls started to tighten, hips bucking to the feeling of your soft surrounding hand. “Ah, I… I don’t think I can hold it in much longer.”

“That’s okay, cum for mommy, baby.”

His cock continued to grind against your palm, sucking onto your emptying breast a little harder before thick ropes of white spurted out in lines, dripping and oozing down your fingers as he panted. He finally fulfilled his fantasy, and he just wanted to keep doing it repeatedly.

taglist: @bratbby333 @styrofoamplat3s @wintrrxxo @sleazymac-n-cheesy @localkiss -> check my pinned post for taglist link and if you want to be deleted just message me, please.

a/n: day three of kinktober done and dusted, I hope you lot have been enjoying this. I've wanted to write mommy kink for a while now, I love daddy kink and brat taming but just something about a man being a little pathetic just scratches that itch, I hope the girlies that relate like this piece, and I don't wanna hear bitching. I warned before the fanfiction.

[frogcroaks]

How I deal with shapes

@spadefish @kobothesmall So for shapes, the way I work with them is from studying how things break down individually, instead of following a broader ruleset for character design that you see a lot in tutorial posts (the triangle, square, circle theorem basically).

The way shapes work in humans is different from other animals (which also differ from each other), which is different from objects. The same shape can be used for different goals depending on what you're drawing. So there's no one size fits all, and especially in styles that have a bit more of realism going on, those shapes will behave differently than extremely cartoony styles.

Process wise, a lot of it ends up happening in my head than in the canvas, because I spent years dealing with this shape philosophy of "just bang your head for each thing you're drawing", which I understand is very tedious to some people, but I love studying individual things vs following tutorials because it teaches me 1. how that thing works in a context 2. gives me a new book to my visual library which I can pull from, which is often what happens! That, and a lot of it is just staring at references too. Still, I'll try to draw something up for this.

There are 2 ways to approach shape design. You either start with the shapes and then apply a concept to it, or you start with a concept and apply shapes to it. The former is much harder to do without practice (and also comes more in concept art which is rough, unfinished and meant to be done and redone dozens of times by design). So, I tend to do the latter: I start with a concept of what I want. This can be as simple as "I just want a character that's fat/standing" or more abstract like "I want a character that feels like a river/I want this to feel like an outburst".

Let's start with a concrete concept: I want a design that looks like a pacman frog, and just a standing pose that isn't too stiff.

I grab some pacman frog references, and sometimes if the pose is complex, I'll find references for that too. Pacman frogs are pretty pudgy, and their legs aren't that long compared to most frogs, even when unfolded, and their faces have a nice triangle-ish forehead with a nice shape for the mouth.

The result is that i use large shapes for most of the body. Curves contrast with sharper lines, giving the sense of something geometric but still organic. The line of action here helps me pose these shapes in a way that gives some movement to something as simple as standing (and you'll gain a lot of mileage from learning how to rotate shapes! this is how you're able to position them in different ways and create more dynamic poses).

For something more abstract, like a crouched pose meant to be angry, I take some references when i can and start doing something like this:

Note that these shapes seem weird because I'll have a naked fullbody wip below any clothed characters to have some anatomical guidance, but for actual final shapes and silhouette, what matters is the final elements, and that includes clothes! so i try to build shapes that emphasize this droopy, closed off feeling. This sketch isn't even that good really, there's plenty of errors, but I hope it gives an idea of whats going on.

I hope this weird rambly nonsense helped LOL

[ivesambrose]

July 2024 Mini Messages

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Picture 1

The desire to travel, to learn and to focus on a spiritual practice. You may have had been self sacrificial for quite some time but now you want to leave that behind for an adventure of your own. It'll happen. Your dreams will guide you, quite literally. Pay attention to them and the places or cities or towns you feel drawn to.

Some of you might find solace in long walks be it outside or simply pacing around in your room with music on. You need some quiet time away from projections of others mindsets. There's an opportunity that will come through which will allow you to bring in new experiences and people into your life. You'll feel grateful that you've crossed your ways with them. However, I do see some of you being reluctant in opening up fully or letting good things happening for you due to fear of being hurt or simply cuz you're not used to things like that given your experiences. But there's hope, there's a reason to heal and there's certainly every reason to release what you no longer want to hold on to anymore.

A good month to simply find some balance within instead of feeling pulled towards extremes.

Additionally, if you've been grieving over something that didn't work out at some point. Know that something much better is on it's way for you. It'll take you somewhere you'd much rather be.

You can also look forward to finding the silver lining you had been hoping for. It's doesn't always have to be like this.

Picture 2

You can certainly look forward to a complete 180 when it comes to your financial situation. Likely the past couple of months may have felt like you've been lacking proper resources or some of you may have even felt like you've been downright struggling even in matters in regards to health. You have had help or your needs met but you've still felt isolated and maybe even cast out. Perhaps you've felt as though you do not belong where you're currently at and you're constantly trying to be something you're not.

Regardless of your circumstances, you've endured and remained determined.

Prepare yourself for a drastic change. A release and renewal. Regardless of you preparing for it, it will come through inevitably. It'll feel like an answered prayer so I remind you to extend gratitude for whatever you have so far and whatever that will be coming into your life.

A lot of you will be happily working towards something that makes you emotionally content. You will gradually perfect or get better at this over time. I also see acclaim in regards to someone's craft or services. For some I see a very tedious decade long chapter finally closing out. You've gotten your wisdom, it's time to apply that for what's to come.

With the money or resources flowing in, be mindful to invest, spend and save accordingly. You'll make new connections this month as well but choose your circle wisely. The more you indulge in art or things that you're passionate about the more harmony and luck you draw into your life. The smoother things fall in place. Focus solely on that instead of rumminating on how to make things happen. You'll be guided on your own.

Picture 3

Immense talent and capability. But when will you claim it? If not now then when? Lucky for you, you're finding your voice and assertiveness this month. For some of you I see rewards or gains from something that you have been focusing on the side. Some of you might also get a sudden bonus at work.

There might be some competition this month however or people trying to pick fights with you over petty matters. Try not to rush things this month either you'll be compelled to slow down either way. You'll also be compelled to drop a particular mindset this month too. Any change you wish to see around you needs to come from within first, it might be a hard fact to swallow but you must accept it. It's like sometimes you're too much in your head but you don't make it a comfortable place for yourself when you should at least try to.

This month will also remind you that regardless of what you've been told and what you've endured, you're not a victim to your circumstances. There's always a way out.

A lot of you might consider doing a sport or building up physical strength as well. Keep your head cool. Take care of your heart and back. Do consider meditation or deep breathing excersises. Genuinely avoid situations that get you agitated for no reason. Channel your aggression towards your goals and know that no one can take your persistence and your rewards away from you.