#just be the stubbornest bitch - you will get where you want to be

[chipped-chimera]

This video is really good, for two reasons.

The first reason: The amount of times (especially if I've been in a mental stink and art has not happened in a hot minute) that I'll scrap or stop working on something because it doesn't 'look good enough' isn't great - but this shows early stages in an artwork NEVER compare to the finished work (and I probably shouldn't be discouraged because it starts 'looking like shit' in my own opinion).

The second: No this is literally why I don't believe in talent when it comes to shit like this. Sure you might be born with a better colour sense than someone else but when it comes to skill and being able to paint/draw? No. The only talent is being stubborn. If you have enough in you to push yourself past that barrier of 'not good enough', keep going UNTIL you are happy with it - that's how you improve. That's how you progress in art. And I feel like this video is kind of a good example of that too. We all start small and simplified, refinement comes with time and practice. Keep at it. You'll get there because talent doesn't exist - just be stubborn about it.

.

[spainkitty]

Oc asks - I want. Emerens. 👀

You're a very good friend and also Emerens is Best ❤❤👌👌

This is Emerens from The Coward's Emblem!! 😁

Full Name: Emerens Valerius Kaecus (He's goes by Kaecus for most of the novel)

Gender and Sexuality: M/Moronsexual, or just Dragonsexual, we all know who's the monster lover in this novel

Pronouns: He/Him

Ethnicity/Species: He's both Riyukezan and Harenese (a mix of Japanese and Roman, basically)

Birthplace and Birthdate: borderlands of Meksi and Harenae/ He's around 24, maybe 25 years old? I love the idea of him being born in Spring!🤩

Guilty Pleasures: *cough*Accidentally Touching his Love Interest*cough* Also, gardens. he has a soft spot for pretty flowers (he grew up basically on the edge of a desert so)

Phobias: dishonoring his family and Empire, also, crowds. he REALLY hates crowds (he has prosopagnosia so crowds are literally the stuff of his nightmares)

What They Would Be Famous For: Being the Most Stubborn Jackass, I mean, Being the Best Knight to Ever Knight

What They Would Get Arrested For: Kidnapping

OC You Ship Them With: sshhh, spoilers (or just check out his sexuality, BIG HINT lol)

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Arash. Hands down, Arash.

Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Books about gardens, poems about gardens, or just wildlife and flora in general

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Misunderstanding Trope (something like Romeo and Juliet would enrage him "WHATS THE POINT OF THIS" His LI: *sobbing* It's so sad they loved each other so much!! Him: ah... um. yes. so much. they weren't complete morons at all…)

Talents and/or Powers: He's really good with polearms and he's faster than his big frame suggests he would be + He's the Stubbornest MoFo in Mekshi

Why Someone Might Love Them: He's loyal to a fault and is determined to see the best in the people he admires and loves. He's honest, brave, and, as a perk, pretty handsome 😉 But it's his honesty and unwavering faith that'll get you in the end. He makes it easier for you to believe in yourself, because this stubborn, no nonsense, heroic asshole is smitten with you and will kill and die for you. (It'll take a while to get past that scowly, resting bitch face shell, though, which makes it all the better)

Why Someone Might Hate Them: He's so. fucking. stubborn. Once he gets an idea in his head, he will follow through, come hell or high water. He also has a strict set of morals and it can make him a bit narrow minded, especially when people come up with grey morals or don't live up to his expectations

How They Change: He learns to bend a little more, be a little less rigid, and realize there's more to life than dying for a cause. There's also Living for the right cause.

Why You Love Them: I just... love this archetype of a Love Interest (he's an MC, but he's also the Main Love Interest character). I love putting characters like this into situations where they have to face their rigidity and realize that, even though those morals are good, they're not always the Most Right. And that people, no matter who they are and how much you love them, are fallible, and That's. Okay. Also he's just fucking hilarious. Driest, Deadpan Humor in the novel.

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 9 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M (for language) Warnings: None Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Healer’s Hands

"You don't have to do this, Rory. Not tonight."

She sighed, shaking out the drying cloth in her hands pointedly, her eyes fixed on a fascinating bit of wall to her right. "So you keep saying," she said in a wry tone. "Yesterday, in fact. Oh, and the day before. And today, you've been avoiding me."

Cullen rolled his eyes, stepping up out of the bath. "I have not been avoiding you," he informed her, taking the cloth from her hands to wrap it about his waist.

"Really?" she asked knowingly. "So why did it take following you to the baths in the middle of the night to even find out if that potion is working for you?"

"I don't know whether to be disturbed or flattered that you tracked me through Haven on a moonless night, just to give me a massage," he commented, avoiding the question like a pro.

"I wouldn't have had to if you'd just let me do it in your tent two nights ago," Rory pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest. She was still addressing the wall, hoping he mistook her blush for the heat in the bath house. "Now we either do it here, or I walk you back to your tent and do it there. Either way, you're getting a massage tonight."

She could feel him staring at her, weighing up her intent, not daring to look around and meet that gaze. That cloth at his waist would not be modest at all now it was wet, and she didn't think he'd take her seriously if she was talking to his crotch. Oh yeah, talking to the wall is a much better impression to be making.

Cullen sighed heavily. "You are the stubbornest woman I have ever met,"

"So're you," she retorted, listening as he stepped into the dressing chamber. "So that's a yes, is it?"

"It's a reluctant concession from one stubborn woman to another," he called out to her.

Rory felt her jaw twitch. Trust him to take me literally just to see if he can get a rise out of me. "So put away your man-boobs and decide where you want to be massaged," she countered, instantly regretting her choice of words. "In what location do you - no, that's worse." She grimaced at her own clumsiness with words. "In here or in your tent? And shut up."

She heard him chuckle, the sound setting off a happy little glow inside despite her mild irritation. "I said nothing," he protested in amusement.

"I know you said nothing," she replied. "I could feel you maliciously saying nothing with every word I said."

"That makes no sense, Rory," he informed her, sounding a little muffled.

"You have a very piercing stare," she offered by way of clarification. "I always know when you're waiting for me to blush."

"And you have a beautiful bottom, but you don't hear me accusing you of maliciously wiggling it at me."

Rory's hands flew to cover her backside, relieved to discover that she was still clothed. Clothes only miraculously disappear around him in daydreams, you daft sod. Still, it was embarrassing to realize that he'd noticed her rear end, though it could only have been in the last couple of days. The morning after her close shave in the woods, she'd gone to the forge and bought a sizeable amount of butter-soft ram-hide from Harritt, then politely asked one of the women who was good with a needle to make up a couple of pairs of pants for her. The resulting articles were warm, sturdy, and form-fitting, and she felt a lot more secure in them. Her next purchase was going to have to be a longer jacket, though, it seemed.

As Cullen's chuckle reached her ears, she growled under her breath, letting her hands fall away. "Are you drunk?" she accused mildly.

"Just exhausted," he answered, and the laughter was gone from his voice. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have ... after what happened with the Orlesian ..." He sighed, sounding closer than before. "It was inappropriate of me to say such a thing."

"Cullen, I'm not a china doll," she said in frustration, though barely any of that was because of him. Everyone in Haven seemed to be on eggshells around her, and it was driving her insane. "I've been coddled and mothered and generally treated as though the wrong word will break me, and it won't." She turned, glad to find him fully dressed once again. "What happened was my own fault. I decided to go out alone, even after Rylen warned me it might not be safe."

His eyes blazed suddenly. "Never say that again," he told her sternly, staring into her eyes with an intensity that would have frightened her from anyone else. "What that ... what he did was not your fault. Men like that are the dregs of the world, no better than maleficar or darkspawn. His actions do not reflect on you. And I will not have you thinking otherwise. Do you understand?"

Gobsmacked by the fervor in his words, Rory could only nod mutely. For once, the inner fangirl was silent, awed into speechless gawping by this very real evidence that he seemed to genuinely care ... for her well-being, at least. She felt her breath catch in her throat as his bare hand touched the aching bruise on her throat, reaching higher for callused fingers and palm to cradle her jaw almost tenderly.

"If that man had not already met the Maker, I would have killed him myself," he went on, his voice intimately low between them. "You are mine."

Oh, my giddy aunt ... A glowing pool of pure, unadulterated desire ignited deep in her belly, throbbing with each beat of a heart that was suddenly far too loud. "Yours?" she breathed, not quite able to summon her voice.

She must have looked confused or alarmed. Whatever the reason, Cullen seemed to abruptly realize he was wavering on the edge of a clearly defined line. "One of my people," he clarified, drawing his hand back from her burning cheek. "My responsibility. I look after my own."

Ah, disappointment, thou art a feisty bitch. "Yes, you do," Rory assured him, glancing down at his hand, which still sported bruised knuckles from a punch made in her defense. "I - we - appreciate how much you care for us."

The corner of his mouth twitched, hinting toward another of those unseen smiles. His hand rose, rubbing at his neck in a manner that was wonderfully familiar, and Rory felt some of her disappointment lift on seeing it. My gods ... he really does like me. But what about Evelyn Trevelyan, or that trigger-happy elven mage? He might like them more, if he gets the chance. She gave herself a mental shake.

"I ... take it we're going to your tent, then?" she asked, dragging herself back to the reason she'd ambushed him in the bath in the first place. "I'd offer the clinic, but Fabian's taken to sleeping there with me."

Cullen looked almost relieved by her topic change. "He wants to protect you," he commented, gesturing for her to move past him to the door. "That, I can understand. And yes, my tent."

"What do you mean, you can understand?" Rory glanced at him curiously, lifting her cloak off a hook to pull it around her shoulders as they stepped out into the cold night. "I don't need protecting."

"Yes, you do," Cullen argued quietly as they fell into step together. "I am at a loss to explain how a woman so well-traveled knows nothing of personal defense."

And the convenient lie come back to bite me in the arse. A arse he apparently thinks is beautiful, but that's beside the point. "I've never needed to learn," she told him, which was true, in a way. "No one's ever threatened me enough that I've needed to fight them."

"Which makes our failure in security even worse," he grimaced. "Surrounded by soldiers, you should have been safe."

"No, all it means is that I've been extraordinarily lucky," she affirmed a long-held belief out loud, and that wasn't a lie, either. "I think the fact that I made it to twenty-six without my luck running out is quite impressive, actually."

"You might almost call it miraculous," he agreed, the hint of a smile once again in his voice.

"I don't attract trouble," she protested laughingly.

"Perhaps not, but I have seen you trip over something that wasn't there more than once," he reminded her, nodding to the guard on the gate as they passed through.

"Clumsiness is not a crime," she defended herself mortified that he could say he'd seen it happen multiple times.

"The way you cackle with laughter whenever you fall over could be considered criminal, if it wasn't so charming." He came to a halt, opening the ties on his tent flaps as she waited.

"I do not cackle," Rory insisted adamantly, only to be undermined by a disembodied voice from the next tent over.

"You do cackle. Like a wee nug being tickled."

"Shut up, Rylen."

She rolled her eyes at the sleepy laugh that answered her, ducking into Cullen's tent as she felt her cheeks burning. What was her Starkhaven friend going to think of her being in the commander's tent after midnight?

She was surprised to note how warm it was inside the canvas structure, though it was hardly spacious. Just room enough for a small brazier, two chests, a crate for a desk, and a bedroll, all illuminated by a dim lantern hanging from the crossbar. In this enclosed space, Cullen seemed too big, too close, too handsome. Too tempting. But she was here for a reason, she had to remember that.

"How do you want to do this?" he asked in a gentle tone, as though aware of how too he was in here.

"Where are you tense?" she answered him, needing to know that before she could go much further.

"My neck," was his somewhat predictable reply. "My shoulders."

As much as she would have liked to hear "everywhere", it was something of a relief to have him pinpoint the place that needed to be manipulated. All over would have taken most of the rest of the night, for a start. And just his neck and shoulders helped her avoid the highly titillating experience of a totally naked Cullen under her hands.

"Then we can do this with you seated, or lying down, whichever you'd prefer," she said with a nod, raising her hands to undo her cloak. "This is all about you."

His expression flickered for just a moment, a shadow implying unkind inner thoughts darkening his eyes for a split second. Then he turned away with a short nod, bending to unlace his boots. "It will be more comfortable for you if I am lying down."

It was awkward with both of them trying to prepare in such a small space. When Rory bent to remove her own boots, she was virtually eye to eye with his groin, noting - with pride in herself for seeming detached - that Commander Cullen was a leftie. When he stretched up to remove his shirt, she realized that he was easily a foot taller than her, her gaze focusing on the divot of his clavicle right at her eye-line. His arms came down on either side of her, his eyes finding hers in the dim light, and for just a breath, she was sure they were wavering on that line again. Then he stepped back, ducking to avoiding the lantern, and lowered himself to the bedroll, arms flat at his sides as he stretched onto his stomach.

"You've done this before, haven't you?" she accused him lightly, her voice hushed to avoid disturbing the others in the tents all around.

"Once or twice," he confessed with the same humor, his volume matching hers for the same reason. "After injury, to rehabilitate my muscles. Never ... never like this."

"You have to tell me if you feel pain, all right?" she warned then, inching closer on her knees. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I will," he promised softly, watching as she pulled a small bottle of unfragranced oil from one of the many pouches on her belt. "I trust you."

"I should hope so," she agreed, considering her options. Quite apart from the sheer magnificence of his naked back, he was broad ... too broad for her to comfortably do this from either side. "I, uh ... I need to ... straddle you," she confessed awkwardly. "Is ... is that all right? I'll try not to actually sit on you."

Cullen let out a soft snort of laughter, waving his fingers at her. "It's fine," he assured her in a confident tone. "I doubt you weigh much more than my sister."

She blinked, wondering which sister he meant. Something else she wasn't supposed to know. "I'll take that as a compliment," she decided, lifting onto her hands and feet to swing a leg over the narrower span of his waist and hips.

"It's intended as one," he promised, tensing only a little as her knees came to rest between his arms and ribs. But he somehow managed to banish that new tension as she settled with her backside brushing his. "Rosalie is tiny."

"Oh, well, thank you," Rory chuckled softly, pouring oil onto her hands to warm it. "Now shush and let me relax you."

"You're like Mia when you're bossy, though," he added, closing his eyes as her hands began to stroke over the broad expanse of his shoulders.

A slow tremor leeched through him at the gentle passage of her hands. How long had it been since he'd let anyone touch him, she wondered, admiring the golden gleam of taut skin over toned muscle in the dim candlelight. Long enough that he sighed with what might almost have been gratitude when her hands did not immediately pull away. In fact, now she was touching him, Rory wasn't sure she was going to be able to stop. His skin was smooth beneath her palms, hot and firm, yielding to the slow pressure she eased into him with only the barest resistance. He groaned, the sound laced with relief and pleasure, and she felt herself grow hot as that sound struck straight to her core.

Was that the sound he would make if she touched him somewhere else, she wondered shamefully, knowing she shouldn't be thinking such a thing when he was under her care. Here and now, in this moment, he was vulnerable, beautiful in the trust he had given her to see him so disarmed. She had never felt so privileged, so touched, to be allowed to treat someone, yet her traitorous thoughts would not stop. Would he sigh like that if she kissed the little scar between his shoulder-blades? Would she hear that moan against her ear as he moved inside her? She should not be imagining it, taking advantage of him in her mind's eye. But the thoughts were there, unbidden, impossible to ignore.

He really was an Adonis, glistening beneath her hands as she worked the tension from his muscles, a god among men. But it wasn't his physical beauty that made him so; at least, not solely. This was a good man, a kind man, so troubled by his past mistakes that he was prepared to endure terrible torment to separate himself from the man he had been then. How many people even had that kind of honor, let alone were ready to exercise it? Yes, he had his faults - a learned hatred of magic and mages, a temper that flared a little too easily, a casual indifference to keeping his family in the loop - but who didn't? To have come so far after enduring so much and still be gentle at heart ... that was what made him beautiful in her eyes. The woman he chose would be lucky indeed, and she had better recognize it, or Rory would break her perfect nose for her.

As he relaxed under her palms, she listened to his breathing growing slow and steady, no longer laced with moans but with the comfortable sigh of deep, dreamless sleep. Mission accomplished. With careful motion, she lifted herself from his back, reaching to tuck the blankets warm about his shoulders. Wiping her hands clean, she pulled on her cloak and boots, hesitating as temptation reared its head. Where's the harm? He'll never know.

Slowly, gently, she leaned down, brushing the ghost of a kiss to the upturned corner of his mouth, over the scar that had haunted her dreams a few too many times. His lips puckered, as though answering her kiss in his sleep, making her smile as she stroked her fingers through his tousled hair. "Sleep sweet, sweetheart," she whispered softly, slipping from his side to let him slumber in peace.

Oh, yes. Mission definitely accomplished.