#than trying to draw from your imagination

[puzzled-artist]

I just want to say as a lesbian i love your chunky ass women , also its funny to imagine the situation when artists get told that they always resemble their art in some way and the artist in question is a someone who draws hot ladies what do you think of that?

So because I’m a very average-ish cis man, I can’t say many people tell that to me XD. I think it definitely depends on the artist. Because I tend to draw anything but people that “look like me” I think if you were to pull from people I interact with irl you’d probably see more similarities to how they look in my art than myself. Since a large reason on why I became adamant in trying to learn different body types was because the girl I had a crush on who got me into art was always very insecure about being fat and I think in the back of my head it always pushed me to depict things in ways that made people, I guess more accepting that it’s okay to be how they are.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Descriptive Sentences

Description - what an author uses to depict a character, setting, or scene in a way that creates an image in the reader’s mind.

It’s the way that authors bring characters to life and create imaginative settings.

Well-crafted descriptive writing draws readers into the story and provides essential details to propel the action forward.

Tips for Writing Descriptive Sentences

Cut out obvious descriptions. One of the most common traps that new writers fall into is using predictable words to describe something—for instance, writing a sentence like, “The blue sky was dotted with white, fluffy clouds.” For the most part, when someone hears the word “sky,” they’ll picture it blue, and when they picture clouds, they’ll picture them “white” and “fluffy.” Adjectives like these are unnecessary and can bog down your writing. Simply cut those descriptive words out of the sentence. “The sky was dotted with clouds” conjures the exact same image and is shorter and more focused.

Use surprising words. Once your sentences are free of any obvious descriptive details, you have the space to pepper in some more interesting words. Pushing your descriptions in new and surprising directions will help your sentences be memorable for readers. For instance, if you want to describe a rainy day, the easy way to describe it would be to mention “the stormy sky”—but something a little more unique could be “the angry sky” or “the boiling sky.” Brainstorm common adjectives and other describing words and use them in unique ways to keep your writing fresh and interesting.

Remember sensory details. A common adage for good descriptive writing is “show, don’t tell”—and sensory information is a great way to make that happen. Sprinkling in specific details that appeal to readers’ five senses (sight, hearing, taste, touch, and smell) will bring your scenes to life and make them feel richer and more interesting.

Make use of figurative language. One of the most powerful literary devices that writers have is figurative language, which goes beyond literal definitions in order to describe things in a more interesting way. Comparisons like similes (using “like” or “as”) or metaphors (saying one thing is something else) can help paint instant pictures of your characters or settings; for instance, “His nose was a gnarled root growing out of his face” can pack a lot more punch than saying “His nose was twisted and misshapen.” Other types of figurative language include onomatopoeia, which uses words that sound like what they mean (e.g., “the pitter-patter of raindrops”), and hyperbole, which is a form of exaggeration (e.g., “he rang the doorbell a million times”).

Think about who is doing the describing. In most points of view, you’ll be writing from a character’s perspective—either using “I” and “me” in first-person or “they” and “them” in third-person. It may not seem obvious at first, but point of view is a descriptive element that can help you build a believable world for your story. To use POV properly, make sure that you’re thinking about your character’s perspective as you describe so that the description feels true to the way they would speak.

Be wary of over-description. To create effective descriptive writing, less is more. Try to limit yourself to one or two interesting details the first time you introduce a character or setting, and readers will fill in the rest. For instance, if you say “The cabin room was sparse except for the looming stuffed grizzly in the corner,” readers can fill in the details for themselves without you needing to describe the floorboards, the windows, the bedsheets, and what your character had for dinner last week. This will help readers remember each character or setting better than if you had an entire descriptive paragraph for each.

Read good examples of descriptive writing. If you start to feel stuck when trying to write vivid description, look up a few of your favorite books or short stories and see how other writers do it. Pay attention to what they do that you like—whether it’s only writing their description in simple sentence structure or making sure that the following sentences include strong action to counteract the description. Then, sit down and try to replicate their tactics in a simple writing activity to see where it takes you.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[brokenbough]

Absolutely incredible job on the first thing you posted on here! That sounds like I think I’m qualified to appraise the quality of writing and I’m not, sorry if it came off weird. I just loved it, I guess is more accurate to say.

Grumpy Simon is the very best, and you nailed him. He wants her to cuddle into him so bad he’s such an idiot. This concept was so wonderful and again you executed it beautifully :)

Not a request, just a musing, but I think this would be the PERFECT situation for jealousy playing a role in forcing Simon to admit his blossoming feelings for reader. He thinks he hates it when she lays on him, even though he’s starting to realize he craves it, he still resents her for it because he hates feeling feelings and she’s making him do that he just doesn’t realize that’s his problem with the situation.

But imagine how incredibly bothered and angry and jealous he’d be if reader curled into Johnny or Gaz or god forbid his CAPTAIN or even Graves or Los Vaqueros oh god instead of him. I think regardless or whether it happens on accident (maybe she settles with the rest of the group because Simon is on watch and when she gets sleepy she slumps onto whichever comfy shoulder is nearest) or on purpose (maybe he was being an asshole or had pushed her away so she tried her best to find a new pillow that wouldn’t upset her Lieutenant) I think he’d be so jealous and his feelings would come to the forefront and he’d have to confront them.

I also think it could be a cute idea for Simon to like prohibit her from sleeping on his shoulder and so on the mission she literally can’t sleep at all. She struggles and tries, just lays quietly while they sleep so as not to bother them, but she can’t get comfortable, needs the warmth and something softer than the ground to curl up into and lay her head on. This unexpected consequence takes a toll on Simon, as he sees how exhausted and frustrated she is - he’s pissed off that he cares about this beyond the possible impact on the mission. He’s also impressed but also saddened by how she’s trying to push through the mission even though she’s so much less experienced and is getting less rest than any of them.

Maybe these could be combined and that’s why she ended up falling asleep on someone else? Like she’s so tired her body draws her to the nearest willing shoulder.

Anyway just some fun ideas! I hope you’re well 🩷

One, so sad you don't write yourself. You 100% should, I love your brain. I hope you're well too

Two, I hope this is up to yalls standards. Sorry its so long. I watched two movies making this, i got distracted 😋😋 :>>>

Not proofread 🤕

------------

After two years of being with the team, it almost became ritual for presents for either you or Ghost to be a collection of the two of you together, one sleep or both.

You thought it was a cute tradition. It was something you almost looked forward to, more than clothes or jewelry or trinkets. It was your favorite gift and you wouldn't trade not one photo for anything else.

But cute was not something Ghost was akin to. It was kind of the... opposite of Ghost. He was a hardened, seasoned soldier, not some fluffy pillow you could kick back on.

Yes, maybe he let you lay on his lap sometimes, and maybe you've gone to him for comfort on more than one occasion, hugging him tightly, blubbering sorrys and other apologies.

He never cooed at you, reassured you, or even hugged you back... but he let you mush your tiny face into his chest whenever life got too much for you.

Maybe it was after a mission, maybe days after and the memories came back. He'd been through it himself, he knew the feeling. Only he didn't have anyone to lean on, so maybe you leaning on him gave him some sort of closure. He doesn't know, he doesn't really think about it. He can't, not with his life on the line almost everyday and yours. It was a distraction, wasted time he simply didn't have.

So, like any sane person with having good literally put in front of them, he pushed you away. He kept his distance, kept you off his shoulder, because whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was growing... fond of you. Not attached. Merely... tolerant of you-- your behavior-- and that in of itself was dangerous. Fondness, trust, softness, got you killed in the field.

You didn't even notice at first, too caught up with each grueling mission. You were sputtering, running on the last fumes of your gas. Sleep didn't come easy when you were being shot at, yelled at, and pulled onto yet another plane.

But here... it's cold. And cold makes you unnaturally sleepy. It was something you've known about yourself since childhood. When it got cold, you got sleepy. That's just how it's always been. And now, in the Candian cold, in the less than warm safe house, you were getting tired.

You had last watch with Johnny, Kyle and Price first, Ghost and Price after.

Lounging on the cushy couch the safe house provided, curled up in one of the few blankets, you leaned to the side, Ghost's shoulder the comfortable pillow you remember. You yawn, nuzzling a little closer before your eyes open again.

His finger on the side of your head, pushed you away, moving you closer to Johnny before removing himself from the couch entirely.

He didn't even bother looking at you.

You frowned, watching him walk further and further away. He walked until he was completely out of your eyesight, making your frown droop even more.

You were pulled out of the sad fog by Soap. He shook you slightly, wrapping his arm around your smaller body.

"'S okay bonnie. He's usually a prick." Johnny assures with a small smile, pulling you closer as you surrendered to the fate that was Soap's shoulder.

It was warm, soft, nice. But not Ghost warm, soft, nice. Simon wasn't just warm, he was a fucking furnace, constantly burning, a crackling fire that lulled you to sleep. And he wasn't soft, he was fluff you melt into, like that one pillow you got and can only find cheap replacements for because others are too firm. And godforbid someone call his shoulder just nice. His presence, scent, the way his breath was its own type of calming was just... perfect. Soap was just... just mediocre. But it would have to do because it didn't seem like Ghost was gonna return anytime soon and you needed sleep.

------------

When Ghost had left he wasn't prepared for the anger, the fury that bubbled in his chest seeing you asleep on someone else, let alone cuddled up to fucking Johnny on the small couch. Laying on top of him like he was the softest bed you've made contact with.

He squinted his eyes at the sight, his balled up fists itching for a throwing knife. He couldn't see your bunched up face, contorted in agony because Soap, as big as he was, just wasn't thick enough to sink into. It was more uncomfortable than you would've liked to admit. Bless Soap's poor, sad face if he ever found out he wasn't comfortable enough for his favorite lass.

Ghost stormed out again, standing in the cold silently as his entire body heated up with annoyance, and anger, and every other synonym of the two.

He was on watch now, even though his mind was clouded with images of you and someone else.

You, you, you.

You and someone else.

------------

A soft shake jolted you awake, a knife in your hand before you registered the soft, amused smile and eyes of your captain.

"Easy there." He said, helping you up, watching as you stretched and groaned, cracking your neck, Johnny still out cold.

"Sorry. Force of habit." You say with a sheepish smile, looking around the ever quiet room. You caught Ghost's eyes before quickly looking away, the look in his eyes nothing short of barely controlled rage.

You didn't know how you'd made him mad, but he looked angry. Angrier than when he chewed you out for sleeping on him your very first mission.

"No need to apologize." He continues before shaking Johnny awake too.

When Johnny finally sat up-- having to be promptly smacked awake-- Price informed the two of you that you were now on watch.

You went to the window, looking out at the quiet snow that fell in unique snowflakes, catching up with its brothers and sisters, quietly laying next to its family before watching another fall.

The house was quiet, aside from Price's unbridled snores and Gaz soft muses in his sleep. You don't know where Ghost went off too, probably the very back room to lie down.

You couldn't take the silence anymore as you finally looked at Soap, beckoning him over to talk.

Your whispers surely too quiet to wake anyone else in the house. It was only the drop of something heavy that finally pulled your head up from snickering with Soap, shattering the bubble of silence that seemed to envelope the house.

You turned, watching Ghost angrily arrange fire in the small hearth. He didn't look at you again, glaring at an oblivious Soap as the both of you made your way over, watching the lieutenant work.

"What're ya doin' Lt.?" Soap asks, looking into the fireplace.

You looked too, focusing more on the hands that worked than the actual work.

"Fuck does it look like Johnny?" Ghost said, snappier than usual.

"Why're you fillin' up the fireplace?" You ask, looking to an offended Soap and back to the pile of neatly arranged logs.

"Can't have you fallin' asleep on watch." He answers gruffly, throwing a match into the fire. His 'you' sounding like sin. Reprimand.

Soap was too enamored with the fire to question Ghost's words. Not cryptic, but unusual.

"I wouldn't fall asleep on watch-" you say in an offended tone before he cuts in.

"But you fall asleep in the cold." He says, clipped and clearly aggravated. Accusatory, like he shouldn't know that.

You stare up a him blankly, watching his eyes. Watching him watch you with the same blank look.

"How-" you start to question before he checks your shoulder, knocking you into Johnny, pulling the Scottish man back to reality. Soap pulls a rattled you back to the window, looking out at the soft, untouched snow, mindlessly continuing the conversation from before.

But him-- his words rattled around in your brain as the other man talked, his words going in one ear and out the other as Ghost's words floated around the empty space between your ears. Just him, his words, the fire that crackled behind him.

Him, him, him.

Him and his words.

------------

You were finally relieved from duty as the sun started to come up, making the snow sparkle. The sun itself tinting the sky pink and orange and red, painting the sky picturesque.

You looked away from its beauty solemnly as everyone else started to wake. You turned away, stretching again before watching the others work, looking like little ants. The thought made you smile, giggling to yourself and putting you in good spirits, something unusual from the usual bite you had in the mornings. They weren't your thing.

The rest of the task force looks at you before you just wave them off, helping with breakfast.

Price talks as the rest eat.

"Evac comes at noon, be packed up and ready by then. We have new leads to follow, so wake up." He says, a pointed look at the ever groggy Johnny. You'd say he slept as much as you, if not more on leave.

You snicker, elbowing softly. The deathly glare he gives you makes you laugh more.

Gaz starts to laugh too, seemingly more amused by how tickled you looked with Johnny than Johnny himself.

Ghost is quiet, not bothering to join in with the happy that seemed to surround you indefinitely. The sunlight crept in through the windows, shining on you softly as you literally glowed in his eyes. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes sit before opening them again. But there you sat, smile on your mouth, cheeks tinted red from laughing, your eyes crinkled in amusement, and you-- glowing.

------------

The ride back was boisterous. Well, for four out of the six people aboard it. Price and Gaz laughing, Soap-- in a better mood-- making even the pilot laugh.

But you sat alone on the other side, right in front of Ghost. You tried to sit next to him, catch up on some sleep before being deployed again, but he had sat his pack in the chair next to him, not even sparing you a glance. His jaw was clenched shut, eyes burning a hole in the side of plane.

You said nothing, walking past him and past the rest before settling on the other side. Right in front of Ghost. The silence around you deafening, the tension in between tense enough to be cut with your nails.

No one said anything, no one even looked at you two, too caught up in their own jokes and theatrics.

Luckily for you, it was a short ride back to Washington.

You'd been up on more missions than usual, which meant you'd been up for longer than usual. The sleep you got with Soap had been the most you'd gotten over a week. You'd only slept 4 hours.

The promise of a proper bed and food that wasn't MREs was the only thing fueling your near empty tank. Probably everyone else's too.

When you finally landed at base, debriefed, and ate, you were finally permitted to sleep. You couldn't even make it to your room before you crashed on the couch in the secluded area that was reserved for the 141. Soap and Gaz were already there, playing a card game.

A head peaked over one of the couches. Ghost. You took the seat next to Price, watching him read a little before scooting closer and laying on his shoulder.

You settle next to him, getting a small smile in return.

"Tired?" Price asks, looking you over before turning the page.

"Mhm." You mumble, noncommittal.

You look around for a moment, taking in the happy that enveloped the two men before switching over to Ghost who looked at you. Finally, you think.

You aren't sure why you wanted him to look at you, but he had been avoiding you since.. well yesterday. You were too tired to notice it, but now that you think about it, he hasn't talked to you in mayb a week, besides barking orders and that time by the fire.

You huff softly, shifting closer to the captain. He leaned back, wrapping an arm around you. He smelled like cigar smoke and... well, warm. Maybe Old Spice.

You drifted off to sleep, the last thing you saw being Ghost's skull balaclava. It was seared into the back of your eyelids as you closed them, trying to find solace in your dreams.

It never came.

------------

You awoke by yourself, passed out on the couch. You rubbed your eyes, lifting up and rubbing at the crick in your neck.

You found a mass of black in front of you. You were startled to say the least, pinching yourself to make sure it wasn't a dream.

It wasn't.

You looked up, catching Ghost again.

Looking away, you yawned, fighting the tiredness again. You couldn't get proper sleep anywhere.

A voice cut through your thoughts. Gruff, demanding, definite.

"Enjoying yourself?" It asked.

You looked back to Ghost, watching his mask move slightly.

"What?" You say, still a bit dazed from the short nap. You took a glance around the room. Cards discarded on a table some way off, Price's book discarded on the table in-between the two sofas.

"Sleeping around, I mean." He says, voice deeper than usual. He was ticked off.

Why?

"Sleeping-- what?" You ask again, offended, angry, annoyed. What the fuck was this man's game? Why was he bothering playing games with you in the fist place?

"First Soap, then Price. Who's next? Gaz?" He asks, glaring at you.

"What are you talking about?" You demand now, sitting up properly.

"I'm talking about you sleeping with everyone."

Your brain takes a moment to catch up before glaring at him.

"You mean on them? Because I'm tired? Because I've been up for 84 fucking hours, I think I deserve sleep." You spit out.

"On them, with them, same difference." He comments nonchalantly.

"Uhm, no. Not the same thing." You argue, eyeing him like he's grown a third head.

"They are to me."

".... Are- Ghost, are you jealous?" You ask, not expecting an answer.

He scoffs like it's the most ridiculous thing in the world, but his eyes tell-- scream a different story to you.

"You are." You laugh.

"I'm not. You're.. you're ridiculous." He says, scoffing again.

"No. I'm right. You are jealous."

"Uhm, no. I'm not." He reiterates.

"Yeah, you are." You say, full on smiling now.

He doesn't answer you a third time, opting to just look at you blankly, hoping his jealousy couldn't be seen through his mask.

It wasn't, but it was easily spotted through his eyes.

He huffed again, leaning back into the couch, crossing his arms.

"Fine. I'll only... sleep with you, if you apologize." You finally say after a moment of too long silence.

"Apologize?" He says, clearly annoyed at the prospect. "For what?"

"Do you really want me to go down the list?"

F"Go on." He taunts.

"One, for ignoring me for no reason. Two, for being jealous for no reason and making me lose out on sleep. Three, making me lose out on sleep when I could've used it. Four--"

"Okay. I get it. Jesus." He huffs again, his arms crossing tighter.

"Apologize." You say again.

He gives you a look, eyeing you like you've just spoken blasphemy.

You give him a look like you're not playing.

"...." He tsks audibly, opening his legs slightly for comfortability.

You raise an eyebrow, narrowing your eyes at him.

He clears his throat, his leg bouncing for a second. "And.. me..." He clears his throat again. "You only sleep with me. Okay?" He says, his authoritive voice back on.

"Mhm. I'll only sleep with you. Simon." You taunt.

"Me, and my shoulder." He continues, eyeing you seriously.

"Mhm."

"Good." He huffs out one last time before leaving.

------------

"He said that? Him and his shoulder?"

"Mhm. Cause he knows what's good for him." You nod, eating a bit more.

"Okay girl. Okay." Gaz concedes, picking off your plate before recoiling when you smack his hand.

"What're you two on?" Ghost asks, eyeing Gaz.

"She's all yours man." Gaz says, raising his hands in surrender.

Ghost's eyes narrow, eyeing you after.

You only shrug, leaning on his shoulder. Pre-deployment nap after eating? Hell yeah.

[abbotty]

I Wanna Love You (But I Don't) | TEASER

SYNOPSIS. After 5 years spent with Jack Abbot, you've come to the conclusion that you'd be better off apart. After all, what good is a loveless marriage? Now, with the divorce papers signed, there's only one thing keeping you tied to Jack: your three year old son Adam. In order to protect Adam and yourself from the scrutiny of Jack's family, you and Jack decide to keep the divorce a secret until the 4th of July week spent with the Abbot family is over. A week spent in a cabin trying to convince everyone that yourself and Jack are still in love... what could possibly go wrong?

It felt wrong sitting in front of Jack, a tense silence resting heavy between you, only broken by the tick-tick-tick of the analog clock hanging on the wall.

Jack wouldn’t look at you, his eyes trained solely on the small stack of papers on the table between you. He was doing that thing - digging his thumb into the meat of his right thigh. The pain grounded him, he had told you once. He would do it when he was hurting or anxious or uncomfortable. It wouldn’t take a genius to know why that habit would surface right now.

You had shown up at his work in the middle of the night, unannounced, and all but dragged him into the break room before silently handing him the manila envelope that contained the divorce papers you had had your lawyer draw up weeks ago. It was supposed to be done in private, within the safety of your apartments four white walls. Jack wasn’t supposed to be working, but he just couldn’t help himself. He never could.

He was probably anxious to get back to the floor, always thinking about the next trauma, the next patient, the next case. His work was his one true love.

You hated how bitter you were about it.

“This is what you want?” Jack’s voice, though the words were quiet, startled you. You looked at him, his eyes didn’t leave the papers.

”Don’t you?”

Jack’s jaw clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line, brows furrowed. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was going to say something, thought he’d have refuted your accusation. If you didn’t know better, you would have wished he did.

“What about Adam?”

Adam Michael Abbot. Three years old, already the spitting image of his father, and the one good thing to come out of your marriage. Adam was proof that, at one point in time, Jack had loved you — however fleetingly.

“It’ll be better for him.” It was that, those five words, that had Jack's gaze shifting to meet yours. His expression was severe, eyes pinning you to your spot and you realized how those words could be taken. Your own demeanor softened. “I’m not trying to take him away from you, Jack. Not in a million years. I just- I don’t think a child should grow up in a household with parents who can’t have a single conversation without yelling. I don’t want that for Adam.”

”And what do you want for him?” You could hear the growing frustration in Jack’s words, could sense the end of the conversation before anything was really even said.

Words sharp and biting, you said simply, ”Better than what we’ve been giving him.”

Jack seemed to deflate. He was quiet for a moment, as if letting the full weight of your words rest across his shoulders and burrow into his chest. “Does anyone know?”

The real question was ‘have you told either of our families?’ and the answer to that question would be no. And, if you had it your way, you would be as far away as possible when they would inevitably find out. Your family would be sympathetic - they’d support you as much as you’d allow in your transition to ‘single mother status’. Jack’s family… you imagined they wouldn’t be quite as understanding, especially when taking into account the tragic passing of Jack’s first wife. They’d think you were cruel. They’d think your intentions were that of a spiteful bitch instead of the heavyhearted, discouraged ex-wife-to-be you were. They’d make you out to be the villain in your story.

You weren’t the villain, you thought. You weren’t the one that ruined things.

Instead of saying all of that, you simply shook your head no. Jack said nothing in return.

The tense silence returned, minutes ticking by without a word from either of you.

A speaker overhead clicked, startling you as the intercom came to life, ‘Level one trauma, ED trauma room five, ETA three minutes. Level one trauma, ED room five, ETA three minutes.’

You expected Jack to stand, to offhandedly dismiss you before leaving to join his team in the trauma bay. Instead, he stayed seated, eyes trained on you, as still as a soldier at attention.

You sighed, choosing to stand in place of Jack and made your way to the break room door. Jack’s eyes followed you. You paused with your hand on the handle, turning to say, “Adam’s at my mothers house. He’s going to stay there for a few days while I… figure some things out.” You paused again, feeling tired and undeniably defeated. “Sign the papers, Jack. That’s what’s best for everyone involved.” With that, you turned and walked out of the break room.

The sound of the door shutting felt like the end.

[deadmercenaryslover]

ok maybe you know. WHAT is going on with ol istys nobleman status? some stuff indicates he was always one and other that sigismund gave him a title after he saved his ass. What Is The Truth?

Oof, I definitely wish I knew that, because I could really use the information for fic-writing purposes, but unfortunately, I don’t. I suppose no one knows the whole truth, except maybe some lorekeeper at Warhorse, assuming they have one.

That said, there are a few in-game hints that could be used if someone wants to form their own headcanons.

Here are some of the tidbits I’ve used while shaping my personal take on Ištván’s background for the fic I’m currently writing, probably in a fairly random order. Just keep in mind that I’m going to veer pretty heavily into headcanon territory here, and I’m not claiming any of this is canon. Just some random thoughts put together.

Thanks for asking, though! 🖤 I just love to yap about Ištván and KCD in general, I’m just usually a bit too shy to share my thoughts unprompted.

(It's going to be a pretty long post, so I'm going to put the whole thing under a cut.)

So, what we do know for certain is that Ištván was born in Banat, his parents were killed by the Turks, and his father had a fortress, which somewhat implies that Ištván was originally highborn.

I think this is where we have a gap we can fill with whatever we want and veer deep into headcanon territory, since he trails off and never finishes the sentence. Personally, I feel like it's quite heavily implied that whatever happened to him after his family was slain and his home destroyed must have been deeply traumatizing for him. I know the devşirme theory is quite popular, though I believe becoming a war captive and ending up in regular slavery is just as plausible an option.

I don’t know if it’s just me, though probably not based on what I’ve seen, but I get the feeling that Ištván is kind of dancing around the issue here, despite usually being all about tough talk. To me, that suggests there's deep trauma behind it, likely connected to sexual abuse.

I also believe that what Henry says to him, "You pretend to be cruel, but you take good care of Erik. Someone must have really hurt you, am I right?" also points in that direction.

Another thing we know for certain is that, at some point, he fought the Turks, as we hear from both Ištván himself and Erik (in KCD1), and that he also fought in the Battle of Nicopolis in 1396. There's still a lot left open to individual interpretation, but I think one possible reading is that the events at Nicopolis led to Ištván, who might’ve been just an ordinary mercenary back then, becoming personally acquainted with Sigismund.

I imagine it's also possible that Sigismund rewarded him for his service by elevating him to the nobility, despite the battle itself ending in disaster. Saving your king’s life has to count for something, right?

I think this bit is also interesting to take into account. More often than not, Ištván seems to look for connections between himself and Henry, but here he draws a rare distinction. The way I see it, this doesn't necessarily contradict the possibility of Ištván being noble by birth. I could see it implying that he simply lost that privilege at some point in his life, likely when his family was slain and his home destroyed.

I imagine noble blood doesn't count for much when you are all alone and have lost everything. With his family gone, and the possibility of him being taken into the Ottoman Empire and kept there for some time, would he even have had any way to prove he was of noble origin? Even if he had surviving relatives, they might not recognize him after so many years and could be inclined to think he was just some impostor trying to get his hands on family wealth or something.

I don't know, just some food for thought.

And then there's this small detail. I just find it interesting how he says "the noblemen," not "we noblemen." Again, we can't be sure whether he's simply trying to influence Henry by highlighting their supposed similarities, or whether he genuinely relates to Henry here, even though he's a nobleman himself. It could just as well be both, I suppose. This doesn't have to mean anything, but I wanted to include it because it supports my personal interpretation that Ištván might personally not relate much to those nobles who have led easier lives than he likely has.

And from there, we come to another aspect I’ve been thinking about lately, one that’ll probably need its own post at some point: taking a sociolinguistic approach to Ištván’s background. I don’t have the screenshots at hand to support my theory yet, but it seems to me that he can switch between appearing as a rough mercenary and an eloquent nobleman, depending on what the situation calls for (and yet, he's often being clocked for this, too.) The clearest example of this, I think, is the way he code-switches during the prison scene in Nebakov while speaking with Sir Jaromier.

This doesn’t have to mean anything in particular, either. We could just draw a parallel between Ištván and, say, the Dry Devil and leave it at that, but as a language nerd, it’s just something that’s caught my attention. If anyone’s interested, I could ramble some more about it.

[literallypyro]

I FINALLY FOUND A TF2 BLOG IM SO HAPPYYY 😭🙏💞💞💞

Can you do headcanons for the mercs, with a reader who's a good cook, basically welcomes them with their favorite foods and drinks when they came back from a battle because she loves all of them very much🍔😚.

(hope this isn't much)

Because of the way this is worded, I'm assuming it's not all separate like I usually do them. So I'll just be writing down random headcanons as they come to me in no specific order

To make this easier on myself, I made this in the context of you used to fight on the team, but after it being deemed unfair for one team to have more people, you took up a job as being a housekeeper of sorts. Like a house spouse but without being married to any of them. You do regular household chores all day and make meals for the mercs, but you only got that job because you asked. How could you possibly leave this darling little band of misfits?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

It's a piece of cake

-Even though you were literally getting paid for what you do, they still wanted to show their gratitude. You didn't have to take up that job, after all

-It made them happy to have someone there who would do the chores they just didn't want to. However, they never treated you like a servant

-I mean, obviously, right? They still treated you as a part of the team

-Especially on the nights when you'd make their favorite meals. They can't even begin to imagine how much effort it takes to cook nine different meals just the way they like it

-Sometimes the mercs will collaborate, but they usually have their own way of saying thanks

-Scout would wake up earlier than you to make you a nice breakfast before you have to start your day

-Soldier would most likely make you one of his morbid as hell gifts

-Pyro would probably draw you something for you, but they might bake something for you depending on their energy level

-Demo would get you something he saw you eyeing in one of the shops in town

-I feel like Heavy would tell you not to make dinner for yourself and just relax at the end of the day and make your favorite dinner in return

-Engineer, ever practical, would build you something that makes your job easier. There's a small chance he would just make something nice like a little music box or something

-Medic is a bit strange with his gratitude. He would offer to find ways to enhance your skills to make your job quicker and easier, and implement them if you accept. Yes, he obviously has a random person biologically similar to you to experiment on first to make sure he has it right before trying any surgeries on you

-Sniper would give you small handmade gifts, like a wooden charm of your favorite animal. After a while, if there's an animal you like that basically takes care of itself, he'd get you one

-Spy would find out your favorite scent and get you the best body spray of it he can find. Classy brand, but still exactly the way you like it

-Even when they don't have the means of time to do these things, they are so grateful you stuck around. They care about you a lot, and they truly cannot express just how much they appreciate you

-Aside from all that, they are impressed at how skilled you are at cooking. Not only do you whip up dishes from different countries and cultures, but you put the time and effort into learning how to do it perfectly

-They are absolutely floored the first time you present them with their favorite meals all in the same night, each one cooked to fit the respective mercs taste. To make the meals the way they're supposed to be is one thing, but to make them with every change they would personally make is a whole other level

[dandysworldhcs]

Connie knows every. Single. Word. Every tone. Every pause. Every beat. Of cuphead rap.

“YOU’LL NEVERY CATCH ME CRYIN OVER MILK THAT’S SPIIIIIIIIIIIIILLEDDDDDDDDD-“ -Connie in her room before realizing Looey walked in (he joined in cause what the hell)

CUPHEAD RAP MENTIONED

Take a sip of this, I'm an itty bitty Cuphead

One sentence in, I've already made a pun, yep

Picking up steam, wonder why they call me hothead

Struck a deal with the devil, now I'm rackin' up debt

Yes I made a dumb bet, no need to get upset

I'm a cup of trouble, have you seen my mugshot yet?

Step in front of my finger gun, and you drop dead

Wallop all your bosses, leave 'em all jobless

They'll never stop me from runnin' like a faucet

I'm a full cup, don't you ever try to top it

You can never touch this, but you can kick the bucket

I'm meant to be drunk from, but not to be trusted

Heads up, hit the deck, Mugman

You don't really wanna get your head busted

I'm a dirty dish, who needs a rough scrubbin'

After doing these devilish deeds, God damn!

I'll stop this train even if it's haunted

"Where's my ship?" Sorry just sunk it

Hopping like a frog, duck and dodge your punches

Won't shed a single tear when I'm choppin' onions

Spent all your breath huffin' and puffin'

Just to get dumped on by a cup for nothin'

Unless all you wanna end up dead

You do not mess with a Cuphead, 'nuff said

Do not mess with a Cuphead, 'nuff said

Do not mess with a Cuphead, 'nuff said

Do not mess with a Cuphead, 'nuff said

Do not mess with a Cuphead, 'nuff said

You'll never catch me cryin' over milk I spilled

My head ain't empty, but who knows with what it's filled?

I took the devilish gamble

Nothing that a Cuphead couldn't handle

And now it's time to foot the bibbadibibitty-bill

Any line that you happen to draw

Is a line I'll be stepping across

Trapped in a world lacking any natural laws

Have you had your coffee yet? 'Cause I'm off of the walls

My demons need some exorcise

A little caffeine oughta get 'em energized

Will we ever get to heaven when we die?

Can't get any worse, we already bet our lives

Forget fairy tales, they're fizzin' out

I'd like to pick a fight with that prick, Micky Mouse

I'll kick his ass then I'll knock Walt Disney out

I'll leave 'em with a taste of toxic in their mouth (no!)

My hand's been dealt, it's a bad draw though

I'll go all in when the rest all fold

Look's like I'm on the last straw so

Better tell the devil th-that th-that's all folks!

Come see what we been brewin'

Something to keep ya movin'

Must be the beat I'm boomin'

Hit me with that funky music

How do we keep on groovin'?

Once could say we been juicin'

Beepin' boopin', looney toonin'

Time for you to face the music

You'll never catch me cryin' over milk I spilled

My head ain't empty, but who knows with what it's filled?

I took the devilish gamble

Nothing that a Cuphead couldn't handle

And now it's time to foot the bibbadibibitty-bill

I feel like the holy grail

Just hope I don't go to Hell

If so that won't go so well

I've been bad, but no one tell

I'm much more than just cup

Raise a toast and pick me up

Pour one more and drink it up, but don't choke

'Cause I'm not the kinda cup you should be chugging from

I'll get the jump on ya when I run and gun

Working for Lucifer is a ton of fun

"You two, do my bidding" done and done

I'm a jazzy chap who'll leave you razzle-dazzled

After I whoop and wallop your ass in battle

When I'm stuck up shits creek without a paddle

Just imagine, the glass is half full

You'll never catch me cryin' over milk I spilled

My head ain't empty, but who knows with what it's filled?

I took the devilish gamble

Nothing that a Cuphead couldn't handle

And now it's time to foot the bibbadibibitty-bill

-COS

[chrystal-ink]

I imagine that along with being wheelchair bound for the foreseeable future, you may or may not be covering up ALL of your skin to hide the teeth marks bc I’m certain that werehog Shadow BITES and you cannot convince me otherwise. But if you did go out without covering them, it’s going to look like you got mauled by a beast (not too far off the mark 😂) and would just draw too much attention.

Shadow may be fine with that, but I feel that when it comes to werehog Shadow, it’s only going to irritate him. How dare you cover up his love marks?! How else is everyone supposed to know that you’ve been claimed by him?!

I suspect if he can’t change your mind, then he’ll probably settle for looming menacingly behind you to deter any potential rivals from coming near you, at the very least. Anyone dumb enough to FAFO…I don’t feel like I need to explain any further than werehog Shadow has all of Shadow’s power (maybe more?) and only half of his rational thinking and restraint at best.

Oh you’re for sure trying to make up some excuse as to why you’re wearing a sweater in 90 degree weather.

He tries to be “gentle” when he bites but let’s face it in this state gentle means not tearing you limb from limb. Being his precious chew toy is probably the best outcome for both parties.

The only reason you and Shadow are out at all the next day is to buy a new mattress because Shadow tore it up trying not to claw you (which you’re probably grateful for) teeth you can survive but those claws might just call for a trip to the hospital.

Wherehog Shadow is such a guard dog (or should I say guard hog? lol ) when it comes to you. You have to reassure him that everyone that comes close to you is not an immediate threat you may have to bribe him with some kisses or maybe a chin scratch to get him to lighten up on security.

I can’t stop laughing at the thought of some random dude walking up to you saying something along the lines of “ hey babe why don’t you ditch this freak and hang out with a real man” (barf) only for you to nod at Shadow giving him the go ahead next thing you know he’s flying across the city like a shooting star.

Safe to say only fools try to mess with you when Wherehog Shadow is around.

[mona-risms]

I'm not sure if you'd like reader as Celine's s/o. She's not actually in this, just mentioned. I need her for plot+excuse for why reader is around as much as they are.

Being Rumi's other parental figure. See- Because Celine so subtly engraved Rumi's hatred for her own body, imagine if she'd had someone who would always fiercely counter that idea growing up, you. Celine's own s/o.💀 It most likely wouldn't spare her the insecurity, but it may have not been as bad as it was by the time she reached where she was in the movie.

Baby Rumi off-handedly: "Celine said one day I won't be cursed anymore when I make the golden honmoon :D" *holding up a crudely drawn picture of her with and without her patterns.*

Reader: "...She what—Cursed?" (Take that drawing from her NOW 😭)

Rumi: "Yeah, my marks'll go away!"

Reader: *I'm gonna chew that woman's head off—* "Baby, you're not cursed, and neither are those marks. They're part of who you are."

Rumi: "But Celine said-"

Reader: "Never mind what Celine said. Alright, here's a question: Do you want to be mean to people?"

Rumi: "NO ☹️ that's gonna make them sad, I don't wanna make people sad!"

Reader: "See? You're perfectly fine the way you are. Demon patterns or not, they don't change who you are in here," *pointing at her heart.* "Demon doesn't automatically equal bad, you're not a bad person, and you're half demon, alright?"

Rumi: *Buffering loading symbol above her head.* "Okaay... I don't like being half demon though."

Reader: "Well you didn't choose it, and you're not better or worse for it. Your parents don't define who you are, your choices do. So choose good."

Rumi: "Okay!" *going back to drawing while she deadass forgets that whole conversation bc she's four or something.*

MY SHAYLAAA. I WISH SHE HAD A BETTER PARENT FIGURE. Literally went full mama bear mode when Celine was fr staring at distressed Rumi and just not listening to what was being said to her.

DIE. YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO WRITE ALLAT NOOOOOOO RUMI BABY :(

Honestly if Celine's not gonna take care of her properly then we may as well 😒 LIKE okay real talk I hate kids, right, but even I'd be like "wtf" with the way Celine essentially made her grow up with such insecurities hello??? I'd smack the living SHIT outta her idc if she's battle-trained!!!!!

Rumi would see you as like the nicer parent between you and Celine and she may genuinely even go to you for whenever everything eats at her too much ☹️☹️☹️ and especially whenever Mira and Zoey try to invite her our to like bathhouses or anything that may show off her patterns ☹️☹️☹️☹️ bc it's like. She's not gonna go, as much as she wants to, but she still feels so left out bc of it so she goes to the person that knows that she has patterns but accepts her anyway. She'd DEFINITELY end up in a better place than whatever tf's going on now bc even if she still thinks she's a monster or a mistake, at least she knows she isn't really completely alone

Methinks it'd still hurt like hell though, thanks to Celine's constant. Thing. Like at some point she'd have to wonder like why is it only just you that accepts her for who she is? Why can't anyone else? Mira and Zoey would understand right? Bc she didn't ask to be born like this. It just kinda spirals either way god I feel so bad for this girl

Imagine the whole scene w Celine happens as well, except you end up witnessing it and Rumi's absolute State. And when she sees that you don't even try to walk away—in fact, if you even start walking towards her without reservation bc that is YOUR KID not a fucking monster—she might break down and end up running to you despite Celine's shouts to hug you in tears bc she just. She just got force-revealed, her two best friends turned on her bc of the surprise realisation, Jinu betrayed her ass, and now one of her parental figures can't even look at her in the eye :(. She'll teleport off to the Tower after but :((((( please god I need her taken care of this woman deals w so much ☹️☹️☹️

[this-isapen]

Hi i love your writting.

Ive been dying for some drama with lots of make up sex if is ok with you. (Hozierx reader that is a member of the band or somenthing like that* thank you so much)

Thank you so much! <3 I really liked this idea, so I hope it's up to your expectations!! (though i will say i don't write sex scenes very often, so apologies if it isn't my best work).

My Fault

Pairing: hozier x fem reader

Warnings: slight angst and drama, mild (+ first attempt) smut

Description: You're having a bad day that culminates in arguing with Andrew, things not meant being said in the heat of the moment. But tensions have to ease eventually, one way or another.

Word count: 3, 479

titled after 'my fault' by zeph

fic under the cut :)

I stare at him from across the table, watching as he laughs loudly at some joke I didn’t catch. He meets my eye momentarily, and I recognize it as his silent way of asking how I’m doing. Not great, admittedly, having snapped at him earlier over something stupid during soundcheck that I can barely remember. I shoot back a halfhearted smile, trying to wordlessly convince him not to worry about it. The last thing I want is that much attention in the midst of getting dinner with the rest of the band. I don’t like to make a big deal about stuff regardless, but especially not around other people. Thankfully, he seems to catch on and doesn’t make any further indications that would draw unnecessary attention from our friends. I don’t think I’d ever recover from making a scene like that. 

I keep to myself, perfectly content to just absorb the conversations around me without participating myself. I take to twirling my fork around my plate, playing with the remainder of my food in hopes of killing time until we head out. I’m not in a particularly social mood tonight, though if anyone other than him notices they don’t say anything. 

Quietly excusing myself from the table, I slip out and head to the bathroom. It thankfully appears to be empty, and I feel myself release a breath as I try to expel the tension from my body. A quick look in the mirror above the sink reveals that I’m noticeably tired. This might be harder to keep under wraps than I thought. 

“Get it together,” I mutter under my breath as I run my hands through my hair. I wash my hands to feel like I’ve at least done something while wasting time in here, inevitably wiping my hands on my jeans when the air dryer doesn’t do much. I take a final deep breath, using up every ounce of willpower to go back out there. 

I’m startled to see Andrew standing by the bathroom entryway when I emerge, but try to walk quickly before he notices me. Unfortunately, my plan fails and he catches my wrist gently in his grasp. 

“Oh, hey.” I glance up at him with a tight-lipped smile, trying to play this off as though I hadn’t seen him.  

His brow furrows as he looks at me. “Darlin’? Everything alright?” 

I brush him off with a mildly exasperated “I’m fine,” before turning to head back towards the table again. 

“You sure? You seem... off.” He keeps his voice at a volume just barely above a whisper, the way he speaks when he’s worried. 

“Yeah, just tired,” I assure him, silently praying for him to just drop it. 

He lets me go, following me back to where the rest of the band is chatting. I easily insert myself into the flow of conversation around me, though whether it’s compensating for the risk of my distance being uncovered or an attempt to prove something to Andrew, I don’t know. 

Eventually, we’re on the sidewalk heading back in the direction of the hotel that’s a short walk away. Andrew reaches for my hand like he usually does, but I pull away quickly, refusing to meet his eye in fear that his face will be written with as much hurt as I imagine it will be. Neither of us says a word to the other for the rest of the trek, which is fine by me. Talking feels too difficult right now, like it will take up the remainder of my already depleted energy.  

I barely remember walking in the door, let alone getting to our shared room.  

The door is barely locked behind us when Andrew speaks again. “What the hell is going on with you?” 

His question stings more than I expect it to, the harshness of the words feeling like shattered glass pricking my heart. I don’t know, Andrew. Everything. Nothing at all. Too much to even begin to explain. 

“Nothing,” my mouth feels too dry as I respond, anxiety eating up the words I truly wanted to say. 

“Baby,” he sighs, and his obvious frustration only irritates me further. What right did he have to be annoyed? Why couldn’t he just leave this alone? “You’ve been acting weird all day; something’s up.” 

“I’m not acting weird!” my voice comes out whinier than I mean it to, causing me to cringe. I feel like a hormonal teenager arguing with her mother, the way I shut down. 

“Yeah, because you usually spend the day avoiding me and ignore me all throughout dinner,” he scoffs. “If something is bothering you, you can tell me. Hell, you can tell me to fuck off and leave you alone, but can you please just give me something to work with other than one-word responses?!” He’s getting upset now, and I feel a familiar sensation brewing in my chest – stress, anger, guilt. 

 “I’m fine, Andrew!” I snap suddenly, regretting it as soon as the words leave my lips. “I told you, I’m tired. It’s been a long day.” It wasn’t really a lie; it had been a busy day today, but that was more of an aggravating factor than a cause, and he knew me well enough to see right through me. 

“Darling, please. I just want to help.” 

“And why do you assume I need your help?!” I can’t seem to stop myself from getting snippy with him, but I just don’t want to talk about this right now. Whatever this even was. 

“Right,” he frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Sorry for caring about you. Sorry for trying to have a mature conversation like fucking adults.” 

His last comment sends me over the edge; I can’t stand someone insinuating I’m immature. That one strikes me to very core. 

“Oh, so I’m not an adult capable of holding a conversation?” I shoot back, glaring at him as the threat of tears stings my eyes. The room feels smaller somehow, too cramped. I need to get out of here before it suffocates me. 

“That is not what I’m saying and you know it.” 

“Then what are you saying?” I question. “Actually, forget it. I’m leaving.” 

I rifle through my bag as quickly as I can until I find my hoodie, pulling it over my head as I make my way to the door. 

“Where are you going?” I can’t tell if he’s angry or concerned. 

“For a walk.” 

“Wait, please. Just talk to me.” 

“Andrew, please. Just leave me alone.” I emphasize, managing to slip out of the room, once again barely registering my route until I find myself outside again. 

It occurs to me I don’t know where I’m going, but I inevitably just pick a direction and start walking, the cool night air a blessing to my skin. I don’t really care where I end up, I just couldn’t stand to be in that room with him another second longer. 

*A* 

I groan, tossing my phone on the bed after approximately my fifth call to her that only resulted in me getting her voicemail. I was a total asshole, and I only want to apologize for acting like I did. It came from a place of love, but the last thing I said was a low blow and she didn’t deserve that. I just don’t understand why she won’t talk to me when clearly there’s something bothering her. Something I’m guessing I’m the cause of based on how she’s acted towards me all day. 

I rack my brain for anything I might’ve said or done to upset her, but can’t seem to recall anything of note. Had I been too distant with her? That doesn’t seem to be it. If only I knew what it was, maybe I could fix this. But then again, there’s only so much I can do when she refuses to tell me what the problem is. 

It’s not like I don’t understand it, though. I can be pretty stubborn about these things too, so I get that it might not be fair of me to judge her for the same way that I’ve acted on countless occasions. Still, I only want to help. 

Time passes painfully slowly, but I find myself spending all of it anxiously checking my phone for any potential messages from her. Eventually, I doze off, waking up to find my phone still clutched in my hand. It’s nearly four in the morning by now, and still no sign of her. Not a single call or text, no indication that she’s in the room. When she still doesn’t pick up my call, worry begins to take hold of me. 

We’d gotten back around what, eleven o’clock, maybe midnight? Either way she’s been out far too long for my liking. She should have come back hours ago; where was she? 

Unable to sleep now that I realize how long it’s been, I take to padding down the hall knocking on the band’s doors to see if anyone has heard anything. Alex isn’t much (or any) help, and I feel bad for waking him at this time of night. It hadn’t occurred to me in my anxious state that I’d be disturbing their sleep by doing this, and I make a mental note to buy everyone coffee in the morning.  

The rest of the band proves to be much of the same – exhausted people who don’t know much and aren’t too thrilled to have their boss come knocking on the door in the middle of the night. The last room I try is Kamilah’s, who unfortunately also hasn’t seen or heard from her since dinner, but offers me assurance that everything is likely fine. I hope she’s right. 

Sighing, I return to my room and pull my shoes on. I wouldn’t - couldn’t- rest until I at least knew where she was, that she was safe. And right now, it seems the only way to do that is to go looking for her myself. I don’t care if it takes me all night; I just need to know that she’s okay. 

* 

I finally tear my eyes away from the dark reflection of the lake, unsure of how long I’d been standing there. I’d purposely been ignoring my phone since I left, knowing that checking it would only serve to stress me out more.  

It was clearly late, but it’s not until I give in and check the time that I notice just how long I’ve been out here. Granted, I don’t know what time I got here, but it had been a couple hours at least since I started walking. The fresh air had helped, though the realization that I was alone outside in the middle of the night was beginning to unsettle me as I try to navigate back to the hotel. At least the city was well lit. 

I feel on edge walking down the street, hyper aware of my surroundings until I finally see the overhang bearing the hotel’s name. Relief washes over me as I slip inside, tiredly making my way to the elevator. Hopefully Andrew would be asleep by now because I don’t feel like resuming our argument right now. I’m barely in the mood to talk, let alone fight. 

As I open the door, I see him pacing by the window on the far side of the room, turning immediately towards me. Well, there goes that hope. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion. “I was about two seconds away from filing a report,” he mutters softly. Had he been crying? His eyes looked a bit red. 

I don’t know how to respond, caught off guard by his admission. This is not at all the situation I anticipated walking into. 

“I was worried sick,” he breathes, moving closer to me until he wraps me in a hug, holding me so tightly I wonder if he thinks I’ll disappear if he lets go. “I - are you okay? You’re not hurt?” 

I shake my head, burying my face in his chest. 

“Good,” he hums. “Do not fucking scare me like that.” 

“I -” I choke out. 

“You weren’t answering your phone; I – I went out looking but I couldn’t find you. I was afraid something happened to you.” 

“I’m sorry.” I hug him back just as fiercely, hoping that it underscores my apology more than any words ever could. He searched for me? “For everything.” 

“Me too,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.” 

A few moments of silence pass between us while we cling to one another.  

“I just want you to talk to me.” 

“I know.” 

“You know I love you, right?” 

I nod against his chest, chuckling silently. “I know. I love you too.” Swallowing my pride, I add, “I don’t know why, but I think I was just in one of those moods where everything was pissing me off but I couldn’t figure out what was actually upsetting me.” 

“Love.” 

“I think being on the road has just started to take a lot out of me. I – I'm sorry for being such a bitch.” 

He chuckles softly, pulling back to look at me. “Darling, it’s alright. It’s just that these are the kinds of things I want you to tell me.” Before I can interject, he continues, “I’m sorry for prying.” The softness of his lips and the gentle scratch of his beard on my forehead calm me a bit, the tender familiarity grounding me.  

“I guess we’re both kind of assholes sometimes, huh?” 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, kissing my lips. “We are.” 

A smirk paints his lips suddenly, and he catches my eye. 

“What?” 

“What do you say,” he hums, rubbing gentle circles into my hips with his thumbs, “I make this up to you?” He bites his lip shyly, waiting for me to give him some sort of indication.  

“Oh,” I giggle, feeling a heat rise to my cheeks at the implications. “You don’t have to.” 

“No pressure,” he murmurs, kissing the tip of my nose. “But I want to, if you want me to.” 

This conversation had taken an... unexpected turn, though I’d be lying if I said the thought of whatever he had in mind didn’t excite me. I meet his gaze, and have my answer. Who was I to say no to those gorgeous eyes that bore into my soul with such adoration? 

“Okay.” 

I smile upon seeing the massive grin spread across his face at my response. He kisses me again slowly, passionately, walking me back towards the bed.  

His fingers tug at the waistband of my jeans, a silent plea for permission as he looks at me once more. I nod, and he unbuttons them, pulling the material down my legs. Without a word, I pull my hoodie and shirt off together, giving him even less clothing to work with. His fingers trail lightly up and down the sides of my thighs and up to my hips, leaving me with goosebumps as a result. 

He kisses me, lips slowly trailing from my mouth to my jaw, neck, collarbone. A contented sigh escapes me with each new feeling. He continues to kiss his way down my body, lowering himself to reach the next section until he’s kneeling before me. 

 I take in the sight of him; he looked so fucking pretty like this. The only word I can think of describe his actions right now is reverence. I gently work my fingers through his hair, watching as he instinctually leans into the touch. I can feel my breath catch in my lungs as he kisses me through the fabric of my underwear. He tilts his head up slightly to meet my gaze, a wordless check that I want him to continue. I nod, and seconds later his fingers are hooked in the sides of the fabric, sliding them off my legs and tossing them aside next to my pants. 

“Gorgeous,” he mutters quietly, my face becoming a deeper shade of red in response. Slowly, he encourages me to sit on the edge of the bed, placing my legs over his shoulders with a final glance up at me. “Alright?” 

“You really don’t have to,” I murmur, instinctively resisting despite how much I can feel myself craving this.  

“Darling,” he hums, chuckling slightly. “I want to, truly. Please let me.” There was the slightest hint of desperation in his voice, but I knew that he would stop without argument if I just said the word. 

“Okay.” 

With that, he buries his face between my legs, targeting the spot I need him most. The pressure of his nose and the feeling of his tongue provide a delicious feeling I didn’t realize how badly I needed. Before I know it, my words are a jumble of pleas and curses mixed with his name as his mouth and fingers begin to work in tandem to bring me to the edge.  

“Andrew,” I gasp, gripping his hair in my fist, knowing that I’d soon reach my climax. 

“It’s alright baby, I’ve got you,” he hums against me, sending a shiver up my spine. “Just let me take care of you.” The utter worship with which he treated me was still taking some getting used to. 

“What about you?” 

“I’m doing just fine, darling. My focus is on you tonight,” he murmurs, his fingers continuing to curl inside of me while he talks. Fuck, he’d be the death of me.  

“Andy,” I whine. 

“Shh, I have you, baby. I’ve got you, just let go for me,” he encourages, his words nearly enough to send me over the edge. Moments later, my orgasm washes over me, Andrew looking quite pleased with himself as I catch my breath. “That’s it, good girl,” he hums. 

He rises from his knees, electing to sit on the bed next to me. He wraps his arm around my shoulders, kissing my temple as he pulls me in. “Good?” 

“Great,” I laugh breathlessly in response. 

“Good.” 

“But,” I start, getting his attention. “I think I have some things to make up to you too.”  

“Yeah?” he chuckles. “Don’t feel obligated, love.” 

“I want to,” I assure him, finding it funny the way that we’ve managed to reach a complete role reversal. “You deserve to feel good too.” 

“Trust me, I felt plenty good pleasuring you.” 

I roll my eyes, playfully shoving him. I know he’s being serious, but he can still be so cheesy sometimes. “Shut up.” 

“Make me,” he chuckles, and I can only kiss him in reply. 

Suddenly, I’m pushing him back on the bed, our mouths and bodies colliding as we laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. Our hands are reaching for one another clumsily, happily. It’s nice to be with him like this after the day we’ve had.  

He eventually rolls us over so he’s on top of me and presses his lips gently to mine. I reach for the waistband of his sweatpants and pull them down, though he needs to kick them the rest of the way off.  

I smile at the sight of him in his boxers, blushing a bit despite this not being a new occurrence. He cups my cheek in his hand, kissing me once more before pulling back and sliding his underwear off. 

“You ready?” he asks, looking at me with a sense of adoration I still wasn’t sure if I’d ever get used to.  

I nod eagerly, letting him position himself between my legs comfortably. He presses into me slowly, allowing me time to adjust to the feeling of him inside me.  

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he compliments, the heat rising to my cheeks once more. “And God, I hope I never stop making you blush like this,” he adds, much more quietly, leaving me wondering whether he wanted me to hear that or not. 

He thrusts into me slowly, only gradually increasing his pace. Eventually, he brings my leg up, fucking me gently at this new angle. My hips meet his, and the fingers on his free hand entwine with mine. The sheer gentleness of our movements together almost brings a tear to my eye. 

I watch him as he loses himself in the feeling, his eyelids shutting contentedly as he eventually tips over his own edge.  

“I love you so much,” he mumbles softly, kissing my forehead. 

“Love you too,” I giggle. 

After a few minutes, he pulls out of me and pads into the bathroom, returning with a washcloth a couple moments later. My eyes start to flutter shut as he cleans me up, the emotional and physical exhaustion both finally catching up with me. The last thing I remember before falling asleep is him wrapping his arms around me and pulling up the covers.  

[m0r1bund]

I know most artists are probably annoyed to hell and back with art advice questions…

No idea on your stance so I’ll ask

How do you do format your backgrounds?? Like the perspective, the empty space versus detail, what shape to make the canvas, all that stuff, idk.

I can imagine detailed stuff in my head but in practice I flounder to even begin to put it to paper so is there some sort of method to the madness?

Lastly, do you think it’s a good idea to start by drawing over real life images as a way to learn?

That’s all, thank you

Hi, sorry this took a while. No worries about asking, I’ve been there and I think we sometimes underestimate how much people like to feel helpful and to talk about their process. I have an awful memory, so it’s hard for me to retrace my steps sometimes, but I’ll try!

I remember being in a similar place where my mind’s eye was far ahead of my technical skill. This still happens, I don’t think it ever really goes away, I just remember it feeling especially pronounced and frustrating when I was younger.

context: I used to be really frustrated with my inability to finish or even start large, meticulously detailed pieces, especially landscapes and environmental pieces. This changed as my technical skill started to catch up with my mind’s eye, and I could execute things faster and faster, before my brain would arbitrarily decide a piece was “done.” I’ve had this lifelong tension between trying to become a faster artist so that I can strike while the iron is hot, while also accepting that my brain is wired a certain way, I don’t have to make myself suffer by working against my own brain, and it’s OK to make slow art. for all the grief it gives me, the ADHD hyperfocus / state of flow is part of the process and I do genuinely love it.

So with that in mind, here’s some pointers that I’ve personally found useful.

done > perfect, started > not started, always and forever. Lower the bar as much as you need to. I think this can be rough for those who are less motivated by the process and more by communicating something as it exists in their head. Unfortunately I am learning this lesson over and over, that a piece simply will not happen unless I make it feasible for myself. Can it be done faster and shittier? Can you settle for getting one or two things “right” and letting the rest turn out how it may?  

Taking up photography, studying photographers, and yes, tracing / photobashing / painting over photos (with appropriate permission.) Sometimes it’s more intuitive to find the composition than it is to make it from scratch. I’m lucky to live in the place that I draw, so it takes less guess-work to translate it to my art, but I also just think it’s fun to cultivate an eye for composition using the world around you.   I think creating your own references also teaches you things that studying curated art will not. You interacted with the space in-person, so you have valuable insight into how the space feels and the relationship between objects that you can’t glean just from a picture. It’s also got the beauty of the amateur’s eye. Contrast won’t be perfectly balanced, you’ll get to work with weird color combos under weirder lighting, things won’t be massed very intentionally, etc. What’s interesting to you about the subject is ultimately unique to you, and you get to bring that out.   Video game photography is another fun way of studying someone else’s work. Virtual landscapes are intentionally composed, down to the massing/lighting/visual clutter, so in a competently-designed environment it’s easier to find picturesque vistas or neat places to stage your subject. More fun, maybe less frustrating than exploring an environment that isn’t similar to one you want to depict.   I like sandbox games for DIY scene-setting too. Staging stuff in blender, making rough clay models, whatever you need to do to feel out the space.  

Ditto the above for studying other mediums that you enjoy. I feel like it’s glaringly obvious when I want something to be a 10-part animated series or, like, a tapestry, because that’s just where I go to when I’m pulling from my mental library.   Maybe part of why I gravitated to film and animation is because you can see changes in composition, focus, perspective, etc. happening in real time, so it’s easier to notice them, and to reflect on how they change the meaning of the scene.  

Leveraging your limits. Limited palette, limited time, limited scope, whatever. Easier to play with values when you’re working in black and white than when you add color to the mix. And hey, what can you uniquely do when you’re working under certain limits that you can’t do if you had free reign of a blank canvas? Pixel art, polychrome pottery, noir… The limits of a form make it memorable, or however that saying goes.  

Massing detail and polish around the focal point of the piece. I don’t think I’m very intentional about this with my finished work, I usually play with contrast or negative space to bring attention to things. but I often do this with my quick-and-dirty art like Basedt and Threadbare. I polish the bare minimum to communicate what I need to, and then leave the rest to imagination.   like anything else it’s just another tool in your toolbox, not as useful to those with very detailed work that choose to guide the eye in other ways.  

Thinking of the environment as its own character(s). Some of us get into art because we’re having fun drawing our favorite characters or our OCs, so backgrounds are just that--- backgrounds, scene-setting, all secondary to the main event, not as interesting or exciting to draw. I am personally trying to get rid of the mental boundary between subject and environment, because that’s more in line with how I feel about worldbuilding and life in general. They’re inseparable, they feed into one another, and it does me better to think about them holistically.   Corollary to that: Environments can be fun! A lot of people think of them as drudgery, but I don’t think you have to self-flagellate doing a hundred still-life master studies if that’s not the most efficient way for you to learn. We can and should do difficult things, but I don’t know, I think you can trick yourself into getting excited about drawing cars or buildings or rocks. For me, it’s exciting to explore my headworlds through the eyes of the fake people who live in my head. I guess having that touchstone of something that’s familiar alongside something that’s unfamiliar makes it more fun. When the switch finally flipped, it was really rewarding to realize I was scribbling landscapes as the “main event,” and the inclusion of a character was a last-minute thing if it happened at all. It can be fun! It doesn’t have to suck! But it takes time.  

OK, I think that’s all I got right now. As usual, glean what’s useful to you and forget the rest. There are others who can speak more competently about technical stuff than I can, and I’m sure I’m overlooking something obvious. this is just what sticks with me, personally.

[royalnavyart]

value study

ref: if you had been the moon (2009)

[jils-things]

garry and jenna trying to comfort ib who recently woke up from her nightmare is doing numbers on my brain actually 😭

[wr-n]

GOD i love dustard,,,,, GOD,,,,, yeah,,, yeag,,,,

they're just,,, SO GOOD i cant even,,,,

[solaceofthestarz]

ai art isn't better than real art, because art isn't about being good

[sskk-manifesto]

--