#ao3 inspired art

[saphire-makesart]

Drawings inspired by @yunuen s jayvik fic “the line is covered in jellyfish”

Okay so the wrist got a little out of hand I’m sorry

Also jayce isn’t grabbing viktors clothing in an agressive way it’s more a mix of just making sure he has his attention and a little bit of wanting to pull him closer in his delirious state

Would’ve drawn more but I’m tired

I’m not obsessed you’re obsessed what are you talking about

[cr1nge-culture]

one of the best fics i've ever read, one that had me addicted to my phone and crying, wasn't even prose. it was a huge, casual, bullet-pointed outline with every detail of an au that the author never got around to writing in full. and it was amazing.

let this be a message to all you who want to write but can't do it "normally": write it! someone out there will eat it up. whether that be poetry, tiny drabbles, or bullet pointed list: your work is always worth it. your art (yes, art!) will alway deserve to have its moment in the spotlight. why? because you made it. even if it wasn't done in a traditional matter, it came from your brain and your creativity and that is amazing.

♡

[lingi-15]

[degenerateshinji]

(read left to right)

nonverbal lu guang the only trope ever

[tsukk1]

how the mountain moves the moon

[includedisco]

I'm popping up this random Tuesday to share a few reminders with my fellow fanfic writers

Even your favorite authors had to work hard to get good. We are all awful writers until we decide to improve and take steps.

Every day is an opportunity to be a better writer than you were yesterday if you put in a little work

The love for your works must start with you. Be your own biggest fan

You're allowed to write at your pace.

its okay to embrace some "imperfections" in your writing. Imperfection is part of art because it makes you unique.

It's okay to let go of the writer you were yesterday. Change is normal and it's okay. You're still awesome and your new work will still have an audience. It's okay to look fondly upon a past you perceive as your "glory days" but don't let that make you insecure. Your heart of a writer and your creative talent remain true. Embrace the writer you've become and confidently run with it

Any story you come up with, and your writing style are both special and precious because it's your art

its okay to crave validation and compliments for your fanfic-writing. You poured your blood, sweat and tears into it like any other artist.

No matter how you feel about your writing, it is special because no one can do it like you.

It's okay to be satisfied with just being a fanfic writer. Having amazing writing talent doesn't mean you must force yourself to write original works or to be published.

Fuck AI

[mikqchoux]

a single soul dwelling in two bodies

[paintedcrows]

Some Fords! (and Martin K Blackwood is also there)

[rin-rin-kururin]

do you too look at your travel companion with silent longing or you're normal

i have this urge to crop my image this particulare way and leave it as it is. but I feel bad so here is a full image

anyway sifdile stay winning and I actually did normal drawing of these two wow

[playingwithyourjigglypuff]

[graveflowerss]

You were blinding, and I thought: Who are you? Who am I? Inspiration (aside from chimera ant arc)

[the-golden-comet]

Lately on my dash, I have been seeing lots of wonderful mutuals get too hard on their beautiful minds.

Lovelies, your stories and art are beautiful because they are from you, and FOR you. Stats do not determine the quality of a product. Again, some of the BEST stories on the archive I have ever read were around 100 hits, and 0-10 kudos. Some of the BEST ART I’ve seen has 0 notes.

You know how I can tell? Because the authors and artists poured their heart and soul into their craft. As long as it can inspire ONE person, you should be proud. You just radically changed the life and perspective of ONE person. That’s amazing.

Sure, you might think your art or story is “cringe” or “bad”…OR, it can be someone’s comfort piece that they go back to after a long day. You may see your stats and think, “man, nobody enjoys this,” not knowing that maybe, juuuust maybe, you have that ONE person who you’ve inspired, who loves your work, and lurks your socials awaiting for your next project. Your art, your music, YOUR story has the potential to do that, but you have to love what YOU do.

And yes, your love WILL show. Maybe not with stats, or kudos, or notes, or comments. But you may be someone’s favorite without even knowing. As long as your art is out there, it WILL reach somebody. I will try to be that somebody for a lot of you, but there is indeed A LOT of you.

In a world where media is being “consumed” for “content,” remember that ART comes from the heART (sorry not sorry for being cheesy). Artists, Writers, Poets, Musicians, Sculptors, HUMANS: Get your hearts out there for the world to see. The world needs more motivated minds. 💫

[birb0t]

she's consuming every single one of my braincells i fear

[elnavegador]

I love him so much it makes me want to cry.

[weevilfan2006]

Now I Wanna Be Your Dog

[littlewitchbee]

ロイアイの日2025 🕊️

(text below I know tumblr crunched the hell out of it)

R,

The swallows have returned. Hundreds and hundreds of small, jewel-bright flashes of blue and black that dart around the yard, catching garden insects on the wing before flitting back into the little nesting box above the back gate. Do you remember that old thing? It was one of the first things you ever made for the house.

You might not remember after all this time, so I feel comfortable in this confession: I hated you for it. You, with your haughty smile and father's affection hanging so loose and bright and easy about your shoulders. You shoved it into my arms and you said, “Here. You're always watching those birds,” before retreating into the study.

You were right, I was always watching them, but it wasn't affection that drew me to them, coaxed me to stand in the garden and stare as they danced around me. Some part of me hated them, too.

Small, delicate, beautiful things. They'd arrive in late spring, bringing with them the lush green heat of summer, and just when I'd grow to appreciate their arrival, they'd fly off again–south, to Aerugo, to the world beyond–leaving just me in my garden in my house where I was so alone despite the present company. Why on earth would they choose to return here of all places when they could fly anywhere?

But I hung that nest box. I made sure it was safe and secure. And every year I watched them return and leave once more. As I grew up, I learned that it is the nature of this world for people to leave. They left. You left. Eventually, I left.

I’ll tell you I was happy to see that the box still secure when I came back to set up the house. You'll think this is silly, and maybe it is, but I'm allowed at least one silly thing a week, and that box was one of the first things I looked for once I arrived.

The work is going well, though I (begrudgingly–please imagine my eyes rolling, perhaps a weary sigh) admit I could use your help. Why replace the kitchen beams myself when you could do it with a clap of your hands?

No. I'm glad to do it on my own. It is a blessing beyond imagination to have spent most of our lives rebuilding, using our blood-stained hands to fix and uplift in whatever small way we can. Fitting as well, I think, to spend the rest of our civilian lives here in the house that brought us together all those years ago.

I've spent the last few weeks airing it out, painting, and making it bright and cheerful in a way I could never have imagined as a child. I doubt you'll recognize it. In fact, I'm glad you won't. It's a blank canvas now, one last thing for us to build together.

I don't envy the work you're finishing up in Central. I hope it's going well, and I'm happy it's almost over. I'll ask you not to rush, though I know that's what we'd both like. Only a few more weeks, now, until your uniform can forever join mine in a box in the attic.

As for me, I think I’ll finish up in the garden, maybe hang new curtains in the study. (Your books arrived just yesterday. I'll let you sort through them.) I'll make tea every afternoon and sip it on the swing just outside the kitchen, right as the sun begins to set over the mountains, and the summer breeze surrounds me with the scent of earth and wildflowers. I'll wait for the sound of your boots coming up the drive; the dog’s excited barks as she realizes it's you; your laugh, weightless, effortless, once she reaches you. Mostly, though, I'll sit and watch the swallows dive in and out of the sunlight.

How could I ever hate them? I understand now.

Yours always,

R