#no big arts this weekend bc i was focusing on commission work!!

[angelkissedface]

[ rathanael voice ] the archangel of love flirted with me once.

[bigskycastle]

ask

Yup! I’m gonna use this ask to answer the other ones finally lol

Hehe that’s a cute idea.. that’s sort of what I imagined the “special ready” effect is, but it would definitely be cooler if instead of just glowing/moving a bit their hair cycled through a bunch of colors

Hi! Oh that’s pretty broad uhhhhhhhh id say.. well. it’s N from pokemon bw but most of the characters I end up liking are just, like, silent protags lol

Honestly? at first nervous and uncomfortable because I very much forgot how to draw humans. But i’m feeling tons better about it now and having a lot of fun with it^_^

Awh thank you ! ❤ you’re also cool

Good at the moment! Got a 4 day weekend every week now so I should (maybe?) be able to be more active here. Also FINALLY have a doctor’s apptmt today so i can see someone about my mental health shit and possibly, perhaps, potentially actually get help lol

You’re sweet, thank you❤ I’d like to redo my spectrum piece at some point just because i think i’ve evolved a little stylistically since I finished it, but I still like it despite that. And ty again! They’re very relaxing for me now lol, I’m glad we (against all odds) got a zelda game with one

I think I first saw a streamer playing it when I dropped by their twitch page on a whim, and I saw all the clothing options and immediately decided “i must buy a switch just to play this game”. The fashion aspect is still one of my favorite things about it lol. 

I think my Favorite part has to be the singleplayer modes, in partic agents though (predictably), bc they’re exactly the sort of “mostly blank slate” characters+worlds I get attached to.. I’ve always rly enjoyed sort of filling in the gaps left behind in media, even if that means what I end up loving at the end is 90% headcanon stuff. I think that’s the best way 2 interact with media anyway. making it more personal. 

It’s always very cool seeing everyone’s different takes on the agents/splat world, and it’s Very cool how I can post a pic of, like, agent 3 and have a bunch of different people each see a totally different character, you know? But yeah i like the shoes in splatoon

Honestly kinda rough but I’m trying! I’ve started college now and the people there are nice enough, plus it’s got incredibly cushy hours and is pretty light on actual “learning”, but it’s good, I needed some kind of break from academia before I straight up died

I’m happy you enjoy it anon!!!!!! I will :-)! I’ve got a lot planned for zelda art in the near future, i just have to finish some commissions and stuff before I can properly work on it

I’ve never “studied” officially, but i’ve been drawing for like, 5-6ish years now? I didn’t pick it up until I was about 10 and didn’t rly commit until I was maybe 12. The course i took at college is meant to be art-focused, however, the stuff they’re teaching is like.. not a brag! but stuff I do already know. Like, a tutor tried to explain what “pixel art” is to me on my first day. I mostly took it to try and learn some Maya skills because I do want to pick up 3D art one day!

Ty! This question’s pretty similar to the last so i’ll put it here. I’ve been slacking on my actual studying a bit, most of what I do is force myself to draw anything every day. Doesnt matter if its a wonky doodle of a face on the back of a napkin or if its a full illust, its practice, it counts. Also, trying to shove myself out of my own comfort zone by doing things like environments and very detailed things (motorcycle.). It’s very rewarding just to look at something you made and think “I thought this was impossible before right now”.

hmmmmMm... I can’t think of any just off the top of my head but my friend @nickymemer (I think?) put the idea of Zelda, whenever shes sick of link and her dads’ collective shit, just running off to gerudo town to hang out with urbosa and the rest of the gerudo court, in my head and i love that a lot

Thank you thank you! As of rn it’s botw but that’s probably because it’s the only one i’ve played by myself. I watched a 30 hour longplay of twilight princess and really loved that though. I did watch an lp of both majora and ocarina but I get the feeling i’m missing a big part of the experience of both bc i’m not playing them. (That or they’re overhyped.) If i get a bit more cash at some point I’ll probably get both on my 3ds.

Alright that’s all I think! Thank you everyone ❤

[possibilistfanfiction]

a shelter from oblivion (we will be in history)

[so this is a new years gift for @turnandchasethewind​ bc i shes my best pal but also bc we are sluts for teen vogue & the new 21 under 21 issue is SO LIT so heres some ridiculous fun queer fluff for u: 

lexa & clarke are both activists featured in 21 under 21. they might fall in love a little.]

//

a shelter from oblivion (we will be in history)

.

queers are intimately familiar with the costs of being queer—that, as much as anything, makes us queer. the question really is not whether feelings such as grief, regret, and despair have a place in transformative politics; nor is it how to cultivate hope in the face of despair. rather, the question that faces us is how to make a future enough that even the most reluctant among us might want to live there.

—heather love, feeling backward: loss and the politics of queer history

//

you know a lot about lexa woods: a queer, trans activist who argued legislature when she was 15, started a non profit for lgbtq+ youth and legal aid in brooklyn when she was 16, spoke at the women’s march in new york, is now 19 and a sophomore at harvard studying political science and queer theory. also, notably—because you admire her and also because, honestly, she’s hot as hell—has walked the past two fashion weeks in both paris and new york and is the new face of mac. 

so, whatever. you know a lot.

you’d expected her to be intense, which she is, and professional, which she definitely is, letting like five people in front of her in line at craft services during your shoot and sitting down for her interview after literally shutting off her iphone, smiling gently, and leaning forward like those next twenty minutes were the most important of her life.

what you hadn’t expected, though, is how she’s funny, and kind of silly, even, and actually honest to god giggled at a stupid joke you made when you were talking to her after you finished your interview. 

and now, now, you’re at some vegan diner in the middle of east williamsburg, because she’d started talking to you about your art and you’d talked to her about how you always want to be more inclusive—both in your subjects and what your art is conversing with itself—and then she was grabbing your coats and leading you to the L train. she’s sneaking a little whiskey into your milkshakes with the sexiest, cutest wink you’ve ever seen, and, just.

‘i’m sure you get this all the time,’ you say, trying to let the milkshake cool you the fuck down, because your cheeks are burning, ‘but you’re the prettiest girl i have ever met.’

her smile is small, bashful, radiant, and you want to see it for your entire life, you think, in that moment. which is dramatic and young but whatever. she’s beautiful.

‘i don’t, actually,’ she says, and it’s full of a little sadness and the sort of bitterness—in a different way, but not too dissimilar—also know.

‘well,’ you say, ‘that’s dumb. because like—’ you gesture at her, and she looks down, blushing, ‘wow.’

‘i’ve thought similarly of you,’ she says, ‘since i saw some of your art two years ago.’

your heart pounds at the confession but before you can say anything, or reach under the booth and grab her hand, your server comes by with the bill, flushed cheeks and stammering at lexa, or maybe at the two of you, who knows. that’d be cool.

you climb out of the booth and it’s cute, the way lexa methodically pulls on her scarf, then her jacket, a little beanie, gloves, before she heads to the door. you think distantly that your mom would admire that kind of precision, that carefulness, and then you have to reel that in because, really, meeting your mom? 

lexa smiles at you, turns a little in the chill under the streetlamp. ‘i’m afraid i have to go back to boston tonight.’

‘that’s cool,’ you say, ‘i have class tomorrow too.’

she nods, seemingly hesitant, and you think she might kiss you, which would be so fucking awesome, but then she shrugs. ‘i would love to work with you, if you wanted? i always need more designers and artists for events for my non profit, and i can commission you.’

you smile, and it’s gentle, because she’s nervous and swallowing a lot and her eyes are really green, and maybe she’s not nearly as put-together as she seems. ‘that’d be cool as fuck,’ you say, and she grins with a laugh, then nods.

‘you can take the L all the way back to your school,’ she says, and it’s sweet and not condescending at all.

‘i know, you say, elbow her good naturedly when she blushes. ‘i come down to bushwick a lot.’

‘right,’ she says, almost to herself. ‘artist.’

‘and the parties.’

there’s silence—like she doesn’t quite know what to say, or even how to say anything, but then she nods and says, ‘my ride is here,’ and points to a black town car. 

‘it was nice to finally meet you, clarke griffin,’ she says, offers her hand very formally.

you shake it with a roll of your eyes—but you don’t want to invade her space without asking or anything. ‘it was nice to finally meet you too, lexa woods.’

she smiles with a single nod of her head and turns to walk toward her car. 

‘wait,’ you say, jog a few steps. 

she looks surprised, embarrassed, a little turned on, and you hand her your phone.

‘i need your number,’ you say, ‘if we’re gonna work together.’

‘of course,’ she says, and types it into your phone with thin, agile fingers and jesus fucking christ your mind thinks of some Things quickly. you have to swallow when she hands it back to you. 

‘i’ll text you.’

‘goodnight, clarke,’ she says, walking to her car with a little wave.

one thing’s for sure: you know a lot of things about lexa woods, but you sure want to know more.

//

clarke griffin has had art in the MoMA and the tate, and in so many galleries you voluntarily lost track. she goes to the new school, has worked alongside multiple sexual assault support organizations, and primarily focuses on the female form—in all its varieties—and consent. she paints, sculpts, photographs.

she’s exquisite, you think, and undoubtedly brilliant, and then you’d met her and everything you’d accomplished in your life somehow seemed very small when her eyes were so blue and she was talking so openly about art, and her own work, and how she wants to be more inclusive and contemplative. 

she, also, has been texting you for 12 days, which has been really great other than the fact your heart almost leaps out of your fucking chest each time you get a message, which is a lot because clarke is somehow able to produce incredible art at almost a superhuman rate and also text you back about the most random, mundane shit, like how dirty manhattan snow is, and her dad’s mild obsession with still trying to take her to the batting cages—she complains but she loves it, you can tell. 

you wait a few days before mentioning that you’re going to be in the city over the weekend; you think modeling is not really where you should be devoting your time but anya insists that it’s making a difference and you get it, representation matters and all that, but you don’t want to do casting calls because you’re tired and have a 12 page paper on willa cather due tuesday, but whatever. it’s fun and you get the prettiest clothes you’ve ever seen and people fawn over your hair. you can handle a weekend.

when you tell clarke—finally, the wednesday before you head down on a friday—she’s casual and relaxed when she responds, asks you if you want to come by her studio if you have time on saturday night because there’s some friends coming for drinks and stuff. you have to snag anya from the library and talk it over first, not because you’re hesitant but because you’re nervous, but anya rolls her eyes and slings her arm over your shoulder and tells you to be safe and come back with details.

you go about your casting calls—some of which are really awesome, some of which are not, but nothing horrendous—before you’re outside the address clarke gave you, some huge building in bushwick with industrial doors and gigantic windows. you want to laugh because, of course, bushwick, but you do the breathing techniques you’ve practiced with your therapist. you used to have to do them a lot when you were really dysphoric, or when people would call you names or shove you into lockers, but now you’re on the cover of a magazine and maybe a pretty girl will kiss you tonight so. 

there’s that, a great big fuck you to everyone who was shitty, you think, and it makes you smile.

the door buzzes and you walk up, bottle of really expensive champagne in hand—you’d been given it today, so that’s convenient—and then it’s loud and fantastic, a loft full of paintings and strings of fairy lights and a lot of queer people. you feel happy, and safe, and then clarke sees you and smiles, leaves the group of friends she was talking to and walks over.

she hesitates for a moment but then you pull her in for a hug, and she sinks into it. she smells so good, and her breath is warm against your neck.

she backs up and kind of sucks in a breath when she looks at you, and you do the same because wow, her lips are so pink and, whatever, sue you, that dress is doing heavenly things to her boobs.

‘i’m glad you made it,’ she says, after a few seconds of just staring, and you nod, then take off your coat and hand her the champagne. she looks at the label and then whistles. ‘you were with miu miu today, i guess.’

‘why would i lie about that?’ you ask with a laugh, following her to the kitchen to get two glasses.

‘to impress me,’ she says with a shrug, handing the bottle to you to pop. you do, carefully because it’s good champagne and it’s not worth wasting for flair, and she takes it back and pours.

‘i think my track record is already impressive enough.’

clarke laughs and hands you a glass. she clinks her with it and says, ‘it’s not terrible, i’ll give you that.’

//

you know a lot about lexa woods but now you know this: she is absolutely splendid beneath you, full of the kinds of dips and curves you’ve dreamt of sculpting your whole life. her lips are swollen and her eyes are hooded and green and her pupils are blown and her hair is fanned out all around her, and, like. she’s an actual goddess, topless in your bed, heaving with this smug little expression.

you’d kissed at the party, and then the next day after brunch while you walked through central park, and you’ve kissed a few times since. 

but tonight it was just the two of you, after dinner near your apartment, quietly and you’d laughed as she’d fumbled with the button on your jeans, and your heart is pounding when your hands are above her waistband. 

‘is this okay?’ you ask, softly, because the lights are soft and she’s soft and so beautiful.

she nods, then says, ‘yeah,’ then says, ‘yes,’ and you kiss her because, like, you’re a little bit in love with her.

you take her jeans off reverently, her underwear off slowly, and you catch yourself staring while she swallows. ‘is everything—are you—’

‘everything is perfect,’ you say, and the look of relief on her face is wonderful and kind of heartbreaking. ‘you’re perfect.’ she kisses you, pulls you toward her. you break it, though, because she’s about to cry and you really don’t want that. ‘also, i’m perfect, as you’ve told me a number of times now, so let’s not ruin that, okay?’

she laughs and sniffles but she nods, and you touch her, and she touches you, and, like, whatever. 

it’s perfect.

//

it’s not the first time you’ve woken up in clarke’s bed, and it’s much the same: she’s awake, over by a huge canvas, in one of her dad’s old t-shirts, hair in a messy bun and usually barefoot, even in the winter. you put on your glasses and watch her contemplate which stroke to make next, which oil to press to the surface, what to bring to life.

she paints you, more than anything, especially this early. you watch her paint for a while, watch her get the green of your eyes right, watch her think carefully about your shoulders. she’s beautiful and she makes you feel venerated, seen, and you want to give that back to her, even though sometimes you don’t think you really know how.

you sigh and stretch and get out of bed, in a pair of her sleep shorts and a sweatshirt because she always runs warmer, and you’re always cold, and you kiss her forehead.

‘i’m really glad we’re incredible people,’ you say, to make her laugh, ‘so we met.’

‘i’m glad we met too, goof.’

‘i’m going to go get some bagels,’ you say, because you’re overwhelmed with the way she’s smiling at you.

‘okay,’ she says.

you get ready quickly, in comfortable quiet, while she paints. 

‘lex?’ she says, as you’re grabbing your keys from the counter.

‘yeah?’

she looks at you, tilts her head like you’ve seen her do when she takes in rembrandt, or van gogh, or hadid.

‘i love you.’

you don’t know if you’ve literally ever been this happy. you stay rooted in place, because what else can you do? if you touch her right now you think you might explode.

you can tell her, though: ‘i love you too.’

//

you know a lot about lexa woods, including the way she says i love you, bathed in sunlight in your doorway, hair gathered on top of her head, wrists still in their panic and in their comfort.

she says it back again, laughing, and, whatever.

this is probably the coolest thing yet.