I'm Going To Work On This Character's Reference Sheet More Today

I'm going to work on this character's reference sheet more today ☺️

-points threateningly at my mirror-

YES. TODAY. 🫵😠

Kazimier (pronounced Cazjh-meer, similar to Cashmere) is a shapeshifter-Incubus hybrid who lives in the trashy city of Du'Preve. He lives like a rockstar, owning a salacious club where he has his pick of lust-filled party-goers. But he works in the underground like a paranoid chess player; careful, distrustful, and always calculating several moves ahead under numerous aliases. That is, until he was arrested and sent to serve the full-blooded demons of the capitol..

(One of 7 Circles main characters, feel free to comment or ask questions! I own none of the pics, I simply arranged and edited them.)

That's a good tip!! I have some 'just go digital' thoughts/comments floating around but I'm not quite ready for that yet 😅. But print and play around, I can get behind.

Thanks @lychhiker-writes ✨️

What pretty linework. It sure would be a shame if someone (me) fucked it up while coloring it in..

Please bother me, I'm too full of bees today

Reblog if you write fic and people can inbox you random-ass questions about your stories, itemized number lists be damned.

Out of Context Tag

Rules: Post a line (or more) without any context and pass the tag on.

Thanks for the tag @aalinaaaaaa

I did one of these 2 days ago but Fuck It, We Ball.

From Seven Circles 🌐: Ch1, Appearances.

"Perhaps I'll tell the truth- that a conniving fae whore tricked me into siring you, and if I had not been magically bound to that hellish deal I would have slain you rather than sheltered you," he hisses, before gritting his teeth in a charming smile and turning back around as the double-doored entrance to the ballroom opened, signalling the arrival of their guests.

Daddy issues 🙄😮‍💨

Tagging yeehaw vibe writblrs @lassos-and-cherry-wine @cowboybrunch @fortunatetragedy 🤠 (no pressure tho!) And if you see this and aren't tagged feel free to go for it and tag me so I can read your post!

Anticapitalism urban fantasy where queer sex moves the plot forward, got it. 🫡🔥

I'm not sure I can express this sentiment strongly enough, but I'm going to try via the medium of large bolded text.

Write what the fuck you want.

Write what makes you happy. Write what makes your soul sing. Write what fucks you up and makes you cry. Write what comforts you. Write what distracts you. Write what you want to read. Write what you want to watch.

Write what you want to dream about tonight.

Write what you can't get enough of. Write what you're completely obsessed with. Write what wakes you up at 4am and drags you out of bed because you can't stop thinking about what your characters are going to do next.

Write what turns you on, if that's your vibe. Write characters you're in love with and characters who inspire you and characters you want to be friends with and characters you fucking hate but oh my god they're so much fun.

Write about things you would sell your soul to do in real life and things you would never do in real life. Write about things that are happening right now and things that happened a thousand years ago and things that might happen in the future and things you wish could happen.

Write to get a publishing deal or to sell your books yourself or not to sell your books at all. Write for your friends or for strangers or for the people who reblog your posts on Tumblr and send you songs that remind them of your characters.

Write for yourself.

Fuck any system that tells you there's only one right way to create or one valid way to share your writing. Your story, the way you tell it, has so much value. Make people smile or piss people off or do both of those things because art is divisive and fascinating and beautiful.

Start writing. Keep writing. And write what the fuck you want.

I love you, and I am so tired of hearing you.

You've been sick, I know, and it's heartless of me to feel burdened by that but here I am, heartlessly thinking of leaving the house- running off somewhere the rattle of your lungs can't reach, where I can't feel your coughing as sure as the vibration of a phone constantly receiving notifications. It reaches me in my dreams, where monsters of the plague claw their way out of your mouth and rouse me from my sleep to find you trembling beside me. It's been a sleepless week and I know you're more tired than I am but I can feel my teeth going slightly out of alignment from the way I clench my jaw.

I can't talk over people, I've never been able to do so without feeling like I'm inflicting harm on myself. Maybe it's the autism or maybe it's an excerpt from the dark chapters I wrote before loving you but each cough of yours silences me completely. I sit frozen as your stuttered breath turns into doubled-over barks of pain, waiting as 13 of them wrack your body before I can finish telling you about my day. It hurts me the way a slammed door does, the way clapping hands near my sensitive ears hurts me, and the way the sounds of my mother hurt me. Maybe that's it. Maybe it's because of her, again.

It's always seemed to me that my mother could not exist without sounds. A sigh as she came home each day, puffing and stomping up the stairs. The grunts of exasperation as she would labor around the house in this hateful, exaggerated way that I knew meant she wanted me to help without her asking. Her asthma, and allergies, and constant colds could be heard from anywhere in the house. And her loud southern way of talking. Every golden silence, every pocket of quiet in which I stowed my daydreams would be filled with her sounds that I could do nothing about.

I grew up in my room, desperate for reprieve but feeling frozen. I started saving money to buy my way to sanctuary as a teenager, and got it last year- moving in with you.

But darling, when I hear a sound like ripping in your chest I'm not in our little reprieve from the world. I'm in my childhood bedroom, tired and wide awake at 3am as my mother hacks sickness into a sink and I feel just as helpless. Forgive me, love, for being just as unwell as you are right now. Ignore my flinches, my tortured glances, my tightened jaw.

Get well soon.