Little Art Tip: The Position Of The Ears On A Human Does A Lot To Communicate The Angle Of The Headwhether

little art tip: the position of the ears on a human does a lot to communicate the angle of the head—whether it’s tilted forward or back.

tilted back with the chin forward, the ears are going to look lower down, closer to the mouth; tilted forward with the chin tucked, the ears look higher up & more in line with the eyes.

favorite damn trope in the history of ever:

monsters, or characters who view themselves as monsters, being touched and/or treated gently for the first time in their life.

just

Kisses I want to write about:

Goodbye kisses: Lingering and hard for longer times apart. Ones that curve A’s body against B’s and cause hands to splay against backs. Or short pecks, maybe not even completely on the mouth for short trips to the grocery store. Hello kisses: After long periods apart, these can include A picking up B and spinning them around. Fingers pressing into cheeks, palms cupping necks, and breathless laughs when they finally come up for air. Breathless kisses: A series of short pecks because they need the closeness but they also need air, so. Sometimes smiles come in between, or sometimes its just breath, gasping for the sole purpose of being able to kiss again. Heated kisses: Breath huffing into mouths, angrily or passionately. Hands grabbing at clothing and pulling each other closer. First kisses: Hesitant and nervous. Lips hover inches from each other for a few seconds before they just barely brush. It’s just a soft press, but it ignites their entire bodies. Pinkies link afterwards, still wanting to be close, and each looks down, smiling softly. After sex kisses: Lazy, slow presses. Limbs pressed together, chests heaving. Soft murmurs about what to do for dinner later, fingers trailing down backs, tracing lazy patterns. B rolling onto their back and A trailing their lips down their neck, kissing their shoulder, their chest, anywhere they can think of, memorizing B. Morning kisses: Barely awake kisses that usually end up on jaws or cheeks because A is too tired to land it properly. B makes a sleepy sound and rolls into A, nuzzling their face into their neck, ankles hooking together, while A drapes their arms around B and they fall back asleep for a while. Post-break up kisses: Soft and slow. Hands on each other’s arms in a way that neither can tell if the other is pushing away or pulling closer. The kiss ends with their foreheads pressed together, neither wanting it to be true that this is happening. Christmas kisses: More smile than actual kiss. A holds mistletoe above their heads while B rolls their eyes, but pulls A down by the collar of their ugly Christmas sweater for a heated kiss. A takes B by the waist and walks forward until they are around the corner, away from the prying eyes and hoots of the rest of their friends and family. Comforting kisses: B walks into find A sitting on the bed, shoulders shaking, cheeks wet. A looks up, face looking stricken for a moment. B is shocked, and quietly says A’s name. At this, A breaks, face crumpling, and only barely has time to reach both hands out for B before B is there, kneeling at A’s feet. B takes A’s hands first, kissing their knuckles and palms. Then B reaches up to hold A’s face, pressing soft kisses around their cheeks, their lips, murmuring “it’s okay” and “you’re alright” and “I’m here” in between. “I thought I lost you” kisses: The breath is knocked out of both of them with the force that they collide with. Hands grip the back of t-shirts and palms are pressed up and under shirts, holding them close, feeling the warmth of their skin. Palms are pressed to cheeks, thumbs swiping away tears until their mouths collide messily, the world seeming to disappear around them. “We can’t do this” kisses: Fists clenched, hands shoved into pockets. Brows low or brought together, jaws clenched. A feeling like a magnetic pull between them. Their foreheads press together, their lips brush, just barely, until B pulls away with a shaking exhale, forehead dropping into A’s neck. “Come to bed” kisses: A has their hands on B’s neck, murmuring the phrase softly. A’s hands slide down B’s arms to their hands, lacing their fingers together and slowly starting to pull B towards their bedroom. A continues to pepper B with kisses all the while, trailing them down their jaw and neck. “You look beautiful” kisses: Just a soft press of lips to the temple, resting them there for a moment, then smiling down and telling them as much. “I’ll be right back” kisses: A puts their hands on B’s shoulders from behind them, where they are sat on the couch. He leans down and around, while B turns his head a little, accepting the quick peck. “I missed you” kisses: Long and relentless, holding their body close, arms wrapped completely around their waist. A burying their head in B’s neck and pressing kisses there too. Angry kisses: Hard, gripping. Fists in clothes, shoving each other against walls. Fingers digging into hips. But the kisses always melt away from that. They turn into brushes of lips between shaking breaths, until they’re out of energy and are left just standing there, holding each other, fingers carding through hair. Sad kisses: Almost not a kiss at all. Just holding onto each other tightly, A’s lips pressed to B’s temple, whispering soft words, desperately trying to provide whatever comfort they can. In the dark kisses: The movie plays in the background, but A and B are hardly paying attention from the back row. They kiss soundlessly, long and soft, fingers locked. A’s arm is thrown behind B’s seat, wrist bent to curl their fingers into B’s hair. Dying kisses: A holds B in their arms, panicked, crying. Murmurs of “no, no, no.” Salt on their lips from tears. Voice cracking. Holding on tightly to their shirt, their shoulder, their hand, roughly pulling them against their body, anything to try and keep them tethered to this earth. Kissing them as they die (“no. No, stay awake—“), Kissing them once more even with the life has left their body (No. God, come back. Please, come back. Please, look at me, I’m right here”).

How to Make Your Descriptions Less Boring

We’ve all been warned about the dangers of using too much description. Readers don’t want to read three paragraphs about a sunset, we’re told. Description slows down a story; it’s boring and self-indulgent. You should keep your description as short and simple as possible. For those who take a more scientific approach to writing fiction, arbitrary rules abound: One sentence per paragraph. One paragraph per page. And, for god’s sake, “Never open a book with weather” (Elmore Leonard).

But what this conventional wedding wisdom fails to take into account is the difference between static and dynamic description. Static description is usually boring. It exists almost like a painted backdrop to a play. As the name suggests, it doesn’t move, doesn’t interact or get interacted with.

There were clouds in the sky. Her hair was red with hints of orange. The house had brown carpeting and yellow countertops.

In moderation, there’s nothing wrong with static description. Sometimes, facts are facts, and you need to communicate them to the reader in a straightforward manner.

But too much static description, and readers will start to skim forward. They don’t want to read about what the house looks like or the stormy weather or the hair color of each of your protagonist’s seventeen cousins.

Why? Because they can tell it’s not important. They can afford to skip all of your description because their understanding of the story will not be impacted.

That’s where dynamic description comes in. Dynamic description is a living entity. It’s interactive, it’s relevant. It takes on the voices of your narrators and characters. In short, it gives us important information about the story, and it can’t be skimmed over.

So how do you make your description more dynamic so that it engages your readers and adds color and excitement to your story? Here are a few tips.

(I have a TON more tips about setting and description. These are just a few. But I’m trying to keep this short, so if you have any questions or want more advice about this, please feel free to ask me.)

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not to get all Gender Studies on yall but we’ve got to stop pushing this idea to young questioning people that if they dont like being a girl sometimes then they’re obviously trans, or genderfluid.

this absolutely isnt to say that some people ARENT genderfluid+trans, but refusing to factor in how society makes being a woman a wholly unpleasant experience is disingenuous and can lead to a lot of gnc people thinking that if they’re uncomfortable with what their gender is supposed to dress and look like, they must be trans.

please allow room for gnc people in your discussions when you’re telling some young girl who doesn’t like being sexualized that shes trans. please allow room for nuance. thats all in asking for.