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Me watching the hobbit:

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hot artists don't gatekeep

I've been resource gathering for YEARS so now I am going to share my dragons hoard

Floorplanner. Design and furnish a house for you to use for having a consistent background in your comic or anything! Free, you need an account, easy to use, and you can save multiple houses.

Comparing Heights. Input the heights of characters to see what the different is between them. Great for keeping consistency. Free.

Magma. Draw online with friends in real time. Great for practice or hanging out. Free, paid plan available, account preferred.

Smithsonian Open Access. Loads of free images. Free.

SketchDaily. Lots of pose references, massive library, is set on a timer so you can practice quick figure drawing. Free.

SculptGL. A sculpting tool which I am yet to master, but you should be able to make whatever 3d object you like with it. free.

Pexels. Free stock images. And the search engine is actually pretty good at pulling up what you want.

Figurosity. Great pose references, diverse body types, lots of "how to draw" videos directly on the site, the models are 3d and you can rotate the angle, but you can't make custom poses or edit body proportions. Free, account option, paid plans available.

Line of Action. More drawing references, this one also has a focus on expressions, hands/feet, animals, landscapes. Free.

Animal Photo. You pose a 3d skull model and select an animal species, and they give you a bunch of photo references for that animal at that angle. Super handy. Free.

Height Weight Chart. You ever see an OC listed as having a certain weight but then they look Wildly different than the number suggests? Well here's a site to avoid that! It shows real people at different weights and heights to give you a better idea of what these abstract numbers all look like. Free to use.

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Sometimes you gotta sulk and be upset all day, wipe your eyes, decide you're not done crying, cry some more, try to sleep, can't sleep, get up and make dinner at 8pm, put on your comfort show and decide to try again.

You can start over at any moment. The day starts when YOU do, not before.

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This is something I've been working on for awhile, it's not finished but it thought I'd let yall see it👀

It's a Miguelxftm!reader hehehe. I hope yall like it🫶 NSFW under the cut!!

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[Name] sighs softly as he walks around HQ, greeting other Spiderpeople. Soon, he ends up in Miguel’s laboratory, he had been called there shortly after he arrived, traveling from his world. The large man is leaning against his desk, palms braced on the surface, shoulders tense.

Miguel is silent for a moment, the tension growing thicker before he finally speaks; “Come here.” His voice is void of any tone or emotion, his stare fixated on the table beneath him, his stress weighing upon him like the weight of the world—the burden of a leader. [Name] and Miguel had an interesting relationship, both beneficial from one another, using the other as a stress relief.

He watches him step closer, his eyes roving over him, urging him closer. His eyes are dark, reaching one of his large hands out to lightly caress his masked face once [Name] is within arms reach. The gesture was surprisingly soft despite his impending stress, his thumb sliding over his cheekbone as he hummed softly, tilting his head up to meet his eyes.

“Please..” He murmurs, eyes heavy with desperation. His breathing was ragged as he slowly moved the mask just above [Name]’s nose, pulling him in for a kiss. It soon heats up and becomes a hungry, feral kiss.

He groans into the kiss, slowly backing them up against his desk, hands roaming, gripping at their sides, and flesh he can get his hands on.

“Miguel.” He murmur against his lips, creating a desperate desire running through the pair. Miguel picks them up, sets him on the desk, and crashes his lips onto theirs, bullying his way into his mouth.

He trails hot, desperate kisses down his neck, hand holding his face to get more access, hand sliding down his body. [Name]’s breathing quickened, causing him to smirk against his skin, lightly skimming the sensitive flesh with his teeth. A shiver wracks through them as his suit is stripped of him, one of his free hands tugs at the hairs at the back of his head, encouraging him further.

He hums in approval, pressing open-mouthed kisses down his body, fingers gripping into the supple flesh of his thighs, breathing in his scent. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice husky, eyes roaming over his flushed face. “All desperate for just a touch..” He grins, gently kissing his thighs, playing with the hem of his underwear, fingers lightly brushing the flesh, teasing.

He groans softly as [Name] captures his lips into a kiss once more, pulling him closer, breaths ragged with desire. His grip almost bruises before his suit dematerializes, leaving him only in a pair of black boxers.

“Dios ayudame, [Name].” He grumbles against the kiss, kissing more fervently, gently pulling down their underwear and tossing it to the side, letting it land on the lab chair nearby. Miguel pulls his hips closer before discarding his boxers as well, tossing them aside.

As he watches him, his hands knead their thighs, a smirk slowly appearing on his face. His hand travels upwards and just stops short of where he’s needed the most. Sadistic bastard. “Please.” [Name] says, holding Miguel’s wrist, trying to move it where he wants it. “Please, Miguel.”

Miguel finally caves, and his hands slide upwards, gently teasing the folds, soft breaths escaping [Name]’s lips. Miguel hums softly as he continues, gently rubbing against the small bundle of nerves.

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Here Comes the Sun

Warnings: references to sexual acts that happened the night before, mentions of murders, Victor Zsasz I believe is a warning lol

Summary: A taste of a domestic morning during the early stages of your relationship together

you’d awaken locked in sheets and blankets. the smell of the city wafting into the room. by far what was most astonishing was the man laid beside you, he was glowing with his chest falling and rising steadily. an arm was tucked under his head propping it up and the other was around your shoulder hugging you close to his body.

that was when you fully comprehended his state, he was shirtless not even the sheets covered him. last night was the first of several nights spent together. as such it was a whirlwind consisting of pushing and tugging. but next thing you knew it was slow and in sync like a dance. now in the golden light, that was only available for a short while in Gotham, you noticed the true intricacies of him physically. specifically, the scars along his ribs. some appeared white completely healed. others angry red not new. then there was two side by side that were fresh and evidently reopened from the events last night. instinctively your fingers skimmed over those two making sure to not upset the wound.

“the boss had me pull an extra job yesterday after hours.” so he wasn’t still asleep. no, but now his eyes are open analyzing your expression while his stoic.

“so all of these were your … hits.” your eyes flicked up to his face. the fingers that were previously just hovering over his chest now made contact with his skin, tracing and connecting them.

“mhm.” victor held his breath waiting for you to respond. not many people knew about his little quirk of taking count of his kills. sure you knew about his field of work but not that he was so proficient.

finally, your lip twitched slightly into a smile. “you deserve a vacation then.” as if to put an end to the conversation, your hand stilled resting on his abdomen and your head laid back down. cuddling to him once more. god he loved you so much.

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fanfic writers coming up with *chef’s kiss* perfect ideas to torture their blorbos then remembering they’ll have to actually write them out in order for the fics to not exist only in their heads

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katniss is sejanus bc theyre angry and reckless and do whatever the fuck they want without thinking about the consequences and peeta is lucy gray bc theyre performers who know how to carefully wrap the audience around their finger so that there are no consequences

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if i think about the hunger games in peeta's perspective i WILL start sobbing

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The real turning point for Snow and Lucy Gray's relationship is when he wishes she were still caged at the Capitol so he could at least know where she was and what she was doing. That was the moment it all really clicked. This wasn't love, it was obsession, control.

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writing for hunger games again bc fuck u brainrot

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Hi! First of all, thank you so much for all of these fics, they really make my day!! ♡ second of all i'd have a fic idea but it's fully okay if it does not inspire you! 🥰 could you please write about daryl going home after the Sanctuary in s7, and Reader pampering him, making sure he's fine? She doesn't take his "I'm okay" seriously and refuses to leave his side, having been worried sick for days when he was gone. Anyway, have a nice day and thanks again for all of your writings ♡♡♡

Real or not real?

Daryl dixon x reader fluff/comfort

REQUEST INFO || Masterlist n°2

A/n: if you got the reference, i'd like to confess that i'm in love with Gale Hawthorne. SUE ME!

Word count: 1.3k

It was unsettling. That emptiness in his eyes and the way the air contained something known yet unfamiliar, the same factor that flowed between the both of you back when you only knew his name and the thought of him didn’t make your heart rate spike. The silence you shared was no longer comfortable and your hands hesitated whenever you wished to touch him.

He was unresponsive. Sat at the edge of the bed, looking down while you ran him a bath, something you were not able to do without turning around every few minutes to make sure he was still there but what you didn’t know was that he had been hearing that sigh of relief you let out each time, causing him to almost choke on his own breathing when the shake in each of your breaths registered in him. He had been back for a while now, put on a strong facade when you followed him from the Hilltop to the Kingdom to make sure he was safe but now you were back in a ran over Alexandria and as life settled again, it was harder to ignore that what happened didn’t only affect him but you too, even if you tried to disguise it.

“‘M not goin’ anywhere, ya know tha' righ?” he voiced quietly, finally disturbing the silence.

You turned your head around slowly from where you were kneeling near the bathtub, your mind rushed at the knowledge that you were taking too long to answer.

He continued “Ya’ve been comin’ over more often than not t’ check on me. Ain’t complainin’ tho’”

Your lips twitched into a smile as you rose to your feet slowly. There wasn’t a label you could put on your uncommon ‘friendship’ yet it was no secret that you loved each other, in what way? You weren’t sure but in the world you lived in now, it was more than enough. You walked out of the bathroom and directly to his drawers to pull out some clean clothes while you felt his eyes on you.

“I’m just making sure you’re taking care of yourself…Wouldn’t want to worry Rick or Carol, so–”

“Wha’ about ya? Ya worried?”

You closed the drawer slowly and walked back into the bathroom to place his change of clothes and a clean towel where he could easily reach them. “If i had known this would turn into a therapy session, I would’ve forced myself to believe you when you said you were fine for the night”

“Why didn’t ya then?”

“Cause I don’t like it when you lie to me” you answered matter of factly now standing outside the bathroom, looking straight at him. Daryl rose to his feet and walked past you, going into the bathroom and taking off his shirt. As usual, whenever you heard him start getting ready for the bath, you made a move to leave and as also happened every single time without fail, his voice would stop you.

“Stay” he’d ask quietly and you’d listen, sitting on the floor and against the wall right next to the bathroom door for his privacy.

“I’m here” you murmured after a few minutes of silence, when only flowing water could be heard “You can talk to me or not but i’m here…I just want to make sure you still know that”

“So am I…and I think yer havin’ a hard time believin’ tha’”

There was a beat of silence where he believed you had left and just like every other time he felt alone, your name rolled off his lips with ease.

“Mm? I’m okay” you replied with the same words he seemed to tell you every day since he got back. He knew them very well and uttered them with the same unnatural underlying tone.

“Ya ain’t the only one who doesn’t like lies” 

That phrase was the last you heard before your eyes fixated on a far point in the room. Your mind was mostly blank but the feelings twisting in your gut told you exactly what you should’ve been seeing. That moment when he was violently pulled from your grasp as you kneeled over gravel in front of blinding lights you now saw whenever you closed your eyes and a grasp he still felt on his arm late at night, obliging him to form a fist with his hand for a few seconds to make it disappear. He wouldn’t tell you how the echo of your cries kept him awake.

In that time you were everywhere but present where you should've been. Daryl had gotten out of the bath, dried up, changed and was now standing next to you. It took a few moments for you to snap back to reality and he offered you his hand to help you stand. It felt natural crawling in bed next to him, there was nothing sexual about it, just two people needing so desperately to exist in a space in time that didn’t advance or retreat nor completely stop. You were hugging each other like none of it was real… It was quite simply tragic.

“Are you still having nightmares?” you whispered. Something about this space in time was that lies didn’t exist, so Daryl didn’t struggle to find an answer.

“Mhm..on the nights i get sum’ sleep. Do ya?”

“They started when you got back…you wouldn’t tell me anything so my mind just made stuff up and even now that i know—”

“Ya ain’t sure of wha’s real or fake” he replied distantly.

“Yeah…” you relaxed further into him “It might be selfish but I come over for me. You being okay helps me fall asleep when it’s the last thing I'm sure about before I close my eyes—If I could sleep under your bed without you noticing, I would”

The archer's chest shook with a quiet and breathy laughter, bringing a faint smile to your lips but it soon faded as he prepared to confess.

“I can still feel the way ya grabbed my arm to keep them from takin’ me”

You looked up at him from where you laid on his chest “Sort of like phantom touch?”

“Yeah” he answered, proceeding to bite his lower lip, feeling nervous under your gaze. “If i could have ya sleep next t’ me...I would”

You held eye contact for a while longer before your eyes traveled to the arm he was talking about that now sat still under his head. 

You then smiled, easing the tension between you “I thought you didn’t like to share”

He scoffed “Can’t have ya sleepin’ on the floor”

Sadly, even this very moment felt fabricated to the both of you. He, looking down at you, was fully expecting your face to sink in over broken bones, bat inflicted violence reddening your skin with blood—and you, looking up at him, was waiting for that moment where his face would morph into Negan’s, sporting his signature grin. Two faces of the same coin in the sickeningly evil world you lived in now.

“Why don’t we just ask?” you wondered out loud.

“Wha’?”

You blinked, realizing that he had heard you but then proceeded to voice your train of thought “We should just ask the other…whenever we’re doubting—just like right now…you’re holding me tighter” you noted through furrowed and worried brows. The glossiness in your eyes matched his as he suddenly lightened his grip on you, not feeling confident enough to fully release you. If this was really a nightmare, he’d willingly let your blood soak his clothes and tint his skin.

“Anythin’?”

“Anything.” you assured.

He nodded slowly to himself, knowing what he wanted to ask. Now, that wouldn’t solve the illusion but at least would turn the nightmare into a dream.

“Ya love me…real or not real?”

“Real” you breathed, hugging his torso and blinking away the tears.

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"Back during the pandemic" "when covid was still a thing"

Covid is killing over 1000 Americans each week. Covid is the 3rd leading cause of death in the US. Covid is still spreading and mutating. Only 16% of Americans have gotten their boosters in a "vaccine only" strategy to fight the disease (that doesn't work because vaccinated people can and do catch and spread covid). Covid is still a very real threat to you and those you love. Stop talking about it in the past tense. Stop living a lie. It's not 2019. You'll never live in a "post covid" world. Our wishes for "normal" have destroyed any chance of a true end to the pandemic unless we act. Mask up and stop the spread if you really want to past-tense covid.

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i don’t think that puff of air in your eyes is necessary i think the optometrist just likes messing with people

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Hello! I just wanted to make this post saying that I now do fic and headcannons! This is my master list for my fandoms and boundaries!

Fandoms I'm a part of

PJO

Star Wars

Assassin's Creed

Simon Snow

Marvel

COD

Resident Evi

RDR2

Mortal kombat

The Boys

Boundaries

I won't do mary sue, gary sue readers or anything like that.

I won't do rape, internalized homophobia, hebephelia, or anything along those lines!!

Same thing with DV, abuse or addicted related things

Here's the request link for fics!! I also have a linktree!!

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScnh_MEVNahGsrjUSN_lENli7EP_4e1SoaXJFVD8tgPq-tUVA/viewform?usp=sf_link

Linktree link!!

https://linktr.ee/max77_6

That's about all I have, but if you have any questions, lmk!

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The moment Tigris tells Snow he looks like his father, my heart broke.

That's her Prim.

That's the child she took care of while being a child herself, stuck with an adult who couldn't care for them all that well. She tried so hard and sacrificed so much for the boy that despite all her love still turns into a monster.

Katniss's Prim dies, but Tigris' Prim destroys every part of the boy she raised, to the point she wants him dead and has nothing in her heart for him except absolute loathing.

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The survivors of District 12 singing and dancing at Finnick and Annie's wedding hits so different after reading/watching tbosas. Can you imagine Snow's reaction to that propo? No matter how hard he tried to erase Lucy Gray and to obliterate District 12, she lived on in her music, music which is kept alive by the people of the place she once called home.

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I love your work! Could I please get #17 of list 2 with Haymitch? I was thinking it could be a nightmare from the games or going into the reaping for the 75th? Thank you 💜

☼ history repeats itself (Haymitch Abernathy) ☼

warnings; swearing, death mention, alcohol use.

wc; 1.6k

prompt; 17. "Hey, listen to me. You're safe. Nothing is going to hurt you."

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The last time Haymitch was himself was the night of the reading of the card for the Third Quarter Quell, which happened in the winter. He hasn’t been the same person since, but you weren’t really expecting him to be.

The horror that President Snow presented in front of the entirety of Panem had shook him, and every other victor across the country that thought they were safe. You remember sitting with him in silence on the couch. When you looked at him, it was clear to you that he was slipping away.

It hadn’t even been five minutes since the news reached your ears.

Haymitch stood up from the couch without a word, walking from the living room into the kitchen. You didn’t have to turn around to know what he was about to do. You couldn’t blame him, either. You didn’t even think to hold it against him.

He slammed open the window, you jumped at the noise, and he muttered an apology. The first breeze that came through was nice, it seemed to calm the warmth that had crossed your skin. You looked over to find him pulling a bottle of white liquor out of the cupboard, reaching to open it.

There was a series of hard knocks on the door, you got to your feet to answer it, but it was already swinging open. It was Peeta, a string of apologies leaving his lips for barging in. In the next breath, he was addressing Haymitch, and it wasn’t for what you’d thought it would be.

Peeta started to beg Haymitch to allow him to go inside of the arena again. He didn’t want Haymitch to interfere, to let the reaping run its course. He said that if Haymitch were drawn, he’d volunteer. But if he was drawn, Haymitch wasn’t allowed to lift a finger. He wanted to go back into the arena if it meant that Katniss would be.

You watched as Haymitch cracked the seal on the bottle, taking a long drink of it, before walking over to the dining room table to set it down. “I’m not going to make any deals, Peeta.”

It started out as them talking civilly, and then it began to fade into an argument. With Peeta telling Haymitch that since he protected Katniss the first time around, that meant he owed Peeta. Anything. And Peeta wanted a chance to go into the arena again.

By the time Peeta left, Haymitch was a quarter of the way through his bottle. When Katniss showed up, he was halfway in, drunk. You were sitting at the table with him, asking him if there was any way he could get out of this. You knew what the answer was already, you were just hoping it wasn’t true.

He did what he always does with Katniss—antagonize her. He asked her if she was there to ask him to go back inside of the arena for Peeta. She denied it and sat down with you two, drinking from his bottle. And then, instead of suggesting for him to volunteer, she said she wanted Peeta to be saved from the arena, no matter the situation.

It was only when Haymitch agreed to this, did she leave. The next day, Peeta came by and dumped all of the liquor in the house down the drain. He told you that neither you or Haymitch were allowed to buy it from Ripper down at the Hob—not that he thought you would, anyway.

If you’re being honest, you thought that his whole plan to get Haymitch to train alongside him and Katniss would last a few weeks at best. It wasn’t until the three of them started to show signs of improvement, did you believe that Haymitch wasn’t going to slip back into his habits.

Still, his attitude about the situation hasn’t changed in the past six months, and it’s grown worse over the past week, leading up to today. When you woke up this morning, you were expecting him to say anything about the reaping that will be taking place in the matter of hours. Instead, he pulled himself out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom. 

You’ve kept a close eye on him all morning, something you’re sure he doesn’t appreciate very much. You don’t know what else to do. You tried to pretend like everything was alright, when he picked up on it, he asked you to stop. Every attempt you make at conversation falls short. 

It’s like he wants to revel in the doom cloud above him. And who are you to tell him otherwise? If you were in his place, you’re sure you’d do the same. He’s the first victor of District Twelve, and he was a tribute in the last Quarter Quell. If there’s anyone that’s earned a right to silence this morning, it’s him.

That doesn’t mean it’s any easier to see him this way.

“Are you almost ready?” Haymitch asks.

You look into the mirror to see where he’s standing, finding that he’s in the bathroom doorway. You tilt your head to the side as you slide the earring into place. “Almost.”

He nods, turning his body halfway to leave, and then he changes his mind. He leans against the frame, head tilted downward to look at the ground. He’s dressed nicely, considering the situation. You’re even able to see the muscles that he’s built up from training. The only thing he’s missing is his blazer, but if he doesn’t have it in his hands already, that means he’s not planning on bringing it.

“I wish I could go with you.” You tell him, rising from your stool in front of the mirror.

Haymitch’s eyes snap up. “No, you don’t, (Y/n).”

“If it means that you don’t leave me, I do.” You close the drawers, and then begin to walk in his direction.

“You’re safer here.” 

“It doesn’t feel like it.” You murmur. “I’m ready.”

He lets your comment slide, not wanting to fight. The two of you leave his Victor home, going down the steps. He shuts the door behind him and doesn’t stop to lock it. Usually, you’d say something about it, but you’ll be coming back here after you bid him goodbye at the train station. You’ll have the house to yourself for the next few weeks while the Victor’s battle it out in an arena.

You barely make it out of the neighborhood before you’re pulling his hand into yours, squeezing tightly. He glances in your direction, you catch it out of the corner of your eye. Your head is facing the other way, not wanting him to see your face, and the frown that’s struggling to settle on your mouth. You won’t let it.

What you’re feeling is selfishness and guilt. You hope that Haymitch gets his name drawn first, and you hope that Peeta goes through with volunteering. You don’t want today to be your last day with him. You want him to go to the Capitol as a mentor so that you’ll be able to see him again.

This isn’t fair.

The walk to the Justice Building from Victor’s Village only takes a few minutes. From a distance, you can see the crowd that has gathered around the stage. This year, since there is no giant pool of young teenagers, it’s doubled in size. 

Haymitch stops you, letting out a shaky breath.

You raise your eyebrows, eyes watching his face. He presses his lips together, breathing quicker, eyes locked on the stage.

“Hey, listen to me.” You squeeze his hand. “You’re safe, nothing is going to hurt you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, (Y/n).” He tells you. “I don’t want to lose you, the same way I lost them.”

Your face twists, confused for a moment, until it dawns on you. You haven’t been with Haymitch for long, only about two and a half years now. You’ve seen who he was before Katniss and Peeta, and heard his mindset because of what President Snow did to him.

In the beginning of your relationship, it felt like he was doing everything in his power to hide his history from you. It wasn’t because he was ashamed of it, he just wasn’t prepared for your reaction when he told you all of it. You knew the basics, the stuff everyone knows about his Games.

It was the aftermath of it that was hidden.

At the end of his Games, the Career girl had thrown her axe at him, and Haymitch collapsed because of the wound on his stomach, causing her to miss. The axe flew over the cliff, but came shooting back up, lodging in her skull.

Supposedly, they saw this act from Haymitch as one of rebellion. He was crowned Victor, and two weeks later, his mom, younger brother and girlfriend were all killed in retaliation. He tells you that he tried to put an effort into mentoring, but it was hard to exist everyday without aid. When he figured that he was never going to get a winning tribute, he turned to drinking, and stopped trying altogether.

This is what he must’ve been thinking about all morning.

You pull Haymitch in by your hands to hug him. He places his face in your neck, breathing in deeply.

“You’re not going to lose me. I’m going to be right here when you get back, Haymitch.” You tell him. “They can’t take me away from you.”

“I’ll be back, (Y/n).” He pulls you closer.

“I know.”

--

this is part of my 3k celebration!! you can join until the cure is released on Oct, 31st at midnight!!