i just started using watercolors, can you tell me about your process/share some tips?
Well first of all, congrats on trying watercolors! I’m by no means an expert yet but I’ll do my best to walk you through my process using some of the WIP pictures I have from previous pieces. There’s a ton to cover and I won’t get it all so feel free to ask more specific questions if you need help.
My first tip would be to play with whatever tools you have to figure out what feels right for you. If you don’t have any tools yet, I suggest the Sakura Koi Pocket Field Sketch Box (pictured below) since it’s really nice quality, comes with a water brush, and usually costs like $15-$25 depending on size/where you buy it. If that’s still outside of your price range, the first watercolors I ever did were with old crayola palettes and it worked out fine, it just took way more layers and time to get the color depth I wanted.
As for paper, I’m still looking for the perfect one but just make sure it’s watercolor paper (cold press means there’s a texture, hot press is smooth) or multimedia and not like, printer paper. As long as it’s relatively thick, it should be ok but might buckle when too much water is added.
Don’t worry too much about perfection when learning how to use your equipment. Make lines, blend colors, try making washes, etc. When I came back to watercolors, I mostly did a lot of meditative painting, where I doodled whatever felt right. Some of them even came out real cool looking??
When I sit down to do a more detailed piece or commission, I have a five-part process I pretty consistently use these days. It goes like this:
1) Traditional (or digital) sketch/concept phase. The below pic is from a pop-art commission concept where I really liked the flow of her hair.
2) Digital lineart (cleaning up/refining concept sketches)
3) Print the lineart and lightbox it to watercolor paper using either a hard graphite pencil (very light lines) or colored lead. I still lightbox with this ancient hunk of junk but you can even use a window or your computer screen (VERY CAREFULLY) to lightbox if you don’t have one.
Here’s what some of my pieces looks like after being transferred:
I think it’s important to note that you should keep a piece of scrap paper under your hand while working on the watercolor paper, since the oils in your skin can lead to areas where the paint won’t bind to the paper properly. I’ve had cases where I finished a background wash only to find an absolutely perfect thumbprint in the center of it.
4) Ink the lines. Make sure your pens are waterproof. If they’re not, I’ll talk about a way to get around that later so skip right to painting for now.
I used micron technical pens for the above piece. If you don’t know if you have waterproof pens, make a test chart like the one below. Mine involved copics, watercolor, and super heavy scrubbing to see how easily the pen came off when wet.
I’ve also “inked” after painting by using more concentrated lines of watercolor instead of actual ink. The below painting was too cute and pastel and I didn’t want to ruin it with black lines, so I used that technique here (along with some red pencil)
5) Paint! I’m not really consistent with this step but my main tip is: BE PATIENT! If you want flat blocks of color, wait until each wash is fully dry before moving on to one next to it. If you don’t, they’ll bleed into each other. This is also true when trying to create shadows with hard edges instead of soft blending. Not being patient enough is my #1 cause of “crap I have to start this over”.
(The weird coloration on the lines above is actually dried frisket I put over certain sections of the piece to protect them but it ended up being more of a hassle than anything else for this style of piece.)
So, what if you didn’t have waterproof pens? You can easily reverse steps 4&5 and paint first, wait for it to dry very well, and then ink (shown below).
The finished piece looked like this:
I hope this was helpful!
If you want to see any of my WIPs/ask me questions, you can find me on Twitter and Instagram.
The end is in sight! 14 and a half weeks, over 1,2 km of yarn and 40+ blocking pins further my Hygge shawl is as good as done. The finishing touch will be giving it a very nice lining fabric once it’s dried. Which will likely take a week or so to do, but still, almost done now :)
“What happened?” So long as I was careful not to move, the pain in my leg was bearable. Automatically, I placed my fingers under the angle of my jaw to check my pulse; reassuringly strong. I wasn’t in shock; my leg couldn’t be badly fractured, much as it hurt.
Jamie rubbed a hand over his face. He looked very tired, and I noticed that his hand trembled with fatigue. There was a large bruise on his cheek, and a line of dried blood where something had scratched the side of his neck.
“The topmast snapped, I think. One of the spars fell and knocked ye overboard. When ye hit the water, ye sank like a stone, and I dived in after you. I got hold of you— and the spar, too, thank God. Ye had a bit of rigging tangled round your leg, dragging ye down, but I managed to get that off.” He heaved a deep sigh, and rubbed his head.
“I just held to ye; and after a time, I felt sand under my feet. I carried ye ashore, and a bit later, some men found us and brought us here. That’s all.” He shrugged.
I felt cold, despite the warm breeze coming in through the windows.
“What happened to the ship? And the men? Ian? Lawrence?”
“Safe, I think. They couldna reach us, with the mast broken— by the time they’d rigged a makeshift sail, we were long gone.” He coughed roughly, and rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. “But they’re safe; the men who found us said they’d seen a small ketch go aground on a mud flat a quarter-mile south of here; they’ve gone down to salvage and bring back the men.”
He took a swallow of water, swished it about his mouth, and going to the window, spat it out.
“I’ve sand in my teeth,” he said, grimacing, as he returned. “And my ears. And my nose, and the crack of my arse, too, I shouldna wonder.”
I reached out and took his hand again. His palm was heavily calloused, but still showed the tender swelling of rising blisters, with shreds of ragged skin and raw flesh, where earlier blisters had burst and bled.
“How long were we in the water?” I asked, gently tracing the lines of his swollen palm. The tiny “C” at the base of his thumb was faded almost to invisibility, but I could still feel it under my finger. “Just how long did you hold on?”
“Long enough,” he said simply.
He smiled a little, and held my hand more tightly, despite the soreness of his own. It dawned on me suddenly that I wasn’t wearing anything; the linen sheets were smooth and cool on my bare skin, and I could see the swell of my nipples, rising under the thin fabric.
“What happened to my clothes?”
“I couldna hold ye up against the drag of your skirts, so I ripped them off,” he explained. “What was left didna seem worth saving.”
“I don’t suppose so,” I said slowly, “but Jamie— what about you? Where’s your coat?”
He shrugged, then let his shoulders drop, and smiled ruefully.
“At the bottom of the sea with my shoon, I expect,” he said. And the pictures of Willie and Brianna there, too.
“Oh, Jamie. I’m so sorry.” I reached for his hand and held it tightly. He looked away, and blinked once or twice.
Summary: After crushing Steve’s heart, you realized you may love him more than you thought.
Word Count: 2,267 (takes time to fix angst)
Warnings: Angst, Language, Fluff
A/N: You asked for part 2 so TADAA and Happy Christmas Eve Eve! With all the cheese in this one, you can make a fondue for two… Hope this fixes your hearts ♥ Read Part 1 here
Avoiding Steve was easier than you thought it would be. He
worked day shift and you worked night shift so you basically never saw each
other. But you missed him. Alot. You just wanted to know he was
still around, but it was as if he had disappeared forever.
And it was fine, it was what you wanted. You didn’t love him
Three weeks after your last conversation with Steve, you saw
him with Sharon. They were sitting at the kitchen table, laughing heartily. You
couldn’t control yourself, your hands curled into fists.
When you noticed how your body reacted to what seemed like a
romantic lunch date, you hurried back to your room and stayed under the covers
until your shift started.
“It’s weird. I mean she’s related to Peggy.” You told
Natasha as you walked to the training room.
“Y/n,” She sighed out loud. “You’ve been talking about
Sharon and Steve for days now.”
“Son of a bitch…” Dean grumbled, rolling over in the creaky motel bed. Sam chuckled from across the room where he was sipping his Gatorade, post-run. “What’s so damn funny?”
“Uh… you.” Sam grinned. “Get in a fight last night or somethin’?”
“Fuck off.” Dean peeled himself off the mattress and headed for the bathroom. Splashing water on his face, he looked into the mirror. Dark circles fell under his reddened eyes as he squinted against the harsh florescent light. Scanning over the rest of his face, he noticed little red speckles and a line of brown, dried blood running down his neck and disappearing under the collar of his shirt. Rubbing his temples and letting his eyelids fall closed, Dean’s mind flashed back to the night before.
Content/Warnings: Gore, Smut, Offensive language, This is the only chapter in the series with this kind of very graphic gore so if you’re not a fan of gore, just skip to the ************. That’s where the smut starts.
You would die for him, kill for him, and everything in between.
He was as much a part of you as yourself.
You didn’t want anyone else.
It was always Jungkook.
His fingernails were rimmed with a dark reddish brown. The crevices of his palms and knuckles laced with the same dried crimson. His clothes were black but you could see darker splotches where they had been stained. His hair was disheveled. His eyes wild. Your eyes made their way back to his face. Tears still poured down his cheeks. His breathing was uneven and his shoulders moved up and down violently. Neither of you had moved from where you were standing. You felt a stinging in the back of your eyes, as you stepped forward toward your husband.
Yes, That Conversation Was Necessary. No, Lawrence is definitely still trash.
Absolute basura. Imagine being in a relationship with someone for years, seeing him or her essentially take up air and space in your life and failing at doing more than maintaining his or her mess, only for aforementioned bae to bounce once you’ve made a mistake you are more than determined to make right?
I’m not saying Issa wasn’t wrong. She definitely was not right when stepping out with Daniel. Instead of making her frustrations clear with Lawrence, she definitely decided to bungee jump into the world of uncertainty, determined to get more out of living than she was at the moment. But when the smoke cleared, Lawrence was faced with the very real dilemma of questioning his girlfriend’s (in)fidelity. And we know how that went down.
They hadn’t had a sit-down conversation since. Nothing more than simple requests for mail, an extremely brief revenge romp on the bouch (and yes, I said bouch), and some social media stalking. Lawrence wrestled off and on with the demise of his relationship with Issa throughout the season, only caring enough to pump the brakes after being cursed to hell by Tasha and getting played by the black peen-lusted chicks after his trip to the supermarket. Only in his failure to secure another thing does Lawrence think about Issa—oh, that and when he comes across a photo of her and Daniel with their undeniable chemistry–and when he does, he is quick to play victim. Re: bar conversation with Derek.
Issa did the opposite. After briefly attempting to win her man back, she decides to roll with it and do her. Hotation in effect, then it wasn’t. Her line-up dried up. Daniel came and blinded her (all pun intended). Your girl was down. Now, on top of trying to take control of her mess, old bae shows up to dinner with HIS new bae, unannounced, shaped up, and petty on full?
He played himself. They aren’t together, so people may disagree here, but the fact that he wasn’t brave enough to come alone spoke volumes about where he stands regarding Issa. If he was truly over her, where is the harm in supporting your boy without having people question the presence of the girl on your arm? And his girl, this cool chick from work who looks at him and likes him enough to feel uncomfortable at the same table as the woman who had “broken” his heart, is being pulled into a messy situation that Lawrence isn’t even gangsta enough to clean up and end on his own. How many more casualties will fall victim to Lawrence and Issa?
Can we talk about how men carry the weight of one incident in which they are betrayed and cling to it for dear life? Why is Issa a hoe as a result of one incident, one night? Why does Lawrence cling to that night like he clings to the arm of his new girl? Why is it so important for him to know if she and Daniel were a thing while they were together if they aren’t anymore? What difference would it make? Lawrence wants his ego stroked, and he doesn’t hesitate to use others to get the feeling he lost when he found out someone else made Issa feel what he couldn’t. It wasn’t enough that she was his clean-up woman. She needed to be his everything when he needed it most, even at her own expense, and he couldn’t take it when she wasn’t. How many of us have found ourselves in similar situations?
We’ve all been Issa at some point, holding on to dead weight. Her slip-up came when she decided to try and move on without acknowledging how she hurt her partner and forgiving herself. She should have ended it before she went out and brought someone else into what they had, but she hadn’t and that was that. Why are we expected to wear the A? Yes, she did have sex outside of her relationship, but is she supposed to take that L forever?
Men are quick to label others, but when it comes time to look in the mirror, their memory and vision suddenly fails them. When she took shots at Lawrence’s outdated app, his dream project, and called him out on his depression, my heart stopped. No lies there. Him calling her a hoe was his truth too, in all fairness, In that moment outside of the restaurant and in the real world, where hotations and work baes didn’t exist, Issa and Lawrence were mirrors.
People hurt people. That is a fact of life and as we grow older and wiser with experiences, it remains one of the hardest and most necessary lessons we learn. It is what we do with that hurt that reveals the depths of our character. That conversation outside of the restaurant between two hurt lovers revealed more about their characters now than ever before. Both have a lot to sort out, and both have gone about moving on in a way that ends up harming them more than helping. It ain’t over between those two. I really do hope no one else gets tangled in their web of hurt.
It’s decadent to make everything from scratch today, he
knows, but she deserves the extra mile today. Every day, really, but especially
She finds him at the kitchen counter, working diligently to
get everything prepared. He tries and fails to swallow the chuckle at her
sleep-crazy hair, the drowsiness tugging at her features.
Even the little line of dried saliva trailing from the
corner of her mouth down the slash of her jaw. Evidence of how hard she’d slept
Good, she’d needed it. Between the precinct, Lily being
sick, and juggling his signing and half-tour schedule, Kate’s been going
full-tilt these last few weeks; the rest had been sorely needed.
“Rick, what’s all this?” Kate asks, though it’s
garbled around a yawn. “What are you making?”
He grins, pouring her a coffee in lieu of answering at
first. Once she’s a few sips in, and her eyes have lost some of their
dreaminess, he brushes his lips over her forehead.
His wife hums, slumping into his affection, her lashes
kissing the tops of her cheeks once again. Rick slips his arms around her
waist, brushing his palm along the line of her spine, hoping the touch infuses
her with everything he hasn’t yet told her this morning. His love, his
appreciation, his desire.
There’ll be time to communicate all of those, but he would
rather she know now; he would rather she carry it with her throughout their
“This is just one part. Prepare to be blown away on
your birthday, Kate.”
got any tips for other artists on how to keep lineart from smudging? my markers always end up smudging the lineart making my stuff look grey, even with good quality ink pens. your traditional work looks so clean though!
Ok, my whole thing is about working with inexpensive materials.( still carry my pens and markers in an ice cream tub 🍦✏)
I do all my sketches with mechanical pencil, use micron pens for my line work, then erase with magic rub. Been usin’ microns for 10 years and nothing else has worked as well for me. They’re excellent for tiny details and thick lines. Very reasonably priced, dries quickly and doesn’t smudge.
**HAVE A SHEET OF PAPER BEHIND YOUR PIECE BECAUSE THE COLOR WILL BLEED.
** If you can, keep your brush strokes light when going over the line work. Leave a lil space to let the color spread a bit
** lightest colors first, black spaces last to avoid creating a void
**sharpies are great for wider spaces, but use them last when the piece is done and dry cuz they like to bleed for their art
** have a king sized black sharpie for large spaces.
** colored pencil will give pop, good fades and texture on top of marker. but marker over colored pencil is death to your marker.
Some more tips🌷–
**After inking a piece, I recommend 5 to 7 seconds of hairdryer on it if you’re unsure about it being dry, or play a song and then start erasing the pencil.
**Random office pen doodles on any kinda paper are like vitamins toward steady and fluid lines
**If you can draw on it, try to draw on it it. note books, copy paper, people, cardboard, sketchbooks, plywood, couch cushions, drywall I mean ANYTHING YOU CAN DRAW ON, DO IT. (As long as you won’t get in trouble for it. Y'know, try to be respectful )
**ALWAYS HAVE SOME KIND OF WHITE OUT. And a white gel pen and/or white paint and a toothpick for those tiny effects.
** A smudge can be your friend too. You can work the piece around it, blend it in, use it or turn it into something else, disguise it, draw over it or white-out parts of it and bravely continue.
Hope these help ya~ 💗 everyone’s style and method is super different. Just have fun💗
Summary: season like 4 Stiles and Malia plus a jealous reader.
Note: sorry it’s so long. I had so many ideas and I don’t want to just everything into one story.
Me and Lydia stood at my locker planning the pack meeting tonight and decided that Derek’s loft would be the best.
“I feel like there’s so many of us, you know even though we’ve lost a few people with Malia joining it’s just” Lydia says fixing her lipstick
“Can we not talk about her please?” I plead closing my locker.
I’m not the biggest fan of Malia Tate. Don’t get me wrong I’m sure she’s a nice person but she gives me bad vibes, and she stole my man.
Ok maybe that’s the wrong phrase. I just-
“Y/N you’re a witch, you’re the witch. Just because she’s illegitimately dating Stiles, doesn’t mean anything. I’m sure they’re just friends anyway.”
“Dude, every night she comes in my room because she can’t sleep and then ya know” Stiles says engrossed in another “serious” conversation with Scott.
“No Stiles. I don’t know” the Alpha says rolling his eyes. He’s never been one to take hints.
Stiles just lifts the back of his shirt up revealing red lines with some dried blood on his back.
I gasp and run my hand over the scratches quickly making them disappear as if they weren’t there.
“Y/n, what did you just do. They actually don’t hurt now. Oh she healed me.” Stiles says pulling his shirt back down. “What have I said about using your mojo on me.”
“You’ve said it’s extremely cool and to do another trick.” I laugh rolling my eyes. “And don’t call it mojo. That’s disrespectful. My magic isn’t a joke stiles” I say giving him the look. He salutes me before we all continue to History with coach.
“So where’s Malia?” Kira says from her seat in class.
I shrug and look down at my worksheet.
“STILINSKI, put your phone away!” Coach yells causing our group to laugh.
“Yep. Got it coach. Putting it away” stiles awkwardly says putting the phone in his back pocket.
The rest of the school day is spent like every other. Admiring stiles from far away. Except Malia wasn’t here to cling on to his arm. Okay maybe I’m extremely jealous that Malia has the love of my life.
It’s actually not my fault. After becoming The Grand Priestess last year, all my emotions, senses and abilities were heightened. The Grand Priestess wasn’t supposed to be appointed until they were 19 or pregnant with their first child, but both my grandmother and mother were killed when I was 12.
The entire “world” of witchcraft had been trying to figure out what to do until eventually they just taught me what to do. It’s been a long, lonely process but I’ve got the hold of it.
“Y/N! Are you listening? Of course not.” Lydia says waving her hand in front of my face.
“Oh sorry Lyd. Why were you saying?”
“I was saying, it’s time to go. Derek has somewhere to be tonight and doesn’t trust us alone with peter.” She says grabbing her purse and moved to her car.
We arrived at Derek’s Loft and I immediately moved to the kitchen to grab some drinks. But when I walked in Malia was sitting on the kitchen counter with stiles in between her legs.
I stared at them before shaking my head and continuing to the fridge. I roughly opened the door cause the pair to jump apart and almost causing stiles to fall.
“Oh no. Don’t stop on behalf of me. Tongue Tennis is my favorite sport” I spit before popping open the soda can.
“I see you’re more of a spectator than a participant?” Malia says crossing her arms and hopping down.
“Ohhh. Big words, did Lydia teach you what those mean last night. Oh wait, you were a bit busy last night” I sarcastically state. I could practically taste the venom in my words.
“Oh go to hell.” She growls stepping closer.
“I run it bitch” i say stepping just as close as her. Malia is the only one to have never seen my powers, or even know a lot about them, but she might just today.
“Wow, no wonder you’re all alone”
“HEY. GIRLS, as much as I love reality TV. We have a meeting so drop it” Derek barks at us. Malia jumps and walks away while I stay still for a little bit.
Stiles still hasn’t moved and is just staring at me with wide eyes. I roll my eyes and move to the living room.
“Okay so Scott turned a freshman into a werewolf and the full moon is in less than 3 days so we need a plan.” Derek says looking at everyone.
“I can chain him up somewhere safe.” Scott offers.
“Malia is using the chains still” I say fake smiling at her.
“And you’re still a brat” she says returning the smile.
“Okay, y/n do you think you can find a spell to help sedate him or calm him down?” Derek says ignoring our argument.
“Course she does, how else would she get dick”
“MALIA” Scott and stiles shout at the same time.
I laugh darkly and clench my fist.
“Look hun, there’s a boy that could possibly hurt himself or other innocent people. We don’t have a lot of time to figure out what to do with a naturally angry new werewolf on top of training you how to control your shit” I quickly stand up and before anyone can blink the lights go out and Malia is pinned up against the brick wall. The whole scene looks creepy because the only light came from the setting sun. My eyes had turned a glowing black and my aura was showing. It bascailly looked like I was floating in pure black smoke. “So how about you shut up, chill and listen to Derek. I really don’t like you and no one in this room has the capability of stopping me from killing you. It’s out of respect and second hand care that you’re still alive. So shut the hell up, sit down before I use my actual powers” I didn’t even realize I had moved closer to the terrified Werecyote.
I drop her from the invisible hold I had in her. My eyes returned to normal and the “smoke” had cleared and the lights came back on.
Malia was coughing on the floor before growling at me. She stood up to come for me before Stiles and Scott grabbed her arms restraint her. I just smile and return to my previous seat.
We continued the meeting with a lot of tension. Once it was time for everyone to leave, stiles asked to speak to me. He lead me up the spiral stairs and into a room. Malia was sitting on the bed and Scott was sitting at the desk.
“You both need to stop. We’re a pack and this isn’t how you act. You’re both being childish and it’s getting annoying. So you’re going to talk it out. ”
“I don’t see why I can’t just leave. She’s the only problem here. Who cares if I don’t like her?” Malia says rolling her eyes.
“You can’t leave because like Scott said we’re a pack, whether you like it or not. This group of people are all we got. Eachother. Respect is necessary and if you’re going to stay I mine as well like you. So let’s talk it out. I’ll start. Stop acting like you’re all alone in this world. You have people. You have supernatural people. Stop acting like you are the only one in the god damn world who’s lost someone close to you. News Flash, literally every single person in the pack has. You’re not special. Quit lying and you know exactly what I’m talking about. Because as soon as you realize that there’s more than one place that’s willing to give you what you want you’re going to leave. So stop playing games. And quit coming for me, because if we’re comparing problems and issues we can and I guarantee I’ll win.”
“I never said any of that. You just want everything I have. I’ve been through shit you cant even think about. So stop.”
“Why would I want everything you have? Who wants diseases, an unstable ‘relationship’ and to have my first time on a nasty couch in the basement of an insane asylum. So fuck you and fuck this. You stay outta my way and don’t speak to me unless necessary then we’ll be okay. Because let me tell you a 17 year old with unimaginable powers is a mine field. So watch your step. And maybe if one of your little friends didn’t murder the only thing I had, we wouldn’t be here.”
“Y/n, what are you takin about?” Scott interrupts me.
“Scott, you know my grandmother and mother are dead. And I swear when I figure out who it was-”
“Stiles didn’t tell you?” Scott says making eye contact with the boy.
I spin around quick and look at stiles confused.
“Tell me what stiles?”
“We uhm. We know who killed your mom and grandma.” He says sadly not looking at me.
“You knew and didn’t tell me? Who is it. Let’s go.” I say running down the stairs. I could finally get revenge on the bastard.
“Y/n no. Uhm. We can’t go. Look it was an accident and they didn’t mean to. They’re so sorry.” Stiles began stepping closer to me. Malia and Scott stood at the bottom of the staircase while I was almost to the door.
“Stiles. What are you talking about? Just tell me who it is” I say looking in his eyes. Just like that my love grew taller.
“It was Malia” he whispers a tear running down his face. And just like that my love fell.
“No. I don’t understand. She killed them?” I said not bothering to look in any other direction than the boy I wanted to kill right now.
“Yea. Y/n look im really sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, I-”
“EARLIER. YOU THINK THATS WHY IM UPSET. GOD DAMN IT STILES HOW THE HELL COULD YOU. SHE FUCKING MURDERED MY FAMILY AND YOU SLEPT WITH HER. YOURE SLEEPING WITH HER. LIKE YOU DIDNT HOLD ME FOR YEARS AFTERWARDS. LIKE I DIDNT COME TO YOUR HOUSE ALMOST EVERY NIGHT BECAUSE I COULDN’T BE ALONE AND MY NIGHTMARES WERE TERRIBLE. LIKE I DONT FUCKING LOVE YOU. I HAVE SINCE WE WERE CHILDREN. AMD HERE YOU GO SCREWING THE BITCH THAT KILLED MY ONLY FUCKING FAMILY. You know exactly how it feels to lose your mother. And yet you just said fuck me and our lifetime of friendship. That’s wrong Stiles. And don’t think you’re safe either bitch. The ONLY reason you’re alive this second is because I’m going to fuck you up. Every single one of you.” I screamed and vented and yelled and in a blink I was gone but the entire loft was in a huge mess of papers, furniture, files and clothes.
I didn’t even bother going home. I went straight to the sheriff station. To say goodbye of course. Sheriff Stilinksi was the father I never had. Strong, caring and always welcoming.
“Y/n? Hey. Where’s Stiles?” Parrish asks me. I ignore him and go straight to the sheriffs office.
“Sheriff. I’m just here to say thank you and I love you with every ounce of me but I can’t stay here. Thank you for welcoming me and allowing me to be the person I am. Thank you so much.” I say finally bursting into tears. Stilinski runs around his desk and hugs me.
“Y/n. Sweetie. What’s wrong. Please tell me.”
“Malia- she-she killed my mom and grandma and stiles knew and still has sex with her and i-I’ve always lo-loved him” i sob. My sentences were barely comprehendible but I knew the sheriff understood.
“Oh y/n. It’s okay. Where are you gonna go?”
“I’m not sure. My dad has family down in Georgia. I can go there”
“Please be safe. I understand your need to leave but promise me you’ll be back to visit me.”
A/N: If you want to be tagged just let me know!! Feedback is always loved.
Rule One of being a doctor, don’t get over attached to your patients. Well that rules been broken. Rule Two of being a doctor, don’t date your patients. But what if he has blue eyes and a killer smile that make your insides throw a dance party when he’s near you?? Rule Three of being a doctor, don’t ever loose focus on doing your job, nothing comes between you and your career. See comment above… was the smile mentioned? Or that he’s Captain America?
What is your opinion about the friendship between Sansa and Jeyne Poole?
It is a point of irritation I have with GRRM.
During AGoT we’re told that Sansa and Jeyne are friends. We see them in each other’s company quite a bit. They’re hanging out together in Arya I, they whisper excitedly together in Arya II, they discuss men in Sansa II (a chapter in which Sansa promptly forgets about Jeyne). They get a chunk of dialogue together at the start of Sansa III, where we see Sansa looking down on Jeyne in detail, but their “giggling and gossiping and sharing secrets,” i.e. the positive part of the friendship, is reduced to that one line. Likewise, in Sansa IV, we get detail on Sansa looking down on Jeyne for being childish (wrongly too, as Jeyne has a far better appreciation of the day’s events than Sansa at this point), and once again the positive part of the friendship is boiled down to two lines:
“Sansa dried her own tears as she struggled to comfort her friend. They went to sleep in the same bed, cradled in each other’s arms like sisters.”
So there clearly is something good and enjoyable to Sansa and Jeyne’s friendship, shared interests, mutual support in a crisis, so on and so forth; GRRM’s just highlighting the negative.
Make no mistake, I love Sansa and I love Sansa’s character development over the course of the series. The way in which she treats Jeyne is a valid way of showing Sansa’s then-shallow, immature perspective; the way in which she puts Jeyne mostly out of her mind is a valid way of showing Sansa’s coping mechanisms. But Sansa’s relationship with Jeyne hints at a broader authorial weakness - depicting friendship between girls and women.
Dany likes her handmaids and Missandei, but Dany’s their direct employer. Arya befriended other girls in Braavos, but the plot-important relationships she develops over the course of the series are almost exclusively with men. Same with Arianne Martell. Catelyn and Brienne seem to be each other’s only female friend ever, and even that relationship is a cross between knight-and-lady and mother-and-daughter rather than an equal friendship. Blink and you’ll miss how Asha Greyjoy and Alysane Mormont are getting to be friends.
As of ADWD, the relationship between Sansa and Jeyne is still one of the most detailed and equal female friendships in the series (though I have hopes for Sansa’s friendship with Myranda Royce), and it’s used almost exclusively to show Sansa’s intellectual weaknesses at that point of the plot. Even as Sansa protests Jeyne’s treatment to Cersei, her lines (”[Jeyne] hasn’t done anything wrong, she’s a good girl”) emphasise Sansa’s lack of understanding.
So while I think Sansa’s “gosh isn’t Jeyne kind of silly” is an important part of GRRM’s depiction of an eleven-year-old overwhelmed by the glamour of court and caught up with her own fantasies, I am also very aware that the type of relationship depicted is a consistent weakness in GRRM’s characterisation and worldbuilding.
Hello Father. What are your thoughts on Pope Paul VI? Why do you think are the reasons, aside from his glorious encyclical Humanae Vitae, are many people critical of him? Thanks in advance for taking the time to answer my ask.
I grew up during the pontificate of Blessed Pope Paul VI. I remember him as a gentle giant. He was told early on to crack down on disobedience after Vatican II and to crush the liberal and radical ideas that came from many sectors of the Church. But this was antithetical to his character and personality.
This Bible verse describes, perfectly, the personality of this pope: “ A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out. In faithfulness he will bring forth justice” (Isaiah 42:3).
Blessed Paul VI wanted people to feel free to pursue, and to implement, the renewal of Vatican II in Catholic schools and parishes, without being micromanaged, and having authority breathing down their neck.
Thus, he stepped back and often erred on the side of being too aloof to the dissent in the Church and too merciful in the face of widespread challenges and disobedience to his authority.
The dissent, the widespread disobedience, the doctrinal and liturgical abuses and misinterpretations, bothered Paul VI a lot. Then why didn’t he do more to fight against it?
Well, he was always afraid of overreacting and being harsh and severe with his authority. Because of this, he is often pictured as a wimp, a spineless man, a coward even, and in over his head when it came to leading the Catholic Church.
For instance, after the worldwide revolution to attack and undermine his teaching on birth control, Paul VI became something of a recluse and didn’t even issue any more encyclicals. The fact that millions of Catholics abandoned the faith after Humanae Vitae, and thousands of priests and nuns left the Church, broke his heart.
He lost the warrior in his spirit, and didn’t have it in him to fight back or come out swinging. He was still in charge as Pope, but he was a broken man after being condemned for standing up to contraception and abortion.
It was the birth control teaching, by the way, NOT Vatican II, that “brought down” the Catholic Church, in the sense that there was widespread anger and rejection over the birth control teaching.
The Catholic Church was actually doing pretty well in attendance and participation right after Vatican II. But after 1968, and Humanae Vitae, all hell broke loose. Mass attendance plummeted. Confession lines dried up. Seminaries and convents shut down everywhere because new recruits were few, and those who were already priests and sisters practically tripped over themselves to head for the exit door.
But still, in spite of that, in my opinion, Paul VI was anything but “in over his head.” He was a brilliant intellect, a well read man, and an astute observer of the outer world, the outer culture, and was very gratified to see that, in spite of the virus of dissent and liberalism, there was also a lot of clergy and Catholic lay activism to fight the drugs, sex, and hedonism of the 1960′s. Not everybody took that liberalism and looney thinking laying down. No siree. There were some fearsome Catholic angels that rose up and fought back.
But the pope took a pretty good beating. It was like almost every week there was some serious crisis he had to deal with, and give advice about, to the cardinals and bishops, and world leaders. And he did his best, always with the same kindness, the same fairness, the same deep love for the poor, the hurting, and the marginalized.
In his time as Pope, and with his full encouragement, wonderful initiatives were undertaken in liturgy, in theology, in new spiritual movements. New religious orders and communities were popping up and being founded. Church missions and apostolates that were founded and run, by laity, especially family and marriage apostolates would later became the awesome pro-life movement of today.
Plenty of conservative and orthodox Catholics took up the gauntlet and fought to bring the true message of Vatican II to the rest of the Church. That was exciting to see.
But it is true that by 1978, when Paul VI died, the Catholic Church had taken a serious beating, and many had pretty much dismissed the Catholic Church as a dying and has-been religion, without any vigor, without any energy, and with nothing to offer the modern world. Then, this guy who was hidden and unknown came from Poland. Well, the rest is history LOL.
Yes, I remember Blessed Paul VI. I remember him fondly. I can’t think of anyone else who could have brought the Catholic Church through the revolution and tumult of those days. God bless and take care, Fr. Angel
(Y/N) sighed as she stepped back from the bookshelf, one hand on her waist and the other hanging limp at her side her fingers loosely wrapped around the feather duster in her hand. A proud smile was present on her face as she looked at the work that she had done, it was four in the morning and she had just finished dusting all of the book shelves in the bunker. All night she had been up cleaning the entire bunker, she had started in the kitchen scrubbing just about every surface, pot and pan, and the entire floor that had been around midnight. After the kitchen she moved on to the rest of the bunker slowly cleaning all of the hallways, until she had made her way to the war room and the library and she had just finished cleaning everything except for the garage which she was going for next after this and she wasn’t even tired yet.
Otabek cleans the blonde’s wounds as well as he can, but his condition worries him a lot
Warnings for this chapter: rape/non-con, a lot of infected wounds
Otabek took the blond in his room, lying that he wanted to try him. After Armen’s asks to let his knights carry the slave to his dorm, which he had denied, he had let him go. This was such a relief, he wanted to help the teen as soon as he could. He had to also get back to his realm soon. He didn’t know much about medicine…well, basically nothing. Yuuri was his healer, he had to get to him fast. But he couldn’t leave so fast, it would be too suspicious.
So, here he was, caring a blond teen in his arms to his bedroom. He was so light, a guy at his age shouldn’t be so light, Otabek was sure about this. But well, someone at his age was not supposed to be an almost dead slave. The lord could feel the heat radiating from the teen’s body. His fever was worrying. Okay, his whole condition was worrying. The way his left leg was hanging down was not normal, probably that was the broken leg Armen was talking about.
Otabek entered the room and laid the blond on the bed, on his belly, trying not to bother more the wounds from his back. He looked at him, trying to realize what he should do.
“You’re gonna be fine” he whispered, as the slave could hear him. But who knew, anyway?
Otabek looked at the teen’s face. His closed eyes had huge dark bags under them, his lips dry. He noticed a few lines of dried blood coming from his mouth, down his cheek…but together with the blood was also cum and…saliva…or puke? Probably both. Otabek felt nauseous himself thinking of what kind of horrible things Armen had done to the blonde.
He had probably fucked his mouth so hard that it made it blood. Or the teen had bitten his lip so hard that it made it do this. And the other thing…he had puked, and he couldn’t even wipe it from his cheek.
“It’s gonna be fine” he was whispering over and over again, trying to reassure the unconscious teen if he could somehow hear him.
He was so pale, his face was all white except his cheeks. They were flushed from the fever.
Otabek went to the bathroom, took a cloth and wetted it with water, then came back into the dorm and sat down on the bed, concerned. Could he really do this? What if he would hurt the poor boy more. Was it even possible? He took the cloth and started cleaning his face, gently. The blond was whimpering from time to time, a sign that it hurt him, but he couldn’t let him like this. Otabek whispered his apologizes over and over again, wiping his cheeks and mouth. When he finished, he took the teen’s hand and pressed his fingers on his ankle. His pulse was slow… God, how was he going to get to his realm with him alive? It was not the time for dark thoughts now…
Otabek rewetted the cloth and waited a bit. He prayed to all the gods he knew that the teen couldn’t feel what he was doing, then he took his legs and spread them. He could feel his cheeks getting warm. The black haired man took the cloth and started cleaning his thighs. The mix of blood and cum was hard to be removed. It seemed like there was fresh one, but also old one…for how long was he in a so bad state that he couldn’t clean himself? When he finished, he passed to something more…intimate for the teen… Otabek was worried about what the blond would believe if he was conscious…or if he could feel it. God, he was already thinking of him as a rapper, as someone who wanted just to shove his cock in the hole of a pretty boy. God, please, make him not feel this, Otabek thought, as he pressed his wet finger in the teen’s ass hole. He had to clean that place too, it could get infected.
The blond was whimpering again, louder than the last time. It hurt him, but Otabek had to do it, it was for his good. “I’m so sorry, dear, but you’re gonna be okay, everything will be just fine!” he whispered, in case he could hear him. Every little inch from his body seemed abused, even his cock.
Now, he had just one part left…the worst part: the slave’s back. It seemed to be in the worst slate. It was all covered in traces of lashes. The wounds were bad infected, his back was a mess of puss and blood. From what he knew, he had to wipe it away. He started removing the moisture, when the awful smell hit him. Oh, it was worse than he thought. There was so much yellowish liquid that was flowing continually. Otabek felt sick again. Not from the smell, but from thinking of how much pain the teen had endured in his last months here. He tried to be as gentle as he could, but every time he was touching a wound, the blonde’s mouth escaped a sound of pain. At least, this was a sign that the teen was still alive…for now. He had to get to Yuuri soon, or he wouldn’t be able to save him.
The slave’s fever was higher on his back, Otabek noticed, while cleaning his wounds. He had to make it come down somehow. But he couldn’t do it right now, he was supposed to fuck him in his dorm, not to help him. The blond was trembling hard. He didn’t knew if it was from the shock, pain or the shivers, so he just wrapped him in a blanket, careful not to hurt his back more and left the room. He couldn’t wait to left that infected realm. And he couldn’t wait to get rid of that fucking collar from the blonde’s neck. It was too tight for sure.
Otabek went to search for Emil, the one who had drove the carriage for him this time. He fully trusted him, so he was sure that the man could help him. He found him in the stable, preparing his horses for the long travel to their home. Otabek knew that even if the man was actually a worrier, he loved animals, especially horses, so he was always happy to play the role of the coachman.
When Otabek got close to him, Emil happily smiled at him, before he realized that something was wrong.
“Did something happen?” he whispered, concerned.
Otabek just nodded in answer.
“Make sure that they give us also soup for the jurney back home. I’ll explain you later” he said. “We are leaving in half of an hour, and we have to get home faster than usual” he whispered, then turned and left. He couldn’t be caught talking a lot to his coachman, it would make the others suspicious.
Otabek was heading back to his dorm, when he heard someone behind him:
“How was the slave, lord Altin?” Armen asked.
“Perfect. I’ve never had a so good sex. I really needed a release here” Otabek said, pointing at his crotch and lifting it a bit.
Armen just laughed, as he entered his office.
Otabek was sick of all he had just said. But it was all for the blond, so it was worth it. He entered his bedroom again and found the teen in the exact position as he had left him. Well, he was unconscious after all, what could he expect? He waited for the time to pass, running his fingers through the blonde’s locks, trying to make him feel a bit safer, if this was somehow possible.
When the time to leave came, Otabek unwrapped the teen from the blanket, lifted him and took him in his arms. He exited the bedroom and went to the carriage as fast as he could, trying to avoid everyone. They could get suspicious because of his gentleness of carrying the slave in his arms. When he got there, he placed the teen gently in the back seat. Emil was shocked, it was obvious on his face, but Otabek was grateful that he didn’t say anything about it.
He went to say good bye to Armen, then climbed into his back seat, next to the blond and waved to Emil that he could go.
As they got a bit further, Emil finally said:
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“Unfortunately, no. Now, go faster, we must save this soldier!” Otabek answered, wrapping the teen in a blanket again.