things that looked better in my head

9

(A bunch of messy quick sketches for comparison, but I’ll try…)

  • Babies have very big heads.
  • Big eyes.
  • Tiny, cute features, usually simplified.
  • Small nose and mouth.
  • Chubby bodies and cheeks.  

I like to give baby Papyrus round teeth. :3

Also, for baby Papyrus, I find that tiny eyes look better on him and big eyes look better on Sans.

Big cheekbones for Pap!

Baby Sans can be tricky to draw because unlike Papyrus,  Both adult and baby Sans’ face remains very round. Just give him smaller face and body features.

I Tiptoe

I tiptoe passed the master bedroom
where you sleep, you dream
you drift with stars
I slip downstairs and think about how
much you’ve changed my life
changed for the better
you challenge me to be
the greatest person I can be
the things you say
the way you love…
the way you care…
I look at you in bed
I stop and stare
and watch you sleep
I think about what lies ahead
I set work aside
and drift into dreams instead
thoughts about you
about us…they fill my head…
I have to say
I’m thankful that I married my closest friend
I wouldn’t have it any other way
you sleep, you dream, you
wake up next to me each day
you love, you
take care of me in every possible way
I tiptoe back into our master bedroom
where I…
slip into bed
count stars
and drift away…

FollowCB | Copyright 2017

anonymous asked:

do you know any ways to deal with severe depression, my younger sister is displaying a lot of the signs but we cannot afford a therapist so I'm trying to look for other ways to deal with it, and honestly a lot of things on google basically say : "have you tried maybe not being so depressed?" and you usually give good advice so I was wondering if you could help

Hi! I can give you a better answer for this if you PM me. Off the top of my head, I would say that there is a lot of evidence for lifestyle changes that do help with depression. There is evidence about gut health and adequate amounts of sunlight and diet and exercise all help better than medicine in a lot of cases. Therapy is also AMAZING. I think everyone should go to therapy. You might look at apa.org for better insight into that research and the things you can do at home to help. But honestly, a therapist is who is going to be able to know what’s going on and how to help. If you have insurance, there should be someone covered in your area. You may need a referral though. So having your sister go to her primary care physician could be the best way.

Depression happens for different reasons. And without knowing specifics I can’t give you a better heading on a course of action. But I can say, that if you feel that this is sudden and only getting worse, then spending the money on getting treatment will pay off in the long run. Currently, the ACA has fantastic FANTASTIC affordable healthcare plans available. But I understand that not everyone can afford a plan. There are organizations where psychologists will volunteer their time and services. You might look into those. Off the top of my head I can’t think of any, but they do exist.

I do apologize too because I’m on my phone answering this so there is a lot more I could say, but I can’t type it all out. But feel free to PM me if you need more help. But look into the apa they are a great resource. If I think of more I’ll add them to this as comments. Because there are more! I’m just totally blanking and don’t want to not answer this rn.

anonymous asked:

*shyly whispers* do u think u could do another Greek Mythology story~

“Your tapestries are so fine,” the merchant says in wonder, “that you must be blessed by the goddess Athena.”

Arachne tosses her head, braided hair falling over her shoulder like an obsidian waterfall, “What’s Athena got to do with it? My hands wove these, not hers.”

The merchant blanches and looks to the sky, as if expecting Zeus himself to smite them for blasphemy. Personally, she thinks the king of the gods has better thing to do with his time. “Ah,” he says weakly, “I suppose.”

He pays her for her wares and she leaves, almost immediately bumping into a hunched old woman with grey eyes. “Do you not owe Athena thanks for your talent?” she croaks, gnarled hands curled over a cane.

Arachne is not stupid, but she is foolish. They will tell tales of it. She looks into those grey eyes and declares, “Athena should thank me, since my talents earn her so much praise.”

She pushes past her and keeps walking, ignoring the goddess in humans skin as she disappears into the crowd.

They will tell tales of her hubris. They will all be true.

~

The next day she bumps into the same old woman at the market. Everything goes downhill from there.

“Know your place, mortal,” Athena says, grey eyes narrowed. There is a crowd around them, and Arachne could save herself, could walk away unscathed, and all she has to do is say her weaving is inferior to that of a goddess.

She will not lie.

“I do,” she says coolly, “and in this matter, it is above you.”

She is not honest as a virtue, but as a vice.

Athena challengers her to a weaving contest. She accepts.

~

Gods are not so hard to find, if you know where to look.

“It’s a volcano,” the baker repeats, looking down at her coins, as if he feels guilty for taking money from someone who’s clearly not all there.

She grabs her bag of sweet breads and adds it to her pack before swinging it over her shoulders, “Yes, I know. Half a day’s walk, you said?”

“A volcano,” he insists, as if she did not hear him perfectly well the first dozen times.

“Thank you for your help,” she says. He’s shaking his head at her, but she knows what she’s doing.

She walks. She grows hungry, but does not touch the bread she paid for, and walks some more. The sun’s begun to set by the time she makes it to the base of the volcano. It’s tall, impossibly large, and for a moment the promise of defeat threatens to overwhelm her.

But Arachne does not believe in defeat, in loss. They will tell tales of her hubris. Those tales will be true.

She ties a scarf around her braids then hikes her skirt up and ties the material so it falls only to her thighs. She fits work roughened hands into the divots of cooled magma and begins her slow ascent.

~

The muscles in her legs and arms shake, and her hunger pains are almost as distracting. Her once white dress is dirt smeared and torn and sweat makes her itch as it covers her body and drips down her back.

“What are you doing?”

Arachne turns her head and bites back a scream, looking into one giant eye. The cyclops holds easily to the volcano’s edges, even though her hands are torn and bleeding. She swallows and says, “I heard you like honeyed bread. Is it true?”

The creature tilts his head to the side, baring his long fanged teeth at her. She thinks he might be smiling. “You’ve been climbing for hours. What do you want?”

“Is it true?” she repeats, refusing to flinch.

“Yes,” he says, looking at her the same way the baker had, “it’s true.”

“There’s some sweet bread in my pack, baked this morning,” she says, “it should still be soft.”

His hands are big enough and strong enough that it could probably squeeze her head like a grape. Instead he gently undoes her pack and reaches inside. The honey buns look comically small in his large hands, and he swallows half of them in one bite. He licks his fingers clean when he’s done, and his smile is just as terrifying the second time around. “I am Brontes. Why are you climbing my master’s volcano?”

“I’m the weaver Arachne,” she takes a deep breath, “I need your master’s help.”

~

They tell tales of Hephaestus’s ugliness.

They are not true.

He’s got a broad, angular face and short brown hair. His eyes are like amber set into his face, and his arms are huge, and he’s rippling muscle from the waist up. He has legs only to his knees. From there down his legs are bronze gears and golden wire, replacements for the legs destroyed when Hera threw him from Mount Olympus.

“Had your look, girl?” he asks, voice rough like he’s always a moment away from breaking into a coughing fit.

“Yes,” she says, and doesn’t turn away, keeps looking.

His lips quirk up at the corners, so it was the right move. The heat is even more oppressive inside the volcano, and all around him cyclopses work, forging oddly shaped metal that she can’t hope to understand. “You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to find me, girl. What do you want?”

She slides her pack off her shoulders and holds it out to the god, “I have a gift for your wife. I have woven her a cloak.”

He raises an eyebrow and doesn’t reach for the bag, “You believe something made with mortal hands could be worthy of the goddess of beauty?”

They will tell tales of her hubris.

“Yes.”

They will all be true.

With a gust of wind the oppressive heat of the volcano is swept away, leaving her chilled. In its place stands a woman – more than a woman. Aphrodite has skin like the copper of her husband’s machines and hair dark and thick and long. Her eyes are deepest, richest brown, piercing in their intelligence. People don’t tell tales of Aphrodite’s cleverness. That is because people are stupid.

“Let’s see it then,” she says, reaching inside the pack and pulling the cloak from its depths.

It unrolls beautifully. It’s made from the finest silks, and it shimmers in the light from the forges. The hem of the cloak is sea foam, speaking of Aphrodite’s beginning, and up along the cloak is intricate patterns it tells of her life, of her marriage and her worshippers and escapades, all with the detail of the most experienced artist and the reverence of her most devoted followers.

Her lips part in surprise and she slides it on, twirling like a child. “Gorgeous,” Hephaestus says, though Arachne knows he does not speak of the cloak. She doesn’t take offense.

The goddess smiles and Arachne’s heart pounds in her chest. She does her best to ignore it – Aphrodite is the goddess of love, after all. It is only expected. “Very well,” the goddess says, “you have my attention.”

Arachne swallows. Aphrodite’s attention is a heavy thing. “I have offended Athena,” she says, “She has challenged me to a weaving contest.”

Their faces somber. Hephaestus rubs the edge of a sleeve between his fingers and says, “Athena will lose such a contest, if judged fairly. She does not take loss well.”

“I know,” she says, “you are friendly with Hades, are you not?”

There are no tales of their friendship. But she’s staking her life on its existence, because why wouldn’t it exist – both of them even tempered, both shunned by Olympus, both happily married.

Gods hate being made to feel lesser. It is why they say Persephone was kidnapped, why they say Aphrodite cheats with Ares. It is why Athena will crush her when Arachne wins the weaving contest.

“Clever girl,” Hephaestus says, smiling.

Aphrodite stares at her reflection in a convenient piece of polished silver. Arachne assumes Hephaestus left if lying there for that express purpose. “Very well!” the goddess says, not looking at her, “when Athena sends you to the underworld, we will entrench upon our uncle for your release.” She turns on her heel and points a finger at her. Arachne blushes for no reason she can think of. “In return, you will weave me a gown, one equal to my own beauty.”

A gown as exquisite as the goddess of beauty. An impossible task.

They will tell tales of her hubris.

“I accept.”

They will all be true.

~

The contest goes as expected. Athena’s tapestry is lovely, but Arachne’s is lovelier.

The goddess’s face goes red in rage, and her grey eyes narrow. Arachne stands tall, ready to accept the death blow coming for her.

The blow comes.

Death does not.

~

She is an insect. Even if she can make it back to Hephaestus’s volcano, even if they can help her, they will not know it is her. She has no hope left, no course of action, she should just give up. But –

She doesn’t believe in defeat, in loss.

It was a terribly long journey on foot, that first time. It is even longer this time, although now she has eight legs instead of two. She makes it to the volcano, and creeps in between crevices, until she finds out a hollowed room, one with a sliver of sunlight and plenty of bugs to keep her fed.

Athena’s cruel joke of allowing her to weave will be her downfall. Her silk comes out a golden yellow color – it will look exquisite against Aphrodite’s copper skin.

~

It takes seven years for her to complete it. She hasn’t left this room in the volcano in all that time, and as soon as it’s done she scurries out back toward the village. She’s a large insect, but not that large.

She arrives just as the sun begins to rise, and leaves before the first rays have even touched the earth, her prize tied to her back with her own silk.

Arachne doesn’t return to her room. Instead she goes to the more popular parts of the volcano, hurries and runs around terrifying stomping feet until she finds who she’s looking for and scurries up his leg and onto his shoulder.

“Huh,” Brontes looks onto his shoulder and blinks. “What on earth are you?”

She cautiously skitters down his arm, waiting. He bends closer and lightly touches her back. “Is – is that a piece of a honey bun?”

She looks up at him, waiting. It’s her only chance, if he doesn’t remember, if he doesn’t understand –

His face slowly fills with a cautious kind of wonder. “Arachne?”  She jumps in place, being unable to nod, and Brontes cautiously cradles her in his massive hands, “We must find the Master immediately!”

She jumps down, landing in front of him and running forward. “Wait!” he calls, and she makes sure he’s running after her before skittering back to her corner of the cave. It’s almost too small for him to enter but he squeezes inside and breathes, “Oh.” He stares for several moments, and Arachne climbs her web and waits. Brontes shakes himself out of his reverie and uses his powerful wings to bellow, “MISTRESS APHRODITE!”

There’s that same breeze and she’s in the crevice with them, “What was so important, Brontes, that you had to yell?”

Arachne sees the exact moment that the goddess sees the gown, golden yellow and glimmering, made entirely of spider silk. “Beautiful,” she says, reaching out a hand to brush down the bodice. Her head then snaps up, “Brontes, where’s Arachne?”

She warms at that, that Aphrodite knew it was her weaving even though she hasn’t been seen in seven years.

They’ve told tales of her hubris.

They are all true.

Brontes points at the web, and Aphrodite steps over and holds out her hands. Arachne crawls onto the goddess’s palms. “Athena is more powerful than I am, I cannot undo her work,” she says, “but I know someone who can.”

Then they are in front of a river. A handsome young man stands there waiting with a boat. “Goddess Aphrodite,” he says, “we weren’t expecting you.”

“Thanatos,” she returns, “I need to see Persephone.”

The man’s face stays cool, and for a moment Arachne fears they will be refused and she will be stuck in this form forever. Then he smiles and says, “My lady is of course available for her favored niece.” He holds out a hand to help her onto the boat, “Please come with me.”

~

Arachne weaves a dress for Hades’s wife as a thank you, and returns to her volcano.

“I can take you somewhere else,” Aphrodite says, “you don’t have to hide here.”

Arachne pauses at her loom. She has lived in this volcano for seven years. It’s her home. “Would you like me to leave?” she asks instead.

Aphrodite scoffs, “Of course not! How could I dress myself without you here?” She’s wearing the spider silk dress Arachne spun for her, and she’s working on another for the goddess now. Aphrodite runs a gentle finger down Arachne’s cheek and for a moment she forgets to breathe. “You are the finest weaver to ever exist.”

She looks up at the goddess, “Then as the god of crafts and goddess of beautiful things, where else would I belong besides with you and Hephaestus?”

To declare your company equal to that of gods is the height of arrogance and blasphemy.

They tell tales of her hubris.

“An excellent point,” Aphrodite murmurs, and tucks a stray braid behind Arachne’s ear.

They are all true.

gods and monsters series part iii

Day One Hundred and Sixteen

-At the start of my shift, we had a team huddle to discuss store business matters. The first matter, and most important, was us all sampling the new Unicorn Frappuccino. A quality meeting, if I have ever been to one.

-An elderly woman remarked to me that it smelled like something was burning and asked if someone had burned popcorn. As a result, she spent the remainder of the transaction cackling to herself. If she thought that her joke was a funny one, I believe I may have finally found a good audience for my comedy.

-A Chubby Puppy wind-up toy was left at my register. I have named her Juniper and I love her, inability to walk in anything but a circle and all.

-In regards to the card reader before him, an older gentleman noted, “This seems like a pretty nice keyboard. I think I can solve it.” He inspires a great deal of faith in me. I think he can solve it, too.

-An older woman asked me if anything that she had purchased was on Cartwheel. I told her that I did not know off the top of my head, at which point she responded by glaring at me threateningly and telling me that I looked smart, so I had better be sure and I had better be right. Luckily, I know very few things in life, so it is more than likely that Cartwheel offers fall into this category.

-A couple bantered over how much they had each spent. The woman, having bought the most, said, “It makes sense, you are cheaper than me.” After a moment, the man replied, “I’m trying to think of something to say, but you drove and you’re paying.” Not since Machiavelli has one held all of the cards so masterfully.

-A sweet grandfatherly man, sporting a pinstripe shirt that seemed to have been with him as long as his timeless smile, came through holding a purple and yellow rubber ball. He asked me if I thought it would be good for four square before pausing for a moment and asking me if I knew what four square is. Overjoyed when I said yes, he told me of his plans to teach the neighborhood kids and help them be more active. He then said that he was going to go let his friends know that the ball would work. I later saw him with a pair of women, each as happy and smiling as himself. This man knows all that one needs in life, and I hope to one day learn from him.

-A young girl noted Juniper by my register and asked if she could pet her. I naturally said yes, as long as she was careful. Gently cupping the pup in her hands, she complimented me on how soft my plastic friend was.

Forbidden Love | Pt. 6

▷ Jimin Angst

❥ “I think about you a little more than I should..”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

Chuckling sarcastically, Jimin held his phone up in front of your eyes. “Look, you’re precious husband just texted me. He seems really worried about you. Don’t let him wait, you shouldn’t be talking to an useless person like me, Y/N.”

Not glancing at his phone, you tried to reach out for his hand but stopped when you saw how he backed away from you. “No, wait Jimin! I’m sorry-”

“Why are you doing this, Y/N?”

“What am I doing, Jimin?”

“Every time we see each other, you say that it’s the last time you’ve spent time with me. Then, after a couple of days, you come back, lie down in my arms as if nothing had happened and make me the happiest person in the world. Y/N, you make me fly again and then in a flash, you slam me back onto the ground every single time..”

Sadly, you looked into his eyes. He looked hurt, disappointed and broken. Seeing him like that, you wanted to wrap your arms around his body and tell him that you were sorry, that it breaks your heart to see him hurt like that because of you and that you loved him more than he could ever imagine.

“I don’t want to hurt anymore. I don’t want to cry anymore because of you, Y/N. Don’t come to me anymore. Don’t come to me whenever you’re sad or whenever you need someone to sleep with, Y/N. I don’t want to be your replacement anymore..”

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. “Jimin, I love yo-”

Right before you could end your sentence, you heard someone clapping slowly. Turning your head to the sound, you locked your eyes with your husband and froze the minute you saw him approaching you both with a smirk plastered on his face.

Standing in front of you both, Taehyung glanced from you to Jimin, his hands now tucked into his pockets. “Wow, what a heartbreaking love story! I’m impressed!”

Not knowing what to say, you looked at Jimin and realized that he was looking at your husband with hateful eyes and a clenched jaw.

“Y/N,” hearing your husbands voice, you snapped your head towards him and a shiver went down your spine at the way he looked at you. “tell me, how is he in bed? Is he good? Better than I am? Or would you prefer us both together? Hm? Tell me.”

“Shut the fuck up, Taehyung!” you heard Jimin hiss through his gritted teeth.

Smirking again, Taehyung turned his head to his best friend. “Why? Do you feel uncomfortable? Poor Jiminie, let me tell you one thing. You’re missing out, my friend.”

You saw how Jimin clenched his hands beside his body. “What the fuck are you trying to say, Taehyung?! Just spit it out!”

Glancing at you once, Taehyung crossed his arms in front of his chest and clicked with his tongue. Turning his head back to his friend, he tilted his head slightly as he smirked at him and said the words that made you feel like you’ve been shot by a gun in the head.

“I must say, your wife is pretty good in bed too, my dear friend.”

Interruptions (M)

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Word Count: 2,116

Summary: You would probably be able to concentrate on your work more if your boyfriend, Jimin, wasn’t sending such distracting text messages.

Keep reading

emhahee-deactivated20170506  asked:

drarry hc: Weird habits Or dancers AU Or the one where Harry loves watching Draco do the dishes Or or or Ahhhans

Draco didn’t need to turn around to know that he was being watched. The only thing he just couldn’t figure out was why.

At first Draco was sure he was imagining things, but in the weeks since they’d first moved into a flat together his suspicions had been wholly confirmed.

Harry liked to watch him do the dishes.

Draco couldn’t understand why Harry was constantly staring at him when he did them. At first he’d been defensive, snapping at him that first night that he could certainly do some things without magic and how Harry didn’t need to stare. Only instead of getting angry Harry had looked embaressed before mumbling something unintelligible and leaving the room.

A few days later he’d caught him staring and tried to make a joke of it, “Got a kink that involves yellow dish gloves and a sink of dirty dishes, Potter?”

Harry had just blinked a few times, before closing his eyes and disapperating with a loud pop so sudden Draco had dropped his favorite teacup.

Which is why, despite the fact that he can feel Harry’s eyes on him once again as he cleans up the remnants of the steak and kidney pie they’d had he doesn’t make any funny jokes or snide remarks. Instead he stays silent despite the curiosity burning a hole in his brain.

It’s a few weeks before the subject is broached again.

Draco is puttering around the kitchen, placing the dishes from tea in the sink when Harry comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing him in a firm hug. There’s something shaky in his voice when he whispers “Do you want to know why I like watching you do the dishes?”

Draco is almost too nervous to speak, so he nods instead. He’s almost afraid Harry hasn’t noticed his nod though because he doesn’t speak at first, but then Draco quite suddenly he feels Harry press the side of his face against Draco’s shoulder inhaling deeply before he starts to speak.

“I never thought I’d have this…someone to share things with like this. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were always so angry. She used to slam the dishes into the sink like she resented having to cook or clean for us, or she made me do them. I used to think that was just what family was like. Then I met the Weasley’s and I remember the first time I saw Mrs. Weasley doing dishes without magic…she told me she didn’t mind because it meant she had a family to take care of. You….you look like that when you do them; as if it’s not a chore. It makes me feel,” and at this Draco can feel Harry’s hands begin to shake. “It sounds stupid I know but….seeing you so happy even doing our dishes makes me think you’re happy with me. That we’re gonna make it. That…you won’t ever leave.”

Draco swallows, feeling like his entire world is spinning because they don’t do this….this talking about feelings things often. Both of them have always been better with actions than words. But for once he knows actions won’t be enough.

So Draco turns, placing his hand on Harry’s chin and tilting his head up just a bit so he’s looking him in the eye.

“I’m not leaving, Harry. Not ever. I want this life and I want you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Imagine an overwhelmed Woozi immediately feeling at ease and calm when you hold him in your embrace and shower him with kisses.

anonymous asked:

Hey Viria! I often come onto your blog to check out your PJO/HoO art because I love it. It always make me want to draw art of my own, but I'm bad! People tell me that it's all about pratice, but do you second that? I mean, you're super talented so I thought I'd ask you. It's just that I get frustrated sometimes because I want to draw a particular scene or character from a really good book but it always turns out bad! Any recommendations? And if it IS true, how can I get better? Thanks a million!

I definitely second what people have told you! It IS about practise! 

And, to be honest, I don’t quite see myself as “super talanted”. I didn’t draw as good from the start. I had the stage (A LONG ONE), feeling like you do right now, not being able to draw a scene I see so well in my head because my hand just wouldn’t cooperate. It will turn out not as good as you want it too for a few years, at least.

Building up a skill is like growing a tree. It won’t grow overnight, and you have to regularly water it or else it will just stop growing and die. So, you can get better by growing and watering your tree! Don’t get discouraged to the point when you just stop, because it will not get you anywhere. Also, there are things you can’t yet draw, that’s true. But look at all the things you CAN draw at this point. Look at it this way: when you were a baby, at some point, you couldn’t even hold a pencil. Couldn’t even WALK, and look how good you are at it now, you can even run!

It’s the same with drawing really. Keep on and it will be great!

Tricks (Part 1)

Request: Hello! How are you? Could I request a Joker x Reader where the he and his friends are arguing about who the most attractive/best with the ladies is and joker ends up betting he can seduce the reader. They fall in love but then reader finds out it was all a bet. Sort of a ‘10 things I hate about you’ scenario haha Thanks lovie

A/N: I COMPLETELY fell in love with this idea this is cute AS FUCK. Part 1 of ??

Pairing: Joker x reader 

Summary: Joker makes a bet he can seduce the reader but finds out he’s met his match. 

Warnings: Sexual implications? Probably swearing? Joker stuff. 

Originally posted by grysamobojcow

Keep reading

11:28 pm Bus Rides

(gif not mine!)

“Can I…hold your hand for the rest of the ride?”

Summary: When all you wanted for Zach was happiness.

Pairing: Zach Dempsey x Reader

Warning: Light Fluff

HEY GUYS! this is my first ever fic/imagine so I hope you like it! :) 

11:28 p.m. Bus Rides

 I get on the bus out of breath, merely from sprinting to the stop with weak legs and a heavy bag. I was stunned that there was still a bus going around the city at this time. Regularly, my brother picks me up from work, but today he had to work late too.

 My eyes wander to the vacant seat beside this boy who had his head down. He was wearing a black sweater that matched his natural hair. As I was about to sit down, his lonely eyes look into mine. Zach Dempsey.


Keep reading