to other mentally ill artists who are obsessed with getting better
- Finished Pieces TM are NOT the only works that matter. That half-lined sketch is good. That page of nothing but shapes and doodles is progress. If you’re doing whatever it is that you CAN do that day, you’re doing well
- take. BREAKS. as often as you need to. stop when you gotta. if you try to dig into tomorrow’s spoons to finish something, trust me, you’re going to hate yourself and whatever you’re working on later
- if you really want to, you CAN draw (or paint, or sculpt, or craft etc.) every day
- everything counts. everything. can’t draw for more than 20 minutes today? you drew. less than 5? you drew. take a pencil and draw three different circles on a sticky note. you drew. lay out your arm and trace whatever comes to mind with you finger. everything counts.
- if you drew SOMETHING today, you gained more experience than someone who did not
- draw whatever you want
- reward yourself for it
- don’t get so wrapped up in something that you forget to eat, drink water or sleep please. if you can’t make yourself care about what it does to your body, remember it WILL affect your productivity, which will lead to Bad Times, again, trust me
- you are SOMEONE’S art goals
- your art is good
- “this person doesn’t know me or my art, how do they know it’s good-” shh. doesn’t matter. its good
Summary: After becoming slightly tipsy, Stiles gets creative with a tie.
Word count: 3k
Warnings: This is smut! It includes bondage (unsurprisingly by a tie).
A/N: I’m back again with another filthy oneshot! Similar to the Dylan piece I posted a few days ago, this is pure smut. I hope you enjoy! ;)
The second you were in the room, your hands reached up to grab Stiles’ collar. Impatiently, you pushed him back so he was pressed up against the sturdy wood. Your boyfriend let out a noise of surprise, clearly taken aback by such a quick change of tempo.
“Someone’s eager, aren’t they?” he said, a cocky smirk hanging from his pink lips. Breathlessly, you reached forwards and started working on his tie, fingers making light work of the loose knot.
“‘S not my fault you’ve looked hot all evening,” you responded, pulling the red tie over his head. You tossed it to the side, moaning softly when Stiles’ fingers traced down your body, resting on your hips to give you a tight squeeze.
You leaned up to press a series of open-mouthed kisses along his neck, tracing haphazardly from a spot beneath his ear to his collarbone. As your fingers undid the buttons of his crisp shirt, you put effort into your movements, sucking harsh, crimson marks against his pale skin.
Stiles groaned, a hand snaking up your back to play with the zip of your dress. Your tongue padded over a newly-formed mark on his neck, licking in a way that had his head falling back, guttural groans ripping from his mouth.
Feeling the zip come undone, you stepped back to shrug off your dress. “Holy shit,” Stiles cursed. You glanced up to see his eyes on you - or, more specifically - your body. “You know this set drives me crazy, angel.”
You smirked in response, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. “That’s why I put it on.”
Georgiana’s reception of them was very civil, but attended with all the embarrassment which, though proceeding from shyness and the fear of doing wrong, would easily give to those who felt themselves inferior the belief of her being proud and reserved