Okay Then, This Is The Drawing I Did As A Test For The Weeping Monk's Face. The Drawing Isn't That Good

how to fight writer’s block like it personally insulted your best friend

Writer’s block isn’t a myth. It’s real. It’s rude. And it shows up exactly when you don’t want it to—like an ex at your book launch. Here’s how to yeet it into the void:

1. stop trying to write “good”

Seriously. Lower the bar. Bury the bar. Let the bar rot in the forest. Write badly on purpose. Be cringe. Be free. You can’t fix a blank page, but you can edit a disaster.

2. change the medium

Tired: typing in the same doc for hours. Wired: scribbling in a notebook like a Victorian ghost. Inspired: recording a voice memo like a sleep-deprived cryptid explaining your plot to future you.

3. skip the part that’s blocking you

Stuck on Chapter 5? Write Chapter 9. Write the ending. Write that one scene with the knife and the rain and the betrayal. You can stitch it all together later like Frankenstein’s monster.

4. give your brain new input

Go outside. Touch grass. Watch a movie. Read a book not in your genre. Eavesdrop at a coffee shop. Ideas in = ideas out.

5. bribe yourself

“Write 100 words and you get a cookie.” “Finish this scene and you can scroll Pinterest for aesthetics.” Become your own treat-dispensing machine.

6. embrace ✨trash drafts✨

Your first draft is not the final product. It’s the mess you make before the magic. Let it be wild. Let it be ugly. Let it live.

7. stop declaring war on your creativity

Sometimes writer’s block is just burnout in a trench coat. Maybe what you need isn’t to write harder—it’s to rest, to dream, to let the well refill.

tl;dr: writer’s block can’t survive if you trick it into thinking you're just vibing. So vibe. Write weird stuff. Take breaks. Make art like no one’s watching (because no one is yet).

You’ve got this.

Sneak Peak! and no i'm not explaining this post

The Reformatory.

“That place is not just a reformatory, knight. They're gonna break his head.” The lady with honey eyes says. Her once happy eyes now fell into a sad and worried glass.

Gawain is confused by the stern words. "...What?" He asks in a state of confusion and disbelief. Gawain knew that the paladins were cruel and that they valued empty heads and blind pawns, but he didn't want to believe that they would have the courage to break that alredy broken blade that the weeping monk was and force him together again and the gods know how many more times.

“You heard me.” The woman says with a firm word. Her eyes finally returning to meet his. “We call that place the devil's nightmare house for a reason. It’s not difficult to connect two dots, knight.”

The devil's nightmare house...? Gawain feels his face grow cold and the color drain from his features with realization. A shiver passes through his body just for thinking about what led to a place having to name like that.

“He's not going to come back, Gawain.” The lady afirms again with a firm voice, her face now completely darkened. “And if he comes back, it won’t be him anymore."

The woman sighs, her eyes returning to the floor and they were now a red glass, trying hard not to cry. The knight couldn't even begin to understand the relationship between the lady and the monk, but they certainly had something. No one holds back their tears so much for someone they don not care about.

She forces a unamused smile, trying to ease the tension. “Think he'll only comes back if some crazy person dares to invade Devil's Nightmare and bring him back.” She jokes, getting up to leave. The nameless lady says goodbye and leaves the knight to his thoughts alone at night again.

…Maybe I am crazy enough.

@lancedoncrimsonwings

Saw a post talking about how interesting it is that a large amount of the whump community (here on tumblr, at least) is asexual.

Immediately after that on my dash was a post joking about “geez what do asexuals do with all the time and energy they dont spend yearning”

Well we use that time and energy for torturing fictional characters, apparently

SFX make up done by Lucy Rowley for the @NetflixUK series @CursedNetflix last year on Daniel Sharman. Designed by Erika Okvist (source)

*Throw Lancelot homosexually thinking about Gawain at you and run.*

It’d been a month since NightPearl had adopted Lancelot as it’s mother. He didn't mind at all, in fact he found the little dragon adorable. It would sneak anywhere it could find, and its favorite place was his lap. The only problem was when it brought a dead rabbit in the tent and he had to throw it away, but other than that it was perfect.

On days like today, when he was lying on his back, NightPearl would come and sprawl on his chest, enjoying every fraction of Lancelot's natural warmth that it could get, while Lancelot caressed its long body and just listened to Squirrel’s nonsense or listened to Gawain's voice. He never really paid attention to what Gawain said, it was usually something boring about what the council was thinking about him or about his wounds, instead he paid attention to his voice, which was much more engaging than what was friendly allowed.

Sometimes Pym would make a joke about how Gawain would be jealous of NightPearl for being able to snuggle into Lancelot's chest while the two of them couldn't even sleep in the same bed. The monk always rolled his eyes and said it didn't make sense, even though his stupid heart beat a little faster every time he heard that. And thank God NightPearl didn't understand what the redhead was saying or it would bite Gawain from head to toe. He and Gawain barely saw each other, nor did they speak to each other properly, since talking was not something that Lancelot was taught to do often. It was not even part of his routine.

The world around Lancelot has never been so calm, and so boring. He was used to leaving very early, around six in the morning, half past six if he was feeling particularly lazy, and going to track the fey by tracks and scents. At ten o'clock he would return to camp and make an oral report of everything achieved, go to the fields to train for two hours, then go for lunch, have lunch, and leave again. After lunch he would go to the already tracked tribes, this time with a group of paladins, and would decimate and burn whatever they found. At sixteen hours he would escape from the rest of the paladins and take a secret bath to remove the excess dirt and blood that bothered his senses and skin. At seventeen o'clock he would be back at church and praying something particularly long, if it were Saturday he would pray a rosary, if it were Sunday he would be at mass. After mass, or pray, there is dinner, but if it were Saturday he would be fasting. Ten or nine o'clock at night he should already be in bed, because it's a few hours before Salt's torture sessions start and he would at least get a good rest if he slept earlier.

There is nothing in his routine about talking to anyone, except about reports and prayer, but only because it was part of his job and he should always seek God daily.

But now, with the fey, his entire meticulously memorized routine were thrown into the fifth of hells. Now his routine consisted of: Waking up, being forced by Gawain to eat breakfast followed by a lecture on why it’s important to eat every meal, then listening to Squirrel tell a story, lunch, Polly, actually now Pym, coming to check on his injuries. And now Pym stayed and told him about something that happened while she was with the Raiders or some new gossip at camp, which is strangely interesting. Squirrel arrives again, tells ‘em about his day. Gawain arrives with dinner for everyone, they talk and Lancelot is grateful for not being included, gods know how much he hates interacting while eating. Dinner ends, Pym and Squirrel go somewhere else, Gawain stays and cleans his injuries. They don't say anything, just stand there in the only alone moment they have. Gawain slowly cleans his broken skin with a wet cloth, his body closer than he had ever let any man or woman get close to him, he could hear his breathing behind him, The drops of water running down his back make him shiver, and he could feel Gawain's intense gaze on him the entire time. His careful hands went all over the length of his back before slowly pulling away. Gawain pulls away and tells Lancelot that it is ten o'clock, his usual bedtime. Lancelot turns and covers himself with the sheet that Squirrel stole for him on the first day, but that doesn't stop him from faintly hearing the other man change his clothes on the other side of the tent. The boots being thrown away, the shirt being taken off and discarded, the belt being left aside, the pants coming down his legs, as well as the new pants being put on, but no sound of the shirt being put on, Gawain did not sleep with his shirt on, and finally the sound of him laying down on the mattress and covering himself. He listens to every movement every night. Not that he was a pervert, he just had no option.

Now, NightPearl always comes and snuggles up to him, which makes his heart progressively slow down. God, what kind of demon did he come to live with to leave him like this? He would embarrass himself by the end of the year at this rate. Damn Gawain for having sounds so- NO! He couldn't think that! They are just tentmates, nothing more. Lancelot would curse Venus and Cupid before going to sleep, they are two motherfuckers for doing this to him.

 And on his worst days, Lancelot would have an unwanted dream about those sounds. But the gods know he would rather cut his own tongue out than say that to anyone.

for data: Venus=Aphrodite; Cupid=Eros.

@lancedoncrimsonwings @dinogod

That's the most accurate thing i've ever read about adhd

CURSED 15 DAY CHALLENGE

Day 4: Favorite Ship→ Pym & the Red Spear

- You try me, healer. And that isn’t hard to do when I can’t find any bloody gold! - Maybe you should try raiding the Red Paladins. - You speak again! - Well, you’ve been stealing from the thrice-robbed. I mean, these towns, they’ve already been sacked by the Red Paladins. If it’s gold you’re after, strike their camps. They’ve got wagons full. - You’re a shit healer. [to the crew] Relay that order! Stay on Beggars’ Coast!

oooooh I didn’t know you were a tattoo artist that’s so neat! Can I ask to see what kinda stuff you draw? :o

I am indeed! Fully fledged for 3 years now.

My "day job" is tattoos;

But I'm also a traditional artist and do Pet Portrait commissions as well.

I also make chainmail and other things, but that's more of a hobby!

I may be pausing the tattooing to go to Uni as I never went, (instead I did 2x 2 year college courses - Art&Design and Fashion respectively - whilst I began an Apprenticeship!) but if my health can take it I hope to find a studio willing to take me part time whilst I study, or just make some money on pet portraits and chainmail. I intend to build a website too at some point but have been too stressed to try and get it sorted whoops ahaha.

Thanks for the ask! It was fun to ramble about my art!