i can understand why people are like βwhy is larys dragging aegon as if he didnβt kill his own father and brotherβ but letβs consider that larys has something aegon never will: self awareness. dude knows heβs not seeing the seven heavens, he knows exactly who he is and what heβs done. aegon has not and will never have that level of introspection because he truly believes he has no responsibility in his own downfall and nothing is his fault.
I feel like Donna would have immense trouble crying in front of someone.
She's the leader thus she feels she can't fall apart in front of her people.
So when you find her, its quiet. Not much words. But just comfort knowing someone is next to her.
Just know she'll never talk about it again though.
The first thing you noticed was that Colony House was...quiet.
Too quiet.
Donna was usually impossible to missβcalling for someone to stop slacking off, settling an argument before it became a fight, barking orders from one end of the house to the other. Even when she wasn't speaking, her presence seemed to fill every room.
Today, she was nowhere.
You asked around.
"Seen Donna?"
A few shrugs.
"Thought she was outside."
So you wandered around the property, expecting to find her chopping wood or fixing the fence.
Instead, you found her sitting on an old tree stump near the edge of the woods.
Her broad shoulders were hunched forward, elbows resting on her knees.
For a second, you thought she was just tired.
Then you heard it.
One shaky breath.
Then another.
Your feet stopped.
Donna never cried.
At least...not where anyone could see.
You should've turned around.
Given her the privacy she'd clearly fought to find.
Instead, a twig snapped beneath your boot.
Donna's head jerked up immediately.
Her eyes met yours.
Red.
Glossy.
She swore under her breath and scrubbed the heel of her hand across her face with almost angry determination.
"...Dammit."
You hesitated.
"I can leave."
"No."
Her answer came so quickly it surprised both of you.
She sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"I mean..."
Another breath.
"...Do whatever you want."
It wasn't permission.
Not really.
It was exhaustion.
You walked over slowly, making sure every step gave her the chance to tell you to leave.
She never did.
When you reached her, you didn't ask what happened.
Didn't ask if she was okay.
You both knew she wasn't.
Instead, you lowered yourself onto the grass beside the stump.
Not too close.
Close enough that she knew she wasn't alone.
The silence stretched between you.
The wind stirred through the trees.
Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed from Colony House, blissfully unaware.
Donna stared straight ahead.
"I hate this place."
Her voice was rough.
Not loud.
Just...worn thin.
You nodded.
"I know."
"I bury people every damn week."
Another pause.
"I tell everyone it'll be okay."
She laughed once.
It held no humor.
"I don't even believe it anymore."
You looked at her.
She still refused to meet your eyes.
Her jaw tightened.
"I can't..."
She swallowed hard.
"I can't let them see me like this."
"You won't."
"I have to be..."
She gestured vaguely toward the house.
"...something."
"The strong one."
"Yeah."
The words came out almost bitter.
"If they think I'm falling apart..."
She didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't have to.
You understood.
Leaders didn't get the luxury of breaking down.
Not here.
Not when every person in Colony House looked to Donna the second something went wrong.
Without thinking too much about it, you shifted closer until your shoulder lightly brushed hers.
She stiffened.
Not because she wanted you to move.
Because she wasn't used to someone staying.
You didn't reach for her.
Didn't hug her.
Didn't make a speech about how it was okay to cry.
You simply sat there.
After a long minute, Donna let out a slow breath.
Her shoulder eased against yours.
Just enough that some of her weight rested there.
It was almost imperceptible.
But you felt it.
Another tear escaped despite all her efforts to stop it.
She made no move to wipe it away this time.
The two of you stayed like that for what could have been ten minutes or an hour.
Eventually, Donna straightened.
She stood up.
By the time she looked at you again, the leader of Colony House had returned.
Her expression was composed.
Her voice steady.
"...Don't."
You tilted your head.
"Don't ask."
"I wasn't going to."
"And don't mention this to anyone."
"I won't."
She studied your face for a moment, as if deciding whether she believed you.
Apparently she did.
Donna gave a single nod.
Then she held out a hand.
You took it, expecting her to help you up.
Instead, she squeezed your hand once.
Firm.
Quick.
Gone before anyone else could have noticed.
"...Thanks."
It was barely above a whisper.
The only acknowledgment she'd ever give.
By the time the two of you walked back toward Colony House, she was already shouting at someone for leaving tools lying in the yard.
And true to her natureβ
She never mentioned that afternoon again.
Not once.
But every now and then, on the hardest days, you'd find a fresh cup of coffee waiting for you in the morning.
Or she'd save you the last piece of bread without saying a word.
Donna wasn't good at saying she trusted someone.
She was much better at showing them.
And somehow, after that day, you knew she'd chosen you as one of the very few people she didn't have to be strong aroundβeven if she'd never admit it aloud.
--
Randall Kirkland
Boy oh boy, get ready because Randall will get defensive and mean real fast when you see him emotional.
Big tough guy can't handle someone finding him upset.
Especially if it was you.
You weren't trying to follow him.
You'd only noticed him storming toward the tree line after breakfast, shoulders tight, not looking at anyone.
Something about it didn't sit right with you.
So, after a minute's hesitation, you went after him.
You found him deeper in the woods than you'd expected.
His back was to you.
One hand braced against a tree.
His head hung low.
"...Randall?"
He didn't answer.
You took another cautious step.
Then he turned.
His eyes were red.
Your heart dropped.
For one second, neither of you spoke.
Then his expression hardened.
"The hell are you doing out here?"
"I was looking for you."
"Congratulations."
He spread his arms.
"You found me."
"I'm just checkingβ"
"I don't need you checking on me."
"I didn't say you did."
"Then what're you doing here?"
His voice was already rising.
"You stalking me now?"
"No."
"You got nothin' better to do?"
"You walked off."
"So?"
"So I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I'm fine."
You looked at him.
He laughed once.
Sharp.
"What?"
"Clearly you're not."
His face changed instantly.
"I'm fine."
"Sure."
He stepped closer.
"You think you know every damn thing."
"I never said that."
"You come out here looking at me like..."
He shook his head, angry enough that he couldn't finish the sentence.
"...Like what?"
"Like I'm some wounded dog."
"I wasn't."
"Bullshit."
"I'm not pitying you."
"I don't want your pity."
"You don't have it."
"You got that look."
"What look?"
"That..." He gestured at you in frustration. "That face."
"I don't know what face you're talking about."
"You do."
"I don't."
He laughed again.
This one sounded almost desperate.
"Jesus Christ."
He turned away.
"You should've just left."
"I wasn't going to."
"I didn't ask you to stay."
"You didn't ask me to leave either."
"I shouldn't have to."
Silence.
The woods felt impossibly still.
A breeze stirred the branches overhead.
Randall let out a long breath.
"...Just go."
"No."
His shoulders stiffened.
"I said go."
"No."
He spun around.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I don't want to leave you out here by yourself."
"I don't need you!"
"You don't have to."
"I said I don'tβ"
Before he could finish, you closed the distance between you.
Your arms wrapped around him.
The words died in his throat.
For a heartbeat, his whole body locked.
His hands stayed awkwardly at his sides.
"...What the hell are you doing?"
His voice came out quieter this time.
You didn't answer.
You just held him.
He made no move to hug you back.
"You serious right now?"
Still nothing.
"You don't listen worth a damn."
A beat.
"...You're an idiot."
You smiled against his shoulder.
"I've been told."
He huffed.
It almost sounded like a laugh.
Almost.
Another long silence.
Then, very slowly...
His shoulders dropped.
The fight left him all at once.
One of his hands lifted uncertainly before settling against the middle of your back.
Not pulling you closer.
Not really hugging you.
Just...
There.
You felt one shaky breath against your shoulder.
Then another.
No sobbing.
No words.
Just a man who'd spent his entire life believing anger was safer than grief finally running out of energy to be angry.
The two of you stayed that way until he was ready to step back.
When he did, he immediately cleared his throat and took a step away from you.
He pointed a finger in your direction.
"...Don't."
"Don't what?"
"You know."
"I really don't."
He rolled his eyes.
"This."
He gestured vaguely between the two of you.
"It didn't happen."
You nodded solemnly.
"It didn't happen."
He narrowed his eyes.
"...Swear."
"I swear."
Another pause.
"...Good."
He shoved past you, shoulder bumping yours on purpose as he started back toward town.
After a few steps, he glanced back.
"You comin' or what?"
You blinked.
"I thought you wanted to be alone."
"I changed my mind."
He said it like it annoyed him.
Like it was somehow your fault.
You smiled to yourself before falling into step beside him.
Neither of you mentioned the tears.
Neither of you mentioned the hug.
Randall spent the entire walk back complaining about Jade.
Which, somehow, told you he was okay again.
--
Kenny Liu
Oh my darling Kenny, this boy deserves a good cry!
I feel like he is pretty open about his emotions but he definitely is the type to feel like he's bothering someone when he opens up.
But around you, its easier.
He feels safe.
The sheriff's station felt strangely empty.
Boyd had gone out with a small group that morning, and Kenny had mentioned he wanted to organize some of the supplies while everyone was gone.
You'd expected to find him surrounded by paperwork.
Instead, his desk sat untouched.
"Kenny?"
No answer.
You checked the cells.
Empty.
The back room.
Nothing.
Just as you were about to leave, you noticed the back door standing slightly open.
Outside, the afternoon sun warmed the wooden steps behind the station.
Kenny sat on the bottom step, elbows resting on his knees.
His hands were clasped together so tightly his fingers had turned white.
He was staring out toward the trees.
You almost called his name.
Then you noticed him wipe quickly at his face.
Your heart sank.
You stepped outside anyway, letting the screen door creak so he would hear you coming.
He glanced over his shoulder.
The second he saw you, he offered a small smile.
It was automatic.
The kind people put on before they realize they don't have the energy to keep pretending.
"...Hey."
"Hey."
You walked over slowly.
"Mind if I sit?"
He shook his head.
"No."
You settled beside him.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
The quiet between you had never been uncomfortable.
Birds chirped somewhere beyond the tree line.
A breeze rustled through the leaves.
Kenny let out a slow breath.
"...Sorry."
You looked over.
"For what?"
He laughed softly, though there wasn't much humor in it.
"You caught me."
"You don't have to apologize for that."
"I know."
He rubbed his palms together.
"I just..."
His voice trailed off.
"...I thought I was done."
"Done with what?"
He stared down at his hands.
"...Crying."
The words came out so quietly you almost missed them.
"I thought I'd gotten used to it."
He gave another little laugh.
"I don't even know what 'it' is anymore."
He looked out toward the woods again.
"Some days it's my dad."
A pause.
"Some days it's my mom."
Another.
"Some days it's just...everything."
He shook his head.
"It's stupid."
"It isn't."
"I'll be fine."
"I know you will."
That seemed to surprise him.
"You do?"
You nodded.
"I've never doubted that."
His shoulders relaxed just a little.
"But..."
You smiled gently.
"...That doesn't mean you have to be fine right now."
For a moment, he just looked at you.
Like he was trying to decide whether he believed you.
Then he looked away, blinking hard.
"I hate this."
"What?"
He swallowed.
"...Feeling like this."
"You don't have to hide it from me."
"I know."
He smiled sadly.
"I just always feel like..."
He searched for the words.
"...Like I'm dumping it on somebody. Giving them another thing to worry about."
"You've listened to me."
He looked at you.
"You've sat with me on bad days."
"You've let me complain."
A tiny laugh escaped him.
"...A lot."
"You've never made me feel like I was too much."
His eyes softened.
"So why would I feel that way about you?"
That seemed to be the thing that finally undid him.
He looked down quickly, trying to blink away the tears gathering in his eyes.
"...Sorry."
You sighed.
"There you go again."
"I know."
"You don't have to apologize."
"I know."
"But I keep doing it."
"I know."
Despite everything, he laughed.
A real one this time.
Quiet.
Warm.
"You make it really hard to argue with you."
"I've been told."
He smiled to himself before his expression faltered again.
Without thinking, you reached over and rested your hand lightly over his.
"I'm here."
He looked down at your hands.
Then back at you.
"You always know what to say."
"I don't."
"You do."
"I just know you."
His eyes searched yours for a long moment.
Then, without a word, he leaned sideways.
Tentatively.
Almost asking permission without saying it aloud.
You answered by opening your arm.
He immediately closed the rest of the distance, resting his forehead against the side of your neck as your arms wrapped around him.
The breath he let out sounded like he'd been holding it in for weeks.
One of your hands rubbed slow circles across his back.
The other rested gently against the back of his head.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled.
You couldn't help but smile.
"What did we just talk about?"
A sheepish laugh vibrated against your shoulder.
"...Right."
"No apologizing."
"No apologizing."
The two of you sat there for a long while.
Not talking.
Not trying to fix anything.
Just letting the weight of everything that had happened settle somewhere outside of Kenny's shoulders for a little while.
Eventually, he pulled back, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand.
"...Don't tell Boyd."
You laughed softly.
"I won't."
"He'll ask if I'm okay."
"He asks that anyway."
"...Yeah."
Another smile.
This one reached his eyes.
"Thanks."
And as the two of you stood to head back inside, he held the door open for you with that same gentle smile.
For the first time all day...
It looked real.
--
Father Khatri
Father Khatri, my beloved!
This man is the embodiment of putting people before himself. And I think he would be this way even if he wasn't a priest.
Sure he has Boyd, but at the end of the day, he's still more of emotional support for him.
He's a tired man.
And for once, I think he wants to be the one to break down. The one to be held.
The church was empty.
It wasn't unusual.
Most people only wandered in when they needed something.
Hope.
Forgiveness.
Someone to listen.
You'd come looking for Father Khatri because you hadn't seen him since breakfast.
The front doors stood open.
Sunlight spilled across the worn wooden floor, illuminating rows of empty pews.
"Father?"
No answer.
You stepped farther inside.
The silence felt...different.
Not peaceful.
Heavy.
Your eyes drifted toward the altar.
He wasn't there.
Then you noticed the side door leading to the small room at the back of the church.
It was slightly ajar.
You knocked softly against the frame.
"...Father?"
No response.
You eased the door open.
Father Khatri sat in the chair beside his desk.
His elbows rested on his knees.
His hands were clasped together so tightly they trembled.
His head was bowed.
At first, you thought he was praying.
Then you heard it.
One uneven breath.
Followed by another.
Your chest tightened.
"Father..."
His head lifted.
For a fleeting moment, surprise crossed his face.
Then embarrassment.
He quickly straightened in his chair, rubbing a hand over his eyes as though he could erase the evidence before you'd fully seen it.
"I wasn't expecting anyone."
His voice was steady.
Too steady.
"I can come back."
"No."
The word escaped him before he'd thought it through.
He blinked.
Then offered a weary smile.
"...No."
He looked away.
"I'd...rather you didn't."
You stepped into the room, closing the door behind you with a quiet click.
Neither of you spoke as you pulled another chair beside his.
The room felt impossibly small.
Books lined the shelves.
A Bible lay open on the desk, forgotten.
The afternoon light filtered through the window, catching the dust in the air.
For several minutes, all you heard was the ticking of the old clock on the wall.
Finally, Khatri let out a long sigh.
"I've spent so much time telling people that it's all right to grieve."
A humorless smile touched his lips.
"I appear to be rather poor at following my own advice."
"You don't have to."
He looked over at you.
"I don't?"
"You don't have to be the strong one every minute of every day."
A quiet laugh escaped him.
"I fear that's become something of a habit."
"I know."
His gaze settled on the floor.
"There are days..."
He paused.
"...when I wonder if I've said the wrong thing to someone."
His fingers tightened together.
"If I offered hope where honesty would've been kinder."
Another pause.
"If I encouraged someone to keep going when...perhaps I had no right."
"You gave them something to hold onto."
"I gave them words."
"You gave them yourself."
That made him fall silent.
His eyes closed briefly.
"I don't always know the difference anymore."
The confession hung between you.
Small.
Fragile.
He wasn't doubting God.
He was doubting himself.
The man beneath the collar.
You watched him draw in a slow breath.
Then another.
As if he were trying desperately to gather himself before the cracks spread any farther.
"You know..."
His voice was quieter now.
"I hear so many confessions."
A faint smile.
"So many fears."
"So many people convinced they're alone."
He shook his head.
"And yet..."
He stopped.
You waited.
"...I've become remarkably good at convincing myself that I must carry my own."
Your heart ached.
"You don't."
"I know that."
His smile returned.
Gentle.
Tired.
"I simply haven't been very successful at believing it."
Without thinking, you reached across the small space between your chairs and rested your hand over his.
He looked down at it.
Then back at you.
His eyes had begun to shine again.
"I must look terribly foolish."
"You look tired."
That broke something in him.
Not loudly.
Not all at once.
His shoulders simply...
Dropped.
Years of responsibility seemed to leave his body in a single breath.
He looked away quickly, embarrassed by the tears gathering despite his efforts.
"Forgive me."
You smiled softly.
"There you go."
He laughed weakly through his nose.
"Old habits."
"The worst."
He nodded.
"The very worst."
Silence settled again.
Comfortable.
Safe.
You gently squeezed his hand.
"You don't have to say anything else."
"I know."
"..."
"...May I ask something terribly selfish?"
You smiled.
"You don't have to ask."
His eyes searched yours.
For permission.
For reassurance.
For just one moment where he didn't have to be Father Khatri.
Only the man beneath him.
You stood.
He looked at you curiously.
Then you opened your arms.
You didn't say a word.
You didn't need to.
He stared for a long moment.
Almost as though he'd forgotten what it felt like to be the one offered comfort instead of giving it.
Then, very slowly, he stood.
There was hesitation in every movement.
Not because he didn't want to.
Because he wasn't accustomed to needing it.
When he finally stepped forward, he did so carefully.
Almost reverently.
His arms settled around you with the same gentleness he seemed to bring to everything he touched.
The instant your arms wrapped around him, you felt him exhale.
A long.
Shuddering.
Exhale.
His forehead rested against your shoulder.
Not hiding.
Simply...resting.
For the first time in what felt like forever, there were no questions waiting for him.
No impossible choices.
No frightened townspeople asking him to explain the unexplainable.
No Boyd needing guidance.
No sermons.
No answers.
Just warmth.
Just quiet.
Just someone willing to carry him for a little while.
His grip tightened, ever so slightly.
Not desperate.
Just enough that you understood.
Please don't let go yet.
So you didn't.
You held him while the tears he had denied himself for so long finally came.
Quietly.
Without shame.
Without apology.
And for those few precious minutes, he wasn't Father Khatri.
He was simply a weary man who had spent so long tending to everyone else's souls that he'd forgotten someone might be willing to tend to his.
--
Jade Herrera
Part of me feels like he wouldn't even realize he had been crying.
He would be so wrapped in whatever theory or hallucination had been plaguing him so the tears just blended in.
I think emotions, especially difficult ones, stress him out. He likes logic and facts. Emotions have no logic.
So seeing you may be the only thing that would ground him.
You knew something was wrong the moment you heard the bottles hit the floor.
Not break.
Just...roll.
One after another.
The sound echoed from the root cellar.
You frowned.
"Jade?"
No answer.
The room was dim, lit only by a lantern hanging from one of the beams.
Papers covered nearly every surface.
Pages filled with symbols.
Numbers.
Half-finished diagrams.
Strings of notes that only Jade seemed capable of understanding.
He stood in the middle of all of it.
Completely still.
His back was to you.
"Jade?"
"...No."
His voice was distant.
Almost distracted.
"You ever notice..."
He didn't turn around.
"...they never stay where you leave 'em?"
You blinked.
"What?"
"The symbols."
He pointed vaguely toward one of the walls.
"They move."
You looked.
There was nothing there.
"...Jade."
"I swear to God, they're different."
His breathing was quick.
"They're changing."
Another bottle rolled across the floor after he'd unknowingly kicked it.
"I've almost got it."
"You've been saying that for days."
"I know."
"If I can just figure out whyβ"
His words stopped.
He stared at the wall.
Unmoving.
"...Why is there blood?"
Your stomach tightened.
There wasn't.
"Jade."
"It's gone."
He frowned.
"It was just there."
You took another careful step toward him.
"Jade."
"...Hang on."
His hand lifted as if asking you to wait.
"No, no, no..."
His breathing quickened.
"I almost had it."
"You need to look at me."
"I can't."
"You can."
"I said I can't."
His voice echoed through the cellar.
"If I stop thinking about it, I'll lose it."
"You've already lost yourself."
Silence.
He finally turned.
His eyes were bloodshot.
His hair was a mess from repeatedly dragging his hands through it.
And only then did you notice the tear tracks running down his face.
He didn't.
He looked at you as if nothing were unusual.
"What?"
"You've been crying."
His eyebrows pulled together.
"What are you talking about?"
"You've..."
You gestured toward your own face.
"...You're crying."
He stared at you.
Then lifted a hand to his cheek.
His fingertips came away wet.
He looked at them in genuine confusion.
"...Huh."
That was it.
No embarrassment.
No attempt to hide it.
Just confusion.
"...I didn't even notice."
Your heart broke a little.
He looked back toward the wall.
"I don't think they're mine."
You frowned.
"The tears."
He sounded completely serious.
"I think it's just..."
He searched for the words.
"...Everything leaking."
His laugh was short.
Frantic.
"I don't know."
You closed the distance between you.
"Hey."
"I'm fine."
"I know you think you are."
"I am."
"You haven't slept."
"I don't needβ"
"You haven't eaten."
"I forgot."
"You've been talking to walls."
"They talk back."
"They don't."
"...Yeah."
A beat.
"I know."
The words came so quietly you almost missed them.
You reached out slowly.
Not for a hug.
Just your hand.
"Give me your hand."
He looked down at it.
"...Why?"
"Just trust me."
Another few seconds passed before he finally placed his hand in yours.
Cold.
His fingers trembled slightly.
You gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
"Can you feel that?"
"...Yeah."
"My hand's real."
He blinked.
"You sure?"
"I'm pretty sure."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Huh."
You squeezed again.
"The floor under your feet?"
He looked down.
"...Real."
"The lantern?"
He followed your gaze.
"...Real."
"My voice?"
He looked back at you.
"...Real."
You nodded.
"Stay with me."
For the first time since you'd entered the cellar, his eyes actually focused.
Not on the walls.
Not on the symbols.
On you.
The frantic energy in his expression eased, if only a little.
He let out a long breath.
"...Jesus."
His shoulders sagged.
"I hate when that happens."
"I know."
"I think I'm losing my mind."
"You've thought that before."
"...Yeah."
"And every time, you find your way back."
He laughed quietly.
"Usually because somebody drags me back."
You smiled.
"Seems to be a habit."
He looked at your joined hands.
Then back at you.
"You know what's really annoying?"
"What?"
"I was this close to figuring something out."
"You'll still be this close tomorrow."
"...Maybe."
"You need a break."
"I don't do breaks."
"I know."
"...They're inefficient."
"They're necessary."
He sighed dramatically.
"I hate when you're logical."
"I learned from the best."
That earned you a genuine laugh.
Small.
Tired.
But real.
He shook his head.
"...You're impossible."
"So I've heard."
Another silence settled between you.
Not uncomfortable.
He kept looking at your hand wrapped around his.
Like it was anchoring him.
Like if he let go, he'd drift right back into whatever nightmare had consumed him.
So instead...
He stepped closer.
Not with the certainty of someone asking for comfort.
More like someone following instinct.
His forehead bumped lightly against yours.
"You know..."
His eyes closed.
"...I think you're the only thing around here that still makes sense."
You smiled softly.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is."
A beat.
"...Don't let go yet."
You didn't.
Because for all of Jade's brilliance, all of his theories and impossible equations, all of his desperate attempts to make the town fit into something logical...
Sometimes the only thing capable of pulling him back to reality wasn't an answer.
I've been muttering "They're gonna reveal Larys Strong is a greenseer and skinchanger any minute now. They're gonna reveal his connections to the Old Gods through his First Men blood, growing up at Harrenhall with Alys Rivers, that he's been using the weirwood and rats in the Red Keep to spy. Annnnny second now" for two whole seasons of HotD
And it got to the point that I started to doubt myself, but now the rats are back with a vengeance just as Rhaenyra comes into power and Larys is outside of Kings Landing, aka when he needs to spy more than ever.
Like yes there's a surge in the rat population because Aegon had all the ratcatchers hanged. Yes the rats are a metaphor for the corruption and decay of institutional power. I'm aware.
BUT GOD DAMMIT LARYS IS INSIDE THOSE FUCKIN RATS. I KNOW IT. AND THEY'RE GOING TO REVEAL IT. ANY SECOND NOW.
a short/mini digital painting tutorial by yours truly π«‘
a lot of people really like how i painted kaveh in that short hkvh comic so i thought i'd share a quick painting tutorial! I hope this can be helpful to yall ^_^
areudirty
izzy806
amandla
blakekathryn
stormborns
vaporwave
ellievsbear
gracieabrams
dailybridgerton
