#I just put colors on one layer and never clean ever

[collophora]

@devinsisland apocalypse AUs, but it's just chill gardening between two raids outside to scavenge seeds

[alsfunkyalbum]

I redrew some of my old Undertale sancest Ship Children from sometime between 2018-2021

(Click Image for better quality)

!! IGNORE THE FACT THAT IT SAYS SUGAR I MEANT TO PUT CANDY !!

If you don't ship these, that's cool neither do I. If you do ship these, that's also cool, here's some kids to add to your day. When I made these a while back I basically just put a bunch of Sanses' names into a cup and pulled out two names, just to make ship kids for. However I really love them so much I wanted to give them another try at being my OC's. So here they are with much better designs and decent personalities. Hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

--

Old designs and Extra fun facts/info about them located below!

Old Designs (in order from right to left in the above picture):

--

They don't have much backstory or reason as to why they are alive, so if you'd like just make up how they were born. Sexualities can also be up to your interpretation, cuz I feel too lazy to give them any.

Anyways onto some fun facts (not at all sorted by the way).

Tricks has two separate ways to write his name because his name was never ever officially written down by his parents, so he fluctuates between both

Despite Fresh's dislike for curse words Ivy has the vocabulary of a sailor. He takes pride in his salty mouth

Vero is sometimes nicknamed Vamp/Vampire, not only because of his snaggle tooth but also because he dresses in dark, fancy clothing

Fable looks up to Dream and wishes to be like him someday

Contrary to Fable, Trix absolutely despises Dream for never being around when she was younger. However Trix loves his little sister and would never put her admiration against her.

Despite not at all being blood related the entire group considers each other cousins (minus the ones who are ACTUALLY "blood" related)

Ivy has a horrid fashion sense. While he doesn't understand how to make things match he does know he loves layering his clothing

Vero refers to the markings on his face as " Face Bananas"

Vero is selective mute

Tricks, despite being a skeleton, enjoys makeup and would practice either on Vero, or Fable (Ivy's always too shy to ask)

Fable likes to play pretend and play with dolls (like any kid should)

Vero enjoys crocheting

Error has a slight hatred for Ivy (Ivy and Vero don't care so much)

The majority of Ivy's closet is all clothes that he stole from his parents. It's often way too big for him to wear but that never stops him.

Trix's favorite colors are Pink and Yellow (if that wasn't obvious enough)

Ivy is a huge trouble maker and loves dragging Vero along with the trouble

Trix wears acrylic fake nails

If they were asked to choose a favorite parent the list would be: Vero-Error since he is kindest to him, and spoils him a little | Ivy-Killer since he lets him get away with most trouble making | Tricks- Lust because at least he acknowledged his existence | Fable-Dream since he was the coolest hero ever

Trix dislikes curse words, so she tries to keep Ivy's mouth clean as much as possible (especially around Fable)

Vero and Ivy adore Fable, so much so that they'd bend at her will if need be. They'd do so much for her.

And I guess that's it for now. If you have any questions about them, shoot me an ask or DM, I may or may not have an answer.

[pitifulbaby]

spring cleaning

summary: its spring cleaning and time to clean out your closet, featuring boyfriend eddie!

pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

warnings: eddie is kinda pervy?? fluffy, playful teasing, innuendoes, hints of nsfw at the end, once again i am bad at writing out warnings

a/n: he is so boyfriend coded in this and that's all i wanted to achieve in life truthfully. 1.9k words

Spring cleaning, it wasn’t something you ever really did- till now. Hawkins had been rather cold this past winter, needing extra layers for the first time in a while. But the days were getting warmer and felt longer, so it was time to put away the heavy coats in exchange for the lighter clothes. 

While taking your clothes out of the totes you kept up in your closet, you figured now would be a good time to get rid of some of the clothing you don't wear anymore. You had been wanting to get rid of stuff for awhile, so why not now? 

During your cleaning your boyfriend had come over, claiming that he was ‘bored out of his mind and missing you like crazy.’ So now he was lounging on your bed, combat boots left at the door- leaving him in his normal dark clothing and mismatched colorful socks. His dark eyes were trained on you, watching as you folded an old shirt into the ‘donate’ pile. It wasn’t a shirt you had any fond memories with- none bad either, it was just a shirt that you didn’t care about and knew someone else would enjoy it more.

You had a good amount of piles, from ‘donate’ to ‘throw away’ which were the ones that were sun faded or had holes in them in places that shouldn't have holes. Then there was the ‘keep’ pile, the ‘put away for winter’ pile, and then the ‘I need to try this on’ pile. When Eddie found out about that pile, he was rather excited. Claiming he couldn’t wait for the personal fashion show, saying he would tell you which to keep and which to get rid of. 

With a quiet hum you grabbed a random article of clothing, it unfurls to reveal one of Eddie’s shirts. Once his eyes landed on that he let out a gasp- taking in the acid washed, baggy band tee. “That's where that went!” the male exclaimed, nearly jumping off the bed and stumbling towards you. He soon was grabbing the shirt- not in anger, just in excitement from seeing a shirt he lost. His eyes soon squint at you, holding the shirt close to his chest.

His hand shoots out and he grasps your nose between his thumb and pointer finger, giving your face a gentle shake. “And here I am thinking the dryer goblin took this shirt!” He says, fake anger lacing in his voice with a wide smile.

“Dryer goblin?” You question him, your voice all nasally from the hold he has. He lets go of your nose, placing his hand on his hip. “Uh, yeah- the dryer goblin. The same goblin who just takes a single sock, leaving you with mismatched socks.” Eddie says like its the most common thing in the world like this is something everyone should know. He motions to his feet and then once again his eyes are squinting, leaning into your face. “Are you the dryer goblin? Do you have my socks around here?” He speaks slow and low, dropping the shirt to the floor and grabbing ahold of your waist, fingers digging into the cotton of your oversized shirt as he pulls you in. 

A laugh falls from your lips as you crash into him, smile wide as you stare at him. “I always knew you were a goblin, but I never knew you were the dryer one!” He adds, his dramatics through the roof as he rocks you back and forth. “Eddie!” You exclaim, trying to pull away from his grasp, but he only holds you tighter- fingers moving against your hips as he tickles you.

“Say you are the dryer goblin and I'll let you go!” Eddie growls playfully, leaning down and gently biting the underside of your jaw all while you laugh and wiggle against his lean body. “Fine! Fine! I am the dryer goblin, I steal your shirts- but not your socks!” You managed to get out through laughter. He stops the attack on your sides, pressing a kiss to the area he was biting. 

With a hand to his chest you gently push him back, which of course he takes the dramatic route and lets himself fall back onto your bed. He lands with a soft groan, arms spread out and feet hanging off the edge of the bed. He picks his head up, a smirk on his face.

“We playing like this?” He questions, leaning up on his elbows. Which in turn causes you to lean down and pick up his shirt and throw it at him. It smacks against his face, he pulls it off his face and places it down next to him. “Okay I guess we are not playing like that.” His words are quiet this time, letting his head fall back against the pillow. 

As you get back to organizing through the clothes you hear the bed creak, the sounds of the comforter moving. You look over to see Eddie laying on his stomach, chin resting against the palm of his hands as he kicks his legs back and forth. Batting his lashes at you. “When do I get to see the fashion show?” He questions, his free hand twirling a lock of his dark brown, frizzy curls around his finger.

Eddie Munson was a weird man, needless to say. But that’s just one of the reasons you love him.

With a laugh and a roll of your eyes, you make your way to the side of the bed with all the clothes you need to try on, grabbing the first one at the top- which just happens to be a summery dress. Once in hand you step to the closet. 

You lucked out with your small house having a walk in closet.

As you go to close the door you hear a whine from Eddie, once again he is sprawled out on his stomach atop the bed, his right cheek against the mattress as it faces you. “I thought I was gonna get a show!” He drags out his words in a pitiful voice. 

You simply close the door and exchange your pajamas for the flowy dress. Once said dress is on you are opening the door, sliding your hands down your sides as you make your way to the mirror, taking in your frame. Eddie is soon sitting up on the bed, his eyes trained on your body. 

“What do you think?” You question Eddie, twirling around to see it from all angles. Eddie simply hums, moving down the bed to sit at the edge, legs spread and motions you to him. “Let me get a better look.” He says, biting back something. Though you are a little suspicious of him, you comply and stand between his legs. 

He looks at you in thought before he is flipping the dress up and blowing a raspberry against your stomach. The dress falls over his head, his hands planting themselves right below your ass. 

With a squeal you try to pull away from him, but he keeps his hands on you and pulls his head back from under your dress, smiling cheekily up at you. “I think you should keep it.” He says like he didn't just do what he did, his smile turning brighter and wider- showcasing his dimples. With slanted eyes down at him you huff, fighting back a smile as you step back from him and looking into the mirror. 

But once at the mirror you don't look at yourself, you watch Eddie, watch as he leans back against his hands and checks you out. His dark eyes trailing up and down your legs, leaning forward to try and peek up your dress. Once you catch him doing that you spin around fast, pushing the dress down lower with a huff. “If this is all you are gonna do then this fashion show is over.” With a playful grumble you head over to the pile of clothes once again, grabbing a random piece of clothing again.

“C’mon! You didn’t say I had to keep my hands to myself!” He exclaims, his smile never wavering as he watches you joyfully. “Fashion shows usually don't include blowing raspberries against the models stomach, Edward.” Your words sound serious but they are all joking, with a gasp his hand is against his chest.

“Oh! I would think a private fashion show would allow me to get a hands on experience. But it seems like this is a museum instead, all look and no touch.” He puts his hands up in surrender, lips pursing together as he watches you take the article of clothing and bring it back into the closet to change into. 

The next piece was a white jumpsuit, truthfully you don’t know how or when it came into your possession. It wasn’t something you ever wore, but you felt like trying it on before you knew you would be getting rid of it. But once it was on you realized why you never wore it. 

It was thin and see through, the black underwear and bra you wore showing right through the material. With a scrunch of your nose and shake of the head you call out, “This one is a no!” You say, going to take it off before Eddie is calling out. “Does that mean I don't get to see?” He questions, already getting up from the bed and moving to the closet, hand reaching out to open the door.

“Nope- Hey!” Before you could finish your sentence he had the door open, your cheeks heating up. It was odd to you why you were embarrassed when this man has seen almost every single inch of you. With a whistle his eyes are of course trained to the material as it stretches across your chest, leaving no room for imagination as it showcases your bra. “Edward!” Which he only laughs at your response, handing you a new clothing item he had grabbed from the pile for you.

“I am going, I’m going!” He says, turning back and sitting back on the bed. You shut the door with a laugh and shake your head, not really looking at the clothing he picked for you before you were taking off the jumpsuit and putting on the new item.

The clothing was a more formal dress, more form fitting in all the right places with a slit up the leg that stopped at your upper thigh. It was a deep shade of red, lace across the hem and across the sweetheart neckline. It was in the try on pile for the fact you haven’t worn it in a bit, not really going anywhere ‘fancy’ enough to wear it. 

After a moment you were standing in front of the mirror again, tilting your head and shifting your body to look at yourself in the dress. With a soft hum and furrow of your brows you turn to Eddie, going to question him on what he thinks before stopping. 

His eyes were wide as he stared at you, leaning forward onto his thighs as he takes you in. Clearing his throat he is soon standing up, taking a few steps to you and placing his hands on your hips. “Why don’t we take a break, huh?” He questions, hands trailing up and down your sides softly. 

“Oh, and you are definitely keeping this one- but only for me.”

[florsial]

Hey bestie I’m trial and erroring a Rabastan design and I’m struggling so what does he look/dress like in your gorgeous mind because no one gets him like you do

Hello :D and thank youu <3333

Okay, I have been thinking about his appearance from time to time. the main consistent detail is that he isn't very "sleazy" in looks. He's pretty put together. He is wearing an expensive suit, maybe a couple buttons undone, and a loose tie with those shiny black loafers, but overall he's pretty clean. His most casual would be dress pants and button up that's kinda undone.

(HIS FANCY STYLE GETS REGULUS SO GIDDY!!! Like if you ever saw those photos of someone standing on their s/o feet THATS SO THEMMM)

I've been torn over having him with long hair or short hair. But in the end, shorter hair is more fitting for him, I think. In a way that expresses that he doesn't have the luxury of keeping his hair long like Rodolphus if he's constantly fighting for something. So I imagine something like the short wavy hair you see when you search it up on Pinterest for men (don't ask me how I know that). When I first sketched him out, I gave him long hair but it didn't fit.

I couldn't find a proper description in the HP wiki nor do I remember what he is described as in the books when he first shows up. Only that is a thin man. So I think his face is slightly sunken in and his entire body is pretty lanky. And he's pretty tall (HEIGHT DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HIM AND REGULUS HEIGHT DIFFERENCE!!). His hair and eyes are both pretty dark and his skin is a little tan since I actually see him as a very outdoorsy person and amazing, like, really smooth without blemishes (for some reason).

(Pandora starts breaking out when she hit puberty and she contemplates torturing Rabastan's skincare out of him) (he has none)

Don't take this as seriously, but I picture something like Victor from The Corpse Bride (I've never seen that movie honestly) but yk, just for fun lol.

He doesn't have this overly messy style because he's like this black sheep (Like Sirius or Barty) because of his mother's family influence. With his maternal (a side branch from Averys), he's very well dressed and groomed, they made sure of that! The Avery side of his family loves him, though it's partly because Rabastan looks/acts more like his mother.

This brings up another thing that is: he is very much a jewelry person. His suits, expensive but plain, are often decorated and slightly weighted down by layered necklaces with heavier stones and real metals and his fingers are more cold than warm by silver rings. He got his ear pierced at a young age and has so many passed down from his mother, like all his other jewelry. In a way, all of that seems almost like armor that covers/protects him.

Side note: HE WOULD'VE WIPED THE FUCKING FLOOR WITH THOSE SILVER FINGER GUARDS!

He would've HATED cheap jewelry and when mood rings were released in 1975, he choked when he saw Sirius wearing one for the first time. Rodolphus and Regulus almost called a healer because he was turning blue. (Sirius bought more out of spite after that)

Modern Au Rabastan would have a Rolex collection. I said what I said.

I know I bring up suits when wizarding folk don't wear that so, his robes are often plainer (compared to Rodolphus, keep that in mind) but still pretty expensive looking with complex embroidery. His more extravagant robes came from his mother (since I don't think that size mattered all that much between men and women or boys and girls). Cliche moment, but his clothes were very much darker in color, but not always black. More like a darker purple or a darker blue or green, I'm thinking something like what you would get when you use velvet, how colors are almost really shiny or almost black.

I can also see him using makeup! Though very light I think he's very open and knowledgeable about a lot of things since he was basically treated as a doll by his mother's twin sister :D

[ravenmichaelisstuff]

NSFW SoapGhost headcanons

(Top!Soap x Bottom!Ghost) I wanted it to be wholesome

Ghost isn't very loud in bed, but men- does he whimpers and repeats Soap's name like it's a prayer.

Soap however talks during sex all the time. From telling Simon how good he is for him, to describing the one thing ghost did that day that made Soap desperate to touch him.

They discover that way that Ghost has a praise kink.

Ghost is in denial, but Soap uses this information quite a lot.

Soap started to praise Simon in public, just to watch him scramble under his balaclava. No one ever noticed, but Soap knew what he was doing.

When they get together they don't have sex for quite some time. Simon had problems with simple intimacy so it was lots of work to get to where they are now. It was lots of conversations, setting boundaries, showers together, and just getting to know each other in this new intimate way.

Soap waits for Ghost to be comfortable

and when they both are, Soap is the most caring person in bed while Simon trembles not only with excitement but because he never felt so desired and cared for.

Ghost likes to cuddle after, but sometimes he also puts his balaclava back on. Just if things get a little bit too overwhelming and he needs this layer of privacy.

Soap also likes cuddles, but more often than not he will first clean them up and open windows to let some fresh air in. He made it his little ritual.

They rarely have rough sex, rough anything really. They have enough of roughness in their lives. So usually they go for soft.

When they do, if they do- there is a lot of talking beforehand. Even if Ghost hates to talk about what he wants, he appreciates Soap's blabbering about boundaries and colors.

So... yeah. I hope someone likes it <3 I can make more if I get any inspiration. If you know me, no u don't.

[taradiddled]

@inubaki isn't feeling well. and I think @lilacwriter07 could use a pep-up, so I'm putting here another sneak-peek at the chapter I'm working on.

--

"Only a neglectful shepherd would leave their sheep's hooves unattended." She picked up her scrub brush again and began layering the hoof in soapy foam. "They need routine cleaning, because who the fuck knows what shit they pick up on a regular basis. I had one sheep that must have been not right in the head, because it used to stand in its own shit, totally oblivious to how filthy it'd get. Needed a cleaning twice a week, or else its wool would stink. I thought I'd have to put up with it for maybe eight or nine years, since it was so dumb, but the bastard managed to live to eighteen years before it croaked."

Lucifer snickered, amused at the mental image given. "I can't imagine you putting up with that for more than eight years."

"Well, I did," Adam stated proudly, her chest puffing up just a bit with pride. "It was under my care, and my protection. Just because it wasn't too damn bright didn't mean I was going to mark it for meat. Not when its wool was some of the softest I'd felt, and it was especially patient with the grandkids when they wanted to play." It'd almost been like having another nanny available, when the children's parents were busy with their own business of foraging and hunting to support their families. Though Adam had bemoaned caring for the sheep, she'd actually cared for it in her own way, and mourned the creature when it eventually passed away.

"What was its name," Lucifer asked, genuinely curious.

"Birn," Adam replied. "Birn the Burr." She finally finished cleaning Lucifer's hoof to her satisfaction. "Because of all the damn times I had to comb so much crap out of its wool." The first comb ever had been invented purely because of Birn. It'd been the size of Adam's hand, with four thick teeth, able to sort through Birn's thick-thick wool to pull out all the foliage Birn managed to pick up in a week's time. It'd been one of Eve's best inventions, and had saved Adam's fingers further abuse from the sharp twigs and tree needles that would get stuck in Birn's wool. How the beast had managed to collect so much debris in the pastures, Adam and Eve had never uncovered.

"You're good now," Adam proclaimed, setting Lucifer's hoof back into the water. "Your hooves could use a little trimming, but it's nothing urgent. Maybe in a week's time you'll need to give it some actual attention." With the task of cleaning Lucifer's hooves done, Adam turned to cleaning herself, tossing out the washrag she'd been using for a clean one.

While Adam started lathering up with some soap, Lucifer examined his hooves, blonde brows arching as he looked in awe at the difference made. "This looks better than when I use magic," he said, rotating one hoof so he could admire its underside. "Feels better, too. Yowza. You've got magic hands there, my Pretty Prickly Mistress!"

Adam scoffed at the syrupy sweet praise, rolling her eyes. "You said the same thing about me handling your balls a couple nights ago, Your Majesty." Still, it was nice to be appreciated. She brushed her foot against Lucifer's thigh beneath the water, lips curling with a naughty smile as she observed Lucifer's cheeks color that tangerine hue Adam knew so well.

Lucifer gulped, eyes going down to where Adam's foot was sliding up and down the inside of Lucifer's thigh beneath the water. "Wellllllllllll," he stretched out, voice taking on a higher pitch when Adam's toes found Lucifer's cock. "It's good manners to give credit where credit is due--oh!" He gasped when Adam's big toe rubbed against the tip of his dick. A pant rose from the king's throat. "Ada, as much as I would love to fuck around some more, we still have breakfast to get to, and that call we promised to make to Charlie."

Adam hummed, cocking her head to the side, making a face of consideration, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, weighing her options, before she retracted her foot from its fondling between Lucifer's legs. As much as her ramped libido desired another go around, there were things that needed doing, and Adam remembered that the new Soul Counter was long overdue. She needed to check in with Charlie about her progress with her research, and start pulling together information so that they could start something substantial.

It's been over a month since we started, Adam reminded herself. If I keep lazing around, this shit won't get done until after Oz is born. And she'd be too occupied with her newborn baby and Lucifer to put any extra energy into starting up the Soul Counter.

With a sigh of reluctance, Adam resumed her scrubbing, washing away any sticky residue from her and Lucifer's earlier activities. "Sucks to suck," she grumbled, "Buuuuuuuuuuut you're right." She then threw the washrag at Lucifer's chest, the King of Hell just catching it. "We have work to do," Adam agreed, turning around so her back was to Lucifer. "So wash up my back quick, will you, goony? You're the one who wanted to finish on my back, anyways..."

"Orrrrrrrr," Lucifer started, wading his way over to Adam, seating him right at her back, "You could just ask nicely, like a normal person." Nonetheless, he began to tend to Adam's back, wiping away at the skin in careful, gentle circles. It was a relaxing experience, and Adam found herself leaning back into Lucifer's care, releasing an audible sigh of contentment, as well as a chuckle at Lucifer's suggestion.

"And why should the great Dick-Master of Humanity have to ask to get her back washed?" She looked back at Lucifer over her shoulder, grinning with ego she felt was rightly earned. "Especially from the devil whose dick the Dick-Master conquered."

Lucifer paused in his ministrations. With great amusement, he chuckled. "Is that what we're going to call me knocking you up from now on?" He resumed washing Adam's back. "Would make a far more interesting story: the naughty devil who met his comeuppance, ahem, literally, when his dastardly dick was valiantly, valiantly, conquered by the heroic Dick-Master?" He and Adam both laughed at how ridiculous the tale sounded aloud.

Adam's smile was rueful, and she shrugged her shoulders. "Hey," she humored. "You fucked it."

"And I will gladly do so, again aaaaaand again," Lucifer hummed with a melodic note.

[ganondoodle]

I just wanna say firstly that i adore your artwork and takes6on Zelda in general! Secondly, much as I wish you never had to deal with the frustrations of creating (especially when you tack on the stress of being on any kind of social platform), I'm glad you talk about your struggle. I've heard people talk about art block every day since I learned what Art was, but nobody ever mentioned "painting oneself into a corner". It's such an apt description that is so infuriatingly relatable that I had to stop eating to thank you for putting it into words. I really appreciate that you're willing to talk about your setbacks in a place like Tumblr, and still share your arts and thoughts. All the best from US of hellscape A, i hope you're doing well.

Thank you!

i used to call it artblock as well, its the most normalized term i guess; i randomly started calling it painting myself into a corner when i got stuck or frustrated on a painting bc welll, it sure feels like it, you painted the walls all around you and dont know how to get out now

it usually happens when i stop having fun and just draw what i want and instead keep subconsciously forcing myself into arbitrary rules; in my case its usually trying to be too perfect, i try to adhere to the sketch, i try to make every block of color have a perfectly clean edge, separate the drawing into way too many layers and am afraid to delete or erase anything, i tense up my whole body as frustration builds bc of impatience as this method of painting does not work for me at all and in the end lose motivation on it all and my nerves are stretched thin (i work best when i think as little as possible, just kinda loosely letting my hand do what it wants on few layers and no specific plan, after losing that its hard to get it back)

having those low moments with your art is normal as your skill grows, but even knowing so, and having gone through it countless times, it never stops making you feel like shit, and its especially frustrating when it happens when you just got enough time to work on stuff or have alot of ideas but you cant get it to work

(and funnily enough it also tends to happen after another work of mine got more attention than i thought .. even worse when it was just a sketch bc now i got the pressure on me to actually finish it and the fear of it doing worse once done looms over the whole thing- which doesnt mean i dont want people to interact with my wips, bc that also has an extremely demotivating factor to it bc it makes me think no one cares or it sucks and doesnt deserve the time i would need to spend on finishing it; also .. alot of my wips stay wips forever, which is fine, but like .. you cant always expect a finished tm version to happen)

i do find it a little funny you praise me for talking openly about it bc i am notoriously unable to shut up ever and only recently got better at NOT talking as much about it when i feel as shitty as this bc it doesnt really help anyone and gets annoying really fast xD (im also notoriously unable to not post absolutely everything bc i got no one to show it to and otherwise it will just collect dust on my harddrive so i might as well throw it out there no matter how much i might hate it, someone else might still enjoy it anyway)

and greetings back from the -not really much less of a hellscape- that is germany o/

[llflorence]

When you are old - Rated E - human AU, professors, slow burn

It was possible Crowley was even more beautiful five days later.

(Five days? Had it only been five?)

However long it was, it had been an excruciating wait until year's end. Aziraphale's house had never been so clean, his kitchen never so full of homemade treats and delicacies. Stress cleaning and baking had never been one of his 'things,' but apparently, it was now.

When the day finally arrived, he found himself wide awake at the cleft of dawn, staring at his ceiling, second and third and fourth-guessing.

It wasn't that Aziraphale was displeased with himself, with where he was in life. It was just – they were so different! What could Crowley (handsome, intelligent, questioning, enigmatic) see in an overweight, undertoned, introvert of a man?

After breakfast, Aziraphale put on his hat and coat and slid into warm mittens and scarf and took his sad excuse for a middle-aged adult for a walk in the park. He lectured himself about the insecure feelings; he had plenty of things to be proud of. He'd written a book! He'd been to Chicago! He'd successfully designed and constructed a greenhouse in a backyard he owned! He'd –

He'd better get back home and prepare for his date.

Because that's what it was; no explaining it away. He and Anthony J. Crowley were, later that evening, getting in that long lank of a black car and driving north for snowshoeing and hot cocoa, and who knew what else?

It was the 'what else' that had Aziraphale in a panic. It had been a long, long time since he'd been on a date with the potential for 'what else.' What if he turned out to be a disappointment?

But no. That kind of thinking would only make things worse. He had to believe in himself, in Crowley, in – whatever it was they had. One certainly couldn't force one's – well, it was best to leave the future where it was, perpetually out of reach.

One very, very hot shower and a cold towel over the face later, Aziraphale stood in his bedroom staring into the closet. He faced a conundrum: wear something soft and comfortable for traipsing through the woods or something that conveyed how he longed to be rogered over the back of the sofa.

He settled for soft and comfortable (long-sleeved tee, cotton button-down, fleece-lined slacks), but left a few more buttons that he normally did unfastened. He did like the picture it made, exposing the thin skin at the base of his throat (and he wouldn't say no to a good rogering).

Nothing, however, would ever change what he looked like in snow pants. Puffy and voluminous, elastic stretched as far as it would go over his belly, it made him look like the Michelin Man. The large one, from the fifties.

Aziraphale slouched against the mirror in the hallway, forehead touching the cool glass of his reflection.

"OK, Bibendum," he sighed, unable to see his toes over the stack of tires that was his torso. "Time to get our sexy on."

He took off the ridiculous pants and rolled them into a ball, then stuffed them with more force than was necessary into the duffle he'd procured for the occasion.

His heart began to hammer a good half hour before Crowley was expected to collect him, and the vague rumbling in his stomach became a torrent thunderstorm. He started to sweat under all those layers, causing another button to be released, and his hands shook as he tried to tie his bootlaces.

And then, there he was. Dazzling smile, shock of red hair poking out from under his knitted stocking hat. He wore an overstuffed coat and the same scarf from Christmas, but his skin glowed and his eyes shone and he was somehow so much more lively and vividly colored than ever before.

"Hiya, 'Ziraphale!" he purred, voice seductive yet joyful. "Ready to see how absolutely unathletic I am?"

Aziraphale's cheeks were instantly warm. The organ inside his chest jumped and skipped happily along. "I quite think I beat you in that department, my dear."

Crowley positively beamed. He held out his hand to take Aziraphale's bag, offering the other arm like the gentleman he was.

He snorted. "Yeah. Right. Says the amazingly brave individual who bikes to work every day."

The gentle ribbing did something to Aziraphale's brain; he was suddenly not at all nervous, just eager.

And warm.

Crowley fired up the engine, talking animatedly the moment they pulled out of the alley, motioning with his hands, turning his head often to look at Aziraphale. For the first few miles, their smiles matched each other's, and Aziraphale's cheeks became sore from holding it for so long.

"I've always wondered," the energetic man mused, well into a cheerful lecture about Venus and her outstanding characteristics (the planet, not the goddess), "if the clouds of sulfuric acid could be smelled from space. I mean, as a ship full of oxygen approached, would it be overwhelmed by the stench of rotten eggs?"

Aziraphale shook his head and thought Crowley's cheekbones were absolutely perfect.

"The vacuum of space is devoid of molecules, so the smell couldn't even travel to the air inside the craft." Crowley shrugged, both eyes on the road for once. "It's sort of like the old saying, 'If a bear shits in the forest –"

Aziraphale guffawed. "Oh, my dear. I believe the saying is, "If a tree falls in the forest."

Crowley swiveled his head, a smugness hiding at the corner of those thin lips. His eyes pierced the dark interior of the car. "You've got such a lovely laugh."

Aziraphale wavered under the compliment, looking down at his hands in his lap. "Oh. Well. Thank you."

"So. I've told you the story of my inspiration; the nun that taught Astronomy my first year of college," (who, Aziraphale had learned, disappointed most of the students by explaining how it had nothing at all to do with Astrology and that they would find no fortune telling in that class. Not Crowley, of course. He'd been delighted by the nun's dry sense of humor and candid approach to the fact that the universe was much, much older than what her Catholic faith allowed). "How about you? What got you into the art of language?"

Aziraphale very much liked how his colleague – his date – described his profession. "Oh. I don't really remember. I picked up a book when I was young and never put them down."

In the glow from the dash lights, it was easy to see Crowley's gaze linger on Aziraphale's hands before returning to his face (and not the road where they should have been). "Do you remember your first?"

Something skipped in Aziraphale's chest. The man spoke of books as if they were people; Aziraphale felt a sudden kinship blossom between them, stronger than it was before. "Oh. You know," he stalled, finding it difficult to breathe normally. "It was probably some nonsense about a cat chasing a rat carrying a bat."

Crowley still hadn't looked at the road. "Wearing a hat?"

Aziraphale smiled, loving the man's brand of humor, so much like his own. "Something like that."

Crowley laughed and finally turned his eyes to the task at hand. His profile was lovely. "Tell me more. Who was your favorite teacher?"

Aziraphale knew how to answer that. It was both his most favorite at least favorite, at different times. "He – he was a linguistics instructor. Also while I was in college. He opened my eyes to the beauty of the romance languages and the vulgar things done to it when it devolved into English." He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the instant blockage there. It still hurt to think about it. "And he made me realize what a harsh, cruel, lonely world it could be."

Crowley turned to look at him, although Aziraphale didn't meet his eyes. "He dumped you?"

Aziraphale nodded. "It was my own fault. I was young, and he was French – one tends to lose one's faculties when one meets a Frenchman."

There was a long, uncomfortable moment where Aziraphale regretted saying anything about it at all. He opened his mouth to say so when Crowley's warm hand covered his own.

"It was his loss, the absolute numpty."

Aziraphale smiled, turning his hand in his lap to be able to clutch Crowley's fingers. "Yes. It was indeed."

The conversation turned from the past to the future. They were headed thirty miles north of the city to a small range community where his uncle's farm was located. (Said uncle was currently living in a home with full memory care. Crowley said he visited him twice a month, even though he no longer recognized him.)

"Uncle Fur Fur was a bizarre old fart," Crowley said, squeezing Aziraphale's hand tightly. "Don't be alarmed by what you see there. He was – a bit of a collector, of sorts."

"A collector?" Aziraphale could appreciate a good collection; he fancied himself a curator of words in print form, after all.

"More of a hoarder," Crowley clarified, rubbing his thumb over the ridge of Aziraphale's first knuckle. "He didn't have any kids, and Hastur and Ligur wanted nothing to do with it, so I've been steadily working to move some stuff out. The old farmhouse serves its purpose, though."

Aziraphale rather liked the soft, mushy texture of his insides as Crowley held his hand. "How so?"

The smile on Crowley's handsome face had grown sadly fond. "Well. We don't need a security alarm, that's for sure. I'd be glad to pay someone to steal all the stuff inside the garage alone."

Apparently, it was an ongoing issue in such a rural area. People broke into older, unoccupied homes to steal anything metal they could get their hands on. The money was good, for aluminum and copper especially. Sometimes, people went as far as to rip out gas lines and pipes inside the walls to be able to sell them.

"But that's awful!" Aziraphale gasped, horrified.

Crowley shrugged again. "People have to eat, right? The economy is tough on marginalized individuals. The house should really be torn down. And if they can make money off things my uncle no longer needs — ?"

Still shocked, Aziraphale felt even more warmth toward his date. "I feel like you could find the goodness in anything."

Crowley arched an eyebrow and said nothing as they pulled off the highway and onto a side road. Aziraphale looked out the window and relished the way their hands seemed to fit so well together.

They took another turn and drove down a dirt road that looked as if it hadn't been plowed in some time. Crowley's car didn't seem to have a problem with it, but he did let go of Aziraphale's fingers to be able to grip tightly to the wheel. He piloted the vehicle through the deep snow and gunned it over the frozen sludge left by a plow, settling into a driveway next to a garage that had seen better days.

It was boarded up, the paint peeling and faded. Each of the two overhead doors were padlocked, probably to deter further broken windows. And as Crowley killed the engine, a security light turned on over the front door of the shoddy-looking house, shining on the glossy black hood of the car and nearly blinding them.

Crowley got out of the car and trudged through the snow to Aziraphale's side. "Come on," Crowley said, opening his door and offering that ever-present hand. "Let's go inside. Don't bother taking off your boots."

Aziraphale hoisted himself from the low-slung seat, and Crowley collected two bags, one for each of them, from the back seat. He clicked his tongue as he passed as if to a horse, jerking his head toward the house. Aziraphale followed (it was unlikely there was nowhere he wouldn't).

The pressure from opening the front door pushed a wave of warm air outside. Aziraphale hadn't expected the place to have electricity, let alone heat. He stomped his feet on the mat and stepped inside, totally unprepared for what he saw as Crowley turned on the hall light.

He hadn't been kidding that his uncle had a lot of stuff. There were assorted-sized boxes piled against both walls, furniture loaded with more boxes, some packed, some not. The floor in the living slanted dangerously downhill into the adjoining kitchen, which was also full to the brim with a variety of things.

"See what I mean?" Crowley drawled as he lifted both bags above his waist and moved between the stacks of boxes. There was just enough room for a walkway into the living area, but then no space at all to sit on the horrible yellow-flowered sofa, or the ratty-rust-orange overstuffed chair.

"Yes. I do," Aziraphale said, turning sideways to be able to fit.

He followed Crowley into the kitchen, where a bigger area had been cleared. One could make out the cracked-green linoleum that had begun to roll back on itself. It was warmer here; Crowley had apparently freed up the vent so that the heating ducts could work properly. The warm air blew out at their feet, filling the kitchen with a musty reheated smell that was just this side of unpleasantness.

"Fur Fur had cats," Crowley said, wrinkling his nose. He set the bags down on the slanted floor next to a small wooden table, two matching chairs tucked underneath. "I don't think I'll ever get rid of the smell."

More of a dog person himself, Aziraphale did like cats, as long as they were somebody else's.

"Take a seat. Figure we can dress inside where it's warm before we venture outside."

Crowley pulled out a chair for him, and Aziraphale took it. He pulled his duffle closer and watched as Crowley did the same, sinking into his chair with a weary-sounding exhale.

He looked up, cheeks pink, and smiled. "Would you like an energy bar before we go? Bathroom break?"

Aziraphale hesitated before saying yes to the loo. Who knew what kind of mountain he'd have to climb to get there?

He needn't have worried, though. It appeared Crowley had begun with the bathroom. It was completely emptied, ceramic tub and sink and toilet all sparkling clean. He did his business and returned to the kitchen, where Crowley had removed his boots so he could wiggle into his snowsuit.

It was like watching a snake shedding its skin, only in reverse. Like he was crawling back into it. Crowley arched his back and bent at the waist, pulling the one-piece contraption over his knees and thighs and then –

Oh, his eyes were so pretty.

"It's cold out," he said plainly, although his eyes said something more. Narrowed and teasing, that one eyebrow arched upward, he made a stunning picture as he threaded one arm through a sleeve. "No wind, but we better bundle up."

The one-piece garment was tight and fit incredibly well. It made his long legs were even longer, and it left little to the imagination (what exactly was the man packing in the region below his navel?).

Aziraphale averted his eyes and sat in the chair to remove his boots, too. He dug in the bag, refusing to even chance a glance at the man standing so close, zipping into his snow gear in a way that was almost –

Well.

He looked up and found himself being watched with a seductive smirk. Crowley had paused his zippering in the act, forefinger and thumb holding tight to the pull. His gaze fell on Aziraphale as he had put both feet through into his snow pants, as he leaned forward to get up out of the chair, as he shuffled clumsily into them, as his face flushed hot.

Getting dressed had never before been so sensual.

Crowley finished with his zipper and began with his boots again, tying them smartly and standing tall. "I'll just head out and get the snowshoes. Meet me by the car when you're ready."

Aziraphale, sweating under the close scrutiny, would probably never be wholly ready. But he smiled and he nodded and he collapsed back onto the chair the second he heard the front door close.

"Oh my lord," he breathed, sucking in his gut where the button pushed uncomfortably into his navel. "What am I getting myself into?"

Crowley was waiting at the rear of the car when Aziraphale shut the door behind him. He stood in the harsh overhead light, a pair of jet-black metal snowshoes slung over one shoulder. There was a tilt to his head and a tooth-baring grin. And a little white tag dangling from the end of one shoe.

"Are these – did you buy these new?"

Crowley looked over his shoulder at the price tag, ripping it off with bare fingers and stuffing it into his side pocket. "Of course!" he smirked, nonplussed by the omission. "Nothing but the best for my Aziraphale, after all."

Aziraphale tripped and nearly fell to the ground (to make snow angels, of course).

"Where are we going?" Aziraphale asked, not even trying to hide how it felt to be called such a name.

"The cabin."

"The cabin?" It seemed there was an echo.

Crowley handed over the snowshoes and returned to the trunk for a second pair, also brand new. "Yep. There's a river that runs alongside the property border. Fur Fur built a little place before he started losing his marbles. It's really very charming."

Aziraphale fumbled with the straps as he adjusted them to his size and did absolutely nothing but think about how charming his companion was.

Crowley was elegant, even as he sat spread-eagle on the ground. Even as he struggled with his own straps. He listened and watched carefully as Aziraphale showed him how to slide his boot all the way into the toe piece, then wrap the strap around his heel. He tried and tried and tried without success to copy him while Aziraphale smiled and smiled and smiled. In the end, he got down on his hands and knees with Crowley's boot between his legs, reaching under the man's knee to help him out.

"Be kind," Crowley joked, his low thrum of a voice close to Aziraphale's ear. "I'm going to look like a clown in these things. All elbows and knees and long, crooked nose."

Aziraphale finished with the binding and sat back on his heels. "You'll look nothing of the sort. And I'll have you know that I happen to find your nose attractive."

That one eyebrow peaked once again and Crowley waggled both feet back and forth. Aziraphale didn't try to hide his satisfied smirk, and finished strapping his own boots into the contraptions.

They set out slowly in the dark, taking the direction Crowley indicated. It appeared to be a trail, double wide, wide enough for two cars to pass, although there was no road. The man exaggerated each step, like a diver wearing flippers out of the water. Aziraphale kept a wide berth, giving him plenty of room for those elbows and knees, hiding the fact that he himself was well out of shape for that kind of exercise.

They stopped several times to laugh and tease and joke (of the gentle kind, of course). And as the twilight gave way to night, the stars came out in full force. Even without a moon of any sort, Aziraphale could see clearly how happy Crowley looked. He hoped it was the same for him.

At one point, they paused to rest and were assaulted by the bark of a coyote, followed by the excited yapping and yipping and barking howls of more.

Crowley reached for Aziraphale's elbow and squeezed hard. "That sounded close." He peered intently into the darkness. It was endearing how protective (or scared or both) the grip appeared to be.

"There's no wind," Aziraphale explained, sounding surer than he felt. "We seem to be in their territory."

Crowley stiffened, and Aziraphale laughed. "No cause for worry. They won't attack us; I'm too big and you're too scary for that."

Crowley frowned sideways at him. "In California, they come right up to you in the city. Aren't afraid of humans one bit." He shook Aziraphale's arm gently. "And there'll be no more of that self-deprecation as long as I'm here. Understood?"

The temperature had dropped below zero after nightfall. Aziraphale could see both of their breaths. His cheeks were still very warm. "Understood."

They continued forward for a time, Crowley reminiscing about where he'd been born, grown up, and lived. Aziraphale walked beside him, breathing deeply, loving the sound of the man's voice in the woods. The snow muffled it, and the trees bounced it back to them. And the fact that it was black outside made it seem that much more mysterious.

Just as Aziraphale was about to ask for another rest, they turned a gentle corner, and a large, dark shape loomed ahead.

"Is that it?"

Crowley paused to take off a glove and reach into a pocket. He pulled out some kind of remote and clicked it. A light on a pole turned on overhead, shining down on them like a phone call from god.

"Yep," he said, zipping the remote back into a pocket and hurrying back into his glove. "And we've got three minutes to punch in the security code before a call is made to the local police chief."

Aziraphale made a squeaking sound, and Crowley took off for the building, now bathed in pale yellow light, and not looking like a cabin at all.

It was a house. A rather large house. An A-frame with massive windows, all of it natural wood colored and dark inside.

Crowley hurried through the snow, shuffling his feet in an expertly way that didn't make him seem at all like an amateur. It was difficult to keep up, and Aziraphale couldn't help but smile as he considered the fact that his date had used the snowshoes as an excuse to get him way out there in the woods to show him –

To show him what, exactly?

Puffing great billowing clouds of moisture, Aziraphale caught up at the side door. Crowley had already typed in the security code into an outdoor pad, then reached through the open door to flip breakers inside an electrical box. Things inside began to hum, indicators flashed into on positions. And Crowley turned to look over his shoulder.

"Welcome to the cabin," he said, sinking to the snow-covered ground and deftly working his straps loose. He kicked out of both shoes before Aziraphale had undone one, then crouched forward to help him with the other.

He was sheepish when he spoke again. "You mad at me about the —?" He waved vaguely towards the discarded snow shoes.

Aziraphale smiled because there was nothing else to do. "Dreadfully."

"Great!"

And Crowley helped him to his feet, guided him through the door and into the building.

It was colder inside, the shellacked wood floors creaking and snapping under their booted feet. Built from all wood materials, the place had an open-air design. The large, square windows on one wall all faced what was presumably the invisible river.

"Ready for a tour?"

Aziraphale blinked in wonder at Crowley’s child-like eagerness. It was contagious. "Of course!"

Where the old house was cluttered and stifling and old, this new place was the exact opposite. There wasn't any furniture, the walls bare and undecorated. Everything was spotless, and, although every surface was covered with a fine layer of sheetrock dust and littered with lady beetle carcasses, unlived in.

"Old codger only stayed in it for one summer," Crowley mused, voice echoing in the large, uncarpeted space. "Some friends helped clean it out, and we helped pay for the security detail. Been sitting alone here, in the woods, for a few years."

The ceiling over the living space was at least two stories high. Crowley led them up a wide staircase to a landing above.

Aziraphale's breath had already been taken away from the exercise. The beauty of the place was captivating.

"Look up," Crowley suggested as they reached the top of the stairs. A row of skylights ran from left to right, with a larger one over what appeared to be a sleeping space.

Crowley walked carefully across the wood floor, not wanting to slip from the snow packed in his boots. He stopped mid-center and cranked his neck back.

"I'm going to put a great, big, fluffy bed right here in the middle. So I can lay here at night and look up at the stars."

Aziraphale did a double take. "What? You're going to live here?"

Crowley hummed without tearing his eyes from the overhead view. "It's why I moved north from California. Fur Fur designated me as executor, and my brothers want nothing to do with the maintenance. Figured I'd keep the old house to deter the locals. Live here in the summer and spend winter in the city until I retire. Then take up residence here permanently."

He dropped his chin and made the most startling eye contact. "There's no one about for miles and miles."

Aziraphale laughed nervously under such an intense gaze. "That's wonderful."

He sounded terrified.

Crowley showed him the little work-study off the landing, the single bath with the shower, then headed back downstairs. There he took Aziraphale to the larger bathroom with jetted tub, past the laundry room and out a second door.

The patio was narrow and sprawling, with a screened porch all the way around. Crowley allowed Aziraphale to pass into the space, gone quietly sullen, all of a sudden.

"It's very nice," Aziraphale said, unsure of himself now and hoping to recover. "Plenty of room for your pets and a lot of light for your plants."

"It's a little too much space for me," he responded sadly. And then, cheering up, "Are you hungry?"

Aziraphale welcomed the warmth of that smile. "Only if you are."

Crowley turned and muttered something under his breath, heading back into the house, where he lifted his backpack off his shoulders.

He set the bag on the long marble countertop. Out came a thermos, two cups, a container of fruit. A package of crackers. A long cylinder of summer sausage. A ziplock bag of cheese. A knife.

"I'm no Frenchman," he said with a smirk, ripping open each package and laying it on the table. "And I hope you'll forgive me, but I did bring wine."

Aziraphale took the thermos from him, unscrewed the cap, and let it breathe. A red. Fruity. Sweet. Just like someone else he knew.

Crowley rounded up a couple of stools while Aziraphale poured. He carried one in each hand, still grinning like he was up to something untoward. Even if it was the plotting of evil-doing, Aziraphale would have been none the wiser. He thought Crowley hung the moon.

Wine from a thermos with Crowley was divine, even in the frigid emptiness of a barely used kitchen. They sat together at the counter, smiling as they enjoyed the impromptu picnic and shared company alike. Aziraphale lost track of time; his nose grew cold, and his feet did, too. But he didn't care. Truthfully, it was all quite lovely for a first date.

Eventually, nature called, and they packed up Crowley's bag and locked down the house. There was an outhouse a ways back in the woods that didn't require plumbing, and what looked like a shed with a stovepipe off the porch. Possibly a sauna?

Crowley did his own strappings this time while Aziraphale felt mildly disappointed. It would have been nice to have a reason to get close. Especially now that he knew his companion had planned the whole thing. There was a suggestion in it, a hint at a hopeful future. And Aziraphale's chest felt tight as he thought about that future.

(It could also have been the food and wine, too.)

Without haste, they headed back the way they'd come. It was much later now, and the stars had come out in the thousands. Crowley stopped several times to point up and gape at the Milky Way. The starlight was so bright, reflecting off the snow, that they didn't need a moon to be able to see each other's faces.

"Pop quiz," Crowley said, practically bouncing on his heels. Aziraphale's toes were freezing. "Any idea what the brightest object in the sky is?"

Aziraphale nudged a little closer, until the toes of their snowshoes pressed right up against each other. He liked the shadows playing on Crowley's face. It accentuated his cheekbones and drew every ounce of Aziraphale's attention to his mouth.

"That's a trick question. You're trying to fool me."

Crowley looked down on him, a flash of white teeth as he spoke. "Who me? I would never –"

"It's the sun, of course," Aziraphale interrupted, garnering a sound of surprise and pride from his companion.

"Clever Aziraphale."

The praise was enough to start something brewing deep down, an ache that had been hovering somewhere about his navel the entire evening.

Crowley leaned forward for more teasing. "How about the second?"

If Aziraphale could sing, he would. "That would be the moon, my dear."

"Very good!" Crowley took off a glove and brushed his knuckles over Aziraphale's cheek. "And the third?"

Aziraphale shook his head. His nose dripped unhelpfully. If he were to open his mouth just then, he'd be proclaiming something he knew would not be well-timed. He didn't want to break the spell.

"The third brightest object," Crowley said softly, withdrawing his hand and leaning impossibly close, "is –"

It was too much. Aziraphale was done resisting. He never heard what it was that shined so bright after the moon. He reached up and wrapped a hand around the man's long, thin scarf. He pulled him in. He didn't care that his nose was running and his feet were ice, because his lips were warm. And so were Crowley's.

It was a brief thing, this first, fervent kiss, the angle awkward for each. Aziraphale was up on his frozen toes, and Crowley had been pulled forward and slightly off-kilter. And Aziraphale felt right away that it was unbalanced in more ways than one.

He pulled back, gave the man's space back to him. Oh, how stupid could one person be? Taking something so dear without asking –

"I – I'm sorry," Aziraphale began, stomach dropped clear to the ground as he looked immediately away. "I thought –"

But Crowley took a step forward where there wasn't any room to, carefully rocking up onto Aziraphale's snowshoes with his own. A bare hand slid over Aziraphale's cheek, under his scarf, to the back of his neck. And when he looked up, Crowley, head tipped slightly, mouth open and eyes wide, touched the point of Aziraphale's chin with his thumb.

"Aziraphale."

He hadn't gotten it wrong; he'd been so very right. Hearing his name said like that was proof enough.

Crowley hovered for an exquisite moment before tipping Aziraphale's head back with the thumb on his chin. His eyes were ablaze, his whole body leaning and determined, and Aziraphale was weak for it. With quivering lips, he closed his eyes and met Crowley in the middle. Chest pressed against chest. A hand on the man's upper arm. Breath hot and humid between them. And then –

Crowley kissed him, well and properly kissed him. And it was everything.

When you are old - on AO3

[pleucas]

Would you ever consider doing a colouring tutorial?

Heyooooooo

I've done a coloring post before (a few months prior), but somehow, my coloring/painting process has changed a lot since then lol. I'll give a breakdown of my process (and go into specifics on coloring) here, but please do take it with a grain (or a spoonful) of salt... I'm still very much learning, and though you can use my process as a guide, experiment on your own to find what works for you! This post got a little long I'm ngl so. open at ur own risk. it's really just me rambling and being a bit too pretentious for my own good

using my recent post as an example, my process is basically just:

first i get a clean sketch (after many hours of pain finding detailed references lol), not gonna go into that since you asked abt coloring

then i immediately go to block out shapes over the sketch. For big paintings, I don't do lineart (because i find that it eliminates a lot of depth that can be achieved with shapes and shading) — for smaller sketches and pieces, i'll do lineart tho.

I started darker to lighter in this painting because I knew I wanted harsh light. For me, it's a lot easier to project "additions" onto a surface — ie, if there's a harsh light, that's the addition vs. a shadow in neutral lighting as the addition. dunno if that makes sense, but breaking tones down like that helps me understand how i want to chronologically color smth and choose my bases:

for example, since I knew I was gonna have harsh light here, I felt comfortable with just getting the tones for my shadows down immediately. There won't be many midtones due to how extreme I saw it to be, so there was no point in finding a neutral base tone.

how i choose colors varies from painting to painting, but for this one, I decided to lean purple-blue because skk are just one of many red and blue gays (same reason why most of my other skk works lean red-blue-purple), and also because I knew I wanted my light to be on the warmer side — thus, the shadows and unlit areas will be cooler.

i also wanted it to recede (to emphasize the perspective and for depth), so for the base colors, i made them cooler + darker as they went back. This wasn't as clear in the finished product, but i think it did a good job at reminding me the vibe i wanted as i rendered

By how much I've written for this step, I guess you can assume that it's the step I put the most consideration into — and you'd be right. I think base colors really determine the vibe, and it sets you up for the rest of the painting. Sometimes I have to color adjust my bases over and over (with hue adjustments, color balance, curves) until I'm satisfied. I think that satisfaction is obtained w/ more ease as I've painted more and more. Alongside the sketch, this step takes me quite a while. Sometimes it's fun to mess with really wild color combos, but that's another topic.

Then I block out the lighting, which is probably the most drastic step but also somehow the quickest for me. Once you understand how light affects color (warmth, tone, etc) and you gain confidence with it, blocking out values in relation to base tones isn't too hard. That ofc takes practice and a lot of fundamental understanding of Shapes & Colors but there's a lot of stuff online abt the theory specifically from professionals, so I'm not gonna lecture y'all as a fanartist for glorified literary author rpf

then i just start rendering, layer by layer. above is a screenshot i took mid-rendering; at this point, dazai's clothes were basically done but I later worked on the face + hair more and textured the tie.

I try to do the stuff I want people to focus on first, because at least for me, that's when I have the most energy to make smth detailed — the more detailed an area is, the more naturally drawn you eye is to it (this is because the brain likes areas of high contrast, and details are entirely founded on the placement of contrast).

My art has never been too extremely detailed — I enjoy flatter + bigger shapes, styled texturing and silly patterns, but I find that "detail" still translates into "effort". When I look at paintings, it's very clear where someone put most of their effort — and when I can't tell, then I know I have a very confident + experienced artist who can effectively distribute their workflow (goalz). So yeah, I render in my very silly poly style but still keep that in mind.

eventually, I finish rendering. This part is kinda a blur tbh, and it always varies from artist to artist. I'd say the things I keep in mind are:

shape + form (making sure my rendering doesn't mess up gesture or vibes, and that it keeps things loose)

composition (making sure i don't overdo areas where i don't want people to focus on)

and tone (ensuring that the depth and believability of the scene stays intact so that my non-realistic style can work)

I added the bullet because i wanted a reason for the goofy expressions, just a bit more pizazz so that skk's drama was also believable lol. also visual storytelling or whtv (but that's not something i usually prioritize, it mostly comes with the concept and sketch).

I also added the bullet for some compositional spice. the dark shadow on dazai's arms was there to also emphasize the warped perspective, but it also left a weirdly empty vibe that I didn't enjoy lol. So yeah, bullet! and ofc my favorite, weird flowy line pattern thing that doesn't adhere to the laws of physics

I think a lot of my traditional painting experience leaks into my digital painting practice. I don't like lineart too much, and since I mainly work with acrylic, I rely on opaque color blocks, layering, and "carving out" shapes. probably explains my affinity for solid flat brushes in Procreate,,,,, but yeah. It's a little all over the place, but at its core, it's a lot of technical stuff mixed with habits after finding what works for me.

Dunno if this helps at all, or if it was interesting lolol. Thank you for reading until the end if you're still here! I appreciate it. I'm still learning but I've definitely learned a lot since I started this blog so it's exciting to track my progress. I'm sure I'll see this in a few years and laugh lolol.

[veone]

Can't really sleep so mini rambles about Nick and his evolution for me on his look. I am trying to balance his features well because he looks very much his father with some of his mother features and color.

Dark brown eyes, sometimes he wears contacts and he opts for dark blue, so dark you don't notice they are blue. His scerla is touch red all the time due to irritates in the air and his drug us that shades the eyes and blood by extention blue. It be odd to see him with clear skin, he doesn't take care of his skin, it's not to bad all the time but he'd always have a pimple or two on his forehead and or chin until he gets a bit older. I don't think he really cares tbh. He doesn't look in the mirror often. Eye bags and dark circles from the lack of sleep that's been a consistent issue since he was a child. Sparce facial hair, he can grow a beard but it takes a little long and it's unfortunately genetic.

Thick eyebrows, not styled outside of making sure they don't connect. Clothing wise I style him very casual, borderline very lazily, fortunately for him i have stuck the fashion in early 2000s and late 90s look and he doesn't put alot of effort into cloths. Most are borrowed or second hand from the community shelters. He gravitate towards more skater styles, cargo pants, baggy jeans, big shirts and layers. Only really wears two pairs of dirty white shoes outside of work uniform that are ill fit, usually a bit baggy from weight lost or he mistakenly took someone else's cloths. Work boots from warehouse jobs. Mechanic top that was just found. Has nick on it. Don't know who that nick is though.

Hair! Thick dark hair, as he ages it's thining at the temples but he'll never go bald. It's graying, he has a bit of gray peeking through and he is going to be a thirty something year old with salt n pepper hair. He is not doing great tbh, it's a combo of stress and genetics. He dyes it though when he's feeling like taking care of him self. Technically he would be wearing glasses but cybernetics exist and even if they didn't he wouldn't wear them because he think he looks lame.

He doesn't maintain his cybernetics very well. They need some updates but they aren't effecting him to much. He has some fixes to his vision and his hearing in his right ear, along with some corrections to his brain from getting his head actually cracked open at some point in his early 20s. Has chronic migraines that flair up when he's stressed, orginate from a stress headache and takes a nose dive. He needs a dark room, cold and quiet. Can totally turn off his hearing at will because no. He's five eight, he's average hight for the earth's population of men. Most men don't get taller than five ten with some exceptions of being six feet. With him bring trans though if he never transitioned he'd be considered tall for a women. Most women are about five five and shorter but the height difference isn't to noticeable.

Weight-flucicates from lack of appetite from drug use and his mental health just nose diving. When he's sober and relatively stable, he can pick up weight pretty quickly, has a great appetite, and kinda a shit diet of take out and energy drinks. Really enjoys fried foods and dumplings. Can't ever see him being toned or muscular. He don't exercise unless like sid dragged him along with her to the gym or some yoga class. He out of shape in that regards and hates it. I don't blame him.

Tats and scars! He only has a sleave that stretches over one side of his chest. It's to cover old scars and a recovery thing for him that didn't really work but it's not constant reminder of some shitty days. Wanted to cover up track mark-just uses the other arm. He will get a sleave when he gets clean from iv drug use. He got burned at some point as a tween playing with stuff he shouldn't have been, it's on his on tated arm and bits of his abdomen. Not to bad but it's noticeable to note. Random addition but nick is in his late 20s or early 30s, im saying or because he doesn't actually tell people his age because he'd rather have people assume because they aim lower and he has a bit of insecurities about the fact he's not where he "should" be for his age. This is why when he find out sid is like 24 he responses by gagging. He mentally blocks out her age because if he thinks about it to long it send him because he's really use to dating in his age range or older and feels like he should be more of a leader n sid is not allowing that. He's happy with that but he got expectations of "older" men that he gotta work on a bit.

[wasyago]

sorry to bother but i have a few questions! curious if you ever used other art programs besides sai and more about art things

- have you ever used sai 2? i think its still being refined

- whats your art program “progression” if you ever used a program before sai exactly, like ex: ibispaint -> fire alpaca -> sai

- are you a many layers artist with a seperate lineart layer and color each individual spots like skin, hair, eyes and etc in different layers? or do you combine the lineart and colors and just paint over it? or maybe you have multiple ways?

- do you use references a lot? or do you “wing” how stuff looks like? (which could honestly show te growth when it looks so right which you do always! your art is amazing?)

i still have so many questions but i dont want to bother by making this ask too long, sorry about that!

ooh this is interesting

i have sai2 downloaded, but i think i got the wrong version (the one that has a time trial thing and stops you from saving the files after a certain period of time). and i kinda just never bothered switching to it amd looking for a normal version? i know sai2 has a lot more options and textures and what not, but i like my old sai1 more for some reason.

for the art program progression, hmmmm. it's pretty much all sai1 i think! i have fire alpaca installed and still use it to make gifs and animations or to import text to sai / manage files / edit minecraft textures / etc, but it was never my main program. i drew some stuff in ibispaint as a kid before i had my computer, but i think back then i also mainly drew on paper, ibis wasn't my "main". never got into photoshop, never used any other programs.

for the layers. i do use them a lot, but like, for testing mostly? for example, when i want to change something in the sketch, i copy the layer and then compare the old and the new versions, deleting the one i don't like. i color and shade on one layer, but when i want to check how it'll look with different colors, i make a new layer and then compare them. when i want to fix something, like redraw the eye or clean up the sketch a bit or see how the character will look in a coat intstead of a vest, i make the new layer on top and just paint over everything. and eventually merge all the layers together and keep adding on top. so, i make a lot of layers, but then i also delete/merge a lot of them.

i used to use a lot of references and put all of them in the backgrounds of my drawings with low opacity to create this effect of busyness but also so i didn't haveto switch tabs constantly. but i stopped doing it for some reason. i do still use references, mostly for things that i don't have much experience drawing or want to be accurate. like armor, muscle structures, certain clothing elements, instruments, background elements, etc. and i wing things like poses, anatomy, expressions, clothing, lighting, composition, whatever else. i also recently find myself looking at a lot of art of other artists for inspiration, but not necessarily as references? like, the specific way that one artist drew hair poking out of the bandana, or the specific way that other artist drew a shadow on the glasses, or the specific way that other other artist drew a tail, its inspiring and i go "huh, i never thought of that" and i try to implement it in my art. well, i guess kind of like references.

i feel like you've answered all your questions in your ask, so this wasn't very helpful, but uhhhh...... yeah! thank you for this ask and thank you for the kind words, it was a lot of fun! and feel free to ask anything else

[sixty-silver-wishes]

Original short story- The Door

Kelsey sat down at the table, doing her best not to wrinkle her new skirt. In front of her was a plate of food, reassuringly simple, yet just alien enough for her to approach it with trepidation- a cooked chicken breast crusted with golden-brown breading, heaped with a generous helping of parmesan cheese on top and served with a side of steamed asparagus and halved miniature potatoes. 

“To celebrate your visit, I made your favorite,” her sister Erica said, seated at the opposite end of the table with a fork in hand. “Mom’s chicken parmesan.”

“It smells delicious,” Kelsey said, and began to cut into the chicken breast with her knife, the breading crunching slowly as it gave way to the blade. It’s not Mom’s chicken parmesan, though, she thought. It’s Erica’s chicken parmesan. 

“So,” Erica said in between bites of chicken, “how has college been?”

Kelsey sighed, communicating all her sister needed to know in one exasperated breath. The knife clattered on the edge of her plate. “It’s been a lot,” she said. 

“You’re majoring in economics, right?”

“Business,” Kelsey clarified.

Erica gave her an approving nod. “Business,” she repeated, and gestured to a pitcher on the table. “Lemonade?”

“Sure,” Kelsey answered, and Erica poured her a tall glass, slender lemon slices bobbing delicately underneath a layer of finely crushed ice. “How have you been?”

Erica put a manicured finger up, signaling that she still had chicken in her mouth. She swallowed. “I’ve been good,” she finally said. “I’ve got a few gigs coming up, so I’ve been busy.”

“Right,” Kelsey nodded. “You’re still playing piano.”

“I’m booked for three weddings this week,”  Erica answered, pointing her fork towards Kelsey. “And I teach childrens’ classes on the weekends. And next week, I’m accompanying the community theatre actors for their auditions. They’re doing Les Miserables in the spring.”

“Oh,” Kelsey said. “I’ll have to come back to see it if I’m free.” She poked again at the chicken that Erica had made. It smelled like their mother’s old recipe, but the color seemed off somehow. Perhaps Erica hadn’t used all the right spices, or she’d let the chicken cook for too long, or maybe she hadn’t let it cook for long enough.

That piano should have been mine, Kelsey thought. After all, she was the one who had begged their mother to let her take lessons back when she was eight, and her younger sister, ever the copycat, had insisted on learning, too. At first, it was fun- they learned to play Christmas songs together, and even tried writing their own music. But as they grew older, Kelsey spent less and less time at the keys of the piano, and more and more time on the keys of her laptop. There was no money to be found in playing the piano, she decided. She forgot how to sight read sheet music, and grew to hate the sound of Erica practicing Beethoven and Liszt from the other room. She’d never learned to play anything by Liszt before. By the time both of them moved out, Kelsey was all too glad to let Erica take the piano with her when she’d asked for it; the old thing wouldn’t fit in her apartment, anyway, and even if she still knew how to play it, the noise would certainly annoy the neighbors. She told herself to be happy for Erica and her music career, but couldn’t shake the feeling that, if things had turned out differently, that career could be her own.

She probably isn’t making much, anyway, she thought. That’s why she has all those gigs. I feel sorry for her, really.

Erica had finished her chicken, and had started on the potatoes. Kelsey had once again put down her fork.

If Erica wasn’t making much money playing piano, she realized, her living space certainly said the opposite. The apartment was modest, but clean and well-furnished. A vase of fresh flowers stood on the table between them, and the kitchen behind them was equipped with a bar counter, where a bottle of good wine was arranged next to a bowl of fruit and a pine-scented candle. A painting of a bucolic cottage scene hung in a frame on the wall of the nearby living room, where a small gray kitten dozed on an armchair in front of a muted television set. In the living room, with a vase of flowers hung on a hook in front of it, was a white door with a brass handle.

Kelsey picked up her fork again, but seemed to forget it was in her hand as she craned her neck past Erica, trying to get a closer look at the door. She couldn’t tell what kinds of flowers were in the vase, or if they were real or fake, but she could make out an arrangement of red and yellow blooms, dotted with small blue clusters.

 At first glance, the door itself didn’t seem like much. It looked like any other door in Erica’s apartment- all were the same shade of white, and had the same round brass handles, which were about the shape and size of an orange. Four rectangular panels were carved into it, although the bottom halves of the top two were obscured by the vase of flowers. The grain of the wood, however, was what caught Kelsey’s attention. It snaked in thin, hypnotic lines around the door, running up and down in concentrated furrows along the sides. A few knots whirled in the wooden surface like ivory galaxies, circling into hurricane-shaped patterns that invited a few miniature maelstroms of chaos into the rest of Erica’s orderly house.

“Erica,” Kelsey asked, “where does that door go?”

“What door?” Erica responded.

Kelsey pointed with her fork. “That one,” she said, “with the flowers over it.”

Erica glanced behind her. Kelsey was certain she noticed the door. Then, she went back to calmly spearing a potato. 

“These need salt, don’t you think?” she asked. “Mom never wanted us putting salt on the potatoes, because she always said they were already salted. But I don’t think mine are salty enough.”

“I suppose not,” Kelsey answered, and sipped her lemonade. It was tart. Not enough sugar.

“I’m sorry,” Erica said, a note of genuine sorrow in her voice. “I wanted to make your favorite food for you.”

It was never my favorite, Kelsey thought. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, once again cutting into her chicken. “I think you did a great job.”

Erica glanced down at Kelsey’s plate, where the chicken was cut into pieces, but not yet eaten at all. “Thank you,” she said. 

Kelsey felt her stomach twist, and looked back at the door, following the whorls in the grain with her eyes. “Where does the door go?” she asked again. “It must go somewhere.”

“After we eat,” Erica said, “do you want to go out? There’s supposed to be a new bar about ten minutes from here; it’s right next to Tall Tales. You remember Tall Tales, right?”

“Yeah,” Kelsey said, her voice distant. “The used bookstore.” She blinked; the patterns in the door appeared to shift.

“You used to love Tall Tales,” Erica reminisced, with a smile on her face. “You’d always make us wait for hours there while you and Dad looked through all the books.”

Kelsey stood up, once again dropping her fork. This time, it landed on the floor with a light clatter.

“Don’t worry,” Erica said. “I’ll pick that up.” As she went around the table, reaching for the fork, Kelsey began to walk towards the door in the living room. The tiny hurricanes had eyes; she was sure of it. One of them even blinked. 

Erica took the fork to the kitchen sink to wash it, and Kelsey put a hand on the door handle, attempting to twist it open. However, it wouldn’t budge. She tried both hands, still to no avail.

“I don’t mean to rush you,” Erica said as she rinsed the fork off. “We can finish dinner first.”

Kelsey felt around the frame of the door, the grain rolling in crests and troughs under her fingertips. “Is there a key?” she asked.

Erica looked up from the sink, turning it off. The noise of the sudden cease of flowing water made Kelsey turn her head like a bloodhound on a scent, and she noticed- perhaps with satisfaction- that Erica’s face at last looked pale and panicked, hilariously out of place in her curated kitchen, with its stately wine bottles and cheerful, plump lemons arranged in cream-colored shallow bowls. The sight of her wide eyes and open mouth in her pale face, set against the orderliness of her surroundings, made Kelsey laugh.

“There’s nothing back there,” Erica said. 

Kelsey laughed again- a sharp, cruel bark. “Why would there be nothing back there?” she asked. “Apartments don’t have doors that lead to nothing.”

“It’s- it’s just storage,” Erica answered. 

Kelsey stroked the door slowly, feeling the hurricanes swirl under her fingertips. The eyes in the grain- there were definitely eyes- fixed themselves upon her with adoration, infatuation- maybe even hunger. 

Storage, she had said. 

What was the storage that Erica so adamantly kept behind this maddening piece of wood? What could Erica possibly have to store? 

That, Kelsey realized, must have been why the apartment was so infuriatingly clean- Erica must have hoarded all sorts of mess behind this door. Mess that she wouldn’t allow into the rest of her house, or into her life. Stacks upon stacks of Liszt and Scriabin, gathering dust as oversized gray mice chewed their way through the concertos and sonatas of the great masters and marked the sheet music with staccato droppings. Piles of garish theatre costumes, all rhinestones and matted wigs and tawdry lace, the bloody remains of chickens littering the floor in piles of feathers and flesh still stuck to a mountain of bones, potatoes overgrown with their tendril shoots and asparagus jutting out from the floor, pitchers of rotting lemons in piss-yellow fluid that reeked of burning pine, a filthy old wedding dress coming apart at the seams with the bride’s desiccated body sewn up inside. 

But there were other things Erica locked behind that door, certainly- things that were far more horrifying than what Kelsey knew to be there. Stacked up to the ceiling in sealed cardboard boxes, packed tight with styrofoam and bubble wrap, were all of Erica’s failures, stuffed to the brim until they were leaking out the sides. All of her insecurities, all of her heartbreak, all of the impossibilities she hadn’t been able to easily overcome were crammed in there- that was why there was no evidence of them in her house.

 And behind that door, too, was something that should have belonged to Kelsey- perhaps nestled in a beautiful music box somewhere, or in the pages of Liszt, or under the floorboards, or in the pile of chicken bones, or in the eye socket of the decaying bride, were Kelsey’s dreams. Kelsey’s success in what she’d wanted to do since the very beginning, Kelsey’s adoration from their mother, Kelsey’s vindication that she had chosen the right career path, Kelsey’s years that had been wasted away in the monotony of business classes, Kelsey’s happiness and entire life that should have been ahead of her.

“Tall Tales will be open for just another hour; we can make it if we’re ready in time…” Erica’s voice came, distant and shaky and far away. Kelsey felt a hand tap at her shoulder as she pressed herself against the door, scratching at the wood as hard as she could, hearing the hiss and screech of the eyeballs in the grain as she dug her fingernails into them. But the door wouldn’t budge, and Erica was there, right behind her…

The vase was surprisingly heavy in her hands. Kelsey yanked it off the hook on the door, feeling its weight pull down on her muscles. The flowers inside fell to the ground, spilling out around her.

“Kelsey, what are you-” Erica gasped. 

Her sister lifted the vase above her head, took a long, deep breath, and swung it about in a furious, vengeful arc.

[thedo0zyslider]

I Love You (I'm Not Supposed Too) - Chapter Six: Secrets Kept No More - 4k Words

Fwhip finally finds out what Jimmy wanted to say all those months ago.

A03 Link

The next few days in the Ocean Empire were pretty routine. And boring. Every day is almost the same, save for a few moments when he and Jimmy would either sneak away together, or they got too tired of each other's presence and retreated to their chambers for a few hours. Other than that, they would wake up, and head to the Cod Empire to do whatever needed done. Helping a whole group of people properly establish themselves was a lot of work, work Fwhip hadn’t signed up for. But he helped anyways, because there was nothing else to do, not really.

The work was pretty standard, all things considered. They helped people get back on their feet, did boring government stuff Fwhip always zoned out on, like he did at home, built things, helped with the farms, and sometimes they were even put on babysitting duty. Though the half dragon wasn’t very trusted in that department for a few obvious reasons. Mainly the bigotry and his usual impulsiveness, but he didn’t mind. Fwhip was never a big fan of kids anyways. And then, at the end of the day, when the little tasks were done, they headed back to the Prisma Palace for dinner and whatever the Ocean Queen wanted them to do. If she wanted anything.

The half dragon is given a guest room, one with a giant, plush bed and a lot of decor on the wall. Merfolk liked to line their homes with shell and other such trinkets, as he’d come to notice, and the guest rooms were no exception. Just like the rest of the palace, his room was also very pink and blue and white. Fwhip thinks he could go his whole life without seeing this color palette ever again, and be perfectly content.

One morning, maybe a week or so into the trip, the future Count awakens earlier than normal. He doesn’t know why, but he does know the sun is streaming through his room’s window; meaning he should get out of bed pretty soon. He has a feeling the queen doesn’t take lightly to oversleepers, even if he had helped carry loads of stone and wood and whatnot around the swamp all yesterday and probably needed the extra rest. But whatever, her house, her rules, the ginger supposed.

He dresses in his normal attire, minus the black coat. He hates taking it off, but less layers means he won’t get as sweaty. Especially since he does manual labor most of the day, or a lot of walking. Fwhip was used to extreme heat in the forge, not the humidity of a swamp in the summertime. Also, it’s just less fabric to get all muddy and gross. His poor boots though will need to be deep cleaned when he’s home, all the shoes he brought with him will. It feels like there’s water permanently in the leather nowadays, even when there’s not.

But that’s not the focus right now. The focus is getting ready and then getting breakfast. Ocean cuisine was a little….unusual for his tastes, but he did like a few of the dishes. Disturbing meals including both salmon and cod aside. Thankfully those weren’t usually served at breakfast, so he could avoid them until dinner or lunch time most days. Usually .

Fwhip steps out of his door a few minutes later, right after he finishes his morning routine…..and realizes he doesn't have a clue where the dining hall would be in this gigantic place. He ate there for dinner the previous night, but this place is so huge compared to the Manor. He has no idea how to even get back there, despite having a small tour when he arrived. Also, it would feel very awkward walking in without Jimmy.

He mumbles something to himself, grumpy from another bad night of sleep. It was hard to get any rest with waves constantly roaring all night long. His sleep deprivation, which was worse than normal, was probably making the whole trip more unpleasant than it actually was. The Ocean and its Empire were quite pretty, one had to admit, and the half dragon was sure he’d enjoy it more if it would let him sleep .

The ginger walks down to Jimmy’s room as he grumbles, the only place in the Palace he’s somewhat sure of the location of. That and his guest room. Mostly because they are in close proximity to each other, likely done on purpose, and because they’re the two most important rooms he passes every evening. He thinks he’s figured out where the library (the above water one) is though. He thinks.

He finds the Prince’s room, with less struggle than he had a few days ago. Fwhip only turned the wrong corner a few times! Yesterday he’d done that like, six or seven, so, progress! And while he’s never really…..knocked on Jimmy’s door, he knows the other is awake around this time. The cod had woken him up from a restless sleep far too often, enough that was decently familiar with the others' general sleep shedulce. Visiting him real quick would be fine , especially if he got breakfast at the end of it.

Fwhip opens the door, and he really, really should've knocked. He opens the door to a shirtless Jimmy, presumably in the middle of changing, and it takes the half dragon a good minute of shocked staring to realize that a binder is covering his chest. Jimmy whips his head around to face him, some kind of fear clearly in his gaze. The future Count kinda wants to punch himself for being so stupid.

Once he has that realization, the half dragon feels himself start to fumble out of embarrassment. “Oh, shit , sorry —I didn’t know you were-" He stumbles over his words, feeling a blush start to creep up his face. He politely keeps his gaze on the floor, his hand searching for the doorknob once again. The young prince is not having any of this, and the half dragon can’t really blame him.

“Just leave, okay!?” The cod snaps at him, and Fwhip listens to this guy for what has to be one of the first times ever. He ducks his head back out as soon as he finds the knob again, closing the door behind him with a rather loud slam. Silently, he slides down against the nearest wall, and resists the urge to scream into his own hands. That had been mortifying for him, making that big of a mistake. He can’t even imagine how Jimmy must feel right now, being seen like that. Being seen in what has to be some kind of vulnerable moment, by someone he certainly doesn’t want to be vulnerable with.

He sits there, slumped against the wall for a few minutes; hands running over his face and through his now messy hair. The future Count isn't really sure what to do after…. that . Mainly there are just a lot of things going through Fwhip's head as he sits there. He's pretty flustered, not ever intending to do that, and is sure a fierce blush is currently coating his face. Part of him knows it might be better that he leaves, because Jimmy will very understandably be scared to next confront him. The other part doesn't feel right just leaving. He feels like he needs to apologize. No, Fwhip wants to apologize. He feels bad, which certainly is a new emotion around the young cod.

The castle is still quiet, and it seems their little encounter hadn't disturbed anyone, thank god. Fwhip didn't want their screaming to accidentally out Jimmy to anyone else, for he had already heard some terms the staff used towards the prince. No servants have even begun moving towards the hall yet, and no footsteps can be heard in the distance. The Ocean Empire has rather quiet mornings, as opposed to the Grimlands rather loud and explosive ones. Which is good right now, he supposes. A quiet castle gives you more time to regain your bearings.

There is some shuffling by the door, and the doorknob starts to turn once again. Fwhip, still pretty stricken by the whole ordeal despite his best efforts, looks up in surprise. His suitor doesn't emerge instantly, taking his time to fully leave his bedroom. But when he does, the sight only makes the half dragon feel even more guilty.

Jimmy slowly shuffles out, his bedroom door being shut quietly behind him. Probably not to disturb anyone else in any nearby rooms, if there are any. He's finished changing, now wearing a green tunic. Not a skintight one like merfolk usually wore, but one that was clearly meant for a bigger person. One clearly meant to hide things, Fwhip would now notice. He suspects it isn’t the first time Jimmy has denied his species traditional attire in front of him, and probably won't be the last. The cod's face is red, his eyes puffy, and a weak frown painting his face. Fwhip feels a sinking feeling in his stomach at the thought of Jimmy crying because of him and his dumb mistake.

"Are you okay?" He asks, meeting the others' gaze tentatively. The future Count has no idea if the other is angry at him and, for once, wouldn't blame him if he was.

"I'm fine." Jimmy says, and it is clearly a lie. He's shaking, and leaning on the wall for support. Like he'll collapse and break down if he doesn't do so. It's not hard to believe that he will, either.

"You're shaking, and your eyes are red." Fwhip points out, scanning over the blonde's face. He's been crying his eyes out, that much is clear. So much so that if Lizzie were to walk by, she'd probably punch the future Count on the spot.

"Why do you care?" The cod asks, slumping down next to him. He's even surprised Jimmy wants to sit next to him after that, but he lets it happen anyway. They sit a few inches apart, not enough to touch, but not far enough to feel fully awkward. It's just enough space for the time being.

"Because I'm not stupid. I know what I just did." Fwhip says, feeling a frown stretching onto his face the longer this conversation goes on. He doesn't like the tone the other has, whatever it is. It's upsetting.

Jimmy forces a smile, and lets out a broken sounding laugh. “Well, didn’t want you to see my boobs. But you were gonna one day I guess, since the mar-”

“Don’t.” Fwhip cuts him off, running a hand over his face again. “Please don’t joke about….any of that stuff, okay? Not a good time.” It will come to concern Fwhip slightly, the kind of self hating jokes Jimmy makes about the marriage and himself. Because he'll make more in the future, and the half dragon will have to knock the habit out of him he supposes. “Also, not really our thing.”

“Sorry. Sorry. I know, bad joke. I’m just…a little upset.” The cod mumbles, hanging his head a bit. Not in shame, just lingering embarrassment. Fwhip feels a wrong sort of feeling settling in his stomach, and frowns. “And yeah…that’s not our thing.”

“I know….you’re probably upset.” He says, wholly sincere with Jimmy. Probably for like, the second time ever if he’s being honest. Because he would hate himself if he was anything but sincere under today’s circumstances. They were far too serious for his usual attitude. "Sorry about walking in without knocking or anything…I won’t do it again."

Jimmy takes a moment to respond, the back of his head hitting the wall with a dull thunking sound. "It's fine, really. You were gonna find out eventually. Probably. I just wanted it to be under…different circumstances is all."

Fwhip hums, and wraps his tail around his legs. It had been awkwardly laying on the floor before now, and it was…..strangely comforting to wrap it around himself. Even though he wasn't the one who needed comfort right now. "Sorry about that too."

"Not the worst thing in the world." Jimmy hums, watching his movement. He seems like he's zoning out a little bit, his mind wandering elsewhere. To other things and other trains of thoughts, more troubling ones probably.

"I kinda already knew. Thought I should mention that." Fwhip hums, glancing away to stare at the wall. He doesn't want to see Jimmy’s face when he responds, whatever that response may be.

"Oh?" Is all the cod responds with. He sounds…curious, and only that. Thankfully. Fwhip didn't know if the other would've been angered by that or whatever.

He glances back at Jimmy when he explains it, and is met with a look of slight curiosity. Which is fair, to Jimmy’s credit, he passes very well. Fwhip is just very good at noticing details. “When they told us about the marriage, our parents called you a princess and stuff. And the staff have been too. I just didn't want to assume anything, y'know?"

"Yeah, my mom's probably the reason for that. I didn't take them for… that type of person." The blonde nods, taking the others' explanation into consideration for a moment. The ginger would pay so much money to know what's running through his head right now.

"No, they're not like that." Fwhip confirms, briefly thinking back on his parents. Despite whatever way they might have failed him and his sister before, they had always been nothing but supportive of their children's identities. One of the few good qualities they both shared, if they shared any at all. "I could mention it to them….?"

The offer is said tentatively, but Jimmy looks so incredibly relieved at hearing it. "Please." He says, and Fwhip nods. He cannot help but wonder what hell this boy has been living through for so long, to be so relieved when even the most basic decency is shown to him.

“Sorry about how we left things, when you were forgotten at the manor. By the way.” The half dragon adds, somehow remembering to say sorry for that. Take that , memory issues. “I was just….I was starting to guess and didn’t know how to ask you.”

“It’s okay..” Jimmy says, trying to crack a smile. It's weaker than he would probably like it to be, but it's a start. Fwhip grins back, and neither of them have anything more to say. Not immediately, at least.

“You don’t…have a problem with it do you?” Jimmy nearly whispers the question into the silence. They've been sitting in quiet for a few minutes, and Fwhip had grown content to stare at the Palace's prismarine walls until one of them decided to move again.

Fwhip tilts his head to the side curiously, a little scared of what the other is about to ask. “With what?”

“With me being….with me having girl stuff. And you having to marry that. ” Jimmy spits out some of the words with such venom, that Fwhip is shocked by it. He feels a surprising wave of pity wash over him, for this boy he hates so much, and it's the first time ever he has to stop himself from hugging the young cod.

“No, I don’t. Why the hell would I?” He says, like it is the easiest thing to say. Because it is. To the blonde it's something he never expected to hear.

“Oh…” Jimmy sounds…..so genuinely surprised at his answer. “It’s just…some people would. Some people do. ”

“Those people suck.” His answer is spit out in an instance, full of more passion than he thought was possible. Those people do suck. They suck a lot .

“Yeah.” Jimmy agrees meekly, hesitantly slumping down and resting his head on the half dragon's shoulder. Fwhip lets him do so, not caring that a merfolk is touching him right now. He needs it a lot right now, he figures.

They sit in the silence for a few seconds once more, in the white and blue hallway of the Prisma Palace. Two people who should, and do, hate each other, but aren't really acting like it. They haven't had the energy to act like it for a while, Fwhip thinks, with how shit everything is. How the world constantly throws terrible things at the both of them and expects the boys to just cope . That's what it feels like, anyways.

Maybe it'll be better when they're older.

"You do know you're not the only one of us who's like that, don't you?" Fwhip mumbles, his cheek now resting against the blonde's head. He doesn't know how long they've been in the hallway, but the palace hasn't started its normal routine yet. So he guesses it can't have been too long. Maybe one of the maids or cooks will find them, and ask why in the bloody hell two royals are sitting in a dirty hallway, cuddling.

Jimmy gets a little excited, as told by his tail smacking the wall a few times before he realizes it's moving. "No…?"

"Well, Xornorth’s nonbinary, and Sausage is pretty gender nonconforming.” Fwhip says, trying to remember everyone who's come out so far. He doesn't know all their labels, if some people have any, but he tries his best to get them right. “And Shrub isn't entirely a girl."

"Oh…I didn't know that." Jimmy hums, sounding happier than he had before. The half dragon briefly wonders if, when the thirteen of them are together again, that a labels debrief would make some people feel more included.

"None of us are straight either, I don’t think." Fwhip might’ve not been up to date on all the labels, but he was pretty sure of that fact. That their whole group were all horribly not straight in some way, some more obviously than others.

Jimmy lets out an amused snort at that. "Of course." That's the right phrase for it really, of course . Of course all the royal children are queer as hell. Of course most of their parents suck too. How else would it be with their little group?

"Why're you being so nice to me over this?" The cod adds on after a moment, cautious, and has every right to be so.

Fwhip resists the urge to roll his eyes, and spits out the honest truth. He really wonders if Jimmy thought that lowly of him before, say, maybe twenty to thirty minutes ago. The half dragon wouldn’t be surprised if he did, not after everything. "I don't like you and I think you're annoying as hell, but I'm not cruel ."

"Thanks for that, I guess." Jimmy mumbles, sounding shocked and surprised again. Fwhip hears that tone, he’s heard it too many times today, and truly starts to wish the world would be kinder to this poor fishboy. Sans himself and his very justified hatred, of course.

"Don't thank me for treating you like a human being." The half dragon snorts, and fixes Jimmy with a look . He’s pretty sure the meaning of it goes right over the blonde’s head, too. The utter idiot “And we have that truce, remember? No being assholes ‘till we’re hitched?”

“Yeah…the truce. Almost forgot about that.” Jimmy mumbles, sounding a little thoughtful once again. Maybe he’s been full of thoughts this whole time, and Fwhip’s just shit at noticing. Or he’s running out of words to describe the cod, because they have never interacted like this before. He has a very limited vocabulary when it comes to describing Jimmy. Today he is running out of words he hasn’t used, and also adding new ones. “We’re not good at following it, are we?” Jimmy keeps talking, and Fwhip barely hears him, lost in his own thoughts it seems. He hated how easy that was to do.

(Adding new ones like sad , and mistreated , and stressed , and traumatized and a whole bunch of other words he has no more room for in the half dragon’s never ending whirlwind of a mind.)

“No, but I like to think we’ve gotten better.” He mumbles out a response, taking a few precious seconds to clear his head. They’ve certainly gotten better, or at least more tolerable of each other’s presence, because Fwhip isn’t pinning Jimmy into a wall and holding him hard enough to bruise anymore. They had to have gotten better, because his mental health hasn’t. Both of their have probably gotten worse over the years, actually.

“We have to be. Because they’re all buying it. Every single one of them.” Jimmy says, and it’s the most confident he’s sounded in a while, and will sound all day. He also sounds more than a little scared, and Fwhip can’t help but share the sentiment a bit.

“Good. Good.” He mumbles, and doesn’t want to admit that he feels some of the same fear. They are going along with this whole thing out of fear, it’s the whole reason why they’re even sitting here in the first place. Fear of judgment, of failure of duty, of disappointment. Of what their parents would say. Even if they don’t really talk about it, both of them know that’s what’s happening. Body language always says a lot more than both the boys wish it would.

Jimmy changes the topic back to their earlier, less daunting one. It seems a lot still weighs on his mind, which is to be expected with a situation and life like this. "I want to get…the surgery for it, but, ah.…my mum won't let me.."

"Well, maybe you can get it before the wedding….?" Fwhip threw out the suggestion lightly, and gave a small shrug of his shoulders. Before the wedding was a vague timeframe. Realistically, that could be as soon as they’re both legal adults, or within the next five years. But it was a time frame that they could aim for, and that was better than nothing. And if Jimmy's mom wouldn’t let him get that surgery, than Fwhip would be the one throwing him in front of the healers instead, shitty parents be damned.

He’d really had enough of shitty parents recently.

"Hmph, maybe…" Jimmy mumbles. He hopes the sound in the other’s voice is hope, faux or real. They need some positive emotions right now, he’s already feeling emotionally drained from the guilt and the shame and whatnot. It’s not even seven in the morning, either.

“The truce extends to that too, by the way.” Fwhip adds, nudging the others shoulder with his own. He feels a grin start to bloom on his face. One of his shit-eating ones that always makes Gem groan and Sausage mirror it.

The cod gives him a confused look, his face scrunching up with the feeling. He’s not despondent anymore, so that’s a win for Team Fwhip! Sadly the only win today, but he might get some more as the hours wear on, especially if he keeps this attitude up. “Whaddya mean?”

“That means if someone’s being a transphobe, I get to deck them in the face. Even when we're married.” Fwhip explains, his grin getting larger. He does one of his normal hand gestures as he speaks, like he does with all his other explanations. Jimmy, well accustomed to the half dragon’s quirks, pays it no mind.

“Even my mum?” Jimmy asks, and sounds a little stupid when he does.

Fwhip nods, and feels tension unknot itself and leave the cod’s body from where they’re still pressed together. “Even your mom.”

“Heh, thanks.” Jimmy giggles, eventually having to muffle the laughter with his hand after a few minutes. Aannddd that’s two wins for team Fwhip, all within a minute or so of the last one. He better savor these — and this rare companionship with Jimmy — while the moment allows and before their normal bickering starts up once again.

“Again, don’t thank me.” Fwhip shrugs again, his tail finally uncurling from around himself. He doesn’t need any comforting measures, not immediately anyways. The tense and upset mood from earlier is long gone, now replaced with something lighter, even if both the royal’s hearts are still heavy with a lot of things.

“Force of habit, being polite is.” The cod says, his own tail swishing dully against the floor. It’s good to see he’s cheered up, and not crying anymore. And also not having to think about all the terrible treatment he receives. It’s good.

“So I’ve noticed.” Fwhip snorts, watching as the other starts to stand up. Jimmy gives all his limbs a stretch, since they’re still probably stiff from the night’s rest, and then holds a hand down to the other boy. The half dragon takes it without any complaint, or grumbles under his breath about having to touch a fish. Jimmy just helps him up, and it's probably the most simple yet complex interaction they’ve ever had. To date, anyways.

The Prince then starts to move down the hallway, past his door to where Fwhip thinks the dining hall is. The dining hall and a million other passageways and rooms he can’t remember. Dumb castles and their dumb, beautiful architecture. “Let’s go get breakfast, or something.”

“And where are we going after that?” The ginger follows behind, already mentally preparing himself for another six or more hours of helping the dumb cod people out. Him and Jimmy might be cool for today, but that doesn’t mean he suddenly likes all that mud and grime the swamp carries. Jimmy hums, sounding a little cheeky, and like he has his own shit-eating grin now smeared across his face. “Well, mom never said we had to be in the Cod Empire today. I was just scheduled there for three days this week…”

“So we’re getting a free day?” Fwhip thinks everything about him visibly lights up, from his voice to his demeanor. The mere thought of a free day, of finally being able to hide in his guest room, or the castle’s library, or wherever this dumb kingdom invented stuff, was enough to make his tail wag slightly. Anything, literally anything , but the horrible swamps and gross water again was going to make him beam.

“Basically, yeah.” Jimmy confirms, turning a corner without even thinking. Fwhip envy's everyone who has the dumb Palace mapped out already, and doesn’t struggle getting around. So he basically envies everyone who lives there.

“Finally, time away from you.” The ginger huffs, gloved hands being shoved in his coat pockets. He tries to commit the winding corridors to memory again, and hopes it goes a little better this time.

“Finally.” Jimmy agrees, right as they reach the dining hall for breakfast. Either they walked really fast for some reason, or Fwhip’s memory of the place truly is horrible. He never thought it was that close to the bedrooms. But hey, they’re not serving fried salmon for breakfast again today, so as long as that keeps happening, he won’t complain about the proximity to food. Especially if a free day follows after it. He rarely ever gets free days, here or at home There’s always something, some project or dumb responsibility thing, to do. But now he’s finally getting one after what has to be months , maybe even years.

Maybe his stay in the Ocean won’t be so bad after all.

[buckxtommy]

Have you ever posted any speedpaints or beginning-end pieces before? I'd love to see more of what your process looks like! Really enjoy your art!

hi beloved! never posted speedpaints before (whenever i draw i keep having "side quests" where i get distracted from my original work and start drawing silly things on the same canvas esp when i'm bored so my speedpaints are embarrassing fjfj) but i can absolutely post beginning end pics for u w a detailed written walkthrough. <3

step 1: simple sketch. getting good at proportions requires a lot of anatomy study & figure drawing practice & letting go of idea that it has to be perfect <3

step 2: linework. so this is procreate's 6B pencil. it won't give you clean lines, you can zoom in and see that. it's not my favorite, i'm still in the process of discovering brushes and brushsets, and if you want to get more crisp & clean lines sharp inking brushes are the way to go.

this is also not very stylized, except i usually draw the eyes bigger than they are. i'm still trying to figure out what my style is, and i hope to have an established style one day.

step 3: laying down flat colors. i usually just pick mid tones for this.

step 4: shadows. one of the things i'm still trying to learn is soft and hard edges. this is also something you'll only get good at w practice

step 5: more shadows where you need them!

step 6: undertones!!!! honestly to me rendering skin is still one of the hardest things ab painting. we're not one solid color, we don't look homogenous. my tip for this step, don't be afraid of the colors (bec i used to be very much afraid of them fjfjd) we're not just beige or brown or dark brown. don't hesitate to put purple and pink and blue and yellow and orange while you're rendering the face bec we have all of those colors in our undertones.

step 7: putting some color in the shadows!

step 8: basic highlights. again there are soft and hard edges here too

step 9: the different lights.

step 10: i go through the same steps with lips and eyes, though i will rb this ask w a speedpaint of how i render eyes <3 i also put shadows and higlights on clothes on the same layer, just because i find that more convenient & easier. i also added details like the beard, tattoos, chest hair, highlights on the hair, and the background.

there you go! this is in no way a tutorial, i've been only learning how to draw digitally and this is like my 20th digital painting Ever, i still very much struggle with rendering and lights and shadows etc. but lots of practice & watching tutorials from artists u aspire to help a lot <3

one of the artists that give me insane artists envy is Likelihood Art, if you enjoy my art you would love hers!! she has a couple tutorials on her youtube channel too so i'd recc you to check those out <3

i hope this helped at least a little, i always feel like my process is kind of all over the place, i'm trying to get better at it too 🥹 thank u so much for the compliments!!!!! you made my day. mwah!

[fanfin-glutton]

Experimental Fashion

Plot: Eleazar and Miriam Fig have come to stay at the Inkwood’s residence in Massachusetts in America every so often, either for research purposes or just to visit. They have grown a special bond with the family, particularly with a little curious 8-year-old girl named Florence. One day she decided to dress up in some of her uncle and aunt’s clothes they had in their drawers in the guest room thinking they wouldn’t be home for a while. Boy was she wrong.

CW: Flash back, Angst, fluff, young toddler experiencing a slight panic attack, wholesome I promise lol

Authors note: This is a flashback into Eleazar Fig and Florence Inkwood’s past, it’s my first ever attempt at writing a short story like this so I apologize if there's any weird wording ;-; I’m working out the main storyline of their first interaction but it will take me a while as I am a full-time college student and have a full-time job as well. So for now, here's a little memory from the past. 

Proof read by the lovely @lilac-crown, thank you so much darling <3

You can read the full story here on AO3 

A young girl in a white homeware gown with long dark red fuzzy hair named Florence, about 8 years old, rummages through her uncle Eleazar and Aunt Miriam's drawers in the guest bedroom, trying on every article of clothing she finds. A variety of clothing lay skewed around the bedroom. She was exploring to see what exactly she would find but was most interested in her uncle’s clothing. She always wondered how it must feel to get the luxury of being able to run around freely without extra layers of fabric limiting the range of motion that men were so inherently given.

So when everyone would be out of the house, except her mother who was taking an afternoon nap in her bedroom upstairs after finishing up her daily chores, she took the opportunity to try some on. Usually, it would be a few hours before anyone came home so she would have enough time to put everything away, making it look like nothing had happened.

It's not because disliked her dresses; she thought they were all pretty but they could be a nuance when she was running around playing outside with the local children doing a handful of activities that required her to get dirty. Her mother would disapprove of her adventurous needs as they would result in some form of damage to her gowns. Thankfully when Miriam or her older sister, Victoria Inkwood, are around they can use their magic to clean/repair her garments far easier.

Her aunt and sister made wearing ankle-length dresses look easy as they went about their daily life, compared to Florence’s struggle with her knee-length dresses. It made her a tad bit envious of not being able to manage it the same as them.

She would try to see if her two older brothers, Lawrence and Edward, had any spares from when they were younger but to no success. Plus their room would almost always be locked when they were gone, probably to prevent a certain child from doing the same to them as it’s happening to the Figs. She would’ve tried on her father’s but she didn’t want him to mock her for it as he already made her inferior for not having any magical abilities like her older siblings. She is a year overdue for them to appear, she read up on other children in similar situations but only a handful never got their magical gifts.

She was also too afraid to tell her mother, she fears that she might get angry by such an odd desire in a girl her age, another added to the long list of undesirable quirks of Florence Inkwood, the family’s only squib. 

She shook off these thoughts as she zipped up the long, black pants, the majority of which gathered at her ankles. Her puffy sleeve-covered arms protruded out from the cuffs that were shoved up her arm, and her hands can barely be seen, in the oversized ash-purple frock coat that covered her dress and that was partially buttoned up. 

Miriam just so happened to have left her hat that was made of straw and was a light sand color with a faded blue ribbon tied around it on her nightstand. 

After carefully placing the hat on top of her long and fuzzy dark red hair, she finally looked into the mirror to see a mess of clothing on her person. She stared at herself for a good moment before bursting out into laughter at the odd silhouette the amalgamation of clothing made, the shaking of her whole being causing the hat to fall covering her eyes, she tried to stifle her giggles before tilting the hat back to regain her sight.

Her dress was bunched up underneath the Frock coat making her shoulders and torso look broad, the pants covering her feet completely in the excess fabric. She paused to study the frock coat, grazing her nimble fingers across all the repairs and subtle changes that gave it its character. It was one of her favorites that Eleazar owned. When he wears it, it fits him perfectly, and makes him look quite wise and strong, to her it makes him look powerful. From the many stories he told, she’d like to believe him wearing this exact coat during said tales.

Her attention shifts to the straw hat, grazing the rim of it. It was a rather lovely hat with a few stains on the ribbon and parts of the hat were weathered down from her travels as well, but Florence liked it nonetheless. She could imagine it sitting on her long, luscious, wavy black hair riddled with silver strains, which she sometimes wore down or half up in a messy braided bun. 

As much as she liked that hat, there was another accessory that Miriam had owned that she liked but wasn’t able to find. These round sun protection eyeglasses with a golden frame. The part of the frame holding the glass lens is extended back touching the face, almost cupping the eyes. An item she has never seen before. Yes, local people wore different types of eyeglasses but none were as unique as hers. They framed Miriam’s semi-round face nicely, the gold working beautifully with her light caramel skin and giving her an air of mystery. 

She oh so desired to explore and discover new things, to travel around the world just like her aunt and uncle had seen. Or even more. 

As she wore this outfit, the stronger her desire grew. Making her feel closer to it.

Suddenly, she straightens her posture before putting one hand behind her back and the other in a fist on her chest and making a serious face,

“Ah hello!” She does a rather stiff bow towards the mirror, pretending it to be a living being.

“Good weather we’re having?” She attempted in a fake deep voice, trying to impersonate her uncle. “Have you seen my beautiful wife? I must report back to her!” The hand she had on her chest shot up into the air with her index finger up to the sky. 

“For I must tell her… er…” her serious face softened while scrunching her brows to find the words. Quite a difficult task for an 8-year-old.

“That um… I have discovered… uh something! Yes!” Her body perked up and her golden hazel eyes twinkle, as if she had indeed discovered something. 

Which she just did.

She discovered she was being watched as she heard a soft giggle behind her, immediately she froze and all color left her face. The air in her lungs felt like they were pulled out of her. She glanced around in the mirror to see a set of two eyes peeking in from the doorframe.

Eleazar and Miriam were barely visible from Florence’s view, but she could make out Miriam’s fingertips covering her smirk and her eyes squinting in amusement while Eleazar did nothing to hide his agape mouth and wide eyes. 

Fear immediately hit Florence, causing shockwaves of anxiety through her body. She slowly turned towards them, her face failing to hide any of her internal thoughts.

“I-I… please, please don’t be mad-” the words stumbling out of her quivering mouth and she found her lungs malfunctioning, unable to take in air. Her little hands clenched onto the coat.

Miriam and Eleazar’s expressions immediately drop, Miriam rushes to her side, lowering herself to meet the child’s eye level. Eleazar closes the door behind him and tries to tiptoe to the two as Mrs. Inkwood was still napping upstairs, kneeling on one knee.

“My little love, breathe” Miriam's warm and husky voice whispers to Florence as she cautiously takes both of her trembling hands and holds them close to her face, Miriam’s deep hazel eyes looking into the little ones own eyes. “Please breathe with me,” she breathes in deeply, Florence shakily follows suit. Eleazar is doing the same as well.

“Good girl, now slowly out…” she breathed out, all three breathe out in unison, they do this a few more times until Florence’s shaking nearly stops. Eleazar softly places a hand on her upper back, rubbing slow and lazy eights across it.

As soon as her nervous system was soothed, her vision slowly blurred as her eyes filled with tears and little beads fell down her face as she started to choke back a sob. Eleazar felt as if someone was squeezing his heart at the sight of his dear little one in such a state, “Sweetheart, do you want a hug?” His voice is low, trying to keep a calm demeanor. She nodded and immediately both of the adults pulled her into a warm embrace,  Miriam quietly shushing her while patting her back gently.

“Love you are not in any trouble, okay?” She spoke into Florence’s hair as she nuzzled it. “I’m not…? You’re *sniffs* not upset…?” She murmured into Miriam’s chest.

Miriam kisses the top of her head before slowly pulling back, looking at her tear-stained face with a soft smile. “Oh, you could never upset us.” 

Eleazar quietly spoke, “I mean, how could anyone else get mad at such a dashing child such as yourself?” He leaned back to glance at her outfit, 

“Very stylish indeed, young one.” He beamed at her.

She glanced between him and her outfit before wiping her face with the coat sleeve. “You like it? Really like it?” 

Miriam and Eleazar quickly glance at each other before nodding in unison, “Yes darling, I think the colors suit you well” Miriam smirks in amusement, “I will say I think it’ll look better if the clothes fit you… perhaps a bit of shopping is in order, what do you say hm?” She tilted her head to the side with her question. Florence's eyes widened and began to sparkle, 

“Really?! Are there clothes like this for girls, Aunt Miriam?” 

She nodded, even if it wasn’t the entire truth. There aren't clothes tailored for girls in this style but she can surely find something similar in boy clothes. She glanced at her uncle, “Will you be joining us too Uncle El?” Eleazar felt one corner of his mouth tug into a smile at the old nickname. 

“Why of course, darling, just know that it’ll be her to style you… I wouldn’t have a clue about fashion. But between you and me, I think the coat looks better on you.” he whispered as he leaned closer with a hand up to hide his mouth from his beloved wife, earning a small smile from Florence. 

Miriam chuckles before the couple stands back up, Miriam dusting herself off before scooping up Florence in her arms. “Now, we must ask your mother of course.” Florence’s face grimaced slightly, prompting Miriam to bring her face closer to hers.

“Let's say that we’re just going for a walk, hm?” She raised an eyebrow, making Florence immediately perk up with excitement. Eleazar smiled as he wrapped an arm behind Miriam’s back bringing them into his chest.

“Well firstly, let’s clean up this room before we go. Wouldn’t want to make your mother think some hooligan ransacked our room.” He nuzzles the top of Florence’s head while Miriam leans and pulls in Florence to kiss her on the cheek.

Florence giggles happily, her cheeks blushing from her excitement. 

Oh how loved she felt when she was with them, she never felt more at home.

Tag list: @endeavour12345 (If you’d like to be added to any future updates on this story line, please let me know and I’ll add you to the notification list!)

[spacemimz]

What is your process when doing fully rendered art! I've always loved looking at how detailed they are

I can show you with a couple screenshots of a current wip

1. I start out with a super rough sketch. For people it's a basic skeletal sketch of where what body part goes. For background sketches it's just vague shapes in the places where I'd like them to be.

2. Clean up time baby!! That's the stage where my vague shapes turn into full shapes. It's also the stage where I settle on details.

This is what a clean sketch looks like. Mind you not every detail I sketch is something I do in lineart, some things are just colors

3. Lineart woo-hoo!

This is what finished lineart looks like for me. What I also do is paint in shadows on my lineart layer for more depth and to give myself visual clarity too

4. Colors. For big pieces like this one right here I already color code the setting, give the whole thing a vibe

See this? No shading, that's all just coloring. Coding the colors this way minimizes the amount of layers I need to shade plus I tend to work on max. 3 color layers anyway. What I do for big pieces like this is color normally, then adjust the value and all that with a separate layer and merge everything. The minimum layer approach is something I picked up on when I was using ibis paint x on my phone in 2014 I think? Back then I had 3 layers to work with and I made that count and I guess that never left

5. ~shading~✨️ aka my favorite part aka the part where everything comes together. The shading really depends on the vibe and thing I'm drawing. Some shading is complex and some shading is simple. It's definitely the most fun part

6. Detailing. That's what I do afterwards stuff like rim lighting or texturing! Tho texturing is something new im trying. I'm kind of sick of my art looking flat sooo I use a variety of brushes to help with that. Genuinely think it looks good, makes my stuff look more alive

7. Sign it. I cannot stress this enough. SIGN YOUR WORKS!!! WHATEVER IT IS, SIGN IT!! I put my signature in places it's difficult to remove because you never ever know if some bloke wants to steal or not. Protect your creative property and sign it, watermark it. Make sure that people know it's yours and yours only

Wow that got long I'm sorry! But that's basically my process from start to finish, wait I forgot the collapse after I'm done oh well not that important hahaha