#and I just really wanted to try out those watercolor brushes on a full piece

[spyderschaos]

Oh to have a dragon best friend

[viridian-rat]

((OOC: Is that art of the Pikachu traditional, or is it digital but meant to look like it’s traditional? If it’s the latter then, from one traditional artist to another, please tell me how you got the picture quality to be so good.))

// Hihi! Always willing to help a fellow artist out!

For the first question, it’s a traditional watercolor piece! With this blog I’m always trying to emulate Sugimori’s gen 1 art style, so I try to use watercolors for the blog whenever I can! I’ve tried doing the digital watercolor made to look traditional before but it just. never really comes out the way I want it? Genuinely its just easier for me to bust out the ol’ watercolors n do that shit irl. I’ll get to those materials in a sec, actually!

For the second question, tbh all I did for the picture quality was take a top-down with my phone and crop it? I CAN tell you that it’s better to take a picture at x1 rather than try to zoom in, as the camera quality dips significantly if you try to zoom in or out.

Here’s the full picture I took. I just cropped it afterwards.

Other tips I can give for picture quality is uhhh

Make sure your area is well-lit! Phone cameras will automatically try to compensate for dimly lit areas by increasing the ISO, which adds visual noise and dips the quality.

Hold the camera still. A moving camera creates blur. Cool for abstract photography, not so much for capturing traditional art lmao

Clean the lens. If you notice that your photos seem a bit fuzzy and… heaven-like? Might be a sign your lens is hella smudged. Run a cloth over that thang.

Try to take the photo from a top-down view! Taking the photo from an angle distorts the art. I know iPhone has a fuckinnnnn feature to fix angle distortions but I’m gonna be so fr w/ you I wouldn’t rely on it to solve this issue.

Be careful not to cast a shadow with you or your phone. If you are, don’t be afraid to take a step back! Remember that you can always crop it later! Crop, not zoom!

And as for the materials! uhhh hold on lemme grab the fucjin.

The watercolors are this Artistro watercolor paint set I got on Amazon. A fellow art student recommended these to me and tbh I love using them when I can. It comes with a watercolor brush that has a water compartment in the brush itself, which is really fuckin neat tbh.

The pens are your standard Micron pens that most traditional artists like to use. The ones I used in the art itself are raised slightly. Don’t mind the dirt or whatever on them, the heat melted the rubber band I used to bind them together and got stuck on ‘em :/

Something to take note of with watercolors is the kind of paper you’re using for it! Different papers will grab onto watercolors differently— you’ll want more thicker, more porous/rougher paper for watercolors. Smoother and thinner paper is harder for the paint to soak into— you risk the paint running or taking longer to dry, or oversoaking and tearing the paper.

If you don’t feel like going hunting for dedicated watercolor paper (aka me), then a safe bet is to use mixed media paper! There’s tons of sketchbooks in fuckin uhhh Walmart or whatever that will say “Mixed Media” on them. Those are always a safe shot since they’re fairly porous and thick.

I’m down to answer any more questions you may have on @turtblurts-pkmnirl-hub!

[upsidedownsmore]

Hi!! I was wondering if its okay to ask what brushes u normally use in krita? I love your art!!

Thank you so much!!! I only use the ones available in Krita by default and I tend to jump around based on what I think will work best for each piece, but I can give a little rundown on which ones I use the most and what I use them for :)

Here's an image guide with each of the brushes I've used and that I recommend checking out:

I'll highlight my favorites as well with some examples where they were predominantly used! (though in some cases multiple or even all of these brushes were used)

Marker Details:

Varying opacity and size makes this one my favorites for sketching, especially since it can easily be nearly transparent or fully opaque which helps with value range.

I also like using it for silhouette sketches!

It can also be used for final linework, but it takes more work to get to a full opaque and its lack of texture makes it a little less interesting than Ink-7 Brush Rough imo.

Ink-7 Brush Rough:

Really good for linework, especially for comic styled drawings with it's slight texture, varying weight, and opaqueness.

Also good for just filling in entire areas with a single color as well as non-smoothed shading!

Wet Bristles Rough:

Actually just an amazing brush, its pressure sensitivity is crazy.

Blends strokes like paint and can vary in size and opacity.

Also has a nice subtle texture!

Amazing for smoother coloring and shading, especially if you want a more painterly style.

Watercolor Texture:

(hard to show examples of this, just assume that I've used it in any piece that has smooth shading lol)

Not the best for painting/drawing on its own, however I've found it to be really useful when set to white or black on an overlay layer for adding extra shading and/or highlighting on top of the shading I've already done.

I usually shade individual figures, objects, and parts separately, but using an overlay layer with Watercolor Texture (or even Shapes Square) on top of everything helps make the entire piece feel more cohesive.

Also adds a hint more texture!

Another thing to note is the importance of layer modes!

I know that you asked about brushes specifically, but many of these brushes (particularly those to do with effects and textures) work best when experimenting with different layer modes other than Normal. Overlay is generally a safe bet and most of the best for, well, overlaying multiple layers for interesting effects. But please try out all of them at any given opportunity, sometimes things like Burn, Color Dodge, Soft Light, etc can have more interesting effects!

In addition, mess with filter masks! You can even edit where they apply by drawing on the mask directly! HSV/HSL Adjustment (also accessible with ctrl+u) in particular is INSANELY useful for fiddling with the colors and balance of a piece, from individual layers to whole groups and drawings. I also really like blur filters, often times I'll duplicate a layer and make the bottom one blurred to add a glow affect to something without losing its definition.

While this latter stuff isn't about brushes specifically, its generally very important to how I use and experiment with all these different brushes!

Anyways I hope this helps!! I kinda went overboard with this post, but I had a lot of fun writing it! Thank you again for the wonderful ask!! :)

[transformersweatpants]

Can you make like, a watercolor tutorial? Cause I've been trying to learn watercolor since I was baby and can never figure it out ❤

Hell yeah!! This tutorial might suck so my apologies and since I’m not sure where you’re at I’m just gonna start with everything I can think to say, and in terms of materials I’m just gonna tell ya what I use, but hopefully this’ll work for whatever you’ve got as long as it’s not a crayola set (that’s what I started on so I can say will full authority those are bad)

My deepest apologies to everyone abt the length of this post djdjdj I don’t freakin know how to do the read more thingy

So! To start, these are just the materials I use:

I use this portable set from Amazon, it’s lasted a while and the paints are really quite good for it being $15, It comes with a lot of variance in colors and shades, though I mix most of my colors myself! The white in that palette isn’t too great so for fixing mistakes I use this! It works pretty well for fixing any mistakes watercolors are wont to make.

I buy my brushes at Joann Fabrics And Crafts store, though I think most art stores will have a good selection. Joann’s usually has really good thin long brushes which are super useful since I paint small, as well as large and pointed brushes for painting large swaths of paint. I recommend having one or two of each, here’s a picture of the ones I use regularly and a paint covered ruler for reference!

Currently for all of my taz art I’ve been using this Arteza sketchbook (just in general be careful of your finger/hair oils touching the paper, that sketchbook especially will cause the watercolor to not adhere to the page if I touch it too much, so I just put a little scrap of paper under my hand while I paint and sketch and it works great) but for my professional work I use this Canson brand, if you’d like just a visual kind of reference for how I paint, albeit edited (I promise, it’s a lot less of a satisfying and fast process unedited) I do painting videos on tiktok!

Palette

So! Mixing paints. I’ll get to color theory in a second, but mixing your own colors is good to do, and most paint sets will come with a palette to use, but if they don’t any slick white surface will do! I use a big ol piece of glass from a frame and the white backing from it.

Swatching

I always do little test swatches before I lie the actual color down! It helps so ya don’t mess up colors, it’s become kinda muscle memory for me but usually just lil swatches like a couple centimeters wide and an inch long is probably gonna be enough for you to know if the color is how you want it!

Size

Just wanna say: I paint really small! The largest my paintings get is like 5 inches tall, and that’s usually only for my professional stuff, but I dunno if you’d like to do that! If you paint big, just be careful of using too much water or your paper will warp! It’s not the end of the world though, and use of water is something that definitely took me a sec to learn.

Drying

Make sure to let stuff dry! If you’re painting sections, for example like this painting I did, I let the red dry completely before painting the yellow! Or else those bois would’ve bled together, but if you wanna use that to your advantage, go ahead and mess with watercolor textures! Also If you’re using a lot of pigment, it’ll take longer, just don’t make the mistake I’ve made many a time in touching the not dry yet paint! But!! Be wary: watercolors are tricky bastards and if you want a smooth coat of paint, work fast! Or else some parts’ll dry and you’ll get a wonky coat, this isn’t all too worrisome except when you’re painting skin tones!

Pigment

Okay so pigment to water ratio is a tricky thing, and I must admit it probably comes with a bit of practice as dumb as that is to hear, but I’ll try and give ya some tips on how how to implement it!! So for my fanart work on here I don’t use a lot of pigment since I don’t use that many super saturated and flat colors, unlike in my tiktok stuff where I do thick coats of paint for maximum visual asmr stuffs or whatever. It also probably depends on the paints you’re using, but I’d recommend trying to find a consistency that isn’t too thick, or else it’ll be really weird to work with, and always remember to mix enough of a color before you start painting with it!!

Colors and unifying them

Unifying your colors can be a dope trick! Basically like instead of using a bright green and a bright blue and yellow and pink for a color scheme you can change each color depending on if you want like a warm tone or a dark/blue tone! So the bright green would turn into an army green, the yellow would get orangier, the blue would be kinda greyish, and so they’ll all fit nicer with the pink or reds and the piece will be soft and nice on the eyes! Some examples of how if unified colors and stuff in my work below! Also I should say, I use a lot of edits to get it this warm toned! On my iPhone there’s a lil slider for warmth and tints and stuff

So I’m a big fan of warm and orangey toned stuff so for mixing paint here’s the color you’d add to make one color less bright and more neutral so it doesn’t clash with the other colors! This gets into color theory which there are probably some great YouTube videos on! This mixing also goes vice versa.

Blue: add orange, green: add red, Red: add green to make a nice brown or a skin tone, yellow: add purple.

Also! Watercolors are tricky when mixing, basically you’re not always gonna get a perfectly saturated vibrant color when you mix two colors together like red and blue to make purple, so it’s usually just best to use a purple watercolor if you have it.

painting light:

This is honestly something I’ve just recently been incorporating into my work and I don’t have a great way to explain it so I’ll just give a few references. Painting light and shadow isn’t nescessary but if you wanna do it here’s a kinda easy way to:

Painting shadow

For shadows don’t just use grey or black! This usually can make a piece desaturated (or so I have been told) so instead you can use a blue or maybe a red or pink depending on if you’re painting skin or not! Also if you wanna add just a bit of dimension to your piece but don’t wanna go overboard on the shadows, i usually just paint a lil half triangle under the chin!

Blush

It’s not nescessary but it’s a way I’ve found fun to make the characters look more human and cute! Just on the ears, fingertips, knuckles, knees, shoulders, nose if you draw noses, elbows, and toes should do the trick!

black paint

Black is an extremely tricky color to paint with! Sometimes if you’re painting like a goth outfit for example and you have a lot of overlapping black shapes, it’s hard to differentiate them and so I usually do these weird lil lines to show distinction between things!

Lastly, I hope you have lots of fun and tons of success in whatever form that may come in! Let me know if you have any more questions or clarifications or details! Sorry this took me so long! <3

[alby-rei]

Paint My World in Shades of You (Vincent x MC)

a/n: Happy birthday Vincent <3 

[Characters]: MC, Vincent, Theo

[Genre]: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

[Warning]: None

{Paint my World in Shades of You}

I was sitting in Vincent’s room on his couch while he painted. His eyes were trained on the beautiful arrangement of flowers that rested against the window.

My eyes were trained on him; I was obsessed with his side profile. I loved the way his eyes shone with concentration, and his jaw relaxed and tensed as he worked. Suddenly, his serious expression lit up in laughter.

“When you look at me like that, I can’t help but lose focus.”

“Ah—I’m so sorry! I just—” My face heated up considerably, I must be a roasted tomato by now, “I really like watching you paint. It fascinates me so much how you create such wonderful paintings, and I was… taking mental notes of your technique,” and your face, and your arms, and your fingers, and-

“Have you painted, too, in your time?”

“Mmhm,” I nodded with enthusiasm, “though I’m still very much a beginner. I enjoy painting with a friend more than I do when I’m alone.”

“Oh?” Vincent set his palette down and faced me fully, “I can get you a canvas if you want to paint with me.”

“Right now?? I mean I’ve never worked with oil paints before… just acrylic and watercolor.”

Vincent rummaged through his supplies behind his desk, taking out a case full of paint tubes.

“I’ve got watercolors right here,” he shot me an excited smile, and my heart fluttered. How was I so lucky to have such an adorable boyfriend?

I wasn’t used to painting on large canvases— though it was still small compared to his— so I felt pretty intimidated just staring at the blank white abyss in front of me.

“What’s wrong?”

“I… don’t know where to start,” I looked back at him sheepishly.

I waved my paint-less brush on the canvas, shifting my gaze between the flower bouquet and the canvas to make a mental sketch. I caught sight of Vincent’s work in progress, and I had an idea.

“Hey Vincent, do you mind if I… copy you?”

“Hm?” He quirked his head to the side. 

“I want to learn how to paint like you, that’s how I’ve always learned actually— by watching others.”

His eyes widened, and he stuttered uncharacteristically. His gaze softened, as a small blush crept up his cheeks, and he looked back at his own unfinished work.

“Well, if that’s what you want to do, then I’m all for it.”

“Yay!” I clapped my hands in excitement. 

Vincent didn’t have an extra easel, so he suggested I use his. But I insisted that I can work without one. I brought a stool and dragged it close to his and started watching his every move.

“So first, I mixed these colors…” he stretched his arm out to display his color palette. It was a beautiful mess of oil paints, with a large white spot in one corner.

Time flew as we enjoyed the moment in each other’s company doing what we both love. 

“I’m not sure how to make this shade…” I pouted, staring at my messy palette.  

“The trick is to get a bit of ochre yellow in the mix, and then…”            

We talked on and on as we painted together. I tried to keep my focus on the bouquet, but I always ended up leaning over to see Vincent’s own painting.

“Your painting should capture how you­ see the world, MC.”

“I know… but I can’t get it to stand out the same way yours does,” I confessed. 

Vincent’s soft laughter eased my anxiety. I mixed some colors together blindly to try to create the right shade I’m looking for.

“Hey! That’s a great shade of purple you got. How did you make it?” He asked me with child-like curiosity and excitement.

I told him honestly that I didn’t know how, and we sat and experimented together. In a way, it gave me a confidence boost to see him try so hard to replicate the shade that I accidentally made. 

Clearly, I had lost track of time because the sun was gone, and the lamp in Vincent’s room was the only source of light left. I didn’t even notice the change, so when I looked up from my work, I had to rub my eyes to adjust.

“Oh boy, I didn’t realize I was so focused. I think I got a small headache…” I brought a hand up to apply pressure on my forehead.

“Are you ok, MC?” Instantly, Vincent was by my side, one hand caressing my arm as I sat on his couch to regain my bearings.

It took a second, but the world stopped spinning. I took a deep breath and looked up, smiling to reassure Vincent. Worry was written all over his face, bordering guilt.

“Don’t look so down, Vinnie~ It’s nothing serious,” I giggled, scratching the back of my head.

I looked between my canvas and his. I was really proud of how it turned out! His painting definitely had better defined lines and clearer contrasts in all the right places. Mine was less impressive in my eyes, but still a full image of the bouquet, no less.

“What do you think of my painting?” I nodded towards my canvas.

“It’s beautiful just like its artist,” he brought my paint-stained hand up to his lips and gently kissed my knuckles.

“Oh you…!” I punched him jokingly with my free hand.

“Mm… I meant it,” he laughed along, shielding his arm from further assault, “I’m a lucky man to be able to share my passion with my sweetheart.”

“Vincent, you’re too sweet.” I wrapped my arms around him, hiding my tomato-red face in his chest.

I felt his arms wrap around me, too, and we sat there in comfortable silence. The smell of oil paints and flowers wafted in the air around us, as his arms squeezed me securely. It was like we were left in our own bubble and time itself had stopped for us to enjoy this moment. I pulled away eventually, needing to wash my hands and help Sebastian with dinner. Looking outside again, I realized I was already late… woops.

“I have to go prepare dinner with Sebas soon, so I’ll see you later?”

I reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. He turned his head and captured my lips with his. How am I supposed to say goodbye like this? The thought of leaving this room, this bubble of ours, felt like I was leaving a paradise behind.

“Don’t go just yet…” He pleaded with his eyes shimmering under the glow of the lone lamp.

“How about this: I’ll go wash my hands, then come back to clean up with you. Then, we’ll walk together to the kitchen, deal?”

He nodded, “Deal.”

I went to the guest bathroom room across the hallway. Paint was a lot harder to wash off than I thought. I scrubbed at it with soap, making sure not to damage my skin in the process.

It took a solid while, so I hurriedly dried my hands and made my way back to Vincent’s room. I was standing outside when I heard—

“…and what do we have here?” A chuckle, “Were you teaching a kid how to paint?” It was Theo.

Theo and I… didn’t get along. Maybe our humor just didn’t align, maybe he didn’t appreciate walking in on us that one time when he… shouldn’t have. And maybe I was too sensitive for his bluntness. But we made an unspoken truce to avoid conflict with each other for Vincent’s sake. At least, I thought we did. 

Before Vincent got a chance to speak, Theo was already inspecting the foreign painting in art-dealer mode. 

“Hmm… the colors are dull, and the strokes are uneven. If they thought they could imitate you, they’ve clearly got a long way to go,” he scoffed.

“Theo, that’s not—”

“And who asked you, huh?” I couldn’t stand aside and let him talk about me or my painting like that. It meant a lot to me; it embodied my precious time with Vincent.

“So the pup wanted to paint, eh? I guess I shouldn’t have expected much, then.”

I was about to give him an earful, but Vincent stepped in.

“That’s enough, Theo! MC and I painted this together. So, if you think it looks like a child’s work, then you’re saying that about me, too.”

“What…? No! I didn’t mean—” He shook his head, choosing to stare at the wall instead. He sighed, scratching the back of his head sheepishly, “I’m sorry I said those things, hondje. I didn’t mean to upset you.”      

Well, that was fast. At least he’s being civil about it.

“I-it’s fine… I’m just an amateur anyway,” I hugged my arms, looking away as I tried to calm myself. I was shaking, whether it was from anger or embarrasment, I didn’t know.

The silence was killing me, so I made to start tidying up my station. I blinked away the oncoming tears—I had nothing to cry about! I enjoyed painting with my boyfriend, and Theo apologized.

So, I kept blinking. Discretely.

Or at least as discretely as I thought I was.

Theo dropped the supplies he brought in for Vincent, talked to him for a bit, and left. I wasn’t paying attention to their conversation. 

“MC…”

Vincent’s voice broke me out of my thoughts. I sensed the guilt rising in his voice, so I rushed back to hug him in reassurance.

“…don’t worry, Vinnie,” I nuzzled my head into his chest, not realizing my tears had spilled onto his apron, “it’s not like I’m a professional artist anyway, he was just stating his opinion.”

His strong arms wrapped around me firmly, rocking me back and forth as he spoke.

“You are an artist just like me, with your own unique view. That, in itself, is a valuable treasure that no one can take from you,” he pulled away to stare into my tear-streaked eyes with his own saddened cerulean eyes.

Then he smiled gently, soothingly, “Art isn’t about perfection, it’s about self-expression… about sharing your world on a canvas. Today, you shared a piece of your world on my canvas, and it is my greatest honor.”

I was speechless, I couldn’t find the words to express the pride, the elation, the utter admiration I had for Vincent and his ability to always say the right things to cheer me up.

“…Thank you, Vincent. I-I really appreciate it,” I smiled brightly up to him, and my tears flowed freely down my cheeks.

He brought his right hand up to wipe away the tears, using his thumb to caress the side of my face. Try as I might, I couldn’t blink back the tears fast enough before they spilled silently down my face. I wasn’t mad, or sad even. I was just really extremely happy. It’s hard for me to explain though, and Vincent held my face in his strong hands and kissed every tear as they fell.

“We should do this again,” he declared, his hold on me never faltering, “I want to display your paintings all over my room until every part of it is immersed in the world you create.”

[lavalampelfchild]

Lava’s Art Masterpost

Hey, all!  Welcome to my art masterpost!  I have no idea if this is a thing that is done typically for art, but oh well, I like organizing things, so here we are!  What you’ll find here is mostly Dragon Age, with a few non-DA pieces in there, and there’s a range of styles I like to use, depending on my mood.  But a lot of what you’ll see will most likely combine lineart with some other form of coloring/shading.

Feel free to browse at your leisure, and I hope anyone who stumbles upon this enjoys what they find! :D And thank you to anyone who sees this and likes, or reblogs, or even just stops by to peruse a bit!  

All that said, away we go!

Digital Portraits:

1. Portrait of Nameless Woman, 2020 - This one is just an experiment with a watercolor brush that I did.  It’s not anatomically perfect, but I enjoyed playing around with shading.

2. Sketch of Aja Amell, 2020 - This one is basically sketch practice with my Amell~  Not really the most expressive pictures, but it’s a start toward drawing her more expressively.  Full disclosure: Aja is one of those OCs of mine that I have had trouble with deciding on a definitive appearance for several pictures, and I really want to work on upping my level of consistency when drawing her.

3. Long-Haired Fenris, 2020 - Exactly what it sounds like; this was for practice drawing Fenris’s features (I love how distinct they are), but with long hair because I am weak for it.  This one was a fun piece to shade, and mixing the stylized lineart that I normally use with a greyscale shading spectrum was really enjoyable.

4. Portrait of Ilorin Lavellan, 2016 - This is an oldie.  Basically practicing expressions, and it is technically a WIP, but I’m still very happy with how the shading turned out, especially because this is actually (aside from the unfinished hair) one of the more minimal pieces I’ve done in terms of lineart  It’s still there, and it still shapes the flow of the picture in some ways, but it also ends up flowing with the shading instead of standing out next to it, which I like.  (Both styles are good, though, and I love seeing other artists try both too.)

5. Old Portrait of Aja Amell, 2016 - Much older picture I did of Aja; she... honestly looks very little like the newer one, I think, and that consistency is something I’m still working on, but this one was the first picture of Aja with that particular hairstyle I drew.  What I like about this picture is how young she looks; it fits with her image as a fresh and sheltered Circle mage who’s only about 20 years old at the time of DAO.

6. Old Portrait of Trilyn, 2016 - They very first piece of art I posted to tumblr~ It’s not exactly how I envision Trilyn anymore, but it was still very fun to draw, and helped me get a feel for drawing him in the future. 

Dynamic Movement Pictures/”Moment’s in Time”:

1. Tabris in Arl’s Estate, 2020 - TW: blood.  I am super proud of this one.  My ultimate goal is to draw all of my Warden DAO OCs, and I could not believe I’ve never drawn my Tabris, and so here she is.  This was, in large part, practicing expressions because I absolutely love art that depicts characters in motion, or capturing some kind of expression.

2. Velyn in the Rain, 2017 - This one was actually based on some art that I saw in a Teen Wolf fic!  It was an experiment with a more expressive style (and one of the first pieces I did without lineart left in the finished version) and it was a huge step out of my comfort zone.  But overall, I am extremely happy with how it turned out.

3. Jem Nocking an Arrow, 2016 - And here is the lineart version.  This was entirely an excuse to draw my DAI baby, Jem, and to do a cool archer pose because archers are my fav, and I love characters in motion.

4. Solas Teaching Trilyn Fade Magic, 2016 - This one was a painterly picture that was also (like the Velyn picture) something which I tried to keep lineart out of.  Overall, I am proud of a lot of parts of the pic, but I think I would definitely go back over it and change a few things now if I had the patience.

5. Trilyn Closeup WIP, 2016 - TW: injury, blood, mention of abuse in the author’s note.  A lot of early pictures I have are of my OC, Trilyn, and this is one of my absolute favorites.  His entire upper body is technically in the picture, but I hadn’t finished rendering it yet, so this was what I posted.  And it was an experiment with a cross-hatching style with the pencil tool for some texture, with air brush shading and a blurring tool.  It’s a style I had fun playing around with!

6. Trilyn Blood Ritual, 2016 - TW: blood, injury (the slight cut used to supply the ritual with blood).  This one was definitely a sort of “captured moment” from a backstory I gave Trilyn, and I think what I was really going for was an atmospheric piece that could fit with any potential fic I wanted to write for Trilyn.  And then it ended up being practice for extreme lighting/shading techniques, and drawing the blood and the gross mass of demon ichor (or whatever the heck that is) turned out to be highlights of making the piece for me.

Art + Text:

1. Freedom and Control, 2020 - TW: scars, but very difficult to see.  This one was ambitious for me!  It started originally just as Solas and my Tal-Vashoth OC, Saara, facing each other, because I love the dynamic I’ve built for them in my head, but then it turned into an attempt at a tarot-esque background, and just sorta grew from there... Overall, I’m happy with how it turned out, especially with how Solas and Saara themselves turned out.  The version you can actually see a larger view is here.  

2. Marianna and Delia Codex and Art, Pt. 1, 2020 - I love writing my own codex entries, first off, and I love combining art with text to create a (hopefully) seamless work.  This work was an attempt to flesh out these OCs of mine with both art (because unique facial structures are hard for me to get down, but so important regardless) and text (because writing~).  I think it turned out well overall, but there are elements of the portraits that I might at some point touch up a bit.

3. Marianna and Delia Codex and Art, Pt. 2, 2020 - Part 2, with what I refer to as a “DAI Outfit Change” because I have always loved seeing fans show their own OCs as they look in DAO, DA2, and then finally DAI.  So I absolutely wanted to jump on that bandwagon myself.  The skin tones are a little off (and I’m sorry about that!) because I was playing with the watercolor brush at that point, and it dilutes the colors I use.  Still working to figure that out, but I was very happy with the overall lineart and structures of the faces.

4. Alistair/Aja Amell Picture with a Blurb, 2017 - Ooooold, old, old, old, OLD!  I still love the art, and I’m soooo happy with how the interaction between Alistair and Aja turned out (drawing kisses is extremely difficult for me; I always end up creating a distorted weird lip-creature, instead of realistically puckered lips...).  I’m not as happy with the blurb that went with it?  At that point, I was still very much figuring out my own DAO worldstate, and the characterization for everyone, so, eh.  Take it with a grain of salt!

Unfinished Costume Designs:

1. Ancient Elvhen Armor with Dwarven Influence, 2018 - People who do costume design work are amazing and mystical beings, and I wish I could do what they do.  This was an attempt at merging the Keeper robes from DAI with a more dwarven armor aesthetic, solely because I created an ancient elvhen character, Ceda, who was taken in by the Cad’halash dwarves mentioned in the Witch Hunt dlc, and I wanted this character to have a mix of the elven style of armor and the dwarven style.  I’m overall decently happy with it, but there’s still that persistent level of self-criticism present.

2. Herald of Andraste Outfit WIP, 2016 - This was a very old picture, not one I showed around a lot, but the idea for this was entirely born of my intense interest in how fashion and outfit designs could be used to create a symbolic image for the Herald of Andraste.  In general, I love the combination of ceremonial armor with long and flowing cloth, so that was what I went for here.  I’m still actually very proud of how this came out, and headcanon something similar for my Herald in my canon DAI worldstate.

Pencil Sketches:

1. Quick Saara Sketch, 2019 - TW: saarebas mouth scars.  Exactly what it says; very quick sketch of Saara I did in a small notebook I carry around with me.  This was basically a test for myself to see if I could manage to draw Saara with the features and facial structure I envisioned for her without needing to use a lot of references.

2. Mass Effect Character Sketch; Jesse, 2018 - Similar reason for drawing this one as the above Saara sketch!  With these characters, I love sometimes the way they can turn out with the specific character creator used for them, and when I draw them, I enjoy trying to create a definitive look for them using what I get from the CC, and my own knowledge of Hooman Faces.

3. Saara Sketch, 2017 - TW: saarebas mouth scars.  A more detailed sketch of Saara than the one above, and one I definitely put more time into overall.  It’s currently the profile picture I’m using for ao3, and is the definitive go-to reference picture I use whenever imagining Saara in a fic, or for other Saara pics I make.  I am extremely proud of this picture, and feel like I should work in graphite more often.  It’s such fun, and the texture is so nice to look at.

4. Sketch of Nameless Alamarri Woman, 2017 - This was a sketch I did of what I envisioned some Alamarri tribes to look like; I used artistic depictions of Gaul tribes and hairstyles for inspiration, and have used this as a go-to reference for my version of Alamarri tribes.  Nothing super notable about this one, but I really liked the way the shape of her face turned out.

Events and Gifts:

1. Another Scar, 2020 - TW: blood, injuries, gore.  The most recent piece of art on the list, and a gift for @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold; featuring sisterly love between Rica and fem!Brosca, which was her requested prompt.  This was a tough piece for me because of the difficulty with the lighting I dealt with.  For some reason, that one particular element of it gave me so much trouble.  Overall, I’m very happy with how it turned out, though, especially the skin tones of the sisters; Brosca I always sort of like as having this greyish, more gaunt look to her, while Rica I like seeing with a darker, richer, and warmer tone to her.  

2. A Very Cousland Christmas!, 2019 - This was for a holiday exchange for a server, and I drew a friend’s Cousland (Elissa, the girl on the left) with my Cousland (Gazza, the girl on the right).  I love kid-fic, and I love kid-art, and so I decided... baby Cousland art!  Drawing kid proportions was the toughest part, I recall, and I thiiiink it turned out well, and I’m still quite proud of it overall.  Elissa’s design came entirely from my friend, but I added the holly~

3. Exchange Gift with Dis Brosca and Mabari, 2018 - This was an exchange gift for @fanfoolishness, using her lovely Dis Brosca, and was my first real attempt at backgrounds... I struggled with the coherence of the foreground and background a bit, but I’m still very proud of how it turned out, especially with the colors I had to work with.  What I also really enjoyed working with was the lighting and the expression on Dis’s face.  Backlit subjects are always fun to play around with!

4. Inktober Picture, “Deep”, 2017 - TW: scars, injury, mentions of abuse in the author’s note/attached dialogue snippets.  This was for an Inktober prompt (the only one I’ve ever done, sadly... because I am bad with deadlines...), and again features Trilyn.  Trilyn’s backstory has him a former slave in Tevinter, and a lot of the early works I do for him are sort of deep-dives into his life there.  It’s all meant to be an exploration of the things he endures, and then those moments when he overcomes it all and takes back his own autonomy and self.  This art is definitely provocative, and I can understand if not everyone likes it, but to me, I just wanted to show just what he faces (without glorifying it) before showing the moment of his own triumph.

5. Christmas Holiday Picture with my Brosca and a Friend’s Amell, 2017 - This was a piece of art drawn first by a friend of mine, @nanahuatli~  She drew the Amell, the background, the mistletoe, etc.  All I did was add my Brosca to the mix to finish the image.  It was a lot of fun to do, 1) because it was fun trying to match her style so that the picture looked cohesive, 2) because I love doing collabs with friends, and 3) because it was just such a fun thing to imagine my surly short Brosca, looking at this weird plant/fungus/thing dangling over some puckering human!  It was an absolute joy to do this collab with her!  

6. OC Kiss Week Pic of Jem and Saara, 2017 - TW: saarebas mouth scars.  A spur-of-the-moment thing meant to demonstrate just what kind of dynamic my OC, Jem, has with my other OC, Saara (both of whom are members of Leliana’s network in DAI).  This was a very quick picture (deadlines...) and was mostly just to have fun drawing these two characters interacting, and to see if I could make them look like themselves.  I think I did a decent job with it overall, especially with Jem’s kissy-face!  (Again... drawing kisses are the bane of my existence, although hands and feet take a close second.)

[meme-loving-stuck]

tips from a broke artist

I know there's dozens posts like this but I'm just thinkin about stuff i wish i knew when i started so

Paper:

Depends on what media you're using! Sketch paper is fine for dry media like charcoal/chalk/pencil/pen.

If you do washes or heavy ink or watercolor, get mixed-media or watercolor paper

Alcohol-based markers will usually bleed if you use them on sketch paper or watercolor paper, try looking for smooth/untextured marker paper if you wanna avoid that

If you need watercolor board, buy a sketchbook full of it! This always always a good deal, and you can usually find paper thick enough to even use gouache and acrylics on

If you're using thick/mixed media paper, usually one side is more textured and one isn't. Took me a while to figure that out lol.

Theres a difference between hot press paper and cold press. I think cold press tends to have a smoother texture, it could make a world of a difference depending on your feelings about texture!

The weight of the paper tells you how thick it is, which tells you how well it will hold its shape when wet/painted on! I try to get at LEAST 120 lb. for my own watercolor paintings, its thick enough for guoache and thinner acrylics too!

If you have REALLY heavy paper that still buckles/doesnt hold its shape when painted on, try taping it down! It's tedious but it makes it a lot easier in the long run

Some people even do a plain water-wash on the back of the paper, and then blow dry it flat, that also helps with buckling. Just make sure you do this BEFORE you paint the other side and let it fully dry fully flat

Ink:

Copics! Do yourself a favor and don't worry about buying name brand! There are plenty of smaller online brands selling them in bulk instead of 2-3 USD per marker

If you are buying name brand, like prismacolor or windsor newton, make sure you at least get the refill cartridges. **But seriously if youre not doing like, huge poster sized stuff youre probably not gonna need to buy name brand or worry about refills!

Cheap waterbased markers like crayola are great for thinning down with water for ink washes! A lot of times you get brighter colors than actual watercolor paint

India ink, like acrylic paint, can be diluted with water for washes AND are both waterproof when dry! This is why india ink is great for inking watercolor pieces with

Canvas:

you absolutely dont need big expensive glossy canvases if youre using acrylics. there are a TON of dollar stores that sell like, four canvases for a dollar, in varying sizes. look around and see what kind of deals you can get, dont get suckered out of like $5 for one 8*10 canvas

If youre using watercolors on canvas you might want to gesso it first, you might not. gesso just helps it hold the paint more like paper would and dry faster! canvas is definitely more expensive than watercolor board though

everyone says you NEED to start out with the biggest canvases possible so you get used to it: don't! if you have problems with starting projects a huge empty space is hard to approach. Its better to have a bunch of smaller pieces DONE than just never starting a big one bc youre intimidated!

that being said, dont limit yourself to just one size either! do mini pieces, square pieces, round pieces, hexagons whatever!! feel free to experiment with the shape of the space you fill go crazy aaa go stupid

Brushes:

If youre not using your brushes for inking, probably any type of brushes will work, like canvas you can find packs of varied size brushes for a good price

If you ARE using them for inking, you might want to spring for any type of natural-fiber brushes. Natural fibers just tend to hold ink better, which makes for longer lines so you dont have to break them/dip as often

If you use brush pens, like any other type of markers, they dont work as well on textured paper and might bleed

If you use water brush pens, those are great for watercolors but if you use them to water down acrylic paint youll have to clean them more often as acrylic paint dries waterproof and is more difficult to wash out

If you do full wet-on-wet washes, id recommend getting a small house paintbrush, its clunky but much easier to wet the entire paper with

uhh i dunno should i add more to this with brands/links and stuff? lmk

[thebiasrekkers]

Amaryllis: The Future || JHS

For the @bangtanscenery​ - April Showers Bring May Flowers Project in celebration of the Spring Season!

Plot: Everything always comes full circle. A soul falls into the ether, hoping to be reborn in the next cycle. If a desire is strong enough, it can manifest across space and time. Two souls reunite and are given a second chance, hoping that their love will be rekindled even stronger than it was before.

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: soulmate!au | reincarnation!au | angst | romance | drama

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Female OC (Erica Bronwyn/Bayaraa Ehri)

Warnings: Mild language, angst, identity crisis, fluff, mentions of religion and mental health

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 9.0K

AN: Y'all. I just can't with this story. Part of me is glad it's over. Part of me is upset I didn't expound on this more. But they say that every writer should know when to let a story finish. So with this second part, this tragic story now has a happy ending. Thank you everyone who was patient with me and adored my work. It means so much to me.

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Present Day Gwacheon – Gyeonggi Province South Korea

Hoseok stared at the paperwork in front of his desk. Every so often, he would blink at it before shifting to the next page. He had so many questions, but the main one sat at the forefront of his mind. He turned another page, this time with photographs showcasing various pieces of art by a specific artist; the artist in question whose portfolio was sent to him earlier that week. 

“What do you think?” asked Namjoon.

Lifting his eyes to meet Namjoon’s, Hoseok raised a single brow. “I just have one question.”

He watched as Namjoon leaned back in the plush leather chair. “What?”

“Why me?” Hoseok returned his gaze back to the photos. “Why us?”

He heard Namjoon sigh as he readjusted himself in his seat. “Honestly, I don’t know.” 

This pulled at Hoseok’s curiosity. Namjoon was the Archivist and assistant Director to the art gallery they owned while Hoseok served as both the Curator and Director. In all the years they’d been opened, they never came across a situation like this. Their gallery wasn’t a well-known venue for art exhibitions. In fact, it ranged on the small side. Not many people knew about them and they focused on Indie Art and lesser-known artists to be able to give them a chance to be recognized and gain some viewership from the public.

But as Hoseok looked at the works in the photographs by this particular artist, he still couldn’t wrap his head around it. 

“Erica Bronwyn,” he murmured, but loud enough so Namjoon could hear, “a young, up and coming glass and metalworks artist who has gained much popularity in Italy, France, and England. Every gallery that has showcased her work has garnered a lot of success and positive response. Her stylistic focus on ancient Asian culture is a keypoint in all of her artwork, always adding a specific floral motif for each of her collections.”

“Too much?” Namjoon brushed some of his hair out of his eyes. 

Hoseok shook his head as he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “I just don’t get it, Namjoon-ah.” Again, he met his friend’s gaze. “Why us? Compared to the other galleries in South Korea, we’re nobodies.”

Namjoon barked with laughter as he raised his brows slightly. “I know, right?”

Unlike his best friend, Hoseok didn’t find this funny in the slightest. As he looked back at the portfolio, he couldn’t help but feel like someone was trying to pull a fast one on him. Had he missed the memo where he signed up to be part of a prank cam show? He wouldn’t put it past Namjoon, but with Winter winding down and yielding into Spring, Hoseok wasn’t in the mood to play any kind of games.

He didn’t know why, but this time of year alwaysleft him feeling especially melancholy.

One of the assistants at the gallery, Jisoo, came into their office with a tray of tea. They thanked her and she quickly excused herself, stating that she was going to do her rounds before closing up. After she left, Hoseok curled his fingers around his chin, his brows furrowed in thought. He just didn’t understand any of it.

“And no other galleries made any offers?” He reached for his teacup. “We don’t have much in terms of money. I mean, we are able to comfortably get by but I would think other curators would be dying to get their claws into any exhibition she would bring to the table.”

Namjoon swallowed a bit of tea while humming. “Oh no,” he said, setting the cup down on the saucer, “there were offers. Really nice ones, in fact. I talked to a few of the other archivists and directors from the more well-known ones in Seoul. Her agent turned them all down on her behalf.”

“But why, is what I’m getting at.” He could hear the exasperation in his own voice. “Why us, Namjoon? I don’t get it.”

“Y’know, Hoseok-ah, I don’t know.” Namjoon reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small business card. “But her agent did say that if you had any questions to contact Miss Bronwyn directly.” Hoseok took the card from Namjoon and studied the labeling on it which had a copy of her elegant signature on it. “Her cell number is on the back.”

Hoseok stared at the number on the back. He wasn’t sure why there was a sense of reticence swelling inside of his chest as he stared at the handwritten phone number. It looked like every other scribble in a long list of scribbles he’d looked at. But as his eyes lifted to peer back at Erica’s portfolio, an ache sat in the center of his lungs and made it difficult to breathe. His vision blurred momentarily and it wasn’t until he felt Namjoon’s hand on his shoulder that he realized what happened.

He was crying.

Reincarnation was a strange subject matter. Many religions spoke of the phenomenon differently. Not all of them were wrong, but not all of them were right either. If Erica had to pinpoint which faith got it right, it would discount them all. So she simply chose to believe what was the correct one from her interpretation.

In this life, her name was Eric Bronwyn. It was the name that her parents gave her when she was brought into this world. She believed that her name was Erica Bronwyn. 

But at the age of seven, a different truth came to light. Suddenly, she was flooded with memories of a life that she didn’t recognize. People spoke to her in a language Erica didn’t understand and the faces of those people were warm and affectionate. Over the years, she studied and tried to piece together the meaning behind all of these occurrences. Studying foreign languages and focusing on the scenes that flashed in her mind’s eye.

At thirteen, Erica realized who the people were. 

Her parents. Her sisters. Her family.

And a name. Her old name. 

Ehri.

Honing her talent for arts and crafts, Erica began breathing life into the images. She painted portraits of her parents, her sisters, and the close friends that she had in that world; in that life. Erica’s mother asked her where she was painting from; the portraits of the individuals of a completely different ethnic background and culture than her own. Part of her wanted to tell her parents in this life what it meant, but Erica also didn’t want to concern them over the minor details. 

Year by year, Erica lived two lives. One was her everyday life in the current time period and the other cycled parallel to the present. Every step she took, she could see both her path and the path of Bayaraa Ehri simultaneously. When Erica walked through a busy city street and concrete sidewalks, she could also see the grassy hills and mountain krags in tandem. When it rained outside at night, Erica also saw a colorful twilight sky free from a torrential downpour.

Every single day and every single moment, Erica and Ehri existed at the same time.

For a while, Erica believed that something was mentally wrong with her. Was she deranged? Did she need medical attention for this? How would she even begin explaining the cycle of reason without sounding ludicrous herself?

On her 22nd birthday, everything came to a head.

Erica just graduated and was starting out in the world. She knew she wanted to be an artist. But she couldn’t determine which medium suited her the most. Skilled in oil painting, sculpting and watercolor, she decided to visit a few art museums and galleries across Europe. While in Italy, she saw a small gallery that happened to be open on that particular day. Upon entering, only one other patron was visiting at the same time she was.

She couldn’t see him from the back and he was staring at a large oil painting of a spider lily. It was the gallery’s main showcase and Erica felt herself drawn to the piece more than the person looking at it. The two of them stood a few feet apart from each other, eyes locked onto the painting; unable to avert their gazes for even a second.

And then the young man finally spoke.

“Have you ever heard of the legend of the Spider Lily?”

A sharp pain struck Erica’s chest at that moment. Clutching at the front of her shirt, she turned to look at him. His face looked so familiar and everything in her mind seemed to rush forward all at once. When he asked if she was alright, a different face overlapped the man’s. Before she realized it, Erica burst into tears as her heart flooded with a turbulent storm of emotions. 

The man she remembered was Hoseok. The man she met that day was Benjamin Reinhart.

Benjamin stayed with her for years and he was the first person Erica told her secret to. But he didn’t react the way she feared others would. He was calm and understanding. And then he was determined to help her find the man that her soul remembered. 

In another year, Ehri and Erica were truly one and the same person. All of Ehri’s memories were now Erica’s, nestled safely beside the ones she made in her current life cycle. It was a terrifying transition, at least at first. Erica feared that the person she was would be erased by Ehri's own memories. They were powerful, passionate, and something to admire. But Erica went through her own struggles in her life. She didn’t want those memories to be destroyed.

When it became clear that Erica wouldn’t disappear, relief washed over her. She could access Ehri’s memories at will, wanting to know more about her past and the man who encompassed all of Ehri’s heart. 

It took Erica three years to find the one called “Hoseok”. Using a good chunk of her money and resources from showcasing her work throughout Europe, Benjamin’s search bore fruit. When he came back with several pictures, she was able to point out the one from Ehri’s memories. 

There was a part of her that hesitated, however. Mostly because her physical appearance didn’t match Ehri’s. Couldn’t that have been the case with Hoseok? What if the person in the picture wasn’t the Hoseok from Ehri’s memories? 

The problem called for more research. Erica threw herself into studying the various forms of reincarnation and which cases were similar to her own. There weren’t many and while most of them were informative on the person experiencing the soul rebirth, it didn’t speak much on those who may have been reborn but had no memories of their old lives. Many texts referred to it as “drinking from the Spring of Forgetfulness”. 

There was a passage, however, that gave Erica some hope. As stated in folklore, anyone who was set for reincarnation and drank from the Spring of Forgetfulness, would retain the form they had in their previous life to make themselves recognizable to those who did not drink from the spring. If Ehri’s memories were inside of Erica, then that meant Ehri hadn’t drank from the Spring of Forgetfulness. 

The caveat? Her physical appearance changed.

Everything else would be left to chance.

Cradling the coffee mug between her fingers, Erica could hardly contain her excitement. Elation mixed with anxiety created a stormy cocktail of conflicting emotions within her. Jung Hoseok, curator of one of the smaller art galleries in the Gwacheon area, finally agreed to meet with her. She honestly wondered if he would bother giving her the time of day, even with her popularity in Europe with her works. Any art director would be suspicious since her agent made it clear that she would not want her pieces showcased anywhere in South Korea. If he didn’t accept her offer, then she wouldn’t be displaying her work in any art gallery in the country.

Her PR agents were curious why she was so hellbent on making sure her pieces were showcased at Hoseok’s gallery. Erica didn’t have a definitive answer. Just that it had to be his. The reasoning wasn’t as important as the need for them to be placed there. Her agent, Benjamin, didn’t question her further. He knew how eccentric Erica could be and as a woman of color in the metal works medium of art, it was a constant uphill battle for her. Pressing her on minor details would be pointless.

Besides, who would take her reasons seriously?

It wasn’t like she could tell just anyone that she wanted to see the man who was her soulmate.

When the small bell chimed as the door opened, Erica felt her heart slam into her chest. As she looked up, she could see Hoseok slowly enter the cafè. She held her hand up to him, waving to get his attention, and he spotted her fairly quickly. He smiled back, waving and quickly crossed the small space to reach her. 

“Hi,” she said while standing, “I’m so glad you could make it.”

Hoseok reached out to grasp her hand, shaking it politely. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.”

Erica smirked, shaking her head as they sat down. “Not at all. I wasn’t sure if you would accept my offer in the first place.”

A waitress came by, offered Hoseok a glass of water, and then he placed his order: an iced Americano. He met Erica’s gaze as he brushed some of his fringe from his brows. “Well, you didn’t make it easy for me.”

“What do you mean?” Erica canted her head slightly. “Was I asking for too much?”

“I wouldn’t call it asking for too much as I would asking for not much at all.”

She was genuinely confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I quite understand…”

For a moment, neither of them said another word. The waitress brought out Hoseok’s drink and he took a generous sip before clearing his throat. Again, he lifted his gaze to meet hers and there was a heavy ache that seemed to hollow out the lower portion of her stomach. Ehri’s feelings were on the brink of overwhelming her and Erica had to clench her trousers to keep herself from spiraling into an emotional outburst.

“It’s been bugging me. You’re such a well-known, up and coming artist. Why are you so adamant about showcasing your work at my galleria?”

Erica bit back a sigh of relief, feeling the need for an outburst starting to melt away. “You really take the time to focus on lesser-known works of art, as well as artists. And you take pride in making sure that the best representation is given to those artists.” She pressed her fingers along the sides of her cup. “Anyone can see how much you care. It isn’t about making a profit for you.”

It was only a half truth. Erica couldn’t bring herself to dump everything that slowly filled up inside of her over the years. Not only was it not fair, it was illogical. No one wanted baggage dumped unnecessarily into their laps unexpectedly. 

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she watched as Hoseok seemed to openly gauge her response, as well as her reactions. He took another sip of his coffee and Erica fidgeted with her nails along the surface of her coffee mug. The sound of ice clinking together kept her tethered as she waited for him to say something; anything.

“Alright,” he said finally, reaching across the table to offer his hand, “then I guess we’re partners for the time being.”

Unable to mask her joy, Erica grasped his hand with both of hers and shook it. She flashed an open-mouthed smile when she saw the surprise on Hoseok’s face. It quickly melted into amusement, but Erica didn’t mind if he thought she was silly. This was just the first step. A first of many.

After they finished shaking hands, Hoseok pulled out his phone. “I’ll have the assistant director forward the paperwork to your agent.” She waited for him to send the message and then he politely set his phone on the table. “So, can you tell me what the theme of your showcase will be this time?”

This was the moment that would help determine the way the course of events would unfold. This very moment. Erica knew it and so did Ehri. She had to choose her words wisely. She had to make this count for all that she could hope for.

She lifted her cup to her lips, took a generous sip of coffee, and set the cup back down on the saucer. Her eyes lingered on Hoseok’s for a few more seconds before speaking, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

“Have you ever heard of the legend of the Spider Lily?”

Lycoris radiata.

Bulg-eun Geomi Baeghab.

Manjusaka.

Higanbana.

Amaryllis.

They were all names referencing the red spider lily.

Hoseok found it a little strange that Erica wanted to showcase an Autumn Equinox flower in the middle of Spring. Even stranger, this was a flower that often was used to symbolize death. When he thought back to her portfolio, none of her pieces were quite as somber in tone as the red spider lily. In fact, in the language of flowers, Erica seemed to use positive terms in each of her collections. Nothing as melancholy or tragic as the spider lily.

When he thought back to the conversation he had with her a week ago, Hoseok couldn’t quite shake the feeling of nostalgia that blanketed over him. She spoke of the spider lily’s legend in a way that almost made one think she believed such a tale. He’d heard the story a long time ago - a story his great grandmother once imparted to him. But it was just a story about star-crossed lovers. There was nothing exciting or happy about it, so he quickly pushed it from his mind.

Hearing Erica’s version, however, left him feeling unsettled. Was it the sincerity in her voice or was it something else? He wanted to know why his heart felt such a heavy weight of sadness when he thought of her face as she spoke of the flower’s legend.

Her pieces were set to be displayed at the end of May. That would give her just over three weeks to complete her showcase. When he asked why Erica chose to make her art pieces after signing contracts, she said that it was simply a way to push her creativity to the limit. Knowing there was a set deadline prioritized her pacing and helped to generate a more stylistic approach compared to the normal methods. 

Erica seemed open, honest, and didn’t appear to have anything to hide. Part of Hoseok thought this trepidation was silly and unwarranted. When he brought up his concerns to Namjoon, he encouraged Hoseok to just talk to her. He didn’t think the solution would be something as simple as that, but he couldn’t refute it until he actually tried it.

So he waited to gain access to the workshop that Erica was currently renting out to put her pieces together. In truth, Hoseok never showcased much in the realm of glass or metal art pieces in his gallery. Most of it was the traditional watercolor, oil painting, or even sculptures of clay or stone. This was a new subject, even for him. 

When the metal doors slid open, a rush of heat immediately pressed against his entire body. Hoseok coughed from the suddenness of it, using his forearm to shield the lower half of his face to keep himself from breathing in the heat. Sweat slid down his neck and bubbled along the bridge of his nose. Hoseok’s eyes began to water in response to the stifling heat. 

Something cold touched his neck, causing him to jump slightly from shock at the sudden sensation. When he turned, he saw Erica holding out a bottle of water for him. He gave a sheepish smile as he took it from her. She helped herself to a generous swig from her own bottle and he couldn’t help but admire her rugged appearance. 

A thick leather work apron was wrapped around her body, a pair of thick gloves stuffed into the large front pocket. Her jeans were worn, stuffed into a pair of combat boots. Erica’s shirt was a black, loose fitted tank top, showcasing the muscle definition in her arms. There were a few scrapes and telltale red marks that indicated she’d suffered a few scorches from the flames she used in her work. He wouldn’t have guessed she had such a physique after having seen her in person for their casual business meeting.

There was a sheen of sweat along her olive skin, giving it a warm glow. Hoseok’s cheeks flushed slightly when he realized she was now looking back at him just as intently.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, averting his gaze, “I didn’t mean to intrude during your work hours.”

Erica waved off his apology. “It’s fine. I was just about to call it a day.” She turned toward the direction of where the heat was coming from. “Douse the furnace, guys!”

Within a few seconds, hissing noises were heard and the heat radiating from one particular area began to dissipate. A few metal shutters were slid closed and lights began to blink off one after another. Only one section was still lit and it was to the far left of the warehouse. Hoseok only managed to blink a few times before he heard Erica laughing beside him.

“Would you like to take a peek?” she asked, gesturing to the cluster of things covered with simple sheets. 

“If you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” she said, motioning for him to follow her to the far corner. 

Erica reached for the switch to one of four standing lamps. One by one, she pulled to turn them all on, then grasped a corner of one of the sheets. With an unnecessarily dramatic flourish, she lifted the sheet up and off to let it flutter to the floor.

What was revealed from beneath had Hoseok’s lips parting in awe. Glistening under the amber lighting were various glass and metal pieces situated on pedestals. All of them contained an element of the red spider lily. There was a glass orb with a spider lily design blown across the surface, coloring the opposite side with the reflection from the light. A traditional looking Asian fan containing glass and metal had the red spider lily emblazoned along the spread. Around the edge of the fan were clusters of glass spider lilies. 

There were easily twelve pieces already completed. Each a different shape, style, or ornament with the red spider lily as the focus or accent to the work. But what had Hoseok pausing in mid-swig of his water was the metal spider lily that sat on a white satin pillow. He wasn’t sure if it was the lighting or the type of metal Erica chose to forge with, but the flower had an ethereal sheen to it that nearly mesmerized him. He unconsciously began reaching for it, stopping just before his fingers could actually touch it.

A sudden shock rocketed up his arm, startling him. Recoiling, he pulled his hand back quickly. He managed a few short breaths before collecting himself. “I’m sorry…” Hoseok pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. “I don’t know what came over me just now.”

Erica said nothing. She just looked at him, her expression giving away nothing. Hoseok wasn’t sure if he'd made her mad, but she didn’t appear to be upset with him. After a moment of unbearably awkward silence, she smiled and moved to pick up the sheet from the floor. 

“I’m glad you like them,” was all she said before covering up her artworks with the sheet. Wiping her hands along the front of her apron, Erica reached into the front pocket and pulled out a hair tie. As she pulled her thick curls back into a low ponytail, she glanced over her shoulder back at the concealed pieces. “I should be done in another week. Just in time to get everything set up for the showcase.”

Something inside of Hoseok mourned their absence once they were completely hidden from view. There was a soft ache nestled at the front of his chest and he absentmindedly rubbed at it. Erica seemed to sense a shift in his demeanor and she gently placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“Are you tired?”

A flash of white erupted in his line of sight, almost blinding him. Hoseok’s ears began to ring as different voices seemed to jump around in his head. Replacing the white void was a lush green field and when he next looked up, he was staring face to face with not Erica, but a different woman. She blinked up at him as she lifted her face from her forearms, looking a little sleepy. 

Her lips parted and she leaned back quickly, gasping a little as he blinked curiously at her.

“W-What?” she stammered out, heat rushing up her neck and spreading over her cheeks. “What’s the matter?”

He was crouched down on the ground, his elbows resting on his knees. But he didn’t move any closer to her. “I was asking if you were tired.”

And in a flash, it was gone. He was back in the world he knew, his eyes wide and staring straight into Erica’s face. She was close, as if inspecting his features, and he felt her press the back of her wrist against his forehead. 

“W-What’s the matter?” he asked, his voice trembling.

She frowned, but didn’t meet his eyes. “I was asking if you were tired.” 

Hoseok’s heart practically lodged itself in his throat. 

“But now that I’m getting a better look, you don’t seem so good. It might be the heat.” Erica took a step back while reaching into her apron pocket. “I’ll call a cab for you.” Turning her back to him, she shifted her focus to her phone, leaving Hoseok dazed and confused.

His body reacted before his mind could. He quickly closed the distance between them, slamming his chest into her back. His water bottle clattered to the floor and he heard Erica gasp, feeling her back muscles tense up as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Hoseok felt vibrations along his skin and it was hard for him to tell if Erica was the one shaking, or if it was him.

“D-Director Jung?”

Her voice brought Hoseok crashing back to reality. He promptly released her, taking several steps back as he held his hands up. “I’m...I’m so sorry.”

Erica turned to look at him. However, instead of an expression of rage or confusion, he could see something akin to sadness. Why was she sad? Had he somehow damaged something that he hadn’t intended to? And why had his body reacted in such a way? It felt natural. Being that near to her felt right and safe. 

Yet he couldn’t ignore the heavy despair that sat at the bottom of his lungs.

He quickly pivoted on his heels, making his way toward the entrance of the warehouse. The echo of his footsteps reverberated off the walls, but only his. Erica made no move to chase after him.

“Do you have to go?”

Her voice blanketed every square inch of him, halting him in mid-retreat. Craning his neck slowly, he glanced over to see that Erica was holding her phone at her side. Her expression never changed, still showing that sad sense of longing that he couldn’t quite understand the reasoning behind it. Her entire being was a mystery and one that he didn’t think he’d be able to escape from.

Another voice echoed in his mind.

“I don’t want you to go.”

It was his own.

Something was wrong and he didn’t know how to fix it. All he could do was run for now. It was the easiest solution, even though he knew it probably wasn’t the best one.

“...I’ll see you when it’s time to prepare for the showcase, Miss Bronwyn. Have a good rest of your evening.”

And without wanting to risk looking back, Hoseok quickly moved down the sidewalk. There was no way he was driving back home. Not with his nerves this severely rattled. Pulling out his phone, he was already dialing Namjoon.

He needed a drink.

The showcase was successful and received tons of recognition and positive feedback. It was to be expected. Erica was far from arrogant, but she was completely confident in her own skills. If anyone had anything negative to say, it was usually in reference to her chosen style and medium than anything else. But even the harshest of critics would finally admit that her talent was forged from years of practice, study, and due diligence. She should have been proud and, in some measure, she was.

But surface level pride could only do so much to nourish her spirit.

Erica could feel her determination starting to wane. The encounter she had with Hoseok at her warehouse caused a surge of hope to ignite inside of her. But following his hasty retreat, she hadn’t been able to get in touch with him. All calls were forwarded to Namjoon and while he did his best to reassure her that everything was fine, Erica could hardly take comfort in his words.

The way he embraced her in the workshop fueled something inside of both Ehri and herself. While the passion simmered on the surface from Ehri’s memories, Erica felt drawn to Hoseok as well. Her own affection and longing to understand him stayed hovering above the surface. She wanted to know him and empathize with him, not because of the past, but for the present.

Ehri’s feelings coincided with her own. They both wanted Hoseok to heal and feel the beauty of reconnection. But it wouldn’t be possible if he kept keeping her at a distance. She didn’t know when she would be able to talk to him again outside of work-related subjects. Would there be an opportunity to bridge the gap before she was scheduled to head back to the United States?

She wanted to be able to impart something to him before what little development happened disappeared into a puff of smoke.

Her phone buzzed on her nightstand and Erica absentmindedly looked at the screen. It was Namjoon, reminding her that there was to be a celebratory dinner being held in her honor in a few hours. Benjamin told her that it would be in her best interest to attend, regardless of the outcome and of the events that transpired prior to tonight. Erica wasn’t sure if she wanted to go, but she also knew that there was a level of professionalism and decorum that needed to be adhered to. 

Picking up her phone, she texted Namjoon that she would meet them there. Sighing, she looked back at her reflection in the mirror. Erica’s appearance was so different from Ehri’s. Being half Korean and half African American at least blessed her with Asian eyes and a Korean button nose. But her olive skin, thick curly hair and heart-shaped face helped to differentiate her from the rest of the crowd. Not belonging to one community or the other, it took a lot of struggles in her life to accept and respect her origins.

Having the soul of a Mongolian woman from centuries in the past made adjusting to her life in the present a little bit harder to deal with than she would have cared to admit.

“May as well try to enjoy myself,” she muttered, moving from the vanity to begin getting ready. 

Erica opted for a simple hunter green cocktail dress. It was safe, eloquent but not too gaudy to bring a lot of attention to herself. Dolling up her face with natural makeup and a soft bronzer for the finish, she chose gold hoops and a simple gold necklace with a flower pendant to finish the look. She pulled her hair up into a high ponytail placed on the side to accentuate her high cheekbones. Slipping into a pair of simple, black strappy heels, she grabbed her purse and dialed for a cab. 

It didn’t take her long to arrive. This particular lounge was a comfortable bar and restaurant. Reservations were required to enter, as well as an appropriate dress code. After she gave the host her name, she was escorted to the back to a private dining area. 

Her assistants at the shop and Benjamin greeted her warmly. Namjoon came and shook her hand, as well as giving her a hug. Hoseok was the last to speak with Erica and his appearance seemed serene and unsettled. It was a stark contrast to the last time she saw him, having seen his visibly shaken countenance soon after he embraced her. But now he conducted himself like a professional in every sense of the word.

She was smiling on the outside, but on the inside Erica could feel the distance growing even more between them.

Everyone cheered and congratulated Erica on her endeavors. It was a grueling two and a half weeks, but everything was complete and they all reassured her that the showcase went off without a hitch. She smiled and laughed when it was appropriate, downing flute after flute of champagne. It was the only way she could keep the pain in her chest at bay. Bellies full with food and booze, Erica quickly excused herself so she could enjoy the evening air on the lounge’s back patio.

The cool breeze soothed her warm skin, allowing her a small respite from her thoughts. Smiling sadly to herself, she had to admit that the evening was fun and her time in Korea was also enjoyable. There was no sense in rushing anything, even though she could feel Ehri’s desperation to reunite with the man she loved. But didn’t Erica have a say as well? This was her life just as much as it was Ehri’s. It was unfair to push all unresolved feelings of yearning onto someone who wasn’t prepared for it.

Things had to be taken slowly. Patience needed to be grasped.

“It’s a beautiful evening,” a voice said from behind her.

Erica turned, surprised to see Hoseok standing out on the patio with her. He handed her a glass of water and she politely accepted it. Turning back to face the city, she leaned against the metal railing and looked up at the sky. Hoseok sidled up next to her, taking in the fresh air and the landscape as well.

“Thank you for hosting this party for me, Director Jung.” It was the only thing Erica could think to say at that particular moment. She didn’t want to create any awkward tension between them.

“Please, just call me Hoseok.” Erica turned to look at Hoseok, blinking in semi-shock to see him actually looking back at her. His brows furrowed and he seemed to be battling internally with something. “I want to apologize for my behavior. It was rude and uncalled for.” She opened her mouth to speak, but Hoseok shook his head, silencing all protests she might have had. “No. Truly, it was unacceptable. Instead of rationalizing what happened that day at your workshop, I let my emotions get the better of me and pushed you away.”

Her shoulders sagged as her expression darkened. She didn’t want this kind of apology. She wanted understanding and to have a conversation about what happened. Apologizing for it meant that Hoseok most likely wanted to sweep it under the rug; to forget about everything. But if his response was anything remotely close to what she was hoping for, a type of awakening, then the last thing she wanted was to have him ignore it. 

“There are these feelings I can’t shake when I’m around you.” Erica saw a pained look cross his features as Hoseok reached up to grasp at the front of his shirt. “Hell, even when I’m not around you, I’m overwhelmed. I hear my voice and I see you.” He paused long enough to avert his gaze. “But then I don’t see you. I can’t figure out the meaning behind it all and it's haunted me every waking hour since we separated.”

Erica felt her lips part slightly, wanting to reach out and hold him close. She wanted to let him know that everything would be fine. He just needed to take it slow. He just needed to breathe. 

Instead, she smiled and grasped his hand in her own. “It’s okay to be scared, y’know?” He lifted his gaze to meet her eyes. “I was scared too.”

Hoseok blinked, his confusion obvious. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve read about this sort of thing happening. It could transpire in a variety of different ways. Every case is different.” Erica squeezed his hand, pressing her thumb into the center of his palm. “What you’re experiencing is the direct result of having met me. Your mind is starting to process what your body already accepts and understands.”

This was probably too much at once. Erica could sense it from the cold sweat forming in Hoseok’s palms. But every time she felt him beginning to pull away, she continued to hold his hand even tighter. Running from this wasn’t an option. He would either choose to submit to this ideology or deny it altogether. 

Running was out of the question.

“E-Erica-ssi,” he stammered, his eyes widening with every word she spoke. It broke her heart and fueled her determination simultaneously. “I...I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“Hoseok-ah,” Erica said slowly, dropping the honorific on purpose. It startled her more than it did him, despite it visibly showing on his face. “When you look into my eyes, what do you see? What do you feel when you look at me?”

Silence swirled around them, the ambient noise of the city a mere whisper on the cusp of how much energy was radiating between them. Erica maintained eye-contact with Hoseok and the intensity of her gaze was enough to keep him from looking away. She needed him to see what was buried in the depths of her soul; the very person who wished so hard to be reborn just so she could be with the man she loved so much. 

The transition would be terrifying to experience, but at least he wouldn’t have to do it alone.

She watched him swallow the lump in his throat and for a split second, her vision blurred from the onset of tears she was fighting so hard not to shed. Erica couldn’t afford to break down now. Not when he was so close to voicing the truth he wouldn’t be able to escape.

“I see you. But a you that isn’t you.” Hoseok bit his lower lip and she could feel his body trembling as she continued to hold his hand. “I feel like I know you. But the me that knows you isn’t someone I recognize.” He held a hand to his forehead, his hip leaning against the metal railing for support. “He has my voice...but there’s something off about it.”

“It’s not off. It’s just different. What else?” Erica rubbed comforting circles with her thumb along his knuckles now to ease the tension. “Do you remember anything else?”

“A name.”

Erica’s heart hammered like thunder against her ribs. “...a name?”

With his hand still pressed to his forehead, he peered into her eyes and something different swirled in his dark depths. It was clarity and resignation, albeit fearful. But it sat confidently in his gaze, his eyes taking on a glassy sheen under the fluorescent bulbs from the street lamps. 

“Your name.” He took a step forward, twisting his hand so that his fingers were laced through hers. “I see you, Bayaraa Ehri.”

The tears she’d been holding back mercilessly fell, streaming her cheeks. She dropped the glass of water from her hands, letting it shatter around her feet. She didn’t care that her feet were wet or that she’d broken something. The sound barely registered in her mind. Erica never imagined this feeling of reconnection would explode inside of her. It was like Ehri’s soul was singing with renewed vigor; her second breath of life finally given the opportunity to breathe ; to be.

She smiled through her tears, relishing in the feel of Hoseok’s hand resting against her cheek. His thumb stroked affectionate circles beneath her eye. The look on his face mirrored the face of the man Bayaraa Ehri loved so much.

A face that Erica Bronwyn loved as well.

“I see you too, Wang Hoseok…” She reached up to brush her fingers through the fringe of his hair. “And I see you, Jung Hoseok.”

Not wanting to destroy the moment, all Erica could do was bask in the glow of her own feelings. Not Ehri’s, but her own sense of joy and fulfillment in that very instant. Hoseok pulled her closer and she felt her heart rate escalate until she was forced to close her eyes. She felt his breath along her skin as her body pressed against his; melding into it.

And then his lips brushed against hers, sending her whole world into a tailspin.

Her mouth parts slightly at his silent insistence, tasting his lips. It was a mixture of champagne and her raspberry lip gloss. Erica’s heart thumped painfully in her chest, nearly causing her legs to buckle in agony. She felt Hoseok’s fingers curl even tighter through her own, his other hand having vacated the planes of her face to press along the curve of her lower back. Erica’s own hand gripped at the base of his neck, the roaring thunder of her heart exploding in her ears.

Until there was stillness. Silence. So quiet that both body and soul could savor the moment; to, once again, garner meaning to their existence. 

Erica Bronwyn was scared.

Bayaraa Ehri was terrified.

Both were elated beyond measure.

“Oh, that?” He stood from the small stool situated at her bedside and retrieved the box from the table. After he sat back down, he opened it and showed her the metallic spider lily inside. “Do you like it?”

She nodded.

“I’m glad.” He closed the box. “It was supposed to be your wedding present, but I figured this would help lift your spirits some.”

Ehri sighed a little, her brows furrowing. “But didn’t you say that the legend of the Spider Lily is a sad story?” She pouted again. “Why would you give me such a thing as a wedding present?”

Hoseok reached out to pet her head. “I bought this from an artisan who claimed that this flower is different from the actual spider lily.”

“Different how?”

Again, he opened the box to show her the lovely flower. “He said that anyone who possesses this flower is guaranteed to be reunited with their love in the next life. It will not come to pass like in the tale of Manju and Saka.”

“How can he guarantee that?”

“I asked the same thing,” Hoseok said while laughing. He closed the box. “But we will just have to see when we are reborn again, hm?” He stroked her cheek with his fingers. “I want to love you again in our next life, Ehri-ah.”

Hoseok cried out, gulping a lungful of air as the sheets clung to his upper body like a second skin. Bolting upright, he stared wide-eyed at the space just below his wall clock. The ticking of the second hand sounded like muffled gunshots in his ears. His breath came in heavy, short intervals and it took him a moment to actually calm down.

Groping in the dark for his phone, he barely managed to snatch it off the nightstand. The screen instantly lit up to show the time in blinding white numbers.

4:37AM.

Everything felt like a dream. Or, rather, like he was dreaming while still awake. When Hoseok was asleep, he didn’t feel like he was actually sleeping. Instead of dreams, his mind was filled with memories in colors so vibrant they were nearly blinding. His world, the world he’d always known, felt so faded and seemingly colorless in comparison. This was a life; his life. His old cycle that was now blossoming with life and fervor, threatening to burst clear from his body and soar to the skies.

Hugging his chest, he leaned forward and shuddered. A cold sweat peppered across his back and neck, dripping from his nose. His hands felt clammy and cold, no matter how much he rubbed his arms up and down to soothe the overwhelming sensation wrapping around him. 

He needed to get up. He needed to move. His body would lock up and go into shock if he didn’t. 

Stumbling from his bed, Hoseok felt the sheets wrapping around his ankles. He collapsed in a heap on the floor, his breathing escalating as he tried to sit back up. A spike of pain struck at the forefront of his mind, causing him to cry out. Fluttering petals swirled around the bedroom as a ray of morning light seemed to spread in a cone through the large bay windows.

“Seobang-nim?”

Hoseok hummed.“Yes, what is it, Pu-in?”

She smiled, closing her eyes. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything.” Ehri gripped her fingers a little tighter around his. “Thank you for everything.”

Hoseok moved, causing Ehri to lift her head up so she had to look at him. While one hand held hers, his other rested along her neck. “Pu-in…”

“I love you,” she whispered to him, leaning forward to press her lips against his.

White heat burned his eyes, causing him to cover them with both hands. He screamed, the painful throb beating mercilessly against his temples. All he could do was curl up into a ball, writhing in agony as the images continued to flash in rapid succession like a camera shutter. 

Laughter.

So much laughter.

Worry.

Hope.

Determination.

Resignation.

Overwhelming despair.

Rolling over onto his side, he clutched the letter in his hands as his tears soaked into his silk pillow. “No,” he whispered, his voice barely recognizable, “I don’t want to be here to see it alone. I don’t want to see it march on without you here with me.”

And then, the proverbial dam inside of him broke. Everything surged into him all at once. Every single memory of the past pulsed through him. He remembered everything. 

His life as a member of the royal household’s branch family. 

His parents. 

His brothers. 

The street market vendor who sold him the spider lily forged in metal.

"I find it hard to believe that you don't," teased the vendor, which caused Hoseok to cant his head slightly, "but let's just say that this flower isn't an ordinary spider lily. The one who forged this flower said that the tragedy still exists inside, just as the legend dictates. But unlike Manju and Saka, the one who holds this flower will be able to reunite with their loved one in the next life. Guaranteed."

And the moment he first laid eyes on Bayaraa Ehri, the woman he loved.

The woman he would continue to love even into their next life.

Sobbing into his hands was all he could do at that moment. In the midst of his pain, he was experiencing everything simultaneously. It was sensory overload at its finest.

And then there was absolute quiet.

Still. Quiet. Clarity.

Jung Hoseok and Wang Hoseok were now truly one.

Clambering to his feet, he quickly made his way to the bathroom. He showered, brushed his teeth, and got dressed. Faded jeans and a gray hoodie comprised his attire, but he wasn’t trying to impress anyone. As he left his apartment, the security lock beeping as the door closed, he beelined for the elevator. He was already dialing for a cab before the lift dinged to signify he was on the ground floor. The driver greeted him warmly, despite the late hour, and Hoseok did his best to remain polite. But desperation nearly superseded his need to be amicable. 

He gave the driver the address to Erica’s hotel and as they made the drive, he called her. Her sleepy voice answered and Hoseok felt like he’d grown wings. Erica’s voice, to him, sounded like Ehri’s. And Ehri’s voice was now Erica’s. He finally understood what she meant when she said she’d been afraid too.

It must have been like this for her. It must have been like this for her for a long time. 

“Erica, it’s me.”

“Hoseok-ssi?” He could hear shuffling on the other line. “Is everything alright? Are you hurt?”

He smiled, unable to keep his joy hidden. “I’m almost at your hotel. Can you meet me in the lobby?”

“Uh, sure. Let me get dressed…”

They said their goodbyes just as the cab driver announced they would be arriving shortly. He quickly paid the man, dashing toward the front entrance of the hotel. The sliding glass doors barely had time to open as Hoseok squeezed his way through them. The elevator dinged and the doors parted to reveal Erica dressed in a large sweatshirt and leggings. She was barely able to open her mouth and say his name before he pushed into the elevator, knocking her back against the wall. His lips immediately sealed over her own and she gasped, reaching up to grip at his shoulders while steadying both of them at the same time.

He broke the kiss, allowing them to breathe, and he couldn’t help but admire the pink tinge settling along her olive skin. She huffed, her chest pressed against his. He was having a difficult time discerning whose heart was beating the hardest.

“H-Hoseok,” Erica managed to say, her brows lifted in surprised, “what’s the matter?”

“I remember it all.” Hoseok watched her eyes widen even further and he leaned forward to press his forehead against hers. “I remember everything .” She moved to cover her mouth with her hand, but he grabbed it, keeping it away from her lips. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to breathe in her scent; her very soul into his being. “I’m me. I’m the me of today and yesterday.”

Hoseok watched her bottom lip quiver as tears filled her eyes. “E-Everything?”

He nodded. “Everything.” 

They both inhaled sharply, their lips seeking eachother out. He could feel her body trembling as he held her tightly against her, not caring that he was shedding tears himself. And as their lips parted once more, he leaned down so their noses were barely touching - the swell of her mouth still so close to his own. 

“Wang Hoseok missed her desperately,” he whispered against her lips, “and Jung Hoseok needs you desperately.”

He could see the trepidation visibly fleeing from her gaze. It must have been the one thing that she was still fearful over; the one thing that she didn’t want to give a voice to. Because he was afraid for the same reason. 

If one spirit had more power over the other, would the other cease to exist?

But he could sense it. His consciousness and the consciousness of his old self were nestled side by side. They were choosing to coexist in this moment and for every moment that would transpire after. Half of his heart longed for Bayaraa Ehri and the other half was pulled in Erica Bronwyn’s direction. Two halves of a whole begging to be acknowledged and listened to.

Again, Hoseok kissed her full lips; drank in her very being. She didn’t have the same face as Ehri, but her soul was there - standing alongside the woman who lived in this life.

The life of Erica Bronwyn.

“You’ve dealt with this longer than I have.” He smiled against her mouth. “I’m afraid that I’ll have to request your assistance on the matter.”

Erica pulled back a measure and he took a moment to sweep his hands over her tear-stained cheeks. She did the same for him. “That’s fine,” she whispered, shifting forward so he was forced to move in the opposite direction with his back pressed against the wall. Her hand reached over to the different buttons on the elevator’s panel and she hit the one for her floor. The lift shook and then moved upward. “There’s no rush.”

Hoseok smiled openly and she, in turn, smiled as well. They were still themselves. But they were also two people pulling the past behind them. With Ehri’s illness came a sense of despair that was often smothered with the hope that a miracle would transpire. But when the end came, it was swift and merciless. Their time was short, but their love was magnanimous. Everything felt rushed, just like the manner in which he’d regained the memories of his old life.

There was no sense of urgency present. Erica and Hoseok could both take their time as pieces of their souls found solace in reuniting again. They had the opportunity to love and fall in love all over again.

The true miracle was now. 

He pulled her close, nestling his face into the crook of her neck as she wrapped her arms around his. Again, he drank in her scent, pressing a hand against the back of her head - his palm resting along the thick nest of curls. For a small eternity, Hoseok held her in his arms. And seconds before the elevator dinged for the appropriate floor, he lifted his head back only to turn his face to meet Erica’s lips again, savoring the taste of her as if for the very first time. The steady drum of their hearts beat in time with one another.

Now that we have the time...

[mysticsparklewings]

Fire Flower

Note: I originally made this painting and typed most of the description towards the end of March. I meant to upload this sooner, but things happened it obviously got pushed way back. Oh gee, would you look at that. It has somehow been 8-9 months since I last made a full acrylic painting... But! I have a video for this one to make up for it! Link: youtu.be/8IgVvgTiZjM I promise I've been trying (and failing) to come up with ideas to do more with this medium. Acrylic paint just isn't my thing. I swear I said this somewhere before, but I have no idea where; It's just hard for me to commit to an acrylic painting when I know I can get the look I want usually much faster and much more easily with other supplies. Acrylic painting just takes so much more time, set up, and patience. This very painting I know I probably could've had done in half the time using primarily watercolor instead, for example. So why is this an acrylic painting instead of something quicker and easier? Because my dear Sparklers, I made this painting and filmed it as a bit of a blending demo for a friend. They tried their hand at an acrylic painting with a sky going from red to yellow...except they lost most of the yellow in the process, and even they weren't really sure how it happened. So since I'm in sort of an art teaching/mentoring position to them, I decided I'd pull out my paints and take a shot at a similar look. Now, to be fair, my end result is very different from their's intentionally. They painted a boat on the water during sunset, I wanted something different and more me, so after some browsing around on Pinterest, I settled on this flower silhouette. I made my own job harder because the reference image had a blue and orange background with lots of black, almost like a vignette, so once I got past the stage of putting the base background colors down, I had a lot more work cut out for myself in trying to replicate that. Speaking of which, you can see most of my process in the video, but a recap just in case: I started by picking out my paint colors, and to be fair I could've gotten away with less or slightly different colors, but I got extravagant and picked a total of nine colors from my Liquitex Basics set (also known as currently the only decent acrylic paints I have):

• Mars Black • Ivory Black • Titanium White • Cadmium Red Deep Hue • Cadmium Red Light Hue • Portrait Pink • Naples Yellow Hue • Cadmium Yellow Medium Hue • Primary Yellow Why the two blacks? Mars Black is a "denser" black so to speak, it's more opaque (less transparent/see-through). The Ivory Black is less opaque, and it's a bit warmer in color than the Mars black. I used the Mars black in areas where I wanted a total and complete black and the Ivory black where I wanted some of the colors from the background to leak through a bit. It's subtle, more of a "feeling" to the eye than something you can clearly see. Also, I used the Portrait Pink, which like the name implies is a very pink flesh tone, and the Naples Yellow Hue (think a shade similar to Yellow Ochre...or fancy Mustard if "yellow ochre" doesn't help you visualize) primarily for blending and not so much for the colors themselves. And the Cadmium Red Light Hue is much more of a reddish-orange in person than it is red, which is why I picked it. It's also pretty transparent (yellows and oranges often are in acrylic paints, especially more student grade ones like the Liquitex Basics) so it also got lost in the mix fairly easily and I had to build it up a lot. In the video, you can definitely see as I start that I do indeed do a lot of back and forth with the paints, blending and layering to my heart's content to try and get the right color balance while also getting a smooth transition. And this goes on for quite a while; the background was definitely the part that took the longest. Initially, I did sketch in a couple of lines as markers for roughly where I needed certain parts of the gradient to begin and end, and with the paints, I went in and got down the base of red and yellows so I could then start working on marrying the two together. And I have to admit, even I let my yellows get a bit lost/pushed down more so than I would've liked. It's a difficult balance to strike; red is already a strong color that easily overpowers yellow. It's even easier when the yellow and your transition colors are more transparent while the red is more opaque. And even more so when your painting has a vignette feel to it. But once I finally had something I was comfortable with and blocked in most of the black (which was a pain in the butt to blend out, by the way, as I'm sure is obvious by how much I go back and forth with it in the video, misusing a fluffy watercolor brush as a mop brush to blend), I then took my outline for the silhouette that I'd already prepared on another piece of paper and used a Faber Castell Gelato (first a gray, then later I'd use a black) on the back to be able to transfer it on the canvas by tracing it with a mechanical pencil with the point pushed in. Personally, I really do think the Gelatos are the best method I've tried for making faux-transfer paper. They're soft so they transfer the color without much fuss without making a powder smudge-y mess (like charcoal, chalk, or pastels might), and they're also water-soluble so they play nicely with the wetness of the acrylic paints, especially if you've thinned them with a bit of water. Then I got the lovely challenge of trying to paint and blend out a nice bright setting sun on top of the blackish mess I'd made.  (It actually wasn't that bad; the Titanium White is pretty opaque so once it mixed with the yellow and I got a couple of layers on it really didn't have any problem covering the darkness that it had to.) After that, I transferred again some of my lines I'd covered up and then got to work on the black silhouette parts. I did have to alter the look slightly because I wasn't quite as careful with lining up the placement of my "transfer paper" that second time and also because the brush had different ideas about how much black should be in some places than I did, but it wasn't too much of a hassle. And then, of course, the real challenge of blending the black up to meet the silhouettes without completely covering up my sun or messing up my other blending. Although, this also wasn't as tricky as I had thought it would be. Ironically, I think by the time I got this far I was finally starting to get a handle on the acrylics after having been away from them for so long.   Believe it or not, this tiny 4"x6"  painting took well over two hours to complete. I had at least two hours of footage that I trimmed down and sped up like four times, and that doesn't include the dry time in between two background layers, the background and the sun, and then the sun and the silhouette. I'd say it was probably closer to 3 and 1/2 hours total, although technically longer because I kept getting interrupted by things and I had to figure out how to set up the camera and everything before I actually started painting. Once I was done with the painting, I also had to actually edit the thing together, which took many more hours than I bothered to document or care to admit. (P.S. Whoever decided all free video editors that don't come pre-installed on a computer either must have stupidly low export limits and/or super obnoxious watermarks, I hate you.) Yeah, there's a reason it's been almost a year since I last posted an actual video of me making art... It just takes so long to edit everything together and I also have to make an extra effort to get stuff set up before and after for filming...Like, maybe it would be different if I had the space and resources to have an area where I could just leave everything and have a camera set up that doesn't move, but right now when my space is limited and my phone is my camera it's just so much easier to...well, to not. At any rate, here's one. One acrylic painting, and one video. A two-for-one special! Sort of! And I think both turned out pretty okay in the end, at least for someone that 1. Doesn't acrylic paint and 2. Doesn't make videos regularly. I call that a win, wouldn't you? Although, I have a few canvases stockpiled. I really should work on trying to squeeze more acrylic paintings into my art regimen somewhere to use those up, if nothing else... ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[carry-the-sky]

for my lovely lovely friend, @simplytherose​​​​, who requested kastle + trepverter: a witty response or comeback you think of only after it’s too late to use, the words you come up with ‘on your way out.’ this follows the prompt if you squint reaaally hard because i am The Worst™ ughghghghghg, but i hope you like it anyways??

full angst BECAUSE I CAN.

(a very special thanks to @ninzied​​ for the brainstorming and moral support and just being a fabulously wonderful friend, ILY MUCHLY)

And tell me if somehow, some of it remained —

.

She takes a cab home from the hospital. The driver raises an eyebrow at her bare feet but doesn’t say anything, just nods when she gives him her address. She wraps her arms hard around her torso and sits like that for the whole drive, nails dug beneath her ribs. Holding herself together.  

She doesn’t make it two flights up her building’s stairwell. The railing is cool when she presses her forehead to it, and that’s when she sinks to her knees, that’s when all of it — the hospital room, those women in the morgue, Frank refusing to look at her, I don’t want to, gnashed between his teeth, I don’t want to — all of it pours out in waves, sobs that build in her gut and shudder up her sternum so hard it makes her back teeth ache.

Karen overflows, until there’s nothing left.

.

She had dried the roses once they started to wilt, cut the stems and hung them in the hallway so they were the first thing she saw when she walked through the door. It helped, somehow, knowing that small piece of him was safe.

There’s no malice in it, when she carefully takes them off the wall. She’s too numb to be angry — every inch of her feels wrung dry, skin stretched too-tight over her bones.

The thing is — the thing about Karen is that she knows how to hold on. She’s been doing it her whole goddamn life.

She throws the roses out with the trash.

.

It doesn’t take long for him to crop up. Two local gangs massacred at the docks, a sex-trafficking ring exposed, several bodies and more than fifty pounds of heroin found in a Lower East Side warehouse — Frank’s doing exactly what he said he would.

“Reading anything interesting?” Matt asks one morning as he’s dropping off her coffee.

It’s an innocent question, but Karen finds herself clicking away from the open crime beat page anyways. “Not really. World’s going up in flames, the usual.”

If Matt senses the uptick of her heartbeat, the tang of sweat on her palms, he has the grace not to mention it. “Sounds about right,” he says with a wry smile, shutting the door to her office behind him.

Karen doesn’t check the news for the rest of the week.

.

(She wants to forget. She wants to scrub every trace of Frank from her memory, like bleach to a stain. Every interaction they ever had, a kaleidoscope of moments, all of them, gone.

She remembers their conversation by the water, loneliness and finding an after and how soft his mouth had been, pressed to the hollow of her cheek. She remembers —)

The problem isn’t Frank. It’s what he left behind.

.

Time soldiers on. One week turns into two, then three. She stays busy splitting her time between the Bulletin and the newly minted Nelson, Murdock, and Page, writing and investigating and writing some more. When Marci invites her out on the weekends, Karen takes her up on it.

There’s dust gathering on her windowsill. She tries not to notice.

.

It almost works, until —

She comes home to find him sitting outside her door. There’s a split second where she thinks, she hopes, that maybe it’s someone else, someone too drunk or strung out to remember where they live — but then he looks up, and she knows. 

“You’re shitting me, right?” is the first thing that comes out of her mouth.

He pushes to his feet. “Karen—”

“Stop.” She hears her voice break, and she hates that, how weak she sounds. “You don’t get to do this, Frank, you don’t get to show up on my doorstep after months of — after you —”

She’s shaking now, the swirling mess of emotion in her chest coalescing to a sharp point. She’s not sure who she’s more angry with — him, for slinking back again after pushing her away, cornering her outside her goddamn apartment, or herself, for letting him think he could.

Karen thinks of her dusty windowsill, the bare spot on her wall.

She fumbles her phone from her coat pocket and punches 911. “You have five seconds,” she says, “to get the hell out of my building. Now, Frank, or I’m calling the police.”

He believes her. She can see it in his face, the thin line of his mouth and the way he moves away from the wall, slowly, palms open at his sides. He knows she’ll do it, and doesn’t give a shit.

The problem is, she still does.

“Just go,” she says, hovering her thumb over the call button. “Please.”

Frank glances down, and for a moment all Karen hears is the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead, the thud of her heart slamming against her rib cage, like water to a levee. 

She blinks, and he’s looking up at her. 

“There’s somethin’—” he croaks, scratchy like sandpaper. “Christ, Karen, I know you’re pissed, and you got every right to be, I just—”

Karen laughs harshly. “You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you? Well go ahead, Frank, tell me more about what you think you know. I’m all ears.”

Frank’s a lot of things, but he’s not stupid. He stops talking.

Karen lets her phone hand drop and takes a breath, all the way down to her diaphragm. “This is what I know. I have my own shit, Frank, my own life. This thing, you and me — it’s not a revolving door, anymore. I have my life, you have yours. And you made it pretty goddamn clear how you felt about my part in it. So that’s it. I’m closing the door.” She tilts her chin up and stares him down without blinking. “I’m done.”

Frank doesn’t say anything. There’s something abstract working across his face, or maybe it’s just the way he looks in this light, more shadow than skin. Whatever she thinks she sees, it’s there and gone, when she blinks.

He holds his hands up. “Permission to speak? Or are you gonna start waving that thing in my face again?”

“Frank—”

“Five seconds. That’s it, yeah? Then I’m gone.”

The fucking nerve of this man. She sighs and gives him a curt nod.

He gaze ricochets down to the floor, then back up. “You were right, yeah, everything you said at the hospital, all of it. And what I said, Karen, I didn’t —” he glances away again, bobs his head slightly like he’s trying to convince himself to keep going. When he speaks again, his voice is as soft as she’s ever heard it. “You told me to make it mean somethin’. So here I am.”

Karen’s imagined this, what he’d say to her if they ever saw each other again, what her reaction would be, but she never pictured this — a small bubble of laughter in her throat, the sound strangely flat as it breaks past her lips.

“Here you are,” she breathes. The words splinter into a giggle, and Karen pivots towards the the wall, hysteria curdling in her chest. Images flash behind her eyes, all of them Frank — the backlit shape of him in the doorway of Schoonover’s shed, her fingers ghosting over his x-ray, his hand splayed over the crown of her head. A string of moments without the string.

Karen feels it, the exact moment when her laughter turns into something else.

“I’m sorry,” Frank is saying, “shit, Karen, I’m — I’m an asshole for comin’ here, I know it, I just — I want the war, right, I want it, can’t walk away from it. Maybe ever. But you stir all that shit up, Karen, you — you get in my head. I thought I was done, yeah, tried so goddamn hard to convince myself I didn’t, I couldn’t, want anything else.”

“Say it, then.” Her voice is small, coiled tight around the words. “Say it, or go.”

He’s quiet for a beat. “You mean somethin’ to me, Karen. I should’ve — I should’ve told you, before.”

Karen presses her fingers to her cheeks, and turns to face him. “So what now?” she asks. “What now, Frank? You said it yourself, the way you live your life — that’s a part of you, now. I just don’t see how I fit into that.”

Frank digs a hand into his hair, tilts his head and darts his eyes up to hers, and the movement is so familiar, so Frank, it hollows something out inside her chest. “I don’t know, alright, I don’t — I don’t have any answers.” He’s moved closer, somehow, without her noticing — before she can protest, he’s reaching out and brushing a thumb along her jawline. “All I know is after everything we’ve been through, you deserve to know how I feel.”

Karen’s blood is very loud, pounding in her ears. “Frank—”

“Tell me,” he says. “Tell me what to do, Karen.” 

The pull of his gaze is gravity — she couldn’t look away if she wanted to. There’s a cut on his jaw, bruises littering the side of his face from cheek to temple. Hope and fear in his eyes, blurred like watercolors. All the regular landmarks, all of it familiar territory.  

She studies his face now and doesn’t recognize any of it.

I don’t want that. I don’t —

Karen closes her eyes. “Your five seconds are up.”

.

He’s gone, when she looks again.

[harryandmolly]

i could write it better than you ever felt it - FINAL

summary: fuck growing up. this is freedom, this is life, this is youth – 2007 Warped Tour style.

warnings: Language, vintage Something Corporate, oversugaring tea amidst Londoners

word count: 5.2k

A/N: this is it, fam! thanks for coming along in my time machine. I hope it’s everything you dreamed it would be. Shawn’s song is “As You Sleep” by Something Corporate, highly recommend a listen. thank you for everything you are and everything you give me. I love you guys.

Lucky 13.

The emblem of the 2007 Warped Tour has surrounded her all summer, but it feels especially present today somehow, on the last day of tour in Carson, California.

It seems a contradiction in terms, lucky 13, which Val supposes is probably the idea. She knows it’s a cheeky nod to the counterculture vibe that Warped Tour represents, but it also feels representative of her in some ways.

Val’s had a very contemplative and quiet three weeks since she gathered her things and walked out of that hotel room, leaving the scribbled note on the pillow behind her. She’s turned inward, no longer hounded by her conflict with Raf or Bea, able to focus on herself for the first time in a few months. And she’s picked out a few things that coincide with the theme of the summer.

Val is often reckless, and sometimes maternal. Val is book smart, and also street smart. Val embraces academia, but sometimes thinks she could drown herself in music and never read books again. Val is vibrant even when she is broken.

Humans are made up of contradictions, Val knows that as well as anyone. She is not suddenly realizing that she is not only one thing -- her dichotomies are not really news to her. But as she thinks about the people she loves most, she sees the way certain parts of their personalities bump up against other parts and fight for dominance, and she loves them more richly for it.

Humans are made up of contradictions and Val is embracing that from here on out. She arrived on the first day of Warped wearing a blink t-shirt with a textbook on Ming dynasty art in her trunk. All summer, she studied the ways she doesn’t fit in here in the scene anymore like she was looking for reasons to make a clean split and join her adult life across the pond. But the truth is, she failed. She looked for the ways that made her feel different from this world that she helped in her small way to build, but it’s as much a home to her as academia is and it will never truly feel foreign, no matter how many hours she spends crouched over a 9th century vase with a tiny brush. So her biggest contradiction, her inner strife over choosing academia over pop punk, it fades into her skin like her tattoo, as much a part of her as the dimple in her chin or the curls in her hair that she decided not to straighten today.

Val walks the grounds as the sun begins to fade. The last sets of the day are in progress or being set up. With earbuds in playing Boys Like Girls, she strolls between booths of merch people clinking beers and congratulating each other on a summer well done, between groups of kids comparing signed merch, between crew guys beginning to break down and pack away equipment to be pulled out next June for another go around.

She imagines who she’ll be next June.

She walks slowly on her way to Smartpunk. It seems her body is just as hesitant as her mind to attend this one last set, but she’s doing it anyway. She’s not sure why -- to prove a point to herself? To indulge in the talent one last time? To try to believe in a miracle?

She doesn’t like any of those options. She settles on curiosity and keeps her feet moving in uncharacteristically small steps.

She stands at the back, nice and far from any moshing action, by the All Time Low booth so she can sit on the edge of the table without getting grief from Vinny Vegas.

She wears a small smirk as the space around her fills in. It seems every Warped attendee is a Forefront convert now. She doesn’t blame them. But damn is it a far cry from their first sets in June.

They’re announced over the yelping cries of fans wearing out their last screams of summer. They hustle out in a group, with their tall, gawky frontman bringing up the rear as usual. He plants himself in front of the mic and swings one powerful arm above his head with a wild grin to wave as his adoring fans.

And it begins.

They put on a hell of a show. It’s not a given -- just because you’re good in the studio doesn’t mean you have the chemistry or energy to do well live. There are special bands that make a live concert a nearly religious experience -- her friends in Paramore and All Time Low among them. Forefront has gotten their sea legs this summer and won’t easily lose them now.

She takes the time to notice each member -- passionate, goofy Francis on rhythm guitar, hard-hitting, soft-spoken Seth on the drums, raucous pretty boy bassist Bobby. And then Shawn, switching between his keyboard and guitar effortlessly like he was born with a damn instrument in his hand, charisma leaking out of him all over the stage, making everyone in a fifteen mile radius certain that he’s born to do this.

She closes her eyes through the end of “Open End” and waits for “Swim” to start. When Shawn switches back to the keys at this point in the set, he usually engages in some chit chat with the boys or yammers on to the fans about how much they inspire him or whatever. But he’s quiet and the air around the stage is tense because everyone knows something’s up.

Val opens her eyes. He’s where she expected him to be, propped at the edge of his bench with his fingers resting over the keys, looking down at them frozen.

“We’re gonna play you a new one today.”

Val’s stomach falls out and flops into the dirt at her feet. She’s glad she’s sitting on the table because she can’t feel her legs. She overwhelmed by certainty that whatever’s about to happen, it’s going to be personal. And it’s going to hurt like hell.

Shawn is quiet for a few more electrically charged moments before he closes his eyes, rolls his shoulders forward and leans into the mic, singing before the instruments join him.

“Close your eyes and I will be swimming, lullabies fill your room, and I will be singing, singing only to you. Don’t forget I’ll hold your head, watch the night sky fading red.”

His fingers work furiously against the keys. The piano line is so intricate and shows off his talent for the instrument in a way she’s never seen. He keeps his eyes down at his hands as they dance, distracting him enough from the content of the lyrics so he can get through them without breaking down like he did when he wrote it.

“But as you sleep, and no one is listening, I will lift you off your feet, I'll keep you from sinking. Don't you wake up yet, cause soon I'll be leaving you. Soon I'll be leaving you, but you won't be leaving me.”

Val closes her eyes again and lets herself fall back into their last night, into their frantic lovemaking punctuated by irresponsible, unkeepable promises. She thinks about the weight of his legs between hers as she drifted off with him in the last full night sleep she got on tour. She remembers the way she let her hand rest on his side of the bed to try to tell when he left by how cool to the touch it felt.

“In the car, the radio leaves me searching for your star, a constellation of frustration driving home, singing my thoughts back to me, and watching heartache on TV.”

It feels so good to get this out, Shawn thinks as he hits each note just the way he wants it. This song came spilling out after their last night together in a way that felt too easy. After all that he put her through, he doesn’t deserve to have his art come easy. But art is never fair.

“But as you sleep, and no one is listening, I will lift you off your feet, I'll keep you from sinking. Don't you wake up yet, cause soon I'll be leaving you. Soon I'll be leaving you, but you won't be leaving me.”

By the second chorus, Val knows the words. It’s hard not to zero in when you know they’re about you. She notes the way the crowd reacts, arms in the air waving at him like he’s Jimi Hendrix, cheering along, eating up everything he gives them.

Good, she thinks, he deserves it.

The lead into the bridge is still piano heavy, but his fingers know the strokes of the keys as well as his heart does, so he gets to sit up and look around, grinning as their fans cheer, watching the sky explode vibrant summer watercolors over the trees on the horizon. A thick, soothing breeze passes through.

He looks back through to where he saw her a few songs ago. He lets his gaze stay there long enough that she knows now that she’s been spotted. He licks his lips and leans into the mic, but keeps his eyes up at her, perched on the ATL merch table like she owns it.

He repeats the lyrics even though each word feels like tearing at scabs that won’t be healing for a while. He pours it all in, everything he has left, every piece of I’m sorry, every hint of thank you, every whisper of I love you, it soars out over the heads of the fans who love the words but don’t know the boy that wrote them.

They’re for her.

As the final note fades out under sweeping cries of gratitude from the scene kids that came to celebrate their home and community, Val stands, brushes the dust from her skinny jeans and secures her earbuds back in place. With a final nodding smile to Vinny, she turns from the stage and walks off in gigantic, loping steps to read about John Singer Sergeant and listen to Dookie on repeat.

+++++++

December 18th, 2017

Shawn doesn’t often fit most musician stereotypes -- he doesn’t drink too heavily, he doesn’t do any drug harder than weed, he’s kind of a serial monogamist.

But he does love a moody walk along a body of water.

With a pair of good headphones, a carefully curated playlist and a path along the water, Shawn can figure out anything. When he gets stuck on a song, he goes to the water. When he’s in a weird spot with someone he’s dating, he goes to the water. He doesn’t like to get too spiritual about it, but it does feel somehow clarifying.

So one afternoon in London when the sun is out and the Londoners are out with it, Shawn decides to join them. He’s there on business promoting the latest Forefront album with a Live Lounge performance on BBC Radio 1 with Nick Grimshaw. He’s jetlagged and a little turned around by the Underground system like he usually is when in London but he’s otherwise feeling just fine. He just needs a walk by the water today. He tries not to look too closely at why.

He bundles up in the Barbour jacket his mum got him last Christmas and sets off down the stairs into the opulent Savoy hotel lobby decked out with a Christmas tree in every corner and fresh garland wrapped around every non-moving object in sight. He smiles at it -- nobody does Christmas like the Brits. He’s looking forward to going home in a few days to see his mum and the rest of his family and decompress for a few weeks before heading back over to the UK to write and record their next album.

He gets reflective like this -- the combination of the water and the music offer him perspective he can’t usually reach otherwise. He tucks his hands in his pockets and sets off through the garden that opens up into the Victoria Embankment Gardens, usually lush and green in the spring and summer, full of life and people. He likes it like this, though, cold and quiet and almost like a little secret.

2017 has been good to him. Forefront played seven new countries this year on their world tour in celebration of their sixth studio album. He’s gotten a little better over the years about being more present in those moments rather than looking forward anxiously to the next album and the expectations that surround it. That attitude really spoiled the last few records, but the new friends he’s made in the industry have helped guide him through that. He’s even becoming friends with the Irish guy from One Direction now, though they had very different paths to the music industry. He seems like a cool guy.

Personally, 2017 wasn’t really a banner year. He broke up with Jess in April after almost a full year. He’s had a few of those lately -- relationships that start hot and don’t make it past a year mark. He should take a closer look at that and figure out why he can’t seem to stay in a relationship for longer than 11 months, but he’s too tired to think about it now. It’s been a long fuckin’ year.

It’s been a long ten years, actually, since Joy Ride. He thinks back to the show they played at home in Toronto over the summer to celebrate the big anniversary. They played the whole album start to finish, something they’ve never gotten to do. Being immersed in it like that brings back a lot of memories of that summer when everything really kicked off. Not all those memories are ones Shawn likes to think about.

He doesn’t think about Valentina much. It’s by design. He doesn’t even play “As You Sleep” as often as it’s requested. It just… doesn’t feel healthy for him. He’ll pull it out every once in a while when curiosity gets the best of him, when it’s been long enough that he forgets how sharply he still feels every word of that song. He usually regrets it.

He lets himself wonder about her sometimes, like today when he’s knee deep in nostalgia anyway. He still sees Raf and the other Streets guys. They went on a hiatus for a while around 2013 but are back again recording a new record somewhere in Malibu, from what Shawn’s heard. When he sees them, he doesn’t ask about her. He doesn’t want her knowing he’s asking. And he thinks sometimes he doesn’t want to know what she’s really up to, he’d rather imagine.

He falls into his favorite daydream. He likes to think she stayed in the UK (he always felt like that was the place for her to end up). Maybe she got a job in conservation at Oxford or Cambridge or some other hoity-toity university. Maybe she met a nice, polite, skinny, bookish English guy who looks at her like a miracle every time she speaks to him. Maybe they had a small wedding at his local church and his family loves her because she’s colorful and articulate. Maybe they have dogs -- sheepdogs or setters or something, good country dogs. And maybe they’ve had a little girl.

That’s where he usually shuts the daydream down. For obvious reasons.

But when he doesn’t, he thinks about her and who she might be. He thinks about thick, lush curls flopped over a tiny forehead. He thinks about pouty little lips and a chin dimple that matches her mother’s. He thinks about little feet that kick hard because she’d have to be strong, of course.

Now that he’s letting himself think about it, he thinks maybe she’d look kinda like the kid that’s staring at him, reaching out from her pram that’s parked next to the bench he’s strolling past. He smiles at her and she beams back with a grin that has only two teeth. It makes Shawn laugh.

He glances over at her lucky mum or dad.

And it’s almost like he expected it, like it had to be her. I mean, this kid really couldn’t have been anyone but Val’s. She’s just… so Val.

So when Shawn looks her over, from her sweeping dark curls and her leather trousers and her ankle boots, he’s barely even surprised to see her. He just tips his head back and chuckles at the universe.

“Hey mister,” she calls, and her voice sets his skin rough with goosebumps, “Can I have your autograph?”

Shawn lets go of where he’s holding on to the wrought iron fence above the banks of the Thames and walks over, his chelsea boots scratching at the frosty stone.

She doesn’t stand to greet him. She’s got a similar look on her face, bemused acknowledgement of fate and its tricks, like she was thinking about him too and they both somehow willed this to happen. Her long slender legs are crossed. She has one black leather-gloved hand in the pram in the grasp of her little girl who’s chewing on her finger and no longer paying Shawn any attention.

“Hey, Vally,” he sighs. He doesn’t mean to call her that, it just happens. She doesn’t visibly react beyond a slightly deeper dimple in her cheek, so he figures he scraped by with that one.

“Were you on your way somewhere?” she asks, glancing back as if she realized she might be taking him away from something.

He shakes his head. “No, I just-- I’m staying at the Savoy and I like these gardens. I just wanted a walk.” He has enough presence of mind to pause his music. He doesn’t bother to mention it’s an old Streets song. That she wrote.

“We like it out here. We live over by the Farringdon stop but we take the train out here because we like the waterfowl.”

Val looks down at the pram as she speaks. Shawn takes that as an invitation to acknowledge her more formally.

“Who’s this?” he asks breathlessly.

“This is Alice,” Val replies with as much pride as he’s ever heard from any mother, “Alice Fernanda Moreno, she’s nine months old and very hefty for her age because we run a body positive household and she loves mashed carrot and swede.”

Shawn lifts a hand and waves in that open-close way he does like he’s a big toddler himself. Alice kicks hard and squeals at him.

“She’s… so beautiful,” he marvels. Val’s smug smile tells him she agrees. Shawn doesn’t share his next thought because it feels like a line and he doesn’t want to go there.

Because she looks exactly like you.

“I picked out a real pretty one,” she jokes, tightening the wrap of the thick wool blankets around Alice as she yawns.

Shawn continues staring at her openly, trying to pick out features that could belong to any potential father, but as far as he can tell, Alice is simply a clone of Val. It’s Val’s throat clearing that brings him back.

“Sit, Mendes,” she suggests, patting the warped wooden bench. Shawn lowers himself on the other side of the pram as Val rocks it back and forth with her foot.

“She’s been fussy today, but it’s naptime. She has to give in eventually,” Val mutters like she’s reasoning with herself. Shawn grins.

“You have a daughter.”

Val doesn’t look up from the pram as she rocks it. She just nods and snuggles into her prim peacoat.

“I have a daughter.”

Shawn can’t bring himself to ask. She’s wearing gloves so he can’t see if she’s wearing a ring. He stays quiet and studies her instead.

She looks largely the same, barely even older than she did at 22. Her sense of style is maybe the only thing he can see that’s changed in the ten years since he’s seen her last. There’s something comforting in that.

He wonders if he seems different. He works out more now, eats right. He’s definitely put on a whole lot of muscle since he was scrounging for burger scraps on Warped. He’s gotten a few more tattoos she can’t see. He also has an actual stylist now, which is sometimes weird, but he’s elevated the black skinnies, Vans and band tees to black skinnies, $800 boots and silk button-ups. So there’s that.

He’s still got that lip ring though.

But… he wonders if he seems different. If he carries himself differently. If he comes off more confident, more calm, less wide-eyed and wondering.

Because she seems the same. She’s always glowed from the inside out like this. Maybe the glow feels a little stronger now. Or maybe it’s just because she glows through herself and her baby girl all at once. Shawn sits back and watches them -- he could bathe in it all day.

“You know it’s been ten years?” she breathes.

Shawn nods slowly. “I know. Kinda feels like 40.”

She laughs and a piece of him astral projects back to nights tangled up in her bunk kissing her neck and trying to keep her quiet so her brother won’t come mock them from outside the bunk curtain.

“It does,” she muses, “But sometimes it feels like fifteen minutes ago, too.”

Shawn tips his head back and sniffs, looking up through a tall pine as its needles shiver.

“Has your decade been good to you?” she murmurs. He lifts his head back up. She’s staring down at the baby.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s been great. We’ve toured a lot, done a few more albums. The guys and I, I mean, you know us, we’d push each other in front of a bus most days, but we’re brothers and maybe obsessed with each other, too. We’re on a great ride.”

Val lifts her eyes to his briefly, all too knowingly, and lowers them back to the pram. “That’s good.”

Shawn shakes his head. “That’s not even at all what you meant, was it?”

“Nope.”

Shawn goes quiet, contemplative. Val waits him out until he’s ready.

“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” he chokes finally, “Everything about it. Writing after Joy Ride, it was… it got bad. I mean, I was ok, like fundamentally, but I didn’t feel good. We had so many eyes on us. We had no idea what to do, just like no one else does. Some tours were great, some were bad. And the whole deal makes everything else harder. It’s hard on my family, my friends. I… I haven’t been in an actual good relationship in… five years, at least. This year was better. We’ve gotten our feet back under us. I let it all out in the last album, and that helped.”

“I know, I heard it.”

Shawn looks up from Val’s hands in the pram. For the first time all morning, he’s really, truly shocked to the bone.

“You did?”

Val doesn’t answer him exactly, just mutters something about needing to get the baby inside and announces they’ll head down the lane for a cup of tea. She leads them to a little corner coffee shop made for hipsters, not for women with very expensive prams, but Val doesn’t seem to care and parks in the corner by the fire. She layers down, stripping off her scarf and coat to a black turtleneck. Her cheeks go warm as she settles in and orders for them.

Shawn keeps his mouth shut and tries not to do the mental math of how many of the songs he’s released in the last ten years have been written about her, and exactly how many of them she might have noticed are definitely, totally written about her.

She folds her manicured hands together and looks up at him. His brain mercifully shuts off.

“It took a while after that summer for me to get there, but about three years later, I was around Oxford with some friends and I saw your latest album, on vinyl no less, in some indie record store. I suddenly got this feeling that I had to stop my whole life for a minute and go in and buy it. I bought it and the one that came before it, I said goodbye to my friends and I shut myself up in my flat for a couple days with a bottle of whiskey and just… let it happen.”

Shawn winces. “Wish you’d have just skipped over Making Midnight.”

Val smirks. “I wish I had, too.”

Shawn scoffs and leans back in his chair, mock offended. Val giggles and dumps an ungodly amount of sugar in her Earl Grey.

“I was glad to just hear your voice again, actually. I’d done a good job of avoiding it. Too good, maybe, because it was a real shock to the system when I heard it again.”

Shawn knows how that feels. He went through a Val cleanse too, a much shorter one because he doesn’t have her willpower. And then he heard a song she wrote with Alex Gaskarth for All Time Low’s Dirty Work and he let her back in.

“From then, I just bought your records when they came out. I really loved this last one. It really… I dunno, it just really felt like you, I guess.”

Shawn keeps his head down as he stares at his tea. He hears Alice coo. He looks up to see Val lifting her out of her pram to bounce her in her lap, baby in one arm, cup of tea in the other.

“God, it’s so fuckin’ good to see you,” he croaks, shaking his head a little, “Especially…”

He trails off, unwilling to finish. He ducks his head again.

“Especially with a kid I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to have?” Val guesses.

Shawn glances up and nods.

“Do you want to hear about this?” Val murmurs, ignoring Alice as she yanks at some silky curls.

Shawn chews on his lower lip. “Yeah, I think I do.”

It’s Val’s turn to look down. She stirs the mountain of slowly dissolving sugar at the bottom of her mug and sighs.

“She’s just mine. Last year I started to get a little anxious about my biological clock, especially given the last time I got pregnant. I saw a fertility specialist and we discussed my history and she agreed if I want to have children, it’s probably better to start now. So I went in for IVF. On the second cycle, I got pregnant with Alice. The pregnancy was complicated, but my doctor was a saint and did everything absolutely right. The birth went perfectly. So now it’s me and Alice against the world.”

Shawn slides his tongue against his lower lip, taps his foot impatiently against the leg of his chair. “Just you two?”

“Just us two,” Val replies easily, “There were a couple guys in and out before her, but I haven’t gone out with anyone since I got pregnant. I didn’t feel the need. I just wanted to focus on her. I’m glad I did.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, reflective. Then Val stands and looks down at him.

“Would you mind holding her for a minute? I need to use the loo.”

Shawn bites his lip and nods, standing to complete the transfer. Alice is asleep in her mother’s arms, but, as Val explains with a chuckle, “she’s a snuggle whore -- she’ll go with anybody for a little cuddle.”

Shawn sits. Alice curls up against his chest and pops her tiny lips in her sleep. She radiates warmth from her little swaddled bundle. As he stares down at her, Shawn fundamentally understands why Val hasn’t needed anyone else in her life since Alice arrived. He thinks if Val let him, he’d never put her down.

Alice stretches a tiny arm out in her sleep and punches Shawn in the chest. He snickers, jostling his little bundle, but it doesn’t wake her. He starts to get comfortable, sliding down in the chair a bit so he can rock her, but Val’s hand on his shoulder startles him.

“It’s ok,” she says, “Keep her, if she’s not fussing. I’d rather she stay asleep.”

Shawn nods eagerly and strokes Alice’s back with his long, rough fingers. Val sits across the table with her elbows propped up like she’s physically restraining herself to keep from snatching her child out of his arms. It makes Shawn grin.

“You ok over there?”

Val blushes, caught. “It’s usually just the two of us. I don’t ever have to share her. I’m not used to jonesing.”

“I’ll give her back if you want,” Shawn mumbles reluctantly. Val giggles.

“No, it’s ok. She looks happy.”

Shawn hums. She does look happy.

“So are you working?” he asks quietly, not wanting to wake Alice.

Val nods. “We are, we work at the V&A in the medieval department. We just started back about a month ago after my maternity leave. The museum’s been very generous. They let me walk around with her strapped to my chest all day. She helps consult on various matters, charms my coworkers into letting me leave bottles of breastmilk in every fridge in the museum. I shifted from conservation to curation a few years ago, which is a steadier, more lucrative track. I think it’ll be better for us.”

Us. We’re working at the V&A. We started back at the museum. Shawn’s enamored. He goes pink and brushes through the curls on the back of Alice’s neck.

“Sounds like you’ve got a great partner here,” he quips.

Val is quiet for a minute. “We’re very happy together. But we get a little lonely sometimes. Like when it’s cold and mummy really doesn’t want to get out of bed but Alice is screaming bloody murder. Those are the only moments when this isn’t the greatest thing in the whole world.”

Shawn looks up. Val is watching him carefully. Before he can speak, she swallows and lowers her gaze.

“But we get along, you know. We’re ok.”

“Yeah,” Shawn says, “I know you are.”

They chat. They talk about Raf and his wife Rachel and their little ones -- Val and Alice will be heading across the pond to spend Christmas with them and her parents. They talk about Bea and how she’s spent five years with the same guy up in Edinburgh and she seems actually happy. They talk about their near miss at Alex’s wedding last April -- she came for the ceremony but had to skip out of the reception, Shawn the opposite. They chat through several more cups of tea, an array of pastries, and another nap cycle until it’s dark and quiet outside. Val stares mournfully out the window as she puts on her jacket with Alice back in her pram, gurgling quietly.

Shawn is silent, brow furrowed. He pays the tab with a ghost of a smile and thinks about walking back to his hotel to sit in his room with the TV to try to drown out this day. It’s… unappealing to say the least.

They walk to the door. Shawn holds it open for Val and Alice and considers that they probably look to anyone else like a young family that spent the day together and are headed home to a warm dinner and a cozy night in.

Val’s heart pounds in her ears faster than their boots’ steps on the crunchy ground. She wants to swallow the words, but she doesn’t think she can. Not with him.

“Would you like to walk us home?” she breathes.

Shawn’s smile is extraordinary. He looks up from Alice’s curious brown eyes.

“Yes, please.”

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Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @stillinskislydia @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn​ @alone-in-madness​ @alone-in-madness @singanddreamanyway@accioalena @randi-eve @shawnitsmutual @embracehappy @itrocksmysocks @yslsaint @peacedolantwins2 @kitykatnumber

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Salient

Chapter Update! FFN and AO3

Now that Patient and it's 5K+ word chapters are done, Salient gets weekly updates! See you all Saturday, Sept 7th!

Chapter 6

Al had spent all morning Saturday powering through his homework. He managed to finish it all and get a bit ahead before noon, then he moved from school work to cleaning his flat again. He finished cleaning it, then cleaned it a second time, and then realized he didn't have anything planned for the date yet.

And in his panic, he could only think of one thing he wanted to do. But it felt weird and on that same wavelength as stalking her had.

Al wanted to watch Ellie paint.

Not in a creepy way! He reasoned in his head.

There's something about seeing someone doing what they love, in their element, that absolutely fascinated Al. He reasoned it probably started with watching his parents have Seeker scrimmages over the back lawn when he was little. It was only reinforced on the rare occasion he got to watch his dad work on new defense spells, and the consistent opportunity to watch his mum write her articles. You can see a whole new side of a person when you watch them doing their passion, and Al was keen to see every side of Ellie she might be willing to show him.

He passed his phone back and forth between his hands, trying to convince himself to just have her come over and watch Star Wars or some other safe and semi-normal date activity. But his mind was obsessing and Al couldn't get it to stop.

"Just text her and ask," he told himself. "Worst that happens is she says no."

Or calls Mum.

Shite.

Al took a deep breath. He was overreacting. He just needed to approach the question in a not creepy way. Word it better. He could do that.

He opened his text messages

Al: Hi Ellie. I'm excited to see you :) What do you think of starting out our date by letting me see some of your other pieces? I'd love to see something you're working on right now.

He read the text twenty times before finally hitting send. He wanted to be sure it didn't sound like he was being weird because he usually came off as weird...at least that's what a lot of people had told him.

He agonized about that a bit while he waited for his phone to chime with her response.

After an eternity of five minutes, it did.

Ellie: Sure, I know just the one to show you too! See you in thirty minutes?

Al let out an explosive breath. He wasn't sure how he'd done it, but he had somehow managed to not come off as a stalker, and he felt like flying.

Al: Can't wait. See you in thirty.

Al managed to sit still all of thirty seconds before he started to fidget. In order to keep himself from stress cleaning (again), and to make some attempt at clearing his mind, he decided to go on a long walk before walking to Ellie's.

The walk was good. It threatened to rain but thankfully didn't. And Al managed to push his mind over to other things like his experiments and classes. So by the time he was standing in front of Ellie's door, Al felt halfway normal again.

Then Ellie opened the door.

Damn this woman was hell-bent on doing him in. Or maybe he just needed to grow accustomed to her in clothes other than her work clothes? He liked the implications of the second option.

"Hi!" She grinned up at him and Al wasted no time in closing the distance between them to kiss her.

Kissing Ellie was its own kind of magic and Al loved it. It was the kind of magic that trickled down his spine and quieted his mind. It was the kind of magic that made charms and transfiguration feel like parlor tricks and sleight of hand.

"Hi," he whispered against her when she pulled back to take a deep breath.

"Hi," she giggled, "Want to come in?"

He nodded against her forehead, "Only a lot."

She reached down and took his hand and winked at him. "Then follow me, Mr. Potter."

Al swallowed, he kind of liked how she said Potter, like each letter deserved to be said. But it still put his mind on his parents. "Mr. Potter is my dad, El."

"It's you too, silly," Ellie laughed as she led him up the steps.

"Yeah, but I think of my dad when I hear it." Al looked around as she led him through another door and into her aunt and uncle's sitting room.

"Well, then remind yourself that it's me saying it and not anyone else." She winked at him as she pulled him up another staircase.

"That helps," Al chuckled as his nose picked up the smell of something odd.

Ellie led him down a narrow corridor and opened a door to what had to be her room.

There was a large table that took up the majority of the small space littered with paint splatters and three table easels each holding a half-finished canvas. A folding chair was similarly covered in paint. Tubs were under the table full of paint tubes and canvases - both finished and new. The only other piece of furniture in the tight space was her small bed pushed up against the other wall, and Al was sure he noticed paint stains on her pillowcase.

He also realized the smell had been coming from her room.

"Is that the paint I smell?" He noticed her room didn't have a window, which he didn't think suited her at all.

"The varnish, actually," she picked up her wand from her bed and sent a wave of fresh air around them. "I just finished varnishing this one." She pointed to an open tub under the table where a painting of a dock reaching into a body of water sat.

"It's beautiful," Al grinned, resisting the urge to reach out and touch it.

"But you wanted to see something I was working on," she moved to the easels on the table.

Al nodded and came to stand beside her. It was only then that he noticed the three canvases had the same color scheme.

"I can't tell what it's going to be, but are they a set?"

Ellie nodded, "They're a set, and they're in the ugly stage right now."

"Ugly stage?" Al laughed as he wrapped a hand around her waist.

Ellie leaned into him and Al grinned like an idiot. "Some mediums look beautiful from start to finish, like watercolor. Others, like acrylic, look awful for the first eighty percent of the painting before they start to look like something might be salvageable, and it isn't until the last ten percent or so that the painting looks beautiful."

Al chuckled, "So these are acrylic?"

Ellie nodded against his shoulder.

"Do you only paint in acrylic?"

"No, those books," she pointed to a tub under the table, "are all the watercolors I've done since I moved here." She pointed to another tub, "And these are all oil paintings."

"What about those three tubs?" Al pointed to the last three tubs big enough for paintings.

"Those are acrylic paintings."

"So you obviously prefer acrylic," Al chuckled.

Ellie smiled up at him, "I guess I do."

Al held her gaze for a moment, loving that her smile was directed at him.

"So what will these three be?"

Ellie's smile went just a touch sad, "They're home."

"St. John's?" Al pulled her a bit closer, determined to ease the sadness out of her smile.

"And all around the island. My dad and my grandma have a special connection with the land and nature. They took Mum and me all around Newfoundland while I was growing up."

"I bet it was brilliant."

Ellie sighed, looking back at the three canvases. "It's the best sort of magic."

Al held her, not sure how to dissolve the melancholy that had fallen so quickly. Ellie reached out and touched the closest canvas, and Al had an idea.

"Why not finish them?"

"Oh, Al, that'll take me a few hours." Ellie laughed.

"Alright," he pulled her chair out for her and threw his coat on her bed. "This is better than sitting on my couch watching Star Wars together."

"You, you really want to watch me paint? I warn you I'm no Bob Ross."

Al chuckled, "I have no idea who that is, but I honestly believe he can't paint half as well as you do."

"Al," Ellie hedged, looking uncertain.

He pulled her into him and kissed her softly before pulling back a fraction, "Paint, El."

"Do I earn kisses for finishing paintings," she murmured against him before pushing forward and kissing him again.

"You don't earn kisses, El," he smiled, "you get to experience how much will power I have at not simply kissing you all day, every day."

Ellie laughed, her broad smile breaking their kiss completely.

"Now paint," Al grinned and sat on her bed to remove his shoes.

Ellie was nervous at first, her movements jerky and she fumbled with brushes and paint. But Al grinned when her brush hit paint. Her very posture changed as she zoned in, painting through this 'ugly stage'. And Al sat on her bed and watched as she worked. It was amazing to see how masterfully she handled her materials. Moving between the three canvases with each bright color she squeezed out of white tubes smeared in paint. He zoned in with her, mesmerized as the images began to break through the paintings.

Al nearly jumped out of his skin when someone knocked on the door.

"Eliza," a vaguely familiar voice called out.

Al watched Ellie as she came out of her trance, looking much like a little girl being woken early from a nap.

"Yes, Aunt Susan?" Ellie didn't sound like herself, and Al frowned.

The door opened and the woman who'd been his waitress the day Ellie had been set up in the gallery came in.

"Eliza," she paused, "oh dear girl, please tell me you did not make this poor boy sit here and watch you paint."

Al felt outraged at Susan's words and opened his mouth to say so but Ellie beat him to speaking.

"We, I, he wanted to see what home looked like."

"And you have plenty of pictures on your phone, I'm sure." Susan shook her head. "I'm going to throw some dinner together, will the two of you be joining us?"

"No," Al spoke before Ellie could. "I've made other arrangements."

Susan squinted at him, "Oh, you're the boy who asked after Ellie a few days ago."

"That's me," Manners be damned. Al wanted to erect a brick wall between this woman and Ellie.

"Thanks, Aunt Susan," Al turned to see Ellie had returned the paintings.

"Of course, dear," Susan smiled at her back before turning and closing the door.

Al stared at the closed door for a moment, trying to gain control of his indignance.

"She means well," Ellie's voice seemed to seep into his anger like a stream of cold mountain water. "She thinks I'm too caught up in my art to see the real world, and that I'll end up alone and a starving artist."

Al moved from the bed to Ellie's side before kneeling next to her folding chair.

"You see the world better than she does because of your art." He ran his fingers against the paint on her hand. "I won't lie, I kind of want to yell at your aunt right now."

She laughed and leaned down to kiss him. Al would have sacrificed both knees for her to keep kissing him right there, but eventually, she pulled back.

"Thank you."

"Do you want to eat now and finish these after dinner or finish these now and eat later?" Al pressed his forehead against hers.

She glanced at her palette before looking back at him.

"Food now is good. I'm basically out of paint on my palette so I'm not going to be wasting anything. And we don't have to come back and have me paint. We can do something you like too."

Al pressed forward and kissed her briefly. "Please never think I don't like watching you do what you love."

She grinned, "I'd like to see what you love too."

Al smiled, "What's your calendar look like this week? I can always do with an extra evening experimenting."

Ellie brought a paint-smeared hand up to his face. "How about tomorrow?"

"Sounds perfect," and he kissed her.

[bellarkefanfiction]

Baby, we're an artistic coincidence

written by: josefine / @selflessbellamy

prompt: "You keep requesting the book I need so I can’t have it the whole time and we leave each other passive aggressive notes in the margins" for anonymous 

word count: 2564

If Athena had lived today, her black dress would be set aflame by the ravaging war behind her, there would be a chess piece tattooed across her collarbone: the knight, symbolizing strategic warfare. No doubt she would have a bruised face with a cut lip but her pace would carry her proudly through the battlefield. At least, this is how Clarke Griffin captures her in a modern format, drawing all of the curves and lines that make up a goddess.

She’s been reading The Iliad for reference. Despite her interest in mythology she’s never actually read that classic before, but now that it’s vital for her studies, she has to. If only the asshole that keeps reserving the book from the library would just let her have it for more than a week at a time.

Annoyed, she’d walked into the library that morning, sipping on her hot chocolate. The first unsuspecting librarian she encountered was the target of her frustration (but not even that could possibly cloud how cute he was).

“Isn’t it possible for me to have this book for longer? I really need it for my studies.”

“I’m sorry. It’s the rules. The other person claimed that he needed it to write a novel, but I don’t know. He looked like a college student to me.” At that, the librarian had smirked, just a tiny pull at the corner of his mouth, but that was enough to send her away, since she wasn’t keen on getting distracted by anything — at least not until her project was finished.

For hours, she sits by one of the tables in the library, struggling to finish the portrait of Athena before she has to turn the book over, which she does. However, she still has three art pieces to go: Artemis, Nyx, and Nike. Feeling exhaustion seep into her bones, Clarke makes an impulsive decision that she knows she’ll most likely regret, but before she has the time to, she opens the book and scribbles a short message in the margin of the first place.

Now, are you really writing a book or is it a bullshit excuse?

I need this book, otherwise I’m gonna fail my course.

Hope it’s a damn good WIP.

Then she closes it again before handing it over to the cute librarian, and they exchange smiles. Somehow, it places guilt in her heart, sort of like she’s disappointed him in a way by writing in the book… Whatever, she doesn’t even know this man.

***

A week later, the book is hers again, which leads her to the library. By now, her drawing of Athena has been filled in with gorgeous watercolors, and she’s surprisingly proud of it. Since her dad died last year, her inspiration has come and gone like a tidal wave, which is more than frustrating when your future depends on the work that you create.

Grinning slightly this time, the librarian hands her The Iliad, and suddenly a question emerges from Clarke’s lips without permission. “Sorry, but would it be weird if I’d like to know your name? We see each other so often by now, it just… feels a bit strange—“

“Not at all. My name’s Bellamy.”

She smiles. “I’m Clarke.”

When she opens to book, ready to start her drawing of Artemis, a mysterious blue Post-It has been placed in the margin of the first page, directly below where she wrote her passive aggressive message a week ago. Now, that’s been erased.

On the Post-It, the other Iliad-reader has written:

DON’T YOU KNOW IT’S WRONG TO WRITE IN BOOKS, PRINCESS?

SHAME ON YOU ;)

(AND YES, I AM IN FACT WRITING A BOOK)

Block letters? Who writes in block letters like that? Well, when they’re not yelling at someone on social media, that is. Needless to say, it’s uncommon. Thought #2: What the hell is that winking smiley face supposed to mean? As everyone knows, the use of it can be interpreted in a million different ways, so… is this guy a creep? Is he just trying to be sassy, what’s going on?

Before her mind loses to all of the unanswered questions, Clarke stops her train of thought, reminding herself that she has some very important work to do, and she has no intention of letting anything prevent her from it.

It takes a few minutes for the full image of a modern Artemis to take shape in her imagination, but when it does, Clarke wastes no time. Keeping a strict focus as a young huntress starts to appear on the piece of paper, she hardly notices someone brush past her. Later, she finds out that it’s Bellamy, because he reveals it once she’s about to leave.

“I hope you don’t mind me trying to sneak a peek at your drawings. They’re really good… Are you doing a project?”

At those words, Clarke lights up, spinning around on her heel so that she can walk back towards him. “Yes. It’s a series of art pieces that depict some Greek goddesses in modern time,” as soon as she’s said that, Bellamy’s eyebrows shoot up, exposing his interest and surprise.

“Which ones are you doing?”

“Oh, you like Greek mythology?”

He chuckles at her question, running a hand through his curly, dark hair: it’s attractively messy, and for a moment she’s more than tempted to move it out of his eyes. Nevertheless, she catches herself at the last minute, placing her hand on the counter.

“I’ve read The Iliad myself a couple of times,” he admits at last, grinning.

Curious, she meets his dark brown eyes for a second before her gaze unconsciously drifts to the dusting of freckles across his cheeks. He would be difficult to draw, she notes: the lines of his face vary in hardness, and there seems to be no shortage of beautiful features that she would hardly be able to do any justice, like the small crinkles around his eyes. Before she becomes too carried away, Clarke starts to tell him more about her project. “I’m doing five different ones. Athena, Artemis, Nyx, Nike, and Aphrodite… I’ve only done two by now, and the project is due in two weeks. This is why I keep returning for the book.”  

Bellamy hesitates for almost an entire minute, then says, carefully, “Wouldn’t it save you some time if you bought a copy?”

Worrying her lips, Clarke explains, “I’ve looked, but they’re all newer versions and somehow restored. I wanted my references to be as traditional and unrestored as possible just so that the pieces could have some authenticity.”

If his facial expression is anything to go by, Bellamy didn’t expect that reply at all. When he finally speaks, the only words that emerge are of understanding, “Yeah, okay. I see that…”

Shrugging, Clarke heads for the door again, saying, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I need to buy a copy. Thank you. See you tomorrow.“

But she’s barely taken two steps towards the door before Bellamy stops her in her tracks, “Clarke, wait! I— Maybe I can talk to the other reservation-holder and ask if he would mind letting you have the book for the next couple of weeks?”

Turning her head, she manages to smile at him. “No, I wouldn’t want you to go through that trouble for my sake. Have a nice evening—“

“But…”

She can tell that he’s holding something important back and he’s pulling himself together in order to say it, yet meanwhile, amid the silence, Clarke’s eyes dart to a small stack of blue Post-it’s at the left end of the counter. It doesn’t take her long to put two and two together, and while there’s still a possibility that she’s wrong, she decides to jump the gun. “… So you’re writing a book. Is it in block-letters?”

At that, he looks up, noticing the smile on her face, and he immediately seems relieved that she’s not angry with him.

“No, I’m using my 20th century typewriter. That’s why it’s taking so long,” he jokes, making her laugh. That alone is enough to baffle her, since most people haven’t been able to make her laugh in the past months. Her dad passing doesn’t have her in tears anymore, but the traces of the grief sadly still linger, which has made it more difficult for her to enjoy things. “I’m sorry about the Post-It,” he continues sheepishly, pulling her back to reality. “But I can’t bring myself to write in books… Unlike some people.”

“Are you judging me?”

He shakes his head as his smile grows wider. “No, and you can have the book. I’ll just use the old one I have at home,” Wait, if he already had The Iliad at home, why would he need the one from the library so badly? Before she can gather the courage to ask, Bellamy apparently reads her mind, because he explains, “The one I have is an heirloom that’s been passed on through three generations. When my mother died, she left it to me because she knew that I loved it so much, but I’m afraid that it’s falling apart now. The spine is ruined, and the pages can’t handle much more turning—“

Before he can speak any more, the thought that has struck Clarke’s mind eagerly escapes her throat. “You know what? We should share the book… How do you like your coffee, Bellamy? You look like a ‘none of that sugar-and-milk bullshit’ guy to me,” with that, she winks, prompting him to wink back at her, which indicates that she was right.

***

They take the book to the nearest coffee shop. Once they’ve received their orders of caffeine, Bellamy pulls out a notepad from his bag and Clarke places her favorite set of pencils on the table. “I never asked you what your book was about…”

At that, his smile turns crooked as he lets his pen graze the tip of her nose. “Well, I think you’ll like it. It’s about the ancient Greek gods and goddess in our modern world.”

Obviously, she thinks he’s joking at first, because there’s simply no way that they’re working on the exact same idea, but he looks really serious. Sending her a crooked grin, Bellamy seems to be aware of her doubt and decides to pass her his notes as evidence: In block letters, there are incredible details about Athena’s tattoos and outfit choices, about Artemis’ pact with nature, about Aphrodite’s self-love.

“Maybe we can help each other out.”

Chuckling, he replies, “Yeah. If you promise me you’ll never write in a book again.”

So that’s what they do every day for the next two weeks. They meet up in the library or in the coffee shop to share their ideas and keep each other company while they work, even if it’s for hours on end until the stars come out. Quickly, they discover that they have a shared passion for snacking while working, but in order to do that, they’re forced to change the location of their meet-ups. Luckily, the park seems like the perfect spot.

“What did you bring for me?” He teases when she shows up, carrying a plastic Target bag, but she only sticks her tongue out at him.

“Not for you. For us… Skittles, Oreos, Hershey’s and Nerds.”

“You read my mind.”

Sitting on the grass next to Bellamy as rays of sunshine fall onto his face is distracting; it makes his skin resemble growing bronze and his eyes remind her of the forest floor on a summer’s day. Worrying her bottom lip, Clarke asks for his opinion, “Aphrodite… She’s difficult. How do you picture her?”

Clearly thinking hard, Bellamy picks a purple Skittle from the bag, offering her a red one, since it’s her favorite. Then he says, “I picture her having long strawberry blonde hair and green eyes. And she would wear one of those maxi dresses, for sure.”

“White or pink flowing fabric?”

“Pink, definitely.”

As Clarke sketches, she senses Bellamy’s gaze on her, which makes it a little more difficult to focus, and yet a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth at the thought of him being interested in her work. In fact, having someone else care about her project has made her more passionate about it, and she has even gone back to the older sketches to add more details after talking to Bellamy about them.

“You’re extremely talented,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting over the shell of her ear. “The way you capture silhouettes is just… Does it run in the family?”

At his question, Clarke stalls, the pencil hovering over the drawing while she tries to prevent herself from trembling. Judging by the way he places his hand on his shoulder comfortingly, her sadness peeks through her rough exterior despite her efforts to hide it. Swallowing, she croaks, “My dad was an artist. He never got to witness my acceptance at RISD.”

It’s easier to talk to him about it, knowing that his mother’s gone, too. Losing a parent is unimaginable to most people, and the only ones who know just how deep the pain of it cuts, are those that have experienced it.

“I’m sure he would be proud of you.”

That’s it; those words break her shield, make her walls crumble, so that tears are running down her cheeks before she’s even realized it. To no avail, she attempts to catch them all with the back of her hand, but when Bellamy turns around to hug her, she finds that the soft material of his blue Henley absorbs them a lot better.

After a minute, she stops crying and pulls back to let the sunshine dry her cheeks, yet Bellamy’s thumbs do so first. Overwhelmed by his softness, she says, “I want to draw the cover for your book once it’s published.”

“If it is published, you mean,” he smiles sweetly, but she shakes her head.

“No, when it’s published.”

He’s already promised her the honor of being the first person to read the prologue of the novel, which is nearly done, and she’s practically buzzing with excitement at the thought. No matter what, she intends to be his biggest supporter in finishing it, not only because it sounds amazing, but also because he is much kinder than he gives himself credit for.

In fact, it seems very much as if he doesn’t give himself any credit at all…

***

When she receives an A for the art pieces, Clarke desperately wants to give him the credit that he deserves for being an amazing encourager and partner during this project. Knowing that she can’t, however, causes her to find another way to thank him for everything.

He’d given her The Iliad on the last day before she had to turn her project in, assuring her that she needed it more than him at that point, but now she’s ready to return it after having placed a new sticky note on the front cover.

Would you like to go out some time?

- C

When she hands it to him, and he reads it, Bellamy radiates, deciding to act like an adorable dork by writing his response below her message instead of telling her.

Some time like now? I’m off. Coffee? ;)

There’s the winking smiley again, although this time, Clarke’s not at all confused by the meaning of it…

-

[batwynn]

Do you have any advice for those who want to learn how to do digital art but are starting from scratch?

Well, I think the first thing you should do is remember to allow yourself time to get used to a new medium. A lot of people get started with digital and expect instant results or little trouble moving forward. The trouble is, it can be very different from traditional media, especially depending on the tools you use. [For example:  using an Intuos tablet is harder to adjust to after working with pen/pencil on paper vs. a Cintiq tablet.] Even if you don’t have experience with traditional art before starting with digital, a lot of the steps will be the same. The only difference is that you’re going to be applying a lot of the same things you would apply to traditional artwork straight to the digital world. [Things like: Studying anatomy, colors theory, shading techniques, etc.] 

So my first piece of advice is: 

This means exploring programs that you have/the trial versions, testing out settings/shortcuts for the buttons and keys, and even taking a look at some tutorials around the internet. Find out what things work best for you and your style, make sure your work space is comfortable and things like your keyboard is accessible while you work. You’ll find there’s a lot to discover about the programs and tools, and yourself. You don’t even need to draw right away, just play with brushes and tools, see what catches your eye and what doesn’t. As you move along and begin drawing, you’ll start to figure out what short cuts and buttons you will be using the most and what’s the best way to apply them. [Example: I have Control Z as a button on my tablet. Along with Copy/paste and other tools I use a lot. On my keyboard, I have a lot of different shortcuts I’ve created the suit my specific needs as an artist.] 

 A lot of working with digital is actually just remembering simple things like when to use your control z and when to erase, how and when to color your lines, how to layer your colors/shade layers, to put colors in your shadows, etc etc. All of these things can be very different than working with more traditional mediums. [Example: Working with watercolors and line work can be a very different process with your pencil lines, adding the color over them, then going over your lines with ink--compared to creating your  sketch layer, draw over it with a complete line work layer, then creating a color layer under it, and removing your sketch layer.] You’re going to find things like ‘clip masks’/clip layers for shading or coloring lines, all your layer modes for lighting effects, and brushes. So many brushes. If you’re just starting out directly with digital, it’s a similar path of discovery. You’re going to find that some techniques are easier for you than others, and some might actually bog down your process than streamline it. [Things like: Different shading techniques, styles of rendering, lighting effects, etc.] 

If you’ve drawn with other mediums before, you might see changes in your technique and style that you may not like or understand. You might even consider yourself ‘slipping back’ or ‘regressing’ in regards to technique/style. You may go more simple, or more complex with details. Some of it can be a product of the medium, some can be due to the ability to branch out with different effects and colors, and some can just be your style doing its thing. This is okay! Allow yourself some room to explore and get a feel for the medium. Things are going to feel and look a little wonky at first as you get used to it. If you’re pumping out full bodied professional work on your first try... well, I mean... kudos to you. You’re a genius who wears many hats. But this is not typical of people just starting out with anything. You’re going to stumble a bit. It is okay.  If you’re starting out new, you might be nervous about how your style looks and how it develops. I think it’s something a lot of newcomers focus a little too much on, and I’d like to say that style is really not something you need to focus on in the beginning. I mean, to be quite honest, I never actually thought very hard about my style once in my entire lifetime. It just... did its own thing and went its own way, and I followed along. It changes with your moods, it changes with your mediums, with the weather, with the political environment. You’re going to have Bad Art Days that feel like you’ve slipped back into the dark ages. You’re going to have Good Art Days where everything looks so much better how did I even manage that and now I can’t do it again oh my god what was I doing right?!  Don’t stress style. Seriously. 

Other than that, I have one more thing to say. It’s what everyone says, and I know people are sick of seeing it as advice but there’s a reason for it. 

Practice. 

Trust me, it does help. It does move you forward. It may feel like a snail’s pace sometimes, but practice means effort means time spent means things learned means progress. Progress is always good. And while you’re practicing, please don’t forget to enjoy creating art. Having fun, even if the end product isn’t perfect or an absolute stunner, is a huge part of practice and being an artist in general. [Trust me, i’ve created some truly ugly things in my time, and I’ve learned from them and had a good laugh.] 

So, go forth and create. Learn. Practice. Fail. Succeed. Enjoy. 

[mazurah]

Journal of a Buoyant Armiger in Valenwood

First - Previous - Next

4th of Sun’s Height

I went to the Mages Guild today. I tried to get Fayrl to go with me, but he was convinced it wouldn’t help, and that Altmer would try to cut me open once I told them my story to find out why I was able to survive Coldharbour. I told him that was ridiculous. The Mages Guild is not in the habit of dissecting people without their consent, and in any event, I had no other leads, so I still had to try.

I’d been avoiding the upper levels of the Elden Tree because I’d expected them to be out on the branches or something, but the second level was all contained within the trunk. Apparently I had nothing to worry about as far as heights go. There were even railings on most of the ramps and stairs.

It was easy to find the Mages Guild. The doorway was huge, and the hall even huger. I don’t know why Fayrl thought that the Mages Guild would be entirely run by Altmer. Altmer didn’t make up even a third of their membership, though the people who were most helpful to me were Altmer. I mostly saw Bosmer, though I’m sure some of those were just guards. The master of the guild hall was a Bosmer woman with one blind eye, though I didn’t talk to her, I just had her pointed out to me. There were even a few Dunmer, though the one I talked to just tried to recruit me to go hunting cursed relics of Sheogorath for him. I had to tell him I’d already had enough trouble with one of the Corners, I didn’t need to go attracting the attention of another.

I met a friendly Breton man, who wanted to know if I was looking to join the Mages Guild, and when I explained what I was looking for, he directed me to the Guild’s enchanting specialist, an Altmer woman named Earnaana. She was wearing Daedric armor, which she told me she had enchanted herself. I took that as a promising sign. She obviously knew enough about Daedra to create a set of Daedric plate armor, so I thought perhaps she could help me with my questions.

I sat her down and started to tell her my story. After a few minutes, she told me to stop and brought over another Altmer woman named Andorie who was apparently the hall’s Mysticism specialist, and asked me to start over. When I said that I’d been soul trapped and lost my soul, Andorie cast some kind of detection spell on herself that made her eyes glow, and confirmed that my soul was still gone, but that I had some strange kind of soul-like tether attached to me leading into one of the outer realms. She suspected that was how I was still able to survive without a soul. They were both very interested in my story. I even showed them the lash scars from the Dremora whippings.

I expressed my worry that the gem my soul had been trapped in would be used, and Earnaana told me that was a legitimate concern. She did reassure me that I wouldn’t die immediately from it though, unless the gem was used in such a way that depleted all my soul energy all at once. More likely, I would feel the drain on my soul happen slowly. Most enchantments, she said, such as the enchantments on a weapon or armor, use up the imbued soul energy gradually, and eventually have to be recharged. That was both a relief and also another source of worry. At least I’ll likely have some warning when my soul gem gets used, and I may have enough time to stage a rescue, but on the other hand if I can’t locate my soul, I will die a slow, wasting death as my soul’s energy gets used up by whatever enchantment it powers.

I asked them all kinds of questions. How is it even possible for me to be alive like this after I was murdered? (They didn’t know.) Am I really alive? (Yes, as far as they can tell.) If I die again, will I reappear like I did in Coldharbour? (Again, they didn’t know and they suggested I not test it.) Would it be possible to summon the gem my soul has been trapped in? (No, probably not.) How can I locate my soul? How can I get back to Coldharbour without getting trapped there again?

They gave me the best answers they had for those last two questions. If I’m close enough--as in, within the same room as my soul gem--I can probably use a detection spell like the one my birth gift provides to identify the gem my soul has been trapped in, but as far as finding it before then, they didn’t know, although there was some suggestion that I find someone more knowledgeable about spellmaking, Daedric realms, and Mysticism magic, and ask them about coming up with a method to follow the soul-like tether I’ve got. I can get to almost any Daedric realm by opening a portal there, however such portal spells are difficult to master, and easy to mess up, and I’d almost certainly have to get an expert in portals to do it for me rather than learn to do it myself, and they didn’t think that I would be able to convince any portal masters to come with me to Coldharbour in order to ensure a means of return.

After they answered all the questions I could think of, they took me to see the guild hall’s Restoration specialist, an unpleasant Altmer who was quite annoyed at us wasting his time. I think he must be the kind of Altmer who Fayrl was worried about finding--Earnaana and Andorie were perfectly nice to me. He did comply with Andorie and Earnaana’s request though, and ran a full set of diagnostic spells on me, grumbling the whole time about how I was perfectly healthy and that his skills were only for emergencies. He didn’t find anything I didn’t already know. There is nothing wrong with my health, other than being slightly underweight, and nothing Daedric or otherwise unusual going on in my physiology other than Vivec’s gift.

The only other useful piece of information I got from my excursion today was that the Fighters Guild has been staging a resistance against the Dark Anchors. I might go see if they know more about what’s going on with those later.

On my way back to the Den I found a merchant selling a wide variety of art supplies. A good thing I found him, too. I was running out of the chalks I’d gotten at the Den. I got myself a lovely set of brushes, watercolor paints, oil paints, a few inks, and some proper pastels of both the chalk and oil variety. He didn’t have any proper canvasses, but I got the largest book of blank vellum pages the mer had, so hopefully that will hold me over until I can figure out how to stretch vellum over a canvas frame. I also used the last of my money to get a few tins of raw pigment so I can mix my own paints. I’m officially broke again now. At least I’m rich in material.

I reported my findings to Fayrl, and I think he took it alright. When I told him we needed to find someone who’s an expert in spellmaking, Daedric realms, and Mysticism, he told me he actually knew someone. I asked who it was, and he said it was an Ashlander wise woman. I was hesitant. Ashlanders don’t exactly have any formal education, and as far as I know they can’t even read, but I’ll take any hope over none.

We got to talking about Fayrl’s experience in House Intelligence, and why he was forced to retire. He demonstrated a skill of his to make himself appear younger. I’ve never seen such a thing! He really did seem like he was a young fifty year old again, full of self doubt and shyness. It was actually pretty adorable.

Too adorable maybe. I gave him a hug, and Fayrl took that as indication that I was alright with physical affection, which… He’s not wrong, I’m fine with being affectionate with my friends, but he did come onto me very suddenly. My mission to make friends with his husband is suddenly a much higher priority.

In fact he’s asleep on my bed now. I should probably stop writing so I don’t wake him.

Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry

[the-writer-and-the-artist]

Downsizing Paper

Dudes! Hi!

Last time I told you about the new process I was going to start implementing. Getting all the concepts and sketches down, then all the underdrawings down for all of the illustrations, then start painting all of them at the same time instead of in stages.

I’ve gotten concept sketches done. Tonight after work (did I ever mention I have a full-time day job?) I started trimming paper for all the underdrawings to get started.

Please ignore the weird salmon-colored walls of my unfinished upstairs that is my studio.

I have all the pages ready to go to get the underdrawings started now and I also took some time to rethink the sizes I’m using. 

If you have seen other photos or videos of the illustrations you’ll know that I have the first few on large sheets of watercolor paper. 16x20. That’s fucking big for watercolor for me since at the time I was still trying to learn to use it. 

The amount of detail and effort that went into Take You To The Forest I feel was too much. That kind of illustration at that size was daunting to me, the small details came out really nice and I really like it as an original painting. In all honesty, though I don’t think those details are going to matter or show as much when it is printed in the book.

So to make things easier on myself and the timeline and to just take the time to not make everything needlessly more complicated than it needs to be, I’ve downsized. Single page images are now going to be downsized from 16x20 to 11x15 and the two page spread images will be a 24x16.

Besides just being less space to deal with and intimidate me, I also feel like this will help greatly when I want to be able to do large spaces of one wash or texture. With the larger size that either required a larger brush, which was a bitch to work with, or just fucking with the painting in pieces until it looked like a large watercolor wash of color or texture.

All in all, I think things are going well and I hope to have some updates on the underdrawings of all of these by the next illustration behind the scenes post. 

oooooh btw are you as excited about inktober as I am!? I’ll be participating in ink toner over at my personal Instagram if you wanna check it out! ♥

~Sally

ONE LAST THING

We now have a ko-fi page. If you don’t know what ko-fi is, here’s a thing:

Ko-fi allows creators like you to receive money from fans of your content. Create your page and button and share it anywhere on the web. Anyone who clicks your link can support you with a with a ‘coffee’ (a small payment that is roughly equal to the price of a coffee).

It’s free to use. All you need is a PayPal account to receive payments.

With ko-fi we hope to get up and running with an actual website that will eventually include a store and for some legal fees, we need to actually sell the book (and future projects we have planned) once we get it done.

So if you like what we do and want to help us out, give some ♥