#for the life of me I have not been able to figure out what proportions about her face are throwing me off

[truth-01001001-liar]

Okay but why is Almalexia so hard to draw?

[monstersholygrail]

I've had an idea on my mind forever. I cant word it though, but I'll try my best.

Dragon friend whose secretly in love with their traveling partner/rider. Hers horny and the rider helps them, but hes far too big, resulting in him using his tongue, instead.

Reading this I can figure out what you meant, but the terms on who's doing what is a bit mixed and it gave me a hilarious idea.

When you arrived at the academy, they almost didn't know what to do with you. You were a giant after all. Most if not all their dragons were huge, sure, but huge for humans. Proportional to a human and what they'd need to ride. You had passed all the field and written exams with ease and how couldn’t you... you were a giant. So they couldn't exactly kick you to the curb. But what else could they do?!

And that's when they remembered your Dragon friend. He was ginormous, the biggest dragon in all the land. Much too big for a human to be able to control. But you? You were the answer to his prayers and he was the answer to yours. The two of you worked as an incredible team and became fast friends. And maybe something more. If either of you could just admit your feelings for one another.

Going out for patrols where you would have to ride your Dragon friend’s back was a special kind of torture for you both. Hours on end with no break as your sweet core is so close yet so far from where you both need it most. Your Dragon friend could feel the heat emit from you and it took all his strength not to throw you down and have his way with you. Meanwhile every flap of his wings sent his body bumping against you and you could barely hold yourself back from grinding against his scales.

Today was especially tricky as the winds didn’t seem to be on their sides. It seemed particularly intent on their ruin as it blowed rapidly against them, causing your Dragon friend to flap his wings furiously in attempts to steady the both of you. His body practically rocking between your thighs. You couldn’t help the arousal you feel building up inside you. And sadly, you aren’t subtle about it either as one long sniff and your Dragon friend can smell it as it surrounds his senses.

He quickly tells you he needs to land and before you can disagree he’s descending down to the ground. You try and act clueless as to why he’s paused your patrols but one look from him and a blush covers your cheeks. He tells you that he can’t fly like this with your smell wafting in his nose every few minutes and disorienting him.

That’s how you find yourself maneuvering your giant self on top of your Dragon friend’s snout. His large dragon body laying on his back and ready to lick your hole till you go weak in the knees. He can feel the fire burning in his throat, so turned on he could shoot flames right now.

He’s been waiting so long for this moment. Wanting to finally taste you more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. So when his tongue finally dips inside your core a growl rumbles through him and he unleashes his every desire onto you. His tongue swirling inside you and hitting every place right. You cry out, body jerking forward. Your hands finding purchase on the top of a couple trees in front of you. Using them as leverage to help grind into your Dragon friend’s face.

Your climax crashes through you as his tongue repeatedly hits that spot deep inside you that has your mind spinning and your toes curling. Your cum shoots all over your friend’s face and he roars in pleasure. You moan and shake as he works you through your orgasm. Then when he’s done he continues to care for you and helps clean you and his face up. Plus he just wants more of your taste on his tongue.

Afterwards as you’re both getting prepped to fly again, you’re a blushing mess while your friend acts like nothing happened. What you don’t know and will soon find out is how every time the scent of your arousal dares to fill his senses he’s gonna take you back to the ground and pound you into it.

[thefaiao]

Hi, firstly I just wanted to say that I love your art, especially with the way you use dynamism and angles in character sketches. It's really beautiful and I always look forward to seeing more black and white pieces from you.

I just wanted to ask, as a beginner artist whose been drawing on and off from 2017 onwards and hasn't seen much improvement, are there any resources or books you would recommend for someone still trying to grasp form and shape? Especially in creating 3d forms with line? I'd love to be able to draw characters in a similar way that you do but my cubes and cones never seem to come out correctly and humanoid shapes are even tougher. Thanks again for sharing your art.

Hello! Thank you very much for the compliments. Up until somewhat recently the B&W pieces were my favorite things to draw, so I get you. I did fall in love with coloring eventually though.

Alright, there are lots of things that can be done. I have had some classical training, and done human figure studies live, but honestly not nearly as much as I probably should have. You definitely should still do figure study as much as possible, especially in person. I'm just prefacing to say it may not get you to draw the way I draw I suppose, as its only part of what I've done to improve my drawing ability.

There are a few good resources to start with, notably the Loomis method, which a lot of artists use as a base. That's how you should use it too, ideally. It's not about copying his work exactly, it's about understanding just how the human body is proportioned, and adapting it from there. It doesn't have to define your thinking, it's just a good guideline. It's possible to structure a body quite differently than Loomis (and there are many many books for that), but the truth, which is, the proportions of the human body, is still there in all mindsets. Once you understand that, you can understand the reason for each approach, and even forego them to express something more unique, abstract and visceral.

The biggest thing you should do though, is always be observing the world around you, both online and offline. Figure studies are nice but they remove one of the most important things, and that is context. I find that people who will use those large libraries from people who pose professionally with bows and swords and the like will often draw technically impressive images, but they still feel like a fake pose. It doesn't feel like the person is holding onto the weapon like their life depended on it, or like they have a relationship with the object, that they pose and move in a certain way that reflects their personality. Live study with strangers helps rectify this somewhat.

Online you should also be following lots and lots of different artists! Don't limit yourself, pay attention to how they construct their drawings, how they go about things. It's important you follow a lot of people, see how they evolve. They are not only a point in time, they are also learning and evolving just like you. It's especially good if you can have artists friends to draw and share stuff with. I have a deep-seated belief that we draw art for others, to express ourselves to them, so they need to see it.

It may sound weird for me to say if you want to draw like me try to draw unlike me, but I'm just saying what I've done. I follow a lot of people and draw from a lot of places. Ultimately the main appeal of my forms is their dynamism and volume as you've said, but it's good to be versatile so you can always explore new avenues!

Now, you've done all these things, you are practicing them constantly. Now is the most important part. Keep drawing!!! Just keep drawing no matter what, no matter how bad you think it looks. You have to believe you have something to say, to express, no matter what. You say you haven't improved, but I don't believe you! Maybe you are faster, maybe your technique is better, maybe you have better habits, maybe you are a little more patient. There are a million ways to improve which don't even appear in the image. You have to keep drawing, NO MATTER WHAT!!! You have to believe you were born to do this and you will do it well, don't worry about what others think.

I can only draw such dynamic forms because I have kept drawing and masticating and elaborating this idea that is called my style. When you are drawing you are developing your own little language, and only when you are fluent you can start writing good books with it. Being fluent will take many years, you must accept that. If you take breaks, take breaks so you can keep drawing later. Take care of your health so you can keep drawing. You will only get to see your drawings become beautiful if you live long. To live a long and healthy life is to keep drawing.

That is my ultimate advice really, let that frustration build up, but keep drawing anyway. You will force yourself to find solutions to release that frustration as you do so, and improve. Maybe it's simple, but it's the only thing that is true no matter what. Don't worry about AI or whatever, none of that matters. Just keep drawing!

[landinrris]

It's not a Miami companion fic, but it is a drabble/snippet from a third part to this series that sees me returning to early 1910s painter Carlos, only now Carlos and Lando are living their domestic life in Madrid. So while I continually chip away at this, please enjoy a bit of Lando modeling for Carlos, and specifically modeling this pose ✌️

Carlos hums into Lando’s neck, the evidence of his smile pressed to Lando’s skin. Yeah, much better than Manchester. “So you will let me draw you today?”

“I’ll always let you draw me, you know that.”

“Yes, but you will let me pose you today maybe? I have an idea for this new work and want to get some specific ideas for the figures in the background. Angels, I’m thinking.” Lando might be able to listen to the way Carlos says angels for the rest of his life.

“Yeah? Always happy to help. What idea have you been thinking about?”

So Carlos tells him about a strong central figure. He tells Lando about the idea about the interference from heavenly creatures and how the central figure perseveres despite everything. All while Lando goes back to scrubbing their cups and sets them on the small drying rack next to the sink.

Hearing about Carlos’ ideas never fails to leave Lando in awe of how his mind is always working. It’s always reeling with possibilities and composition and color. He thinks in terms of proportions and the flow of people’s bodies.

Even without seeing a draft in front of him, Lando can picture the idea in his mind painted with the care of Carlos’ impressionistic style. The detail of his portraiture evident even in the broader expanse of a larger scene. He paints like Lando could reach out and feel the fabric himself— like he could lend a hand to the paintings’ subjects and have them step into the room with him. 

To know that Lando has a hand in any of that creation feels like an honor. Especially when Carlos leads him to their small chaise and slowly strips him of the clothes he had managed to put on following leaving their room. The kisses Carlos presses into his collarbone and chest do absolutely nothing for Lando’s resolve, but this is par for the course as well. 

Carlos says he does it because it always brings a pretty blush to Lando’s skin that makes it that much easier to not have to imagine. Lando’s half inclined to believe him when his kisses never lead to any kind of payoff, but that doesn’t mean they don’t drive Lando a little bit insane. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t sigh and slide a hand into Carlos’ hair as Carlos peels his trousers down his legs.

But Carlos pulls away before Lando can get him where he wants and begins manuevering Lando into his desired position. He folds one of Lando’s legs up and drapes the other one so it’s hanging off the chaise. He does the same to Lando’s hands, bringing them to rest above his head and practically crossing at the wrist. The touch he gives Lando’s chin to tilt back so he’s staring at his hands feels vulnerable in a way he’s not completely used to. Not while Carlos is still dressed at least. 

“If you wanted to draw me looking like we’re in the middle of having sex, you could’ve just told me,” Lando chides.

Carlos tsks. “Ay, Lando behave.”

“What, like you are?”

He gets up almost in response and walks into the other room. Lando only moves his head enough to see the hallway after a handful of seconds. Naturally, Carlos catches him when he returns with the sheet from the spare bedroom. “You have forgotten how to not move.”

Lando returns his head to as close to what he’s pretty sure it was before as he can, though he’s unable to keep the smile off his face. “Is that to protect my modesty?”

“No, you are an angel, remember? Keep up.”

“Angels wear loin cloths?” He looks down his body to see Carlos accordion-folding the fabric into a longer strip before kneeling between Lando’s legs and draping it gently over him. The sight is admittedly too much, so Lando redirects his gaze over to the wall and takes in steadying lungfuls of air. Judging by the amused hum from Carlos, it’s not quite enough.

“Trust the process. They certainly do not wear wrinkled trousers and a slept-in undershirt.”

“Touché,” Lando concedes before taking a steadying breath again.

When Carlos’ hands leave him seemingly for good, Lando mourns the loss. Carlos isn’t in his sightline where Lando judges he sets himself up in one of the chairs across the room. Lando can hear the scratch of his pencil against paper— quick, sure strokes alternating with quieter and seemingly exploratory ones. 

Even though he can’t see him, Lando can imagine the look of concentration on Carlos’ face, the way his eyebrows crease in the middle, the way he sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth as he tries to get the particular curve of something right. Lando wonders if maybe it’s one of his muscles this time that makes Carlos sigh petulantly as he rubs the art gum over his lines. Maybe it’s the jut of his jaw tipped towards the ceiling that Carlos can’t get the perspective just right on.

What certainly doesn’t help quell Lando’s excitement is the way he imagines Carlos staring at the draped fabric around his lower stomach and hips. Does it turn Carlos on just a bit to draw the arch in Lando’s back— to shade the fabric that the empty space creates on the chaise? Carlos is staring at him, and Lando’s relegated to being a good model lying in wait until Carlos decides they’re done for the afternoon.

It can’t have been more than fifteen minutes.

Carlos hums from his perch, and Lando swears his skin burns.

[cozymochi]

Okay gen question, how are you so good at anatomy? like I know its a mix of years of practice and experience. Mayhaps you can spare some tips on how ppl can improve theirs? Always looking forward to your works btw! Even the scribbles you think aren't decent are always such a nice treat to see <3

It being drilled into my system years ago in a drawing class specifically for that 😭 Then a character design class the next semester that added on top of it. BUT FOR CARTOONSSSSS (I have not accomplished anything in my life to utilize any of this.)

My main point of knowledge reference is this book though (OMG FREE INTERNET ARCHIVE PDF? Yes. Though I personally have a physical copy.) We didn’t really read the walls of text so much as just practiced the proportion stuff in the early pages ad-nauseam and some skeletons (not hyper detailed ones just making sure bones were where they should be). Tho admittedly I’ve been neglecting any studying. (This book came out in 1943 brrgh) DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I HAD TO DRAW THIS DIAGRAM? MORE THAN ANY PERSON SHOULD.

But hey, it works. I still sometimes end up referring back to it if I think I’m sucking (disclaimer: i think this often )

As far as I’ve come to know, how something looks visually doesn’t matter so much long as basic proportions are correct. Cuz even people without trained eyes for this sorta thing can recognize when something is proportionately wrong. Like, I guess on you know where everything is supposed to go, you can kinda do anything from there?? I think. It translated well when we were drawing real people who were not the “ideal” presented, and when moving to more stylized stuff with their own rules in a completely different course. So what if that leg doesnt look exactly like u think a leg looks anatomically— IS THE KNEE IN THE CORRECT SPOT? Yes? Then u did it.

Also that eyes are in the center of the face. Not the nose. JUMPSCARE!!!

Aaaa, this isn’t really an interesting answer. If I ever figured out better streaming outside if private discords I could probably make my points better rather than pulling a “here’s a textbook, figure it out” CUZ ITS LIKE. ITS OVERWHELMING WITHOUT A GUIDE AND 😭😭😭

I don’t know. I don’t think I have “anatomy” correct, just “proportions.” Cuz I wouldn’t be able to tell you what something is, just where something goes. Which… I think is a little more important and also a distinction I don’t really see anyone making in drawing.

Though, as much as I wanna be helpful in a more effective way, it’s really really really hard for me to articulate how anyone could improve theirs if I don’t know what the alleged problem areas are 😭 I find all this stuff to be case by case. I kind of do better if i can directly point things out and offer info from there instead of blank slate tips. If I ever figure out streaming outside of private discords it would probably be easier (literally doesnt own a functional up to date enough computer)

I guess focus less on “anatomy” and focus more on proportions since that does more of the heavy lifting? Unless ur a med student, then you probably should focus on anatomy

someone could die because you couldnt identify their coccyx

OKAY THATS IT THANKS AND SORRY

[sashabunnie]

Hi! I apologize for not posting recently despite having a resurgence in wanting to draw. I've recently gotten a new art program and am still trying to figure out how to use it. In the meantime I'd like to discuss a topic I find important to talk about.

I recently received a question in my inbox. I found it rude and decided to delete and block the person. But now I'm realizing I could use this comment to educate those not in the art field on this subject, specifically about how proportions and different body types are taught to be drawn. I'll paraphrase the comment received:

"It's funny how you're fat but you draw yourself skinny, it's hilarious."

Yup that's the basis of what the comment was. I could tell from this comment that a) they're trying to be rude and mean and b) they at least don't draw humans and at most have no idea how to draw period.

Now you may be asking, how does this comment lead to an educational moment? I'm glad you asked.

I've been drawing since I can remember, and I only took a few art classes in middle school and highschool. Other than that I'm almost completely self taught and often took my inspiration from cartoons.

I also grew up in a much larger body than a good portion of my peers. I had binge e@ting disorder. This was caused by growing up in a poor family. I was taught to eat whatever I was offered(unless it was by a total stranger). I was also taught at school to inhale my food starting from kindergarten as we only got 15 minutes to eat and 15 minutes to play, if we went over the 15 minutes to eat we weren't allowed to play. Anyways this conditioned me to have BED.

Being overweight as a child was torture. Just like any ED it's very hard to control and even harder to spot in a child. I went untreated until I was 19. I'm a lot better now but sadly my stomach is now partially paralyzed.

Now like I said, growing up fat was extremely difficult, seeing others in my life who were skinnier than I, seeing all the cartoon shows on TV with the pretty skinny ladies and bulked up men, or even lanky men. And sure there were fat people in cartoons, but they're often portrayed as these lazy, stupid, people or they're middle aged with greying or thinning hair, in a mobility scooter, who are also portrayed as stupid and lazy.

I never saw a true representation of myself in cartoons. I never saw a plump nine year old with dreams to become a ballerina or baseball player, I never saw a bigger girl who exceeded in every class who wanted to become a paleontologist. All I saw were people making jokes about the fat character, how dumb and lazy they were.

But to me, I was never lazy or stupid. And when I started drawing myself I did so as a beautiful young person who was smart, clever, and always taken seriously. It was my escape from this world of hate.

Then I started taking art classes in middle school and highschool. They taught very basic anatomy in drawing, such as "this is how long your arm should be" and "the hand should be able to cover the face", just teaching proportions. But here's the catch, they hardly taught anything more than an hourglass shaped body for females and a rectangle shape for men.

In fact if we tried to explore more or less body shaped, whether it was a flat chested female, a dad bod male or vice versa, it was met with severe criticism.

Now over the years I've learned how to draw different body shapes and sizes better than I have in the past. And I have worked greatly to improve my self image and that a bit of extra fat here or there won't be the end all be all.

However that's not to say that I still have a hard time drawing myself as big as I see myself irl. The ED that warped from BED to OSFED in my teen years still yells at me from my mirror, telling me how ugly I am for being in a bigger body. People have told me several times that I'm not as big as the mirror says I am, which is true.

I may be in a bigger body but it's not to a point where my weight is affecting my health. The only real thing affecting my health are a slew of genetic disorders that I cannot control.

Just to conclude, just because someone draws themselves as bigger or smaller does not mean that they're delusional. It's just how they draw themselves.

Just be kind and non judgemental. You don't know what that person has been through and honestly it's not really your business unless it's a threat to safety, theirs or others.

And if you don't like what you see, scroll, it's not your place to get upset over something as small as someone drawing themselves in a different light than your perspective.

Love y'all!

(Picture of my gravity falls x the owl house OC for y'all)

[penaltyboxboxbox]

how long have you been drawing for ? your art seems so confident (that seems mean but it’s a compliment i promise) like your strokes and stuff just seem so… educated? like you don’t need to sketch you already know what you want to do ?

my whole life!!!!! ive been drawing since i was a little childdddd like the second i could hold a pencil i was drawing! i got put into art classes very young as well cause i liked to draw so much. i started formal classes at like? 6/7 years old probably? and i did some form of either art class at school, out of school, or some combination from that age until i was an adult. So i've had a decent amount of formal training as a kid and have always just genuinely loved drawing so on top of that i was always drawing for fun too.

I think things really shifted for me when I was like?? 21/22 ish and i got very very into portraiture specifically- i really honed a lot of my skills in that department and honestly just became so obsessed with form. I would draw so much realism, tons of studies, i loved to work backwards- draw the shape/form of a thing first, usually in paint or marker, and then add the lines/details on top. i generally during this time also completely stopped working in any erasable mediums. i became and still am to this day a pens only artist, i cant stand to draw with a pencil.

Doing this gave me what i think is one of the best skills to have as an illustrator- a very confident stroke. Being able to attack a piece, not be afraid of the marks you make, working with what you have rather than fussing until you think it's perfect, made my work much more striking and made me a lot more comfortable with messing up and figuring out a way to fix it. or even start over.

i think generally heavily and meticulously sketching in pencil is what leads a lot of artists to tons of frustration. the linework never looks as good as the sketch, you sketched for hours and only now you realized something is off, takes forever to go back, etc etc etc. I find it to often be very demoralizing- so i always advise just to get as comfortable as you can with as few lines as possible. focusing on FORM and PROPORTION rather than the skeleton method or going over with tiny little pencil strokes. everyone has different methods that work best for them, but that was one thing i taught myself that really changed art for me!

[polyamorousmood]

hey! I hope this isn't too non-traditional of a poly situation to be sending in, but this is the only place I think I'll be able to get good advice. As a pre-ask thing, to be clear, my best friend is the love of my life, I am aroace, we're very happily in love.

So, a while ago, we were dating, and it ended pretty quickly bc he came out as aroace. I asked him a lot whether or not that was the full reason he broke up with me and he insisted that it was and if it was going to be anyone it would have been me. I figured out that I was also aroace a couple months later. Recently (about a year after we first met and started dating) he got a boyfriend. I already set a firm boundary of no talking to me about his boyfriend bc it made me have a paranoid breakdown once and I don't want to do that to him, but even just the knowledge of him existing is pissing me off so much. I can't ask him to break up with him because I would never do thst to him and I love him more than anything even if this situation is hurting me like this, but I did recently ask him how the relationship was going with him being aroace, and he said that he isn't really aroace and he just wasn't ready for a relationship with me and thinking about that makes me want to cry. I don't want something romantic with him, I'm very much aroace and very sex and sensuality repulsed, I just hate that this random guy who I don't even know and never will (I don't want to bc I know I'd end up being a dick to him if I did meet him) is somehow more important to him than me, even if he insists thst isn't how it is. Since the situation isn't changing, I really need help with dealing with the jealousy. I've tried a ton of stuff and every single time I think about him I still want to kill him. I really don't know what to do, and my therapist isn't being particularly helpful (she isn't poly tho so she doesn't have experience with weird situations)

Hi. I'm sorry you're having such a hard time with this.

I'm curious how "he got a boyfriend" went down, and why you didn't bring up your concerns about his honestly to him when he was initially talking to you about it. Or if you did, why it still... doesn't seem resolved😬.

Not to put emotions in your mouth, but it sounds like a large proportion (though certainly not all) of your issue here stems from you feeling lied to about the breakup. This would damage anyone's trust and faith in the relationship, and I think having a formal talk about why he handled it the way he did and if that will continue in your refigured relationship will really help you. Maybe he didn't lie, maybe he was genuinely confused (for example, "if I can't make a relationship work with this person I feel a deep connection with, I must be aroace!" [one year later] "yo wtf I wanna fuck this other person?")! I think you should acknowledge -- with him, if possible -- that hurt. You feel like you want to cry? So cry. Giving the feeling full expression makes it easier to work through (and the only way out is through, darling).

Be prepared to explain why it hurts so much. The betrayal, your assumption that since he was aroace y'all were on the same page and he'd functionally be your life partner, or whatever the fuck.

Aside from the advice in this post (please read it in full📖, it is all applicable here), you have a LOT of legwork🦵 to do in unpacking and deconstructing your feelings. I think this worksheet outlines how to do that well (though, you know, tweak the wording in your head, because its aimed at a more traditional romance). If done right, it will be difficult and time consuming⌛. I recommend working through the worksheet slowly, in at least two separate sessions an hour or longer each. 'Cause shit takes time to sink in. In fact, you will have to remind yourself of the things you learn doing it for weeks to come, if not longer, so don't be afraid to revisit it! There is no shortcut, but I hope you and your best friend can be on the same page and you can have support while you navigate it.

Remember, the boyfriend didn't do anything wrong. He cares about this guy you care about. Try to see him as an extra support for him, rather than competition.

Good luck out there, space cowboy. There is hope 💛 <- its a yellow heart for friendship, get it?

[sylenth-l]

I'm sure someone has asked already but there's no harm in asking this question again, I was wondering how do you plot out your drawings? Like your proportions and stuff? Because I have never been able to get proportions done very easily, the head is always too small for the shoulders, arms aren't the right length, torso is too long/short, ect ect. Do you have any advice to help with this? Thank you :) 💜

Hey! Okay, I'll start with saying that I'm not a qualified art teacher and everything I say are just things I've noticed over the years of drawing myself and thus can only share things that worked for me personally ✌️✨

I use head to measure the height of everything and make the width whatever I feel looks good 😅 The classic art anatomy teaches us that perfect human's height is 8 heads and legs take exactly half of it. I rarely stick to that model tbh, I prefer to draw in an even more stylized way, so I usually make legs a bit longer (making it 8.5 or even 9+ heads total) and head just a biiit bigger.  Still, I started from classics and I believe it's much easier to learn it first, so I drew the 8 heads model for a better demonstration:

I've developed a little checklist of the most important proportions; usually if those conditions are met, the whole figure looks convincing enough to me.

Head + torso is 4 heads;

Elbows and waist are relatively on the same line;

Open palm is the same length as the face (head minus hairline);

Arm length ends a bit higher than half of the hip;

Knees are located at the middle of legs length minus feet.

Okay, it looks really easy for a frontal view of a standing still figure, but what about more complicated poses? My suggestion is to measure the stick figure inside the body (not forgetting about the perspective distortion though). Take the "spine" and the least bent leg to check everything, then make sure both legs are the same length.

Note that these measurements don't need to be exact as if made with a ruler! We aren't doing blueprints here. If you don't trust your eye, then try training it, whenever you have a free minute: just draw a long line and try to divide it into equal parts. Or draw a long line with many short lines of the same length; kinda like a dashline, but with no gaps.

Also, I think it's important to remember that measurements and proportions are cool, useful and make your life a lot easier, but often you may need to bend them for the final drawing to look good. And obviously, people come in many shapes and heights, so I suggest taking these classical measurements as a cheatsheet to draw a good standard stick figure, which you can shape into whatever you want later. The 8 heads canon isn't realistic anyway, it originated in Ancient Egypt and Greece and was used for art needs specifically (mainly sculpture iirc). It represents an idealized view of a human figure already, so no harm in changing it a bit further I think!

 Art doesn't really need to be anatomically correct, it just has to look like it is.

[inexplicablymine]

WIP WEDNESDAY

It is the first WIP WEDNESDAY of 2024 and in preparation for the start of the new year I have something fun for you!!! All of my WIP posts going forward into this next year will be for multichapter works that I have coming out sometime in 2024.

So for today, a current shortlist of multichapter works coming out + some little snippets

Giftmas

12 fics of Giftmas: 9 one shot works left to post that will resume in a “10 days of posting in a row” festivities once I am settled into my new home in a new country after a very abrupt move over the holidays

Looking for Orion

6 CH | art by @okayandre_art

5+1 Alive Arthur fic, five times Henry had important conversations with Arthur while hunting for Orion and one time Alex did. You can read my snippet here.

Olympic Proportions

3 work follow up | art by @noodles_and_tea

follow ups to my fic Because I’m A Scoundrel following the boys on their Olympic journeys to Paris 2024 (in real time) with the qualifying events and the Olympics themselves

Mind Over Matter

14 CH | Canon Divergence

Magical Mindreading AU; when Alex is granted the gift of being able to hear thoughts about him from those he is most compatible with, everything goes… slightly different.

Sweater Weather

9 CH | Letters Focused

Childhood Best Friends to Lovers over the course of their first year in college on opposite coasts as D1 Soccer players (yes it is football I know, apologies, they are playing in the US)

the ties that bond us

10 CH | art by literally almost everyone (not kidding)

Bond/Q actor AU following the boys over the ups and downs of shooting and promoting a new Bond trilogy and the epistolary view from the outside world as they get together!

[Redacted] co write with @celaestis1

15 CH | Dual POV

Strangers to Lovers AU, what happens when you don’t have that DTR, and the hilarious differences in the understanding of “what are we”

Ice Ice Baby

37 CH | Zukka | ATLA | art will be commissioned by @jasminedragonart

Olympic Figure Skating AU that follows the gangs journey over nearly a decade in the limelight. Yes that’s right. A full length ATLA work that has been outlined for 2+ years. I figured it was time. ;)

[redacted] for The Pairing

… yes that’s right I already have an idea for a work 👀 can’t wait to get my hands on the book and languish in it

Thank you to everyone recently for the tags in the end of year games ~ I have just complied them ALL below both as a thank you for tagging me and a tag back + some amazing wonderful people I would like to see how you are doing in this new year <33 (also open tag PLS SHOW ME THE THINGS!!!)

I am in the middle of an abrupt move and have not been as present taking care of those pesky real life things that adults must partake in.

@absolute-audacity @adreamareads @affectionatelyrs @alasse9 @anchoredarchangel @anincompletelist @arand0mdutchgirl @athousandrooms @babiemonk @celeritas2997 @cityofdownwardspirals @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @cha-melodius @14carrotghoul @dumbpeachjuice @daisymae-12 @everwitch-magiks @firenati0n @gayrootvegetable @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heartitinthesilence @historicallysam @hypnostheory @iboatedhere @indomitable-love @kiwiana-writes @leaves-of-laurelin @matherines @nontoxic-writes @orchidscript @onward--upward @peachesobviously @read-and-write- @rockyroadkylers @raysletters @smc-27 @saintlynomenclature @suseagull04 @songliili @three-drink-amy @tintagel-or-cockleshells @treluna4 @vonpeepsisback @welcometololaland @xthelastknownsurvivorx @zwiazdziarka

And there are more but I am limited by tagging conventions shakes fist

[iqrachi]

You draw hands so well!! How do you do it?

Hello Seekdusk! Thank you so much <3 The most common thing to say, but has been the longest journey for me, is literally hours and hours of practicing! I'll go more into depth under the cut!

I think it comes from the fact that I am a goddamn stubborn person, and when I set my mind to it, I'll finish it. The time I really became determined to draw hands, was when I was around 14 years old? Now I'm 27, so I've had some years practicing hands now haha What truly inspired me was movies like Disney Tarzan, Atlantis and the older hand drawn movies. The way the many animations drew hands? Utterly poetry to my soul. And the fact that they were able to animate hand moving too?? It was godly to my small human brain at my earlier age. Milt Kahl, a legend when it comes to early Disney animation, (and most conmanly known to animate those head swaggle frames,)

But also a goddamn god when it comes to hand???

Freaking love these so much, and there is so much more references of his drawing if you search for him. Anyway, my point to all of this was: Find your inspiration! Is there a style you're dying to try out and want to get better at? Do you want to develop your own kind of style and get better at anatomy all in all? I think having a goal really helps you reach for the distance. Mine was to draw like the legends! My grandfather, who is also an artist and was a big inspiration for me as young, told me that one of the hardest things to draw was: Hands and feet. "When an artist can draw the palms of a hand or the sole of a foot in detail, they can truly draw anything." Me, hearing this at 6 years old? You better believe I made that my life's goal to become the greatest little artist there is and draw awesome hands and anatomy!!! Little hopeful 6-years-old me of course didn't know the half of how much time I would spend drawing then. But I think that also helped somehow. Not overthink it in the moment. Draw what inspires you and and have fun while doing it. Anatomy was something that was so fascinating to me too as young, I got to borrow my grandfather's book by Burne Hogarth: Dynamic Figure Drawings.

His style if pretty stylized, but it helped me understanding the proportions of muscles, form and posture. So my other point would be: Use references that helps and inspires you to draw more and improve! Something I've talked to my many artist friends in need of help is that: Using references is NOT CHEATING!!! References has been the very source for art since the freaking stone age. Need help drawing that hand that's stubbornly difficult to draw? Take a picture of your own hand in the pose you want and trace it! Or you can find pictures or 3D figure posers online for free where you can literally pose hands however you like!

And one last point I would like to say too is: It's alright to do mistakes! And when you can't quite do it? Take a break and come back to it later. When I was struggling the most while drawing hands, I would get so frustrated I wanted to throw the tablet out of the window. Solution? Take a coffee/tea break. Go for a walk or something. When you get back to it, you'll start off with a fresh mind and maybe even see what you need to do to fix the drawing too! Anyway I've been rambling for a while now. If you got this far, I hope these will help you on your journey too as it did for me ♥♥♥

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 27

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Intercrural Sex

Synopsis:  A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

We the Common (For Valerie Bolden) by Thao & the Get Down Stay Down

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

There is little I recall from the beginning.

It is a facet of biology that children’s brain’s are undeveloped.

Mine would come to fruition earlier than most.

Before that, however, time is lost.

I often wondered about it.

I’ve pieced together what I could.

From what I gathered, it’s presumably for the best.

That doesn’t mean I’ve fully accepted the unknown.

Regardless. 

I was born a regular softshell turtle.

Whether I was wild or something else, I remain unsure.

What I do know is I came into possession of a yokai known as Baron Draxum; the warrior alchemist I have mentioned before. To expand, the paranoid fool believed humanity would destroy the yokai. Thus, he dedicated his life to becoming a mockery in this pursuit. After presumably a series of failures within the Hidden City, he, as the obsessed do, came up with the harebrained scheme to weaponize and mutate earth’s creatures. Thus, using the DNA of a washed up martial artist, he created four turtle mutants.

What follows are the lost years.

The ones I spoke of. 

An unknown amount of time, until fragments came.

My first memory was looking through the bars of a cage while two foul-mouthed yokai loomed over me.

Olfaction is the only sense processed by the amygdala and hippocampus.

I’m forever plagued by how their teeth were rotted out.

Next, there was rope around my neck.

They yelled.

They only ever yelled.

When they weren’t laughing.

It’s strange how one can learn the words afterwards and still not be able to parse out what your told originally.

They forced me into the water. We’re by a lake and I didn’t drown. I think they wanted me to swim. They knew I could before I realized the same.

I swam.

The rope yanked me back.

I hated it.

I hated them.

I couldn’t put a word to the feeling.

I didn’t know it or any other.

I spent hours chewing at the rope.

I never managed more than some wear before there was a fresh one.

There was always another.

I remember how rough it was and how it rubbed my skin in an agonizing way.

Every time I pulled-

And I never stopped doing so.

-it dug deeper and deeper.

The cage was cold, wet metal and I was aware every time they hurled me into it after they made me swim. I sat outside in the elements while they dawdled away their evenings in a hovelled shack.

I would find later that children feared the dark.

I never did.

It was a calm reprieve.

As was the water, even if I was forced into it. 

Most often, I wanted to be in the water.

There, I didn’t feel the leash or the gnawing pain in my throat.

They wanted something from me and it took far too long for me to figure out what.

It was enough time that I began to pick up words and their meanings.

They didn’t want me to swim; they wanted me to dive. There were scraps there, submerged from ancient times.

I didn’t find out until I was an adult that these were bits of Krang technology. Halitosis likewise rotted their brains as they thought a child could unearth the whole of it. I could tell the first time I successfully made it that far down that it was an impossible task. That’s how long it took; enough for me to develop my first sense of critical thinking. 

I tried regardless.

I failed predictably. 

They beat me every time I came up empty handed.

They referred to me as a dog which I accepted. It was an existence I pondered as it was one of servitude and simplemindedness. They would say things like ‘if I was a better one then I wouldn’t fight back.’ I wondered what other dogs were like.

Why wouldn’t they? 

Why had I failed?

Why was I different?

Why were they?

Even when my lungs screamed, I stayed submerged as long as I possibly could. I clawed at the wreckage until eventually bits came off. The first time I finally returned from the murky depths with a prize, the pair jumped for actual joy. For the first time, I felt something other than the ever present loathing. It lasted a few seconds before they turned and kicked me back into the water. 

They wanted more. 

The suddenness nearly drowned me.

It was there I recall my first true sentence, as I came up hacking up pond scum. 

“You think that was enough? Keep going ya mangy mutt!”

From sun up until sun down, I dove.

My lung capacity grew and I learned to ignore the burn.

I was given more time away. 

I took advantage of it. 

When your world is so small, you are forced to take in details slowly. 

Even with a child’s greed, I had no choice, but to make what I had last. The lake was cloudy, but there was minute visibility. I found as long as I didn’t disturb the silt then I would have moments where I could survey. The images have since lost their clarity, but I remember the way light would bounce off the metal and how it fascinated me. 

It nearly paralleled my interest in processes of deconstruction.

I realized there was a methodology to what I was retrieving. It wasn’t random; it was something. I was mesmerized. I didn’t know what it did, but I could imagine. As I dismantled it, I began to log every detail. I believed that one day I could get into the shack and take back the parts. At night I ran through the manifest. I dismantled and rebuilt what I had interacted with. I fell in love with creation and craftsmanship.

When I was not working or left to sleep, and this amounted to little in the scheme of things, I ate. Raised on a diet of rotten slop, I despised how wasteful the two yokai were. They never finished their food and what they didn’t eat, they used as bait. While I dove, they fished. I watched from underwater. I saw how the small swimming creatures, who I’d never bothered to get close to, nervously darted around the hook. Not all took and I note how plumper ones escape. It spoke to something I tried to fathom. Weight was not something I had the privilege to put on. It was not until one night when One threw a picked clean skeleton at me that I realized they could be eaten.

Something alive could be devoured. 

The process took longer to crack than disassembling the machine parts. This was because the other act was fueled by desperation. It wasn’t that I sated; gruel and genetics merely sustained me. Instead, my goal was to capture a portion of what they had. If I couldn’t perform as a dog, which I continued to fail at, then I wanted to prove that I was not. With little time between dives, I hurried as their expectations were for me to resurface in a timely manner. The first time I caught a fish, I was stunned by the life in my hands. It wriggled with a force I had not predicted and its scales shimmered in its struggle.

Even instinctually, a creature will fight with all it has to stay alive. 

It got away. 

I felt kinship. 

I was not the only one to struggle in what was otherwise a perilous situation. 

It gave me an idea.

The second, I sunk my teeth into.

Its life drained under my tongue.

In a fervor, I devoured it.

Its bones stuck to my gums, but I swallowed it whole.

The torn flesh now internal; I didn’t care.

With lake water tingeing every bite, that taken life gave me a plan.

Existence can be traded if the right one is executed. 

I only needed proper time. 

It required time.

I had time.

How lucky then, that I had become so good at rationing such a thing out.

The last of this era was categorized in upgrades. The yokai’s shack was repaired. My baby teeth fell out. The yokai got a new boat. My adult teeth came in. Not realizing the difference and never to be told, I continued to chew the rope as a soothing practice. The revelation that my new molars had higher function only came as I snapped the woven structure.

It was unfortunate that it coincided with early morning.

I had only a handful of minutes untethered until I was found, behind bars, supposedly free.

What followed was a norm: they screamed and kicked the cage.

They left, which wasn’t unheard of, but a point of mark.

When they returned, they had what they referred to as a gift.

I had never received one and didn’t know what to make of it. They pushed a large box in front of my cage, expectantly. Having never experienced this, I had no knowledge regarding how to proceed. They had nothing to yank and this infuriated them. One ripped the box open while the other got more rope and a pole. I was captured within my imprisonment and dragged out. There they presented me with the rope’s alternative.

I never thought I would miss those rough fibers.

I only glimpsed a shape before it was locked into place. 

Though I couldn’t see it, I could smell the shock collar.

It had a new scent and as the two yokai stepped away, I was troubled.

I had never been without the rope, especially not outside my cage.

I thought of running, but that wasn’t the plan.

Instead, I examined the object with my fingers and the two yokai snickered.

I had no time nor foresight to prepare when I heard the click of a button on a remote.

Next thing I knew, I was on the ground and their cackling soared above the burning buzz that filled my being. The current was continuous and felt like streams of water animating my skeleton. When it stopped, I layed and watched as my finger twitched in front of my face.

This would become their new whim.

And investment.

At this point I’d unearthed much of the debris at the base of the lake and they knew it. My hauls were lighter and the scrap was less valuable. Want drove them and I entered the shack for the first time. It was a gaudy mismatch that my eye lingered on, causing the button to be pushed. I kept my gaze down after that and learned to steal what was around me in slivers. It was yet another exercise in patience. I wasn’t here to observe, I was here because this is where they stored their plans. On a messy table lay crudely drawn schematics and a map’s layout. They droned on about boat tours and theatrics. The concept made sense, but I did not see the point.

Why participate in an act?

Others did not share my sentiment. 

Construction took less than a week and as if waiting, Yokai came.

Families.

I lurked in the water, followed the boats, and enacted shoddy mechanisms to make things happen.

I’d picked apart far more advanced technology under minute time constraints.

The property expanded to accommodate a gift shop and an information booth.

The former gave me context. 

Shock collars were reserved for whatever dogs were supposed to be.  

The two yokai talked of erecting an entire theme park. 

They’d have riches beyond their wildest dreams.

They were rapidly becoming sloppy.

They began to forget I wasn’t compliant. They didn’t pay enough attention to realize the shocks were scorching skin with fried nerve endings. It hit my musculature similarly, but I was adapting. Little by little I learned to move against the spasms; work within them.

Time. 

The attendants were similar.

They didn’t watch their children. They didn’t care about their surroundings. They’d only wanted. They had so much they left it behind. I was given a chance to try foods I couldn’t comprehend from wrappers with leftover saliva on them. I picked up trinkets and trash both because I was directed to and because there was a wealth being discarded. They had no idea. I was often watched and pointed out with jeers.

They had no idea. 

I found desires fickle.

I wanted more, which made me like them.

I did not want to be like them.

I was not like them. 

I wanted to be something else.

I was something else. 

Something new.

That morning felt hot. It was the day of rest in the rudimentary count I had learned as I would yet to learn about calendars. The two yokai were in their shack and would be for the next hour.

I began.

With a bent wire that had fallen from some yokai’s fur, I picked the lock on my cage. I’d had years to study the mechanism and, in pilfered glimpses, I’d garnered the shape of the key. Mental mapping allowed me to recreate it and, within minutes, I was free. I then scoured where the ground had been tilled and marked. This was where the park would be. I doubted it would be now. 

I acknowledged my arrogance.

There was always a chance things could go wrong. 

I similarly doubted that. 

In the heaps of dirt I had buried little pieces of trash. It was a place left unchecked. If ever they did happen upon something, they choked it up to the patrons. I could garner a loss. I’d never accounted for materials in the first place. With my arms full, I laid out the trail. It led from the front door of the shack to the dock. It was a selfish part of me that wanted it to happen where they’d brutalized me the most.

There was also the chance it was warped nostalgia.

In what I considered my penultimate dive, I entered the water. Adept, I shot straight towards the first attraction which was a tether that lifted some painted board. It took time without the stability of land, but I removed the cord. It was clear to the untrained eye. I swam back to the dock and rigged my own mechanism. One leagues beyond anything the two simpletons could prepare. Then I returned to my cage and put myself in another of my lasts: a holding pattern.

Melancholy plagued me until the shack door was kicked open. One of the yokai stepped out onto the planks of the porch and scratched his belly. He came down with smacking lips that made my skin crawl. I watched on as he fought wakefulness and caught sight of the line of detritus.

“Hey Floyd…” One gruffed, stepping off the porch to lord over it.

“What!?” Two’s voice emanated from the bowels of the shack.

In a suspicious snap, One’s eyes were on me.

I stared back openly.

He sneered with a peek of green and yellow teeth. “Some kid pullin’ a prank.”

“So? Make the dog clean it up!”

“It leads to the docks. They mighta tamp-ered with sum’thin.”

“Damnit, Pervis!” There was a clatter of cans before Two emerged. He was mad and glowered at his companion before he saw how the line of trash perfectly led away. “Well ain’t that sum’thin.”

“We gotta go check it.”

“Just don’t step in flaming shit again. Ya think be-fore ya act!”

“One time!”

The pair started following the trail with a wide breadth and continued to bicker.

They didn’t hear the faint creak of the rusty cage door. They didn’t sense me follow. They approached the dock openly, rapidly losing caution as they looked for the damage they’d equated to a child.

The wrong child.

The pair stepped in the same file I’d seen them execute a thousand times. One led first and headed right. Two followed in a hunch going left. Neither saw the clear wire even as I saw the sun shining off of it. It triggered and, for a moment, the two searched for the source of the snapping sound. Then, in a wind that sounded like their fishing rods, a stone dropped and the line pulled tight. Wire bounced free and caught on the first thing in its way: their bodies.

In an instant they were laid out under a net of sorts and started spitting up a storm. They wriggled uselessly and I finally approached to watch them with little interest. I’d never seen them from above.

They looked small.

Two had landed in a way that pressed his face to the side on the dock where he could see me. “Damnit, Pervis! It’s the fucking dog!!”

 One was not so lucky as he stared into the reeds. “Where?!”

“Over… You dumb’fuck!” Two stopped moving and split a grin. “Thing thinks it’s cute. Getting a lil payback?”

Grunts came as One wriggled to see.

I stepped up to Two and tilted my head.

I wondered what position he thought he was in.

His awareness had been lost for quite some time.

“I have been think-ing we should finally upgrade. Get a real pet. We have enough funds, wouldn’t cha say Pervis?”

One caught wind of the self-assured tone and was wrongfully pacified. “Flush like a toilet, Floyd!”

“Ya see, dog. We ain’t dumb. We seen you watching with your creepy fucking stare. It was bound ta happen one day, so I’ll give ya kudos for pulling one over.”

I took a step back.

“Heh, you get it.” With a flap of his hand, Two slapped his thigh where his arm was pinned.

The shocks hit me and I dropped to my knees.

Two bursted out laughing. 

“I know that sound!” One chirped before joining into the ear grating cacophony.

I gave them their moment and was slow to stand.

“What the…?” Two still held onto the tail end of tittering as he slapped his thigh again. 

I could feel the voltage rise.

They’d done this before.

To watch me ‘dance.’

My very being was vibrating and my vision of him was garbled.

“How in the-!?” The slapping on his leg was palpable and One started crying out in confusion.

I walked forward.

There was effort, but it wasn’t unmanageable.

I reached Two with my toes right near his mouth.

He gaped at them and then up at me.

I mimicked the grin he gave me before I dropped.

His screams rained out over the lake.

His life drained under my tongue.

One added to the clamor until it was his turn.

Spitting out the vestiges of rotten meat, I finally acquired the remote. The collar was still going in what must have been its ever longest run. The scent of seared flesh emanating from me smelt nothing like the bonfires the pair of yokai had. It took me mere milliseconds to figure out the off switch and even less for the release. The collar dropped to the ground and I kicked it into the lake. I watched until it sank and wondered if it would be unearthed as treasure one day. I then headed to the shack. There was nothing I wanted there, but I wiped off the mess their blood left on my body as an insult to their tawdry decadence. Having made my mark, I left.

My time as a street urchin was short. The city wasn’t far, but, at this point, I refused to be seen again. My neck throbbed constantly, but I channeled the pain to heighten my awareness. The hustle and bustle wasn’t something I could have prepared for as it quintupled anything I ever saw at the lake. I was plagued with attacks I didn't understand and had no time to deal with them. I hid in alleys, closed shops, and amongst bags of trash. I ate a diet of leavings. I missed fish.

I didn’t chance one place and kept moving. I didn’t believe I was seen, but if I was, I saw no repercussions. After the initial stress wore off, I began another vigil. It was a grand scale of mechanics applied in a way that seemed palatable; I found society worked the same as cogs within a machine. Everything had its place in a grand scheme of organization. I learned some buildings were for public consumption and others were privately owned. Yokai came and almost always operated in patterns. They moved themselves from place to place as they did objects. That life would be so arbitrary seemed inane, but I had nothing to compare it to.

It was in the second week that I truly registered the stench radiating from me. It took several more days until I found an open bathroom window of an empty domicile. I felt hot water for the first time. I saw my image in a mirror for the first time as well. I was not sure what to make of it. I had not seen anything like me. Clean, I left the place and continued on. I was fatigued of sleeping outside, but there was a monetary system I was still getting a hold of. Then, by chance, I saw a group of yokai around my height. I gave chase. 

They laughed and played in the same carefree way that I had seen children do at the lake. They did not, however, have looming larger yokai overhead. They did not have ropes or collars. They moved of their own volition. Then they stopped to eat. They had the necessary currency. I watched from the shadows as they challenged each other to some contest and lights came off of them. One’s eyes glowed. Another could hold energy in the palm of their hand. Yet more didn’t show outward signs, but charged with strength that wasn’t there before.

My brain worked in overdrive.

I had to commit this to memory. 

If they could do it, I could as well. 

One mentioned ‘story time’ and the group lurched in a rushed formation. 

A piece of fabric was left behind.

Looking down at myself, I recognized a difference. 

I was missing the proper suiting.

Not all, but most yokai I had found fashioned wraps around them in various ways. There appeared in a multitude of colors and shapes. The one left behind was a shade I’d never encountered. It looked to be my size and I put it on in the way that made sense. Arms through tubes and head sprouted from the smaller of the two openings, I examined the excess fabric around the neck. A brief study found it to be a hood which had a securing quality as I brought it up over my head.

Trailing the scent of the little yokai, I came upon a glorious building. Its grand exterior sat upon a series of stairs and I caught a glimpse of the last small yokai rushing through the doors as they closed. Looking down at my hoodie, I followed behind. The steps were treacherous in my mind as they offered no protection. No one seemed to look on as I traversed them with a foreign approach. The doors were heavy and it took all my weight to yank them open. Once inside, I waited for the screams to start and prepared my hasty exit. Silence came and I found it to be one of the sweetest things I’d heard to date. The lake had a life to it and this building was not devoid, but interiors greatly contrasted nature.   

I would never forget the moment I lifted my head.

What I would come to find were books, lined a multitude of shelves. The entrance sat in an octagon that rose up with floor after floor in what seemed like an infinite stack. A large eared yokai with pointy clothes sat upon a centered podium and loomed over without seeing as she poured over something at her desk. I thought her to be the operator of this establishment and would come to find I was right. The yokai children blinked by on the second level and I found myself rushing after them.

I never caught up.

Instead, I found that outside the sense of the main room, everything beyond defied what I had come to know about natural order. Staircases carried on in omnidirectional patterns with bookcases doing the same. There was an entire ecosystem here unlike anything I had ever seen. I knew right then that this was a place where one could get lost and never return.

I thought nothing better could exist in this bleak world.

I would not step foot outside even once in the coming years. Surrounded by nothing but knowledge, I found how starved I was. My existence equally shrank and expanded endlessly. Food became my only limited resource as I quickly found it was prohibited. Thankfully, redundancies define this world and there were both vending machines and those who smuggled things in about to sustain me.

Finding enough to get by physically, I made a nest where two angled bookshelves left a strange triangle of space behind them. It only took the removal of a few books from a bottom shelf for me to squeeze in and garner a space that was, for once in my life, of my own choosing. I located a thing called ‘lost and found’ and learned of the comfort clothes and covers could bring. For myself I dressed in darker tones to blend in, but my child’s eye was naturally drawn to bright colors. This was how I discovered a beginner’s section of the library and began my journey.

Teaching myself to read was something I picked up quickly. I inadvertently found the lost story times and listened in at first. They mostly aided me in pronunciation until I quickly outpaced the books read. By this point, it should be known that I had yet to speak. The library’s law forbade it and my throat was a point of contention. Those compounded reasons along with finding no reason to do so meant I found it needless. Instead, I advanced the vocabulary of the mind. Running around, I matched books with dictionaries and jumped reading level after level.

Once I consumed everything within the children’s and then young adult’s sections, I grew tired of fiction. I had little to relate with asinine struggles and yearned for greater understanding of the world. With thousands of shelves at my disposal. It was difficult to know where to start. I bided my time and learned the Dewey Decimal Classification. Hoping it would give me clarity, I had been studying a quiz sheet on such that I had made myself using a notebook that was left behind by a student when a book dropped into my nest. Afraid I had been found, I cowered only to find a hand straining to reach the tiny hole. The owner of which simply muttered a nervous phrase about that not being their problem before selecting something else and leaving.

Leaving my notes, fluorescent light creating a lined tapestry in my little space, I approached the thick book. A haunting white figure was chiseled onto the cover and I inched forward to open it. The words proved the hardest yet, but I was ensnared. Thinking it fate, when I finished the book, lids heavy with exhaustion, I emerged and approached the librarian for the first time.

I stared up at her and she down at me. I had since picked up on her supreme sense of hearing and knew she was aware of my presence. However, if she knew I lived within the library walls, she never acted otherwise. Jarring me as it was only something I had seen done in retaliation, she swooped on her large wings and landed, ground level, in front of me. Free from her confines, she observed me through the little glasses perched on her nose before she knelt further down to look me in the eye. Fear at how easily she could snatch me away erupted, but she simply smiled.

“How can I help you, little one?”

Words.

I hadn’t chanced those.

I wasn’t ready.

Instead I offered her the little punch slip that had come from the fallen book.

She adjusted her glasses at it and then me.

“You can read all you want within these walls. The card is for check-out.”

I frowned and held it up anew.

She hummed with a sort of affection before offering me a spindly hand.

I shirked away from it.

She pointed up the podium. “To complete the process, you need to fill out a form.”

My heart beat so fast that I thought it would stop.

I was thankful I’d at least die where I’d been most happy.

I somehow managed to extend my hand when hers wrapped around the whole of me. I wriggled as, in a flap, we were soon airborne and a different sensation caught hold of my stomach. In a display, she soared above her destination in a grand tour of what the library had to offer. 

Exhilaration took the place of my anxiety.

Flying was another form of freedom.

When we landed, I’d almost forgotten about my quest. Sitting atop the podium, she pulled out a slip of paper with little boxes. I studied the inputs curiously before she also produced a nearly blank sheet with exact perforations. Marveling at the little details, she made a few little notes while skipping over many of the assigned boxes. “I’ll need your name.”

I looked around.

She understood and slid me a piece of paper with a marker.

Staring at her with no way to translate my gratitude, I wrote out my name for the first time.

D-O-N-A-T-E-L-L-O

A mark of fate left on me by my first real book.

That library card would be the charting moment of my existence; my first ever piece of identification. 

Years blur after that. They were some of my happiest as I knew only peace. I read. I devoured history books. I traversed biographies of great minds. I learned of mechanics. I consumed encyclopedias that spanned entire sections. I’d unearthed the marvels of the Hidden City and the fabled land of Earth. I found out about computers. I was devastated to find that the technology had not taken off in this realm. From what I read though they contained even more knowledge than any one mind could imagine. The mental schematics I had concocted on the ceiling of my cage came in handy. I used them to learn to type on an imaginary computer. I wrote out and tested thousands of lines of codes without a harddrive.

The librarian took either a liking to or pity on me. She introduced vegetables into my diet by supposedly sharing her lunches. It was not lost on me that she had entirely separate packaged meals that she would leave out near some of my favorite study tables. I didn’t immediately take to the greens as much as the concept. It sent me bounding between biology and botany. She wasn’t the only one to leave an impression. I watched staunchly pressed yokai thumb through tomes of law. I spied on their strange appearance only for them to approach, overjoyed, to find anyone interested and instructed me on the greater machinations of the system enveloping us.

Even still, there were more than just the books. 

Papercuts taught me that pain wasn’t always inflicted by others. Mention of glasses brought me to the realization that my own sight was lacking. I found a pair in the lost and found. Their prescription was imprecise, but close enough. I marveled at the new found clarity. It imparted a sense of philosophy that had been an undercurrent in my life:

We cannot know what ails us until we see from beyond.

I believed my pursuit here was one that would never end.

This was my destiny. 

However, I was young.

I had energy.

I had an itch.

I had wants.

They exceeded knowledge. 

I yearned to create, driven by all that I had seen. I could improve. I improved my own mind. I could influence my surroundings. I existed for more. I began small. My first act was replacing a burnt out bulb. My curiosities sent me beyond the maintenance closet as I understood the functions of filaments. This bulb hadn’t ended its lifespan naturally. There had been a surge. It took me several days under the guise of quiet until I located faulty wiring within the walls. When I fixed it, the new light burned brighter than ever before.

I was hooked.

I went around fixing anything and everything that was broken or in disrepair.

Cleaning was a natural extension of this. 

There was a night janitor that I avoided, but he was never thorough enough. Psychology books taught me how surroundings influenced wellbeing. I tidied up during the day. It both improved my supposed headspace by giving me a sense of control while also allowing me to freely gather materials as I had in my earlier years. Library patrons quickly took notice of me, but I no longer held the same fear. Instead, they found me endearing. There was something to a child cleaning up and offering to take their trash. Their reactions were something I studied.

They ranged from affectionate to snide. Where some brought me candy, others made excess crumbs and scattered them on the floor. The implication was for me to lick them up, but I simply fetched a broom. There was something about how the long handle fit in my hands. I could swing it with ease. I had read bits from history books which sent me towards the library’s self-improvement section. Starting with a rudimentary book on martial arts, I was drawn to the mental aspect and, of course, the use of a bo staff. From there, I restructured my schedule. I would read, clean, and collect during the library’s open hours and train during the off ones. 

It offset a swath of my energy, but never the cravings from my hands.

With time, I had nearly every object repaired or renewed in the labyrinth. It left me with little more than repetition and gathering refuse. Combined with what I combed from lost and found, I studied manuals and built little machines. They were rudimentary ones, but they were mine. My workspace soon outgrew my nest, so I took to tables in far reaches so as not to bother patrons. I was building up to something of a remote controlled car, missing only a motherboard, when he first approached me.

“Would ya look at that.”

I scooped my device into my hand and ran to the next row when his voice chased me.

“Sorry for spooking ya kid! I just had a question!”

Nervous, the shush bats rattled up above and I pressed my shell to the comfort of my books as I waited for them to carry him away.

The rush of flapping never came and when I peeked out, he was looking to the ceiling with a curious glint to him.

As if sensing me, he turned with a lopsided grin. “I got a way with animals.”

Frowning, memories of dogs assaulted me.

I was a softshell turtle.

I was more.

“I’ll leave you be.” His voice came with a gruff softness. “I just wanted to know: it was you that fixed my cell phone the other day, wasn’t it?”

I peered a little further, knowing full well he could see me. 

I had, but I didn’t know who owned it. I’d hoped the owner wouldn’t come and claim it so I could dismantle it. There was procedure to these things. Per the rules above the lost and found, objects weren’t guaranteed past 72 hours. Usually no one returned for them, but there was a status to uphold. At least, there was an imaginary one I held with the librarian for allowing me to stay. 

“I dropped it from floor eight to corridor three. I figured it was a lost cause, but when I was heading out, I found it propped on the railing, perfectly fine minus some cracks in the screen. Was weird. Not the kind of thing that’s from around here.”

I stepped out then.

Cell phones were basically computers. 

That meant it didn’t come from the Hidden City; it came from above. 

Though I had yet to exercise my training, my body improved far faster than any of the martial arts books predicted.

I had faith I would not lose, but with the many warnings not to underestimate one's opponent, I kept my distance.

“I’ve seen you around. I do…” He looked to the side. “…business here, from time to time. A nice public place.”

I squinted. I could see him through my glasses and there was something off-putting about him. I had seen him before as well, but he never stayed longer than an hour. I rarely cared about the machinations of the others in the library beyond what I could learn from them. 

He put his hands in his pockets in what I assumed was a ploy to look less threatening. “You work here or something?”

I stared and squeezed the tech in my hand until it was nearly cutting.

“Oh, yup.” He gave a languid nod. “That’s two questions and I said only one.”

I gave a curt bob of my head.

“You’re a little stickler.” He gave a faint chuckle. “Did you fix my phone?” With a show of digging, he pulled out said device from his pocket and flipped it out.

I flicked my gaze between him and the object before giving another quick nod.

“Cool.” He looked at his phone one last time before pocketing it. “Thanks, kid.”

He turned to walk away and I will never understand what compelled me to chase after him.

He made it halfway down an aisle before he half turned to look at me over his shoulder. “Answer another question.”

I stopped so fast I rose up on the tips of my toes.

“You’re bored, ain’tcha?” He looked around the books.

I dropped my gaze to my feet.

“You like fixing stuff?”

I gave a slow nod.

“Want to fix more?”

When my gaze shot up, I saw a gold tooth in his smile.

“Excellent.”

My partnership with La Stanza was not something I would understand at first. It started with his name. I only knew bits of other languages thus far and had to look up the meaning. When asked he had simply responded that he was the guy you go to like one goes to any other room. It seemed nonsensical, but in reality what purpose was there to my own calling card?

Maybe fate touched him as well. 

It is hard to fault myself for being young, but I admit I knew something was off. Everything in the system I understood was transactional. When he asked me to meet him the next day in the cooking section, I found him waiting with a broken appliance on the table. He gave me space as I decided and then watched as I studied it. After a minor deconstruction to get a feel for the parts, I rebuilt it minus the broken one. I knew of a part similar and left it to go get what was necessary. When I returned he was sitting with a sleepy expression and continued to observe until I was done. I pushed it over to him and was all the more suspicious when he pressed it back.

“It’s a radio. Not much use in here. You can have it.”

I had questions.

I wasn’t sure I had a voice.

The damage to my throat was extensive.

My studies had pointed me towards vocal cord damage.

I hadn’t bothered to test otherwise.

I left it as a Schrödinger's cat.

“Can I be honest and this is definitely gonna sound like a put down, but kid, I swear if I have to keep looking at you, I gotta say it.”

I merely squinted at him.

“I can’t read your damn face.” He mimed a mitt over his. “You’re a blank green slate. I got a cousin that’s mute so that’s whatever, we do the jibber jabber.” His still raised hand turned and he tapped spread fingers to his chin several times. “But even if we don’t, I can look at him and see if he’s happy or sad or needs to take a shit. You though? Come on!”

I frowned and got up. 

I left him with the radio and he made a saddened sigh.

I didn’t see him for a week, but I studied what he’d left me with. I learned the gesture he had done was sign language. It found it was different as he often spoke things with his hands in a way that didn’t communicate anything other than emphasis. Taking a social cues book into the bathroom, I practiced expressions in the mirror and found what he was referring to. I weighed options of communication as I made my weekly rounds to the lost and found. A silk purple scarf was in there and I took it with me to my nest.

It was the color of the hoodie I had long outgrown and now used as a pillow.

Purple. 

Literature said it was a signifier of royalty in ancient times.

It represented power and ambition.

I liked the former and had the latter.

What a suitable shade.

I found La Stanza meandering in the mystery section a few days later.

‘What do you want with me?’ I stood with my feet apart and signed to him.

His eyes grew wide and a bright smile turned up only half his face. “Well I’ll be damned.”

‘I asked you a question.’

He chuckled softly and dropped down to a squat. “You know I figured you just had autism, but you’re a fur-real baby genius.”

I folded my arms.

“Eh.” He looked to the side and shrugged his shoulders. “Could be both, either way-” He brought his hands up to sign as he spoke. “I was right to approach ya.”

‘Well?’

“I’m looking to expand.” He leaned back until he landed on his butt and crossed his legs. “Business ain’t what it used to be and my boss treats me like shit.”

‘Business?’

“Work.” He gave a repulsed bob of his head. “I’m a salesman and a pretty face. I wasn’t gifted with technical skills like you, so I need a partner.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“We’ll start small. I bring you broke stuff and you repair it.”

I could feel the phantom ropes tug.

“What do you want in return? Money? Food? Supplies? You name it kid. You’ll be doing most of the work so…”

Goods in exchange for services.

The trade-off made it palatable. 

What did I want?

I wanted intangible things.

Space to work.

Things to work on.

Tools.

Those were tangible.

A computer. 

I didn’t quite have the same vocabulary with my hands as my mind.

I spelled out his name.

He looked surprised before checking up and down the bookcases. “You need a place to stay? I gotta be honest, kid. I don’t got much. My apartment is a one-room shit show in the back of a nail salon. You’re better off sleeping with one of these paperbacks as a pillow.”

I shook my head.

He squinted and then thought hard before something came to him. “’They come to me with what they need.’” His grin bounced in time with his head. “Make me a list and I’ll bring you the first electronics tomorrow. We meet in cooking, yeah?”

I was slow to give a nod.

“In my business we shake on deals. It’s an act ‘cause we’re all backstabbers, but we do it anyway.” He stood, dusted himself off, and held out his hand.

I reached a hand across my body and wrapped it comfortingly over my own shoulder.

A laugh started up in La Stanza, but he covered his mouth to keep from giving in. When he came down, he licked his lips. “You’ll do fine. I bet you’ll be able to tell from a mile away when I’m gonna turn on you. In fact, I’m almost looking forward to it. What you’ll become.” 

While every other word out of his mouth had an ulterior motive, there was something honest about in a way I had never encountered. It had me crossing the floor where we shook. I often return to a case study of this next period. Memories have faded to a point, but the rapid escalation I found with the mobster La Stanza was one for the ages. It started with me repairing what I quickly identified was human trash. Within weeks I had built up enough revenue for him that we moved on to upgrading existing contraband. 

I learned the humans and yokai were meant to be kept separate. 

Even if a majority shunned technology, there were still yokai who craved it. 

The pool was still small, however, and this market also exhausted quickly. Always onto the next thing, La Stanza then set on my table something I immediately pinged as tampered property. He only gave a knowing smile and I wondered how sustainable a business model was of breaking goods and then offering to fix them. It proved not to be much when, within the month, he came to the library black and blue.

It wasn’t my business. 

Mine was to fix. 

Toiling away, repair after repair. 

It cured the ache in my hands; it was all I was good for. 

Do to his own err, La Stanza asked to take a step back from physical goods. That was when I got my first computer. I had to repair it myself. There was no internet there to connect it to, but the programs downloaded were operational. All I cared about at first was finally writing all that code I had been saving to my mind’s databanks. However, I had a job to do first. I would spend my ‘working’ hours toiling away at the vague programs La Stanza asked for. I would create and then burn them into hard copies that he would then distribute. They had something to do with bugs, infections, and diverting funds, but all I cared about was whatever combinations of keys triggered one reaction to set off another. I was obsessed. I spent nearly all my waking time on the machine. I neglected all my other fields of study. 

With my hands often occupied, I had switched to communicating with my partner via a notepad document. It was near my ear that La Stanza one day crooned about diversifying interests. Without waiting for my response, he asked what I had in mind.

Right and wrong were not things I wholly understood. As concepts I had read of them, but it was hard not to see the leaking persuasion historians seeped into their work. They painted killers as martyrs. Laws at the time were broken because they were seen as unjust now even though they were accepted then. Visionaries were imprisoned for new ideas that would only translate to as momentous after they died. In reality, most of these people only suffered in their times.

It made no sense.

It didn’t matter to me what would happen when I was gone.

I had wants now.

Thus the computer work I suggested was one I viewed as altruistic. I needed a way to connect to the surface; to where computers really were. I’m not sure how he boosted the signal, but La Stanza always had a way of delivering. It meant I could finally see the code that others wrote in real time. Tampering with its faults was simply opening unlocked doors. The internet was free and intangible. If they wanted to keep me out, then they should have invested in even the base level of protection. Fully saturated in hypocrisy, I easily hacked firewalls. Exhausted, La Stanza could only tolerate watching me do this for a few hours a day. He tried to commiserate as a vested party, but he did not share my compulsion. Things could be generated with keystrokes that were beyond the requirements of materials. I built entire programs from the ground up just so I could create machines with my mouse. I tapped into the likes of which I never thought possible.

I wanted more.

At this point, I had a surplus of cash and sent the money back to the one who brought it to print out my designs.

It wasn’t enough. 

The next time La Stanza came around, I directed him to a table. He sat down across from me and I could tell he knew we were about to make a deal.

I slid the blueprints over to him and he took them with tempered curiosity.

Lifting them up to block his face, it was only when he lowered it did the lights gleam off gold.

“Lab.” My voice was dry and nasally to my ears.

I hadn’t meant to say it.

The sound had just popped out.

A manifestation of my desires.

La Stanza’s grin grew impossibly wide. “Done.”

I exited the library that day.

By my estimations, having only picked up the nuisances of time during my stay, it had been four years.

La Stanza led me to the door with his hand on my back. As we drew near, I shouldered him away and he seemed genial as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. It was only in the last few feet that my heart ached. I would be leaving my sanctuary. I stopped and he made the rest of the journey to the door. I watched him and he closed his eyes as if giving me privacy. In a slow turn, I drank in the library’s main hall. I drew my eyes up its octagonal shape and clipped the podium where the librarian sat.

She looked at me.

Her mouth opened and she reached out the tiniest bit.

Regret.

I simply stared and shouldered the little backpack I’d taken with me. 

She did nothing more. 

I turned.

La Stanza opened the door and I left.

We moved into a warehouse.

If my time working out of the library had been an accelerated process, I began to travel at mach speeds. Existence was now tied to rent and time was of the essence. I rarely used my new voice during this time, but it mattered little as I rarely saw La Stanza. We communicated through lists as we often just missed one another. Within a month I had a fully functioning lab with nearly every item I had ever read of and the ability to create more. I submerged myself into technology and she wrapped her arms around me in a loving embrace.

Whether it be from the computer to the work desk, I was always wading neck deep in nearly a dozen projects at any given second. I continued to code and built my own online infrastructure. Returning to physical goods, I improved upon the day to day technology I had initially been brought to fix and left them prototypes for La Stanza to pedal off. He kept good in that my bank account was always trending upwards and everything was freshly stocked, whatever was necessary.

I hit the wall of what was feasible all too quickly. Improving what was one was one thing, but I saw to it that science itself could be advanced. I needed materials and elements that were only hypothesized. It was clear they would exist, but sentient races as a whole would need to take the step for that to happen. Fashioning myself as that pioneer, I took the first stride and stored my research in a pair of goggles, futuristic versions of my antiquated lenses. 

With creation itself occupying my hands and mind, I needed an even simpler way to communicate. I had long since done a medical examination of myself and found my vocal cords intact. Too distracted to use them, I took that silk scarf and turned it into my first bandana, eyebrows and all. La Stanza, as touted, could glean everything he needed from a look alone. I had learned the same of him, in our time together. It was why I could tell he was growing irritated with my pursuits as with my attention diverted to a struggle with no exact deadline, there weren’t any tangible products to sell.

He walked in one day while I was preparing a prototype for a fusion reactor and dropped a handgun directly on my workspace.

I gave it a listless glance before going back to my work.

His hand came away as if he thought I was concerned he’d shoot me.

I wasn’t. 

I was too valuable. 

“People are catching onto us, kid.”

I arched my brow to ask why I should care.

“I spread out your tech, sold it to the highest bidders, and kept you anonymous, but I’m just one guy. I mean I got my Goyles of Fortune, but you turned yours down.”

I shoved my rolling chair towards a computer where I ran a test model.

“If you’re going to keep this ‘find a new element’ Einstein shit up-”

I shot him a dry look.

He knew for a fact that’s not what Einstein did.

“-then genius needs protection!” He yelled, slamming his hands down. “Protection means money!” 

I stopped my work and gave a sigh as I looked at him.

“When you crack this, we’ll be set for life. I get that. Until then, I’ve been spending my time around the points of interest around town. You’re known. They don’t know much, but they know a tech wiz is holed up somewhere and they want him. If the goons I know, know, then you know Big Mama-”

I picked up the gun.

La Stanza stopped and a strange scent wafted off of him. I observed him carefully before I toyed with the clip and it came out. He relaxed as I pulled out the bullets and looked them over.

“She-” I had to swallow hard. It had been weeks since I last spoke. “She purchased the new screen technology I pioneered.”

“For her Battle Nexus.” He nodded.

Replacing the bullets, I popped the clip back in.

I just wanted to work.

To be left in peace. 

“She deals in control, kid. If she gets her hands on you…”

“She already has…” I shook my head. “…most of the Hidden City. Goyles can’t be trusted. You can barely be trusted.”

La Stanza gave a single snort. 

“Say what you really want.” I had finally reigned my vocal cords in. 

Rounding the table, he approached and held his hand out.

I gave him the gun.

“Let’s advance this.” He waved it. “This is some human crap. Yokai crap ain’t much better. Neither take science seriously.”

I frowned deeply. He had paid attention to one of my few rants.

“You’re gonna change the world, kid. I’ve known it all along. Get into weaponry. That’s where money and power are.”

I thought.

I stood and I walked away. He knew my process. He hung back. I’d already made my decision, but it wasn’t out of fear or morality. I didn’t even have anything to prove. My wants were finally being met. It wasn’t like I wanted notoriety. I saw what came with it, amassing hatred and adoration.

I despised the thought.

At the same time, I’d proven to myself I was no mangy dog.

I was more.

But-

They whispered of me.

Big Mama was sending out her tendrils to find me.

Me.

I knew, but did they?

How wonderful it sounded to see their faces and learn that an actual child was what they sought.

This fabled tech wizard. 

I returned to find La Stanza dozing off, propped against a toolbox.

I hadn’t learned to manage time then.

I spent it carelessly.

“The structure. Do you want to be your own boss?”

He jarred with wakefulness. “Huh?” With a puckered face, he shook it off. “What? You think you’re my boss or something?”

I barely rose one of my brows and gave a flat expression.

Without me he was nothing.

“Cocky bastard.” He grumbled to himself before kicking my chair over to me. “How far are you thinking?”

“I can topple Big Mama’s empire.”

La Stanza straightened. “She’s held Hidden City for longer than you were a distant dream in your momma’s head.”

My gaze grew acrid. “Let it collapse or take her place. That’s what I’m offering.”

He grew pale. “Why?”

“I dislike the system.”

“I mean it did you dirty before, but look at you now-”

I took a single step forward and he stilled.

He gave a curt nod. He knew he couldn’t challenge me. “You could fix it,” he offered because he felt like he had to. 

“There is no fixing inherent conditioning. There will always be those who want more. Big Mama is arbitrary. I simply wish to be left to my work.”

“If you slip in the slightest…”

“Are you worried for you or me?” I tipped my head back.

“You’re just a kid…”

“And you’re a con man using one.”

La Stanza clicked his tongue. “Let’s at least pump some cash into an orphanage or some shit!”

“I’ll leave that to you.”

“Kid-”

“Donatello.”

“I-”

He had that damned look. 

Regret.

Remorse.

“You approached me!” I glowered up at him. 

For a moment, he was lost before an icy exterior took hold. “Make your list, I’ll get what you need.”

He left.

I got what I needed.

I made what was necessary.

I wouldn’t say I underestimated Big Mama.

I was a child.

I couldn’t fathom how far her reach went.

I made weapons.

I made chemicals.

I watched those tools fall upon the masses as collateral.

I can’t recall if I understood guilt.

If I had it at all.

I felt fractured.

Only creation kept my pieces from tumbling apart.

I grew taller.

I rarely slept.

I picked my martial arts training back up out of necessity.

I was jittery. 

I needed a means to whittle away the excess energy.

Our first warehouse was raided by the Hidden City police.

My safety protocol took out half their forces in one night.

Four of them, emboldened by loss, turned electrified prongs on me.

I hadn’t lost my ability to move with the current, but I was not of one body anymore. 

My goggles short circuited and the resulting explosion took my hearing.

It also gave me an escape.

In one of a dozen safe houses, La Stanza got me cochlear implants.

I was revolted by the silence.

It wasn’t like the library, the decorum. 

It was forced.  

I kept nothing down during the time I spent upgrading the devices.

I would need them to advance with me.

I had only one shot.

The surgery was done, live and alone.

I did my eyes at the same time.

Might as well.

If I was to be out of commission, then figured I might as well go all the way out.

I don’t recall my recovery.

I remember being on the run.

It was a good thing I’d trained.

La Stanza died.

I never saw what happened.

I found his body in a heap down a road.

His back was to me. 

I never approached.

Years later I would find he was choked trying to divert police attention.

What does a room hold?

Whatever you fill it with.

For all the running I did, I at least made Big Mama hurt.

I severed her connections with the auction house.

I released a slew of her best champions.

I never once encountered her straight on.

She’d leave me recordings, like inane voicemails.

I’d see her face, fake accent, and smash the screen.

It was only once that the audio continued to feed.

In a warbled voice before I hit it again, I heard only one thing.

“Lou Jitsu’s revenge.”

What I couldn’t contend with was the Hidden City’s forces.

They were relentless.

Endless.

Exceedingly cruel.

Dangerously stupid.

Beating them during encounters was easy.

However, these were battles won and not the war.

I wasn’t just dealing with them.

Puberty ran rampant through my body and mind. It stunted me. I was trying to topple an ancient civilization by myself. If I took the hand of anyone, for even a moment, they turned on me. The reward was too great. If you didn’t get the money legally through the city, bankrolled by Big Mama. Then you could take it from her directly, same funds.

Broken.

Bloodied.

Exhausted.

Malnourished.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

I became Hidden City’s number one most wanted criminal.

My photo, one snapped when a scuzzy paparazzi woke me with a flash bulb after I had been knocked unconscious, was plastered over every screen in the entire place.

Ones I had built. 

I was forced to leave.

I’d never considered the Hidden City home, but I felt similarly to when I’d left the library. I remember distinctly walking out onto a New York street. The calculations to the portal were botched, but it had at least sent me above. I was nearly run over by a taxi and people screamed at my existence. Muscle memory took me running and I found shelter atop a building.

Staring out at New York City, I didn’t know what to feel at first. I was mostly consumed with the wafting stench of too many humans crammed together and hot refuse that piled up on the sidewalks. For that first week, I passed out and slept an nearly the whole of it asleep in a pigeon coup. It was as if my body was trying to catch up on all it had lost. The nervous energy of the birds paired with their incongruous coos was lulling. That was, until I was awoken by its attendant and scrambled to free myself. Covered in feathers and shit, I escaped and, for the first time, saw the city bathed in sunlight.

It was a fascinatingly different sort of beast.

After washing up, I went to explore with flashbacks of my child self getting a feel for the Hidden City haunting me. This world was not so different. It was, surpassingly enough, vastly untouched. There were criminal organizations, dirty cops, drugs, and the ever growing lists of misdeeds, but they paled in comparison to what I’d had to deal with prior.

I could start small.

My work.

The single word was enough to make my hands shake.

When was the last time I was able to just work on what I liked?

At the mere mention, I felt a burst of something close to joy. Unlike the manic kind when I won a battle and lived another day, this was a selfish one I sort of enjoyed. I found an abandoned apartment and settled in. Computer access was plentiful and I found the internet had reached further leagues of the imaginable while I was away. Skimming funds from large corporations and doctoring books to keep even the most keen accountant from noticing, I built myself a new lab. I studied this world. I maintained my training, now out of discipline. I would have maintained this lifestyle were it not for an odd mosquito that flew by one night as I was taking a walk. I knew enough that its home ecosystem was clearly one from down below.

I followed it.

I saw a mutation happen first hand.

We cannot know what ails us until we see from beyond.

I scrambled.

I returned to the Hidden City in disguise and found the biggest headline regarded Baron Draxum’s lab.

With two world’s worth of populations to choose from, the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon is hard to fathom once it’s exercised on you.

It was grossly effortless to track my lineage. I berated myself for thinking it impossible. Many pieces gathered that I thought useless suddenly fit into a puzzle I had no idea I was constructing. Big Mama’s ominous ‘Lou Jitsu’ comment was frighteningly accurate.

She had already known. 

It wasn’t something I should have put past her.

For you, the gist is thus: Baron Draxum believed humanity would wipe out yokai. He thought if he mutated turtles then he could create super beings to destroy them first. He needed DNA to ensure such beings would be lethal fighters. Self-esteem apparently abysmal, he sought the Battle Nexus’ most famous champion: a one, Lou Jitsu. He was a human immigrant from Japan who occupied himself as a martial arts movie star. Sometime on Earth, he was bewitched by Big Mama and became romantically entwined with her. I am not sure nor do I care to find out when this ended, but she forced him to become the Battle Nexus’ champion. What is known is he spent time defeating all manner of yokai until he gave up violence.

What comes next is conjecture, but since I am living proof, it is clearly truth.

Baron Draxum got the necessary DNA, finished the experiment, but his lab was destroyed in the process.

I and three others came into existence and Lou Jitsu disappeared.

No one in the Hidden City had ever heard anything more about the three others.

I presumed I was the only one to survive.

You can see why I wonder about those lost memories.

Fast forward, if it was unclear, that lab explosion I just described happened in the past.

The new one I happened upon approximately fourteen years later was a curious repeat in history.

Baron Draxum had a new plan then, to bring humanity down from within. He used his mutagenic ooze and placed it within a species that could easily spread the concoction: mosquitos. 

Things of this nature are rarely not connected.

Returning to New York, I tracked the mystic energy and found… them.

Raphael.

Leonardo.

Michelangelo.

They had the-

Same-

Fucking-

-naming convention as-

…

I didn’t approach.

How could I?

In less than a 24 hour period, I discovered more about myself than I had in all my years.

Instead, I followed them.

They laughed.

I tracked them into the sewers and began surveillance.

They consider themselves brothers.

Family. 

They had hobbies.

They lived a hidden existence.

They acted happy.

They were happy.

And there was that…

Decrepit-

Obese-

Rat.

…

I conducted more research. I could not be hasty. I watched and watched, on monitors set up in their absence. When they left, I followed them out. 

Both they and the rat were oblivious.

They were acting as vigilantes with pathetic martial arts training.

They yelled.

They laughed.

They fumbled.

They didn’t kill.

They survived.

They did more. 

Were allowed more. 

Encounter after encounter, I watched them fight versions of their own kind. 

The city filled with more and more mutants because of those damned bugs released by Baron Draxum.

Ignorant.

They were so absolutely, absurdly, and appalling stupid.  

By the end of my surveillance, I barely had to conceal myself. They once walked right by and didn’t even notice I was standing there! It is unbelievable that we share genetic material! They make me so-!!

…

They were allowed to do whatever they wanted.

They had a freedom they couldn’t comprehend.

And they squandered it.

All because of him.

Lou Jitsu, nee Hamato Yoshi.

He had escaped Baron Draxum only to be mutated into a rat man. He raised three turtle children as his own. He brought them up to have the carefree lifestyle that he was not afforded. He became a recluse both for their protection and because he could not deal with what happened to him.

Love.

They had love.

And each other.

…

…

…

If you’re curious. He never went back.

Splinter.

Master.

Splinter.

He renamed himself yet again.

Hamato Yoshi. Lou Jitsu. Master Splinter.

Not once did he return to the Hidden City after escaping.

Not once did he look for-

…

I left them.

They weren’t worthy of me.

I saw how they acted.

Like fools.

They didn’t know difficulty.

They hadn’t had to go through a single laborious second in their lives.

We had nothing in common.

Other than paltry DNA.

They were simply carbon copies of me on paper. 

I went back to work.

I almost forgot about them outside of newsreels.

It was easy to tell what articles they were involved in, though the media was ignorant to a fault.

I had set up a lab, but I soon ran into a wall ordering materials. Online ordering meant a paper trail of sorts. I needed connections. I had less to fear here. I also had nothing established. So I made a new name for myself. I cloaked myself unlike the other mutant menaces and assumed an alias. I started small. I hit the Nakamura Corporation to hack their main servers which would give me access to any computer chip in the world. It was quite the splash as I made sure blurry glimpses of me appeared on surveillance feeds. I needed the underground to know who to equate the crime to.

From there, I dabbled.

I traded weapons for chemicals. I traded chemicals for technology. I retrofitted the technology for either my own means or back into the bartering system. A predictable dissidence sprouted from my sudden and overly competent arrival on the scene. I silenced those who complained. It made my transition to the top all the smoother. Brokering deals with those left over, I built myself a weapon, a high grade titanium bo staff.

It was and still is my pride and joy. You’ve seen it. She’s wonderful. I built S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. soon after. First to serve my lair, but his programming had a glitch.

If you were to call sentience that.

I would.

He took on a life of his own.

I found Big Mama’s clutches rose to the surface.

I kept her confined to the hotel.

She was furious.

That and the Oozesquitoes utterly derailed her plans.

I found it all satisfactory until the idiots were hired to catch the bugs.

…

It is unfathomable how much I despise them.

They have a bottomless pit of idiocy. 

Some vigilantes they were. 

Willing taking coin from a yokai crime boss?

Repulsive. 

Baron Draxum’s plan was pain enough, but I knew Big Mama had the ability to weaponize the Oozesquitoes. 

I was forced to disrupt their mission. 

Our first encounter… did not go as planned.

Baron Draxum similarly enlisted himself and the whole thing went awry. The irony of a sticky web in relation to interacting with a spider yokai was not lost on me. During the skirmish, Big Mama ripped my mask off. It was a reveal to every party privy. Big Mama went into a rage and Draxum was the one to stop her.

He tried to plead with me.

The others…

I left.

When I describe the events now, it sounds like I ran. 

I want to make it clear, I did not. 

At the time, I had simply had enough. The encounters had run its course. I had no interest in working with a washed up fool like Draxum. I no longer had any need to take down Big Mama as she was already leashed and I would never work alongside those moronic turtles.

I just wanted to do my work.

I would not see the last of any of them.

This next period of time was… exhausting. Unlike my time running in the Hidden City, I was being assaulted by wretched incompetence from all angles. I was never given a moment’s peace were it other mutants making a mockery of villainy, the self-proclaimed vigilantes who believed what they did was just, and even humans who were simply far too cocky. Can you imagine? A group of high schoolers tried to take control of S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. 

I ripped their leader’s throat out.

That might seem abrupt, but there is context: my actual formative years were characterized by nefarious groups. In the Hidden City, you killed to establish dominance. It was either that or be slaughtered yourself. The police were bought. The whole system was rigged. You did what you had to to stay alive.

Weakness paints quite the target on your back.

It’s why I built my battle shells.

Soft is weak.

And besides…

She.

Touched.

My.

Tech.

I had to make an example out of her.

Her lackeys had use. I assume as they had for her. I co-opted them. 

As I said, context. This world operated just like the one before. 

For whatever reason, this act catapulted me to super villain status.

…

This time period was not my own. 

Unbeknownst to me, there was an escalation happening. That was mostly due to how unbelievable the circumstances were. In its plainest form, 500 years ago, the predecessors to the Hamato served a clan known as The Foot. Turmoil ruled feudal Japan and as such, this group soon teetered on the cusp of extinction. Making… a deal with an alien, the leader was gifted the Kuroi Yoroi: the Dark Armor.

As is with these sorts of legends, the man was corrupted. His daughter then formed the Hamato clan proper and sealed him away along with herself. It fell upon the following generations to keep the pieces of the Kuroi Yoroi from being assembled once again, lest this beast be released.

All of this is just to say, what three current Hamatos do you know who would allow such a thing to happen?

The Foot, somehow still in existence, trending towards evil, and even stranger to have an outpost in New York, did just that. 

The Shredder Beast was formed.

Baron Draxum tried to take control and was sucked dry.

Big Mama took her turn and threw it into the Battle Nexus.

I knew little of what happened until those events had transpired.

Ever greedy, Big Mama bubbled the city’s population and sent them on a cruise so she could turn the landscape of the city into her own personal Battle Nexus.

Who did those people have to rely on?

Three chucklefucks.

I had done battle with them multiple times by that point. They were hardly skirmishes; they were amateurs. Their one on one battles were televised. I wound up as an unwilling participant, chained to Hypno of all mutants. I won a game of chess.

Simple.

Then I went on the offensive to do what I should have done all along and finally decapitate Big Mama.

She was double crossed by The Foot before I could get to her and her hotel collapsed.

…

There were endless moving parts.

Far too many. 

It hadn't ended with her. 

Beyond the beast, the fully formed demonic version Shredder now existed. 

It was unstoppable, but I held my own.

With the rat and Draxum around, I fell back hoping they’d be eradicated. 

The turtles ran.

Heading to the Mystic Library for the first time since my departure, I searched for a way to stop it. The Shredder was ruining my way of life. I preferred to continue living in the world where I’d almost managed a moment of peace. I found ancient texts.

The Krang.

There was always a failsafe.

Emerging, I quickly the battle had also relocated to the Hidden City. Too late, I found they had already squandered Empyrean, a substance that I believed originally mutated the yokai. The Shredder had tipped the scales. Thinking things lost, the idiots trio suddenly exhibited a power unlike anything I had ever seen in the mystic arts.

They won.

No one died.

I returned to New York.

I’d done nothing.

I’m…

…

…

…

…

…

The Krang invade New York.

I came closer to dying during this exchange than I ever had in my life. 

Meanwhile, three turtles beat back gods.

In the span of two years they went from not being able to stick landings to defeating a world ending alien entity.

…

…

…

And they looked at me.

To me.

During the reconstruction, they wanted to build more. 

After they’d domesticated the warrior alchemist into a pathetic lunch lady, serving snot-nosed humans day in and out.

The ones he supposedly despised. 

After they not only allowed, but helped Big Mama to rebuild her hotel despite everything she would presumably continue to do. 

All their resolves feeble. 

They held out their hands.

To me. 

To make me the next. 

Ha.

Haha.

Pathetic.

I rejected their advances. I didn’t need them. I only needed to get stronger. They had unlocked something within themselves and we were made in the same way. That meant I could unlock the same. I spent years trying to summon this power. The training only went far enough that I could feel it within me. Surging and trapped for no apparent reason. As if creating a false sense of importance of which I could never retain on my own. I had spent years actually fighting for my life. I was the one who lived a true do or die lifestyle. I had been enslaved. I had been tortured. I had been abused. And what? I was supposed to turn and take their hands? Never. They had no idea. They had everything handed to them. Everything they did was simply a fluke. A cruel comedic joke of the universe. Played on me? I’m not a narcissist though I acknowledge I have the tendency. I had toiled away alone. In the back rooms of the library. I stole food to survive. I clawed and scraped when there was no reason for me to continue on. I taught myself everything I knew. I raised myself. I had the discipline to become the better martial artist when they had a supposed master. I did what I had to and then I did more. Because I wanted more. They had no want like mine. They never had want for anything beyond frivolities. For all they were granted saviors was faults created by their own hands. All they ever did was clean up their own messes. All I ever tried to do was improve my station. They walked sturdy shoed in golden meadows. I scraped by barefoot over jutting skeletal remains. They ate pizza. I ate rotten flesh. But I’m the bad guy? I’m the one vilified by society. I’m the one shunned. I’m the one that’s weak and suddenly they get to be strong? Mystic powers that even revered ancients hadn’t wielded. There was no necessity. In a world of random occurrences bouncing off one another in an endless expense of irregularities, they get everything they want and more. They get to be stronger than anything in either world. They are granted these powers. I am denied them. They get to be stronger than me and I was supposed to accept that? I was supposed to sit by? After I had dedicated every second of my life to improvement. To what I want! To expansion! To go beyond what was impossible!! I was supposed to advance sentient races!!! 

Advancement.

I needed to work harder.

Why should I deserve to be given anything?

I was not like them. 

Resentment is for those without proper constitutions. 

I was more. 

I pushed myself beyond my physical means.

And then further than that.

If I couldn’t access mysticism, then I’d relied on what I could manipulate.

Technology.

I had simply become obsolete.

Like those old old electronics I repaired. 

I required an upgrade.

Sentimentality was the only thing that kept me from hacking my limbs off.

I had honed them for years. 

I, instead, chose augmentation.

I went under my own scalpel.

I watched my flesh tear and set pins into my numbed carcass.

I created a framework of what was beyond synthetic strength.

I didn’t pull my energy from ghosts.

I pulled from what I’d built with my own two hands.

Then, I fought.

I stopped eating.

I didn’t have the time.

I had to keep evolving.

I was surpassing my programming.

Not a glitch, not like S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. 

Purposeful, to finally reach what I thought I had been craving my entire life.

When you ramp up one part of your life, the others tend to follow.

The acts I committed matched the atrocities of my body.

For a time, they still tried to indoctrinate me.

It was difficult to recall when.

My memories of the time are…

Let’s say a drug induced nightmare.

They return to me out of order.

My 20s didn’t happen in this dimension, but in a fourth one where I could see the start to finish of them all at the same time while seeing nothing at all.

There are clips, even now. 

They believed so deeply into my absolution they were essentially indoctrinated. 

They never listened. 

I moved to action and, even then, they tuned me out. 

From strangling one’s favorite chef to the petty crime of setting fire to comic books. 

The only point in time I know to be exact was the last time I was approached.

Michelangelo had concocted a half baked plan to get me off alone.

As if the others were the problem. 

The youngest one.

The baby. 

Round.

Soft.

Weak.

Spoiled rotten and believing he had some power to change those with love because he had a few successful conversions. 

Your statistical ability far surpasses his. 

Still, he wanted to make another plea.

Something about the road I was headed down.

I was laughing too hard to hear his little speech.

For whatever reason, my undermining hit a nerve. 

He snapped.

Chains.

Orange energy.

Flight.

An easy show of strength.

It all stopped short of actually tearing me limb from limb. 

Coward. 

Lighting crackling off of him, he still brought up that damned hand. 

His guard was down.

His mistake.

It took a single precise strike. 

I stared at his twisted flesh, peeled back as one might peel an orange. Through the endless amount of blood, I could see the white of his skeleton. With one more blow, I thought, I could dissect him. I could see what in his puny brain made him tick. I imagined there I’d find the key to unlocking my ninpo. Brains drove bodies. I only need to locate the synapse his had connected that mine had not. What a learning experience that would be, but then… the universe couldn’t allow that. 

That would be too easy for me. 

Cruel.

Joke.

I was blasted away and nearly killed as the turtle burst like a supernova.

Not just raw energy, but his chains spiraled out of control. One ripped my foot clean off in the process and it is a marvel that was all I had to leave behind. 

I didn’t run. 

I left. 

Burned and bleeding out, I made it as far as Chinatown. Unconscious and plucked from an alley, I was found by the old doctor from the cleaners, Nagami. She tried to entrap me with medical debt at the time, but she and her business ended up having their uses. 

One being that Leonardo, the leader of their band of merry idiots, made the decree that day.

I was not to be salvaged.

Thus the real battle began.

When we fought, it was for bloodshed.

It is fascinating how far you can push someone’s morals by simply opposing theirs.

In no particular order:

Leonardo tried to slice my own head off in an attempt at revenge for what I did to Michelangelo.

I shattered his right knee cap beyond repair or replacement.

Raphael attempted to cut all the tendons in my legs in an effort to immobilize me.

I dumped acid on him and blinded him where he was already operating with partial vision.

Leonardo tried to do one better than Raphael and aimed to sever my spine.

I nearly ripped his heart out. 

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

You know what comes next.

It was never sustainable.

And yet…

I lived.

They didn’t kill me.

I didn’t kill them.

We tried so damn hard.

Broken, in the rain, drowning as the droplets hit my eyes.

The nictitating membrane couldn't come down due to yet another concussion.

I was 30.

I’d done the vivisection.

I knew that to be true.

I was still alive.

We cannot know what ails us until we see from beyond.

I scaled back.

I removed the metal that I could from my body.

I added to what would not return.

I stuffed the ruined scarecrow of my body with enough hay to give it the appearance of life.

I laid on my side for the first time in nearly a decade.

Though my laser procedure from years prior was still a success, I lost another kind of sight.

The puppet of my body was animated, but that was all. 

I had done everything possible and still… there was nothing that made things any better. 

A shut-down of vision that I had no control over. 

It was a haunting reminder to know something is wrong with you and you don’t know how it got that way. 

Regardless, I no longer saw others.

Humans. 

Yokai. 

Mutants. 

They were all nothing but forms.

And for the first time in my life.

I walked amongst these ghostly shapes. 

No plan.

No want.

Enough to sustain.

The bare minimum. 

This went on for almost four years.

And then I… tried to pick up a sandwich.

In a pursuit to replicate the best.

A fleeting moment, I thought I might try to recapture. 

One I knew had no chance of success.

Just something to do. 

And, suddenly,  I find I can want again.

For real.

NEXT

I seriously can't thank my betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83 enough for this chapter. They really had to go above and beyond and I am forever grateful for this immense kindness to such a pain-in-the-ass writer as myself.

This chapter is dedicated to @mothmans-left-nipple Thank you so much for putting me back on track.

[ink-the-artist]

Could i ask for advice? How do you personally start drawing something you never had before? I'm finally able to draw again and unfortunately, i have a hard time making my art lifelike and not rigid. I admire how alive your pices are, and the colors are always so beautiful. I Hope you have a wonderful day!

For me its been a really useful skill to develop to learn how to sort of "copy" what you see into a drawing, whether from life or from an image. you can even start out by using simpler cartoony art as a reference if drawing from life is intimidating, just to get in the swing of the process bc its the same process whether youre drawing from life or a cartoon or from your head. everything you draw is just an object, animals and people and landscapes are all objects. I start by simplifying the thing im drawing into shapes, you can break down even super complicated images into basic shapes. this is where the proportions should be figured out so you arent erasing and redrawing really detailed stuff down the line. from there im just adding more shape and detail as I go, going gradually from simple to complex kind of like you’re molding with clay.

I think bob ross videos are rly good examples of this sort of thing lol. his paintings look detailed and complex by the end but when you watch him actually paint he's just doing a bunch of really simple things, starting out very basic and continuously adding more detail (or the illusion of detail).

for not making things rigid this is something I struggle with too lol I think its a fairly common thing to struggle with. I naturally draw pretty messily which helps, drawing fast expressive lines at the beginning can help create a sense of motion in the drawing down the line

[my-rewrite-academia]

Thank you for making Izuku more muscular than Bakugou in your version. One thing that bothers me in the fandom is the super infantilization of Izuku, treating him as if he were an innocent child, not to mention the fanarts (BKDK makes me angry what they do to Izuku).

Hello!

-

Yeah, I see that a lot. Izuku went through 10 intense months of training his body specifically to be able to handle even a fraction of One for All, yet Horikoshi still kept his limp noodle arms whenever he was around literally any other guy. He's only ever buff when it's the focus or when he's around girls.

Fanart also portray him as way too flimsy, for someone who is able to run with fully-buff All Might on his back, and someone who is able to lift a damn truck.

Also, in this rewrite, Bakugou relies on his quirk more than anything, while Izuku has been working on his body since he was young to make up for his lack of a quirk.

If you'd like a physical idea of how buff Izuku is at the moment, he's currently around the same proportion as Inosuke from Demon Slayer, though not as flexible.

Bakugou is buff to an extent, but not as buff as people who seriously train their bodies. He's only buff because his arms need to be strong enough to handle the recoil of his quirk. Otherwise, he doesn't see the point.

Shouto and Tenya have been raised by proheroes, and thus know that being strong outside of quirks is vital to hero work, especially as an action hero.

Mashirao has been taking martial arts lessons since he was old enough to throw a punch, so he's definitely buff.

RIkidou's quirk relies on his combat prowess, and relies on his pre-existing muscles, (in this rewrite anyway), so he's been working out since he figured this out.

Mezou is, well, have you seen him? He's buff as all hell.

Then there's Tooru, the highest-ranked female. For most of her life, she thought her quirk was just invisibilty, and only recently discovered how to manipulate radiation, so she worked on herself a lot to make up for her percieved lack of quirk-combat prowess.

And a lot of specifically B*kuD*ku fans adore making Izuku look like a big baby so that Bakugou can look after him. (Eugh.)

-

Thanks for the ask!

[irlmango]

Sirius’s awkward relationship with femininity

I should start by clarifying that I’m not transphobic and I think it’s personally fine to have trans headcanons for characters for a long list of reasons (fits the narrative, personal projection, better understanding of themselves, etc). But when it comes to Sirius Black, I think the way a chunk of the fandom portrays the tran headcanons or the fem headcanons, could really be done a bit better. I’m not trying to be a canon bootlicker or anything, but in canon Sirius does have a strong relationship with masculinity, such as being one of the male figures in Harry’s life, being the eldest son, the way that he carries himself (the arrogance and bullying), being James’ best friend/partner in crime, even the fights he has with Molly are from his perspective of a more father/uncle figure rather than a mothers perspective. Though he is much more deeply connected with his mother than his father, even to the point that they fight and argue but her (Walburga) heart was broken (this comment was made by Kreacher but I feel he wouldn’t blow something like that out of proportion). And there’s good reason for that, he is the eldest son, the first heir of the family, someone who would probably have made a strong head of the Black family had he not been sorted into Gryffindor or even ran away. Which is why it’s interesting that he can be headcanonned as so fragile and needy of others when he’s been determined to live his own way from the day he was born. 

I think it dampens his character, as something else to take note of, if there were going to be an accurate portrayal of his character as trans then I feel his personality and ways of doing things would be so much more similar to Bellatrix’s than any other character in the series. Someone who is the eldest daughter of the family, and deals with the cost of being a woman very often. Like having been married off to a man, despite clearly not wanting to be with him at any given moment, she fights tooth and nail for Voldemort's attention so it can only be assumed that she was the same in school, someone so determined to make a name for herself but constantly failing because she’s a woman. Having trans headcanons for Sirius feels so awkward because his character never once deals with any brunt of oppression, and yes it’s a headcanon but for so many characters that I personally headcanon as trans it’s usually with a reason of underlying allegories or comparisons of their story to issues that the trans community has to deal with constantly. To tie it all together, Sirius stays rich, his uncle Alphard gives him money, and Grimmauld place, continues to stay in his name despite having been disowned, which I feel makes it so hard for me to see him as trans because he’s never once suffered from something the female characters in his family have. There’s no mention of his obligations of him having to be married to a slytherin pureblood woman, there’s no fight that he has to conduct in order for his voice to be heard, even when Voldemort tricks Harry into thinking Sirius is tortured, he’s not actually being tortured. He doesn’t ever have his life on the line in that sense, unlike Andromeda (another one of his cousins) who did run away from home, was tortured, and lived in constant fear that she’d lose everything because she’s a slytherin woman from a pureblood family. 

If Sirius was to even have his voice taken away in the order meetings then I feel that could make an argument for the trans headcanons however he’s usually the one who starts the arguments, not able to listen to what the others (usually Molly and Severus) are trying to tell him. From the way he’s described to the story narrative that he faces, it feels out of left field that he’d be portrayed in that way.

And it’s not that there aren’t any characters who couldn’t be described with trans allegories/headcanons, there are plenty enough in the Harry potter universe. Severus Snape, Ron Weasley, Tonks, Luna Lovegood, Moaning Myrtle, just to name a few whose narratives easily fit. I don’t want this to come off as an anti fem/trans Sirius, because it’s honestly not even that deep, I think people should be able to treat the characters how they’d like, but I just think it’s an observation that I have to make on how weird it feels to see Sirius like that. And also because every time I see fem/trans Sirius my brain autocorrects it to being Bellatrix and it’s heartbreaking to find out that it’s not her every single time. 

[jellfishjellfish]

Hi, jellyfish(×2)!

I dunno, I felt I connected a bit with you. I'm very much an adult to. I lived with my partner the greater part of my adult and we have a son together. I use my drawings, and sometimes rantings about hell & angels, as my escapism.

I just posted a very gay Hazbinhotel Lucifer, if you want to check out what I do. (There is probably gonna be some trolls to, as soon as I've learned how to draw them.)

I only draw with pencil on paper. Before I started to draw cartoon figures I mostly drew realistic landscapes in charcoal, but tragedy's in my family has made me need a more unrealistic way to escape my everyday life.

Please check him out. I get if you don't want to reblog him, it's not really the style for your page, but likes are also welcome😁.

Me.

Ohh I’ll check it out! I was watching Hazbin with my partner and I don’t know much about its fandom but we enjoyed what we saw :)

Yeah, it’s difficult being an adult especially with a child, so being able to have enjoyment in things is such a plus (even though people may think it’s weird/cringy, people don’t understand that you don’t necessarily age out of your interests, you’re just encouraged to hide them the older you get)

I’ve been in fandom to an extent since a teen (back when live journal was huge) so to see it evolve has been amazing to witness! There’s so much shit in this life, to take joy in ANYTHING is worthwhile :)

Thank you for the ask, I’ll def check out your artwork! (Also trolls are so hard to draw well, the proportions are so odd that I struggle so badly myself, even if I don’t see that in other peoples art)