#i drew the same amount of drawings that there are days in the year of 2024!

[loveleetoons]

[First] [Prev] - [Next] Journey Thru June Day 08 - Sticky Situation The bubbling boba cauldron rumbles from side to side before suddenly stopping. Something emerges. It grows large and larger, encompassing Isabelle in its shadow. Its a-- Its a--- Its a large boba wedding cake. Its an ANGRY large boba wedding cake.

[texasflowers]

I'd like to take a moment to reply to a couple tags

@nmzuka i did that for you I'm glad you noticed🫶 also always thankful you enable me when it comes to my OCs HAHA. Honestly you've been the one constant in this fandom to me I truly consider you a pillar of the community. Perhaps even ARMS fandom's MVP. Here's to more ARMSiversaries!!

@cuterozhok Thank youuu!! I made the (overly ambitious) decision to include my OCs in this pic alongside the main cast of official charas bc for me they are half the reason I stuck beside this game so long! For 6 consecutive years I've just had so much fun making characters to fit in this game's world enough that despite other people always coming and leaving I was always just happy to draw them for myself even if no one was watching ☺️ It provided me with a way to stay engaged despite no content (from Nintendo) and no other fans to talk to (most of my friends had long since moved on) So yeah! I just felt like I needed to pay some tribute to my OCs too. TY again!

[chaethewriter]

You're dead to me [1]

Dad!Jake Sully x human!daughter!reader

In which Jake Sully leaves his life on earth to settle down with the Omatikaya people as Toruk Makto. Having a family that consists of four kids with Neytiri, everything seems to work out just fine, but what if the past comes back for him? And his babygirl is right there in front of him?

warning: english isn't my first language, angst, fluff, barely proofread, kinda rushed, prologue type of part.

Word count: 1,9k

next chapter

previous chapter

"Daddy daddy look what I made!" When Jake Sully entered the room, he was met with a pair of sparkling eyes staring directly at him, paper in hand as you jumped up and down in excitement. He closed the door with his hands before he moved them back to the wheels, rolling himself forward carefully as he had their dinner on his lap. When you headed towards him, your tiny feet stepping towards him in small baby steps, Jake Sully already knew he had to remove anything available on his lap for the tiny human that was about to jump in his arms. He quickly put the plastic bag to his side and opened his arms to welcome his adopted daughter in his arms. "Daddy daddy!!", your squeals filled the air as you pressed yourself against his body. Jake Sully had to steady his body for the huge amount of impact a tiny human like yours could give, but once he seated you comfortably on his lap, he couldn't help but lift you up to his face, his arms around her body to hug her close as she was kneeling on his lap. "Hi babygirl, did you make something for daddy?", he brought his lips towards your chubby cheek to blow a raspberry against your skin. Tons of giggles left your lips as you nodded your head to his question, "I drew daddy and me!" You held onto his shoulder to steady yourself with one hand before you brought the drawing in front of his face. Jake Sully had to squint his eyes to get used to the closeness, the little girl, that was you, basically pressing the drawing into his face. Another pair of giggles left your lips as you waited for his reply. He turned you around on his lap and you immediately took a seat, your short legs dangling against his. Jake took his time to analyze the drawing. It was incredibly messy, as expected of a six year old. A few scribbles in different colors. Something that is supposed to look like a rainbow? But in the middle, there he was. Jake sully himself. He was sitting on something that looked like a chair and his little girl was there, right on his lap. The drawing was very abstract, but it made his heart flutter nonetheless. "And you drew this all by yourself? You did this all by yourself?" One hand is held onto the drawing while the other was wrapped around your stomach.

"Yes daddy!! I love you daddy!!"

You, (Y/N) Sully, prior (Y/N) (L/N), were confused. Where did your daddy go? You were young, age 8 when he left you on earth. You didn't understand why. Didn't he love you? But he always made sure to remind you. Kisses, quality time, cuddling. He took you in when mommy and daddy died, so why is he suddenly leaving you? He told you it was for work, something important that would give the both of you a good life. Give you a good life. But you didn't care about anything of that. Being with your daddy already made you feel like you were living your best life. Painting with daddy, eating with daddy, cuddling with daddy. But he told you to be patient and that he would return to you soon. Yet, when was soon? You grew impatient, even though you yourself knew that it wasn't kind of you to be like that. He took you in when you were an orphan and took his time to care for you, even though he was paralyzed and having a hard time himself. You completed one another, because you both needed each other the most at the same time. So you tried you best to stay optimistic. Your daddy loves you, so surely he will come soon for you, right? But days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Then he missed your eleventh birthday. The neighbors Jake Sully was close with took care of you instead during the time. They were like your auntie and uncle, but they weren't your daddy. When two years passed, you decided to call it quits. He wasn't coming back for you. You were thirteen at that time, old enough to understand the reality of the world. A teenager without any goals is what you were, the light and will left your eyes the moment your daddy left you. You hated carrying his last name, yet couldn't bring yourself to change it back to your original surname.

The decision to keep your last name was the reason they found you. They, are a resistance group going against the destruction of Pandora. Pandora. The planet your daddy went to and never came back from. Like the reckless thirteen-year-old you were and not thinking about consequences at all in this terrible world, you went with these unknown, potentially dangerous, people to their underground base. There you were answered all the questions you had and wanted to ask. It was normal that you were curious about your dad, but tried to be nonchalant about it. Him leaving you wasn't a big deal, not at all. Why would that be a big deal? But you couldn't fool anyone with that type of behavior, as the liteaunant explained further than the questions you actually asked. Much more personal information. A daughter will always miss her dad after all. You learned that your father, Jake Sully, was still alive and one of the people. A painful way to know, from someone else, since it felt like your father indirectly slapped you in the face with an 'I don't care about you'. "Alive and well", were the words she told you. Alive and well your ass. When you were asked to join the program to protect Pandora, the indigenous and its nature from the greedy governments that tried to destroy it. The same governments that already have destroyed their own planet: ignoring global warming. Proceeding to pump gas from under the ground, bringing animals in danger, and destroying the nature humanity needs to even breathe. You couldn't lie, you wanted to decline. Saving the world and all sounded good and all, but you never wanted to do anything that even indirectly involved you so-called father. When money and status were involved, it started to sound interesting in your eyes. Ironic, the same way your dad left you. Like father like daughter, one could say. Yet, this was your chance to show everyone what you could turn out to be.

So, accepting is what you did. You soon started training, but it was no usual military training. You all learned about life on Pandora, you and the others that had potential in them learned to live like the people of Pandora: the bow and arrow, spears, but also hand-to-hand combat if anything were to go wrong. The training honestly went great, you didn't regret accepting the offer one bit. You felt fit and worthy, and most importantly you found people around you that cared for you. The liteaunant that guided you from the start was like a master to you. Not in an authority kind of way, but a respectful bond between two equals. You had friends that went through this entire process with you, telling each other about their lives and how they ended up here. While they were almost like warriors following orders, every night the group would sneak away to be like teenagers again, kids having fun and playing games. For a long time, it was the same routine. Wake up, eat, and train for almost the entire day, do homework, have dinner, sneak out, and sleep. You hated that homework so much, but knew that you needed to master everything you were given. It was to learn the language of the people, Na'vi. This felt like when you had to learn languages in high school, but ten times worse as you didn't even finish high school. "Oel nati kamy?", your voice sounded unsure as you tried to say the formal way of greeting someone in Na'vi, but you earned a slap against your forehead in return from one of your friends. "No, it's Oel Ngati Kameie, skxwang!"

Years of training together ended up being so worth it, because when all of you reached the end of your teenage years, it got announced that you were finally ready. You felt so delighted to know that all of your hard work paid off in the end. You knew everyone had a hard time trying their best to teach you the language of the people, so you were so thankful for everyone around you to get you where you are right now. Everyone worked so hard for it. As a parting gift, your liteaunant gifted you a katana. "It's to protect yourself, and always think of me", she joked to you, but the both of you could feel the heavy tension in the air. The grip on your katana tightened as you dropped your bag on the floor. You finally wrapped your arms around her, forgetting about the warrior exterior, that facade falling for just a moment. She didn't hesitate to hug you in return, "thank you for everything." You had whispered into her ear and pulled yourself together, being the first one to pull away from the hug. You knew that if you didn't let go now, you would second-guess jumping on your flight to Pandora. "Come on (y/n)!" Your friends already boarded and you were the last one left on the flat grounds. "Go on, child. You deserve this. And remember what I told you!" You don't reply, but only flash her a smile as you run after your friends with the katana and a bag. You all follow your superiors' suit, putting your stuff where they tell you to. With no seconds left to spare, they immediately tell you to follow them to your tubes, you were getting put into cryosleep. You still couldn't believe it. They were going to put you to sleep for six years and you're gonna wake up looking the same, but temporarily living in a dream world you trained your entire teen years for. You lay down in your tube, ready to get put to sleep. The nerves were truly getting to you. "See you on the other side!", you jokingly said to lift up the mood, and your friends started joking around, telling one another goodbyes and what they should do if one of them doesn't wake up. You just lay there quietly, waiting to get put to sleep as your mind starts wandering. You kept thinking about your leatiunant's words. She keeps telling you that you should make up with your dad or at least hear him out. You hoped you wouldn't run into him on Pandora, but he was Jake Sully. The Toruk Makto that went from being a sky demon to being one of the people. For sure you would get in contact with him. But as long as no one revealed your name, everything could be fine. He's dead to you after all. Surely, you were only there for the money and a good time, right?

Only time could tell.

A/N: my first time writing on tumblr so no idea how some stuff works. Had this type of idea for a dad Sully plot for a while and finally started it. Legit rushed through this to finish this asap cause backstory kinda lame. I'm a college student so give me some time until the next part. I need to release a novella for college so I'm double-writing a story— isn't smart of me but🤭

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for asking my SO to do something that they have trauma around?

I don't know when this will be posted but as of writing we are about 2 weeks post valentines day. Ages and genders irrelevant, we're in our 20s and queer.

So I have not been with Jordan long, but we knew each out for a few months as friends before we got together, and have been close pretty much all of the time we've known each other. This is to say, I know them pretty well despite us not actually having been dating that long.

Because we were already friends I knew going into the relationship, without Jordan specifically saying anything, that they had plans on Valentines day. They got tickets to a concert I wasn't interested in a decent amount of time before we got together.

Obviously, not an issue in the slightest, and neither of us brought up anything regarding Valentines day. It was a week day, so I was working all day, and then the time of the concert meant there was no possibility of meeting up after, just not meant to be this year. I thought we were in the same boat just silently agreeing that the timing wasn't right but that it wasn't a big enough deal to even be worth bringing up, especially in such a new relationship.

Some backstory on me: I'm a hopeless romantic and have a kind of cute aesthetic? I like dressing in bright colours, and some of my favourite outfits have prints of hearts, flowers, and cherries. Needless to say I really enjoy the aesthetic of Valentines day, and I've always kind of fantasised about being able to spend it with someone I have romantic feelings for. I've only had two romantic relationships before this and the first one only lasted 6 months and didn't make it to Valentines day, and in the second we both contracted the same bug and were horribly sick throughout February.

Obviously I don't think you should only do things for your SO on Valentines day, but I think it would be fun to have the chance to really get into it! In the past I've organised Valentines day events with my other single friends where we dress in pink and have heart shaped foods etc and those have been great, but haven't quite satisfied my desire to have a Romantic Valentines.

So, despite the fact that my SO was busy, I wanted to do a little something. I do digital art, so when I got home from work I drew a pun Valentines card featuring Jordan's favourite character. It took a few hours and I was pretty proud of how it came out. I knew they were at the concert still, but I texted it to them, so they could see it after.

They responded that night and their first message was just "oh." I've known Jordan long enough that i read the tone to be "oh, now I to have a conversation I didn't want to have." They went on to explain that they associate Valentines day with some past trauma. I won't give any details here, but the tone of the conversation was that they don't celebrate Valentines day because of their trauma, and this seemed like a very final stance.

Now. I don't think I'm TA for drawing the art and sending it, this had never been brought up before, so I didn't know I was crossing a boundary.

I do think Jordan is slightly TA for not saying anything about my art that I worked hard on, but only slightly bc I assume the trauma response just kind of took over.

But my question is, WIBTA if I asked my SO to celebrate Valentines day with me in future even though it's something they have trauma around?

I'm not planning to force them or anything and it doesn't even have to be in the next few years, but thinking long term it feels really gloomy to me to have to miss out on Valentines forever when my SO could be making new memories with me so that mentions of the holiday are less painful.

I don't expect them to just "get over" it magically or anything but I want to ask if it's something they'd possibly want to work up to? I swear I'm not trying to be dismissive their response is fully valid and I don't want to imply my silly fantasies are more important than their traumatic reality I just want to know if this would be an asshole move or not.

What are these acronyms?

[pillow-anime-talk]

his talented baby. {pt.2}

synopsis: You as a person with a huge (and hidden) talent, and also a person who really surprises your boyfriend.

# tags: scenarios; current relationships; romance; some comedy; big fluff; some PDA; sfw

includes: gender neutral reader ft. sebastian michaelis & undertaker {kuroshitsuji} + josuke higashikata & rohan kishibe {jojo 4}

part one {click}

— SEBASTIAN (ft. chess)

Sebastian was perfect in everything; in cleaning, in cooking, in playing various instruments, in foreign languages, in gardening, even in singing and dancing. There was, however, one thing he couldn’t achieve fully well, and that was the game of chess.

Of course, he defeated others (I mean here; Grell, Agni, Bald or Finny) with ease, but when you offered him a game one day, his so far intact worldview changed dramatically. Eventually he found someone better than himself, but at the same time he felt so damn frustrated that he couldn’t win against your person. You were better than him, than Ciel, and even better than Mr. Tanaka, who was almost equal to him and the young lord.

“... Your move, Sebastian.” You announced by moving the bishop to the field of your choice, taking his black rook at the same time. “Are you going to give up, my love?” You smiled gently as you took a sip of delicious English tea with the perfect amount of sugar. The man looked at you in response, frowning and looking at the chess alignment after a short while.

“No. Everything is fine, I just need to think for a moment.” He said calmly, though his face expression seemed to hide the urge to swear. “I am impressed with how quickly you made such a confusing setup, darling.”

“Well, well. My grandpa taught me to play. As the saying goes, the student has surpassed the master.” You chuckled as you put your chin on your right hand while looking at the fingers of your man surrounded by white gloves, who decided to move the king to space F5. “Maybe someday you will surpass me, who knows?”

Sebastian stared at you out of the corner of his eye, nodding in delicate, almost invisible amusement.

“Maybe someday, dear. For now, I will give you the honorable title of the best chess player.”

— UNDERTAKER (ft. drawing)

Drawing has been your passion since you remember and you loved to paint literally everything; still life, nature, huge landscapes, other people, animals, and even things that didn’t make much sense (Picasso was one of your biggest inspirations when it came to cubism). In addition, in your bag you always carried your favorite blue sketchbook in which you drew tiny thoughts or things you noticed while walking, working or drinking coffee in a cafe.

That day, however, you were sitting quietly on one of the chairs in the funeral parlor, and the Undertaker was also sitting nearby – he was writing names with concentration, calculating in his mind the number of deaths in the last month and year.

His calm face was really handsome from your perspective; the faint light of the lantern caressed his pale complexion, and his green eyes full of mischief stood out behind his fair hair. Every now and then you glanced at the tall man, then your eyes focused again on the small notebook whose pages were blank. I mean, they were not all empty; some of them had sketches of dogs on them, others sketches of flowers, and others featured the figure of a tall Grim Reaper.

When you finished your illustration, you smiled and nodded, satisfied with your work. A beautiful play of light, self-confident pencil strokes and small additions in the form of ivy and rosemary beautifully composed the whole black-grey picture of Adrian.

“Excause me, darling...?” You whispered hesitantly, not wanting to interrupt his work. Nevertheless, the man quickly looked in your direction and a wide smile appeared on his face.

“Yes, my little flower.” He asked, instantly standing up and forgetting about the paperwork – you were definitely more interesting than the dead, after all. You showed him your drawing with a slight blush on your face and he opened his mouth in slight shock. “It’s me?” You nodded, and the Grim Reaper just chuckled. “Am I really THAT handsome?” He joked and you just rolled your both eyes. A short time later, Undertaker praised your talent, asking if you’d like to hang some of your sketches on the board next to the entrance.

— JOSUKE (ft. playing drums)

More than five years ago, you and your three friends started a music band. Since then, you’ve been focused on making your dreams come true, on small concerts played in the Morioh, on school performances, also on learning notes and practicing singing. You were the drummer and leader of ‘CR△WL’; your vast musical knowledge, willingness to develop your passion and daily rehearsals aroused great admiration from the rest of the band and from people who watched your slowly growing career. Of course, Josuke was no exception, on the contrary – he considered himself your biggest and most faithful fan, who with the greatest pleasure went on dates with you to music shops or bookstores with records of old bands.

The young man was delighted every time you played the instrument – just like years ago in your garage when you first played ‘Paranoid’ by Black Sabbath for him. He was smitten and would come over to your house to listen to your covers or help you make a video for your YouTube channel (you were pretty popular for tutorials, trivia, and drum videos).

“...Y/N, Y/N. Would you be able to play this song?”

That day, Josuke visited your house once again. Your mom made you two some snacks, and you grinned as you practiced another song for an upcoming concert at one of the smaller festivals this summer. Your boyfriend seemed to be excited like never before, so you asked what is the title of mentioned song. Hearing the familiar words, you just smiled, nodding your head in response.

Instantly, your both hands and right foot began to beat the drums, which making the dark-haired teenager’s face look very surprised.

“Y/N... You really know every song on this planet!”

— ROHAN (ft. rapping)

Karaoke, bowls full of ice cream and fruit, carbonated drinks, hot snacks and great company were what you’ve been missing for the last few weeks. Focused on studies and work, you didn’t have time to rest properly; but you finally met with your closest friends and you also took Rohan with you.

You had a great time gossip with besties who talked about changes in their lives and new achievements, for example, at work. You were telling about your experiences as well with a huge smile, while Rohan was sitting right next to you, talking to some people from time to time. He wasn’t interested in large gatherings, but he couldn’t say ‘No’ to you either because you were too sweet that evening.

Suddenly, one of Cardi B’s songs was played in the background and you almost squealed.

“Ooooh, I see that someone want to sing, huh?” The blonde haired girl asked, and you just laughed, thanking her for the black microphone.

Rohan almost spit at his new shirt as soon as you started rapping the verses without any problems, without even looking at the screen where the lyrics were displayed. You had a great time dancing a bit in the middle of the small room. You looked at your partner with a smirk, sometimes sending a kiss or wink in his direction. You were literally in your world; you showing your energy and love for music so perfectly.

Rohan was really surprised.

[goose-on-the-loose]

The Darkest Hour - Styracosaurs in a Wildfire Paleoart Process Breakdown

It’s been a long time since I’ve shared my art on this account (at some point years ago I just forgot to), but I thought that this might be a great opportunity to start posting my art again! This is my first attempt at paleoart, and I think it’s worthy of sharing. It’s for my showcase at my art school, so there were time restraints that stopped me from adding elements that I would’ve liked, but ultimately I’m quite satisfied with it.

For any budding paleoartist (or anybody really) who’d like to see my process, I put it all below the read more! @a-dinosaur-a-day (hope you don’t mind me @/ing you, i originally meant for this post to be an ask but it got too long haha)

I started off knowing that I wanted to depict some kind of ornithischian for a number of reasons. Two of the biggest reasons were that 1) I simply like them more than theropods and sauropods and 2) My senior showcase is all about showing animals in ways that the viewer hasn’t seen them before, and most people don’t really think about ornithischians except for if they’re being preyed on by a theropod.

I then narrowed my choices further by looking at different formations and what species they have. I looked up what formations parasaurolophus was in (since it’s one of my fav dinosaurs and I was thinking of making it my subject) and I saw the dinosaur park formation. Looking at the different species found there and the type of environment they lived in, I knew this formation was going to be my choice. 

I couldn’t narrow it down to one species yet, so I decided to think of some scenarios ornithischians might find themselves in first. I thought, “Oooh, what about some dinosaurs escaping from a wildfire?”, since the storyline could easily be conveyed, the lighting would be interesting, and I could get creative with the composition (flames and burning debris can create arcs to guide the viewer’s eye).

I did some very quick simple thumbnails and sketches to get the feeling and flow of the lines. I saw some paleoart by Marzio Mereggia and I remembered one of his parasaurolophus pieces that I really liked. I also looked at the composition of the fire scene from Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron for inspiration. (the tiger doodle had nothing to do with it, i just wanted to draw a tiger) The shapes and silhouettes of these species weren’t really clicking for me, so I looked back on the list and saw styracosaurus. I looked at some paleoart and realized that the silhouette and shapes of their frill and horns could really draw the viewer’s attention.

So, I drew the top thumbnails and showed them to my teacher. He liked all of them, but especially liked the middle one, so I drew a larger version of it, making sure to elevate the best parts and communicate the story. I like to use highlighters when thumb-nailing because it helps me break down the background, middleground, and foreground while also giving attention to the focal points. I was satisfied with this layout, so I drew an even larger version of it that would be the same size as the piece of wood I would be painting on.

I wanted to add more dimension so I changed the placement a bit. I don’t have much to say on this one, except for the final project has less background detail because each piece in our showcase has to be finished within a certain amount of time, this is also why the adult styracosaurus doesn’t have scale detail. I would’ve liked to add it, but I have to be realistic with my time.

I then drew the sketch on the piece of wood, and then my teacher cut the excess wood off.

Painted the background and also changed the shape of the face horn to be more accurate. I believe that styracosaurus’ horns changed with age and each individual’s grew in their own slightly different way. I do regret not pushing the dark ground colors further back.

Started trying to figure out the colors in class here.

Did this all the next day, took about 6-7 hours. 3 during class and the rest in my dorm. I changed/added to the rest of the face colors later, but the beak stays the same. I still really like the way I painted the beak.

This was after 3 more hours of class time. I changed the face horn color and made the frill horns match it. I also started focusing more on highlights and shadows. This is the last photo I took during the process.

With the final version, you can see that I warmed up the highlights to match the fire and I dulled them out too (adding yellow to purple desaturates it). I also went over the background again, making the colors more vivid and adding a glow to the fire. Ngl I do regret not adding that glow to the fire on the trees, but oh well. Live and learn ig.

[flowerandblood]

Sweet kiss, sweet blood (11) (End)

[ dark vampire! • Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, drinking blood, violence ]

[description: A centuries-old vampire lives in Victorian England, bored and discouraged. His old friend sends him a letter, inviting him to his new country house. Aemond arrives there to rest. Next to the property, there is a small chapel, visited by the faithful. It turns out that at night, a young lady prays in it. Slow burn, sexual tension, profanation, murder, blood drinking.]

I owe the idea for this wonderful series to: @qyburnsghost

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Their nuptials in a small church in London were modest and without many witnesses, only in the presence of Criston and her parents. Mr Whaterfield was not thrilled about this, he had hoped that with the kind of fortune he owned the arranged ceremony would be held with pomp so that he could later boast about it to his friends in Mantfield.

Aemond knew, however, that even such an amount of people around was frightening to his future wife.

Her mother thought she was pale from stress and fear, but they both knew that the reason was different. He felt a kind of pride when he looked at her, pride that she had fought so bravely against herself and her desire. She had a stronger will than him, he when he was going through the same thing as her murdered anyone who stood in his way.

She looked beautiful, dressed in a bright Victorian gown with buff sleeves, her hair pinned back in a tight bun with braids either side of her head, daisies tucked into her curls. She wasn't looking at him, just at some point in front of her, absent-minded and thoughtful.

He suffered looking at her, suffered knowing that this was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, that she was supposed to be a mother and a wife, she was supposed to be able to grow old and pass away in peace, and she was condemned to an eternity filled with an everlasting, monstrous, never-quenching desire.

She was condemned to it because of him.

Nevertheless, she spoke the words of her vow. She looked into his eyes then, and he saw pain, suffering, regret in her gaze. He understood each of these feelings and took them in, hoping in the back of his mind that perhaps in a few hundred years she would forgive him.

After a short wedding dinner they went upstairs together, but their wedding night had been a bloody one, after a day in which his, now Mrs Targaryen, had had to clench her teeth to avoid killing anyone, she had literally thrown herself at him as soon as the door closed behind them, pressing him to the ground, digging into his neck so brutally that he hissed in pain.

He squeezed his eyelids shut, stroking her hair, her neck, whispering that it was all right now, that she was so brave, that she had done so well. He could feel her tears on his skin, could feel her sobbing between raspy, loud gulps. When she finally released him and rose on her knees, looking up at him, her entire chin and her white gown were in blood.

It was a truly gruesome sight, but one that for some reason aroused his desire.

She felt it as she sat on top of him, felt his manhood pulsate beneath her hungrily, clamouring for weeks to get closer to her, yearning for her touch.

He drew in a loud breath and groaned throatily as he felt her hips begin to press against him, massaging him with back and forth movements, slow, deliberate, her mouth slightly open.

"I need this." She whispered helplessly, her cheeks wet with tears.

Their rapprochement was a mixture of their wetness and blood, biting each other and then drinking their blood from each other's mouths, licking and sucking their lips together, her thighs in his hands responding to each of his aggressive thrusts that stretched her fleshy, throbbing walls. They were both panting, aroused by this macabre act, her hands clenched in his hair drawing him close.

"− I want to drink only you − cum only in you −" He breathed out into her throat between the dance of their tongues and teeth, licking a trickle of his own blood from the corner of her mouth.

She moaned loudly at his words, felt her walls clench tighter against him and he made an almost animalistic, low sound, rising up on his knees, fucking her with all the strength he had in his hips with a loud click of their shared moisture.

"− husband should care about his wife − about her fulfillment − don't you agree, Mrs Targaryen? −" He hissed accelerating, her body arched backwards in front of him, the old wooden bed creaking loudly with each of his thrusts.

"− yes −" She mewled, even if she wanted to hate him, right now, at this moment, she couldn't do it, she longed for him and the pleasure he was giving her, her insides clenching tighter and tighter against his length.

"− fuck −" He growled, feeling her sudden, intense fulfilment, she cried so loudly that he had to cover her mouth not wanting it to be heard by her parents sleeping a few rooms away.

Although it was their wedding night, he wasn't sure if they had ever experienced anything similar to what he had just endured with his wife.

"− god − yes −" He exhaled as if relieved, letting go at last and coming inside her, his thrusts messy and sloppy from their shared juices running down her buttocks onto their sheets.

When he finally stopped moving he looked up at her, breathing deeply. She stared at him, her lips parted, her gaze impenetrable.

"Tell me what you're thinking about." He whispered, and she pressed her lips together, swallowing quietly.

Her trembling hand reached up uncertainly and touched his cheek, he hummed with delight, closing his healthy eye.

"That I can't." She said quietly and he opened his eyelid immediately, feeling a squeeze in his heart and an uncertainty filling him, his heart began to pound like mad in his chest.

"You can't what?" He asked lowly, her bottom lip trembling before she spoke the words.

"Hate you." She whispered and he felt a dryness in his throat, his eyebrows twisted in pain, he felt his eye turn burning and red. "I can't."

He kissed her greedily, tenderly, passionately, the taste of their shared blood melting over his tongue. He felt fulfilled at last, her blood quenching his thirst, he felt that now his mind was clear and sharp as crystal, that he had never been more human than now, with her.

"Don't be in a hurry. Give yourself time. I'll be waiting for you."

They both decided to stay in London. Criston left them after a few months when her condition had improved enough that she could even go out with him for walks among the crowds now. Admittedly, she had to drink his blood before going out, but this gave her a few hours of peace from thirst.

It seemed to him that the better she controlled herself the more often she smiled, joy and contentment returning to her face again. Although she was uncomfortable in the sun and they walked more at night, she tried not to fall into despair.

What comforted her most was the fact that she had not killed any man.

Apart from his blood, she only drank the blood of animals and those that were already dead.

She had come to terms with the thought that they would have no children, that they would spend eternity only with each other, but there was something reassuring in that thought.

It felt as if they both slowed down, enjoying the small things, focusing on the beauty of details and moments, enjoying every second spent with each other. They read together, played chess together, practised fencing.

When her condition was good enough for her to travel somewhere, they visited her parents, causing a huge fuss. They also paid a visit to Criston, who had to admit that she was coping very bravely with what had happened to her.

They went together at night to the chapel where she prayed every night, just as then she took a candle with her even though neither of them needed it anymore to see everything clearly. They sat down next to each other in one of the pews and began to pray together, he taking from his coat pocket the tiny Bible his mother had given him.

He felt his wife lay her head on his shoulder, thoughtful, after a while. He slipped a ribbon into the place where he had finished reading and closed the book, glancing at it out of the corner of his eye. His cold hand touched her skin and she hugged him tighter.

"I knew from the moment I saw you here that you would change my life." She whispered, and he murmured under his breath and kissed her hair, her pleasant scent filling his nostrils.

"I thought the same thing when I saw you, when I smelled you. I nearly killed you then, when you approached me with your candle, that's how great my desire was." He said quietly, playing with her curls, and she lifted her bright eyes to his and smiled. He ran his thumb over her lower lip, parting it slightly, looking at its soft, fleshy texture.

"Your kisses are as sweet as your blood."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn’t tag you)

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[on-a-lucky-tide]

Lambert’s stuck in a rut. His life’s going nowhere and his dreams never seem to leave the A1 architectural drawings he carries around in his rucksack. He has Aiden’s bar, his respectably placed outer London apartment and his Japanese Peace Lily. That is… until he meets a tall, silent bar tender with shoulders like the Qinghai-Tibetan plateau and eyes like twin suns.

CW: mutism, war injuries, Lambert running his mouth. Set up of a longer work which has never seen the light of day, but I like the opening a lot.

Lambert had been visiting the same shitty, rundown bar since graduating. Three years bachelors, two years postgrad, twelve months running after a middle-aged racist with a caffeine addiction—internship—and then five years of… this. No one prepared you for the heady heights of listless adulthood; that odd grey area between being a cutting edge, aspiring young whippersnapper and a washed out, lonely old man with seven cats. Lambert was staring down the barrel of thirty simultaneously wondering where the fuck his life was sprinting off to and what the fuck he had even done with it to begin with.

Every night he pulled a late one at the office labouring over his distant dream of sustainable, affordable housing for the working class that wasn’t a lifeless block of concrete. You know, the kind that drew inspiration from the hallowed corridors of nineteenth century Newgate prison. The kind of place that leeched the life and happiness from every one of its occupants until they were as grey and empty as their home. Someone’s community was meant to be at their heart, something that defined them. Like the roots of a tree—you know, the person being the… tree. Look, he was never so good at conceptualising his vision in words. He’d sooner draw you a fucking picture. Which is where we were fucking at right now.

Lambert had become an architect on the back of a dream he’d had sitting on a swing set in the condemned children’s playground at the very centre of his council estate. Half the kids he’d known had given up because life was grey, drugs were easy, so what’s the fucking point, right? If only they were faced with more than the grey—

That dream had driven him through his studies like a man possessed—by a demon comprising of an unhealthy amount of Monster and a stubborn, spiteful drive to succeed—followed by that tedious twelve months as a gopher, but now he was here… or there, or whatever spatial demonstrative you wanted to fucking use, he didn’t know what to do. The dream had shuddered to a halt. Red tape, politics. The kind of thing that stood fast in the face of an outsider. Because he would always be an outsider. Something—something—attitude problem.

The same thoughts gathered like a storm cloud over his head as he trudged down the steps to Aiden’s. Both the name of the place and the owner, because Aiden straddled the line between new money glam and old east end rust in a way that was both tackey and unique. He managed to pull it off somehow. Lambert threw himself down in his usual stool, dumping his satchel full of drawings at unceremoniously at his feet, and thumped his forehead on the bar. “Usual, Sal.”

Sal wasn’t his real name. His real name was Derek. But everyone called him Sal because of the time he’d stepped in for the chef, cooked the Friday night chicken curry and given everyone salmonella. Environmental health nearly had a fucking field day but, much like many of Aiden’s licensing and business woes, the matter had cleared up mysteriously overnight.

The glass tumbler settled gently on a place mat in front of Lambert’s head. He heard the pop of the cork and the slosh of expensive whiskey—he’d worked his nuts off for his salary, so he could drink it away if he wanted to, thank you very fucking much—and then nothing. No greeting. No, “‘ello mate, what’s the story?”

Lambert lifted his head to rip on Sal and ask if someone had half-inched his tongue out his ugly mug, only to almost fall from his stool in shock. The man standing before him wasn’t Sal. Nothing like him in fact. Easily clear of six feet with a few inches to spare, a scruffy mop of dark hair and a face like someone had tried to pry out his teeth with a claw hammer. There was a gap in his lip, twisted scars all the way up the side of his face to his eye and ear. Angry, red. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Lambert said, mouth running away with his thoughts before he could marshal them.

The barman didn’t even flinch. His fingers tapped on the side of the bottle, hazel eyes dropping to the fifth he’d just poured, and Lambert realised he was waiting for some kind of acknowledgement that the drink was satisfactory. Lambert tore his eyes away and tried to bury the squirming, uncomfortable feeling that came with making an absolute cunt of yourself in front of someone new. “Yeah, cheers. Uh… add it to my... tab, uh—” Lambert glanced up and caught sight of a name badge, “—Eskel.”

There was another badge next to it. Light blue, with dark letters printed in Arial font. ‘I can’t speak, but I’m a good listener’. Lambert stared at it for a moment, fingers tapping on cool glass. “Can’t speak, huh? That because of—” Lambert gestured at his own face and Eskel nodded, “—right, bummer.” Eskel nodded again, but Lambert could swear he was being laughed at. Those hazel eyes glittered with something, and it wasn’t unshed tears at being so cruelly gawped at. Well, that was a fucking relief. “Yeah, I guess bummer is the understatement of the century.”

Eskel tilted his head and ducked his chin, with a quirk of the eyebrow.

“So, if you know my drink order, you know I have mac and cheese, with crispy bacon bits, and a side of onion rings.”

Another nod. Lambert squinted.

“You know, I’ll… uh—is Aiden out back? Fucker owes me a pony from the last—”

Lambert didn’t get through his excuse before he was sliding from the stool and hot footing it around the rope barrier to the back room. The corridor leading to Aiden’s office always smelled of industrial strength disinfectant and drunken regrets, and Lambert rubbed at his nose as he pushed through the door.

“Please, come in, not like I’m up to my bollocks in paperwork,” Aiden murmured, ensconced behind a teetering pile of brown folders and a box-shaped computer monitor from the early noughties. He was in his late-thirties, with wisps of grey hinting in his neatly groomed beard. Sharp green eyes left the lines of neat print on off-white paper for barely a second to acknowledge Lambert’s presence. “Shit week?”

“About a six on the shit-o-meter,” Lambert replied, gaze sliding sideways as the pinball machine to his left squealed and trilled. Gaetan, short, with a clean-shaven head, docs and a cut-off denim jacket, grumbled irritably as he missed out on beating Lambert’s high score. “Alright?” he asked and received a grunt in return. Gaetan was just shy of twenty years Aiden’s junior and oozed ‘younger brother complex’ from his every pore.

“Six isn’t bad.” Aiden sighed and threw his pen onto the table. “So, what’s the rub? Bacon not crispy enough?”

“What happened to Sal?”

“He finally bought that ticket to Marbella. Him and the missus flew out last night on the red eye.”

“That selfish prick,” Lambert growled. “Not even a by your fucking leave.”

Aiden shrugged and tapped morosely at his keyboard. Most of Aiden’s employees were itinerant in some way; students looking for a quick buck at the weekend, job-hoppers still searching for their calling and lazy schmucks looking for an easy ride only to realise that bar work was hard going. But Sal had been a permanent fixture for the last ten years, always dreaming about a ticket to the sun, and then wasting his pay packet on the horses or weekend jollies to France for cheap box wine.

Lambert rubbed at his beard. “The new guy. He for real?”

“Eskel?”

“Yeah.” Lambert yanked a rickety old chair over from the wall and sat on it backwards, arms folded beneath his chin. “Looks like one of Emhyr’s goons used him as a scratching post. ‘I can’t speak but I’m a good listener’?”

“He’s former forces. Not sure which. He’s… uh, part of that new government initiative. Veterans’ Strategy Action Plan.”

“Thought that was meant to put them in prisons and healthcare and shit?” It wasn’t unusual for Aiden to get involved in charity cases. Despite his feeble attempts at cultivating a fearsome reputation, he was a soft touch with a heart of gold. There wasn’t an AA programme, drug rehabilitation scheme, ex-con reform schtick or fresh start for young offenders’ initiative that he wasn’t involved in. Something about giving back to the community, or doing right by his dad, or something. Everyone had their dreams.

“Eskel’s… uh, he’s got some shit goin’ on in his head, you know. What he went through was hard. He’s happy to do some security on Saturday nights, knows how to pour a good Godfather, so he’s a decent gamble.”

“Shit going on in his head?”

Aiden narrowed his eyes and slumped back in his chair. “You know that’s confidential, and I’ve already told you too much. Fuck off and eat your dinner, I’ve got shit to do. I’ll join you for a quick one before you leave.”

Lambert rolled his eyes and left the office, pausing only long enough to bid farewell Gaetan and receive another grunt in reply. By the time he returned to the bar, Eskel was placing his mac and cheese on a neat place mat next to his whiskey. Lambert paused at the corner, taking a moment to admire the line of Eskel’s waistcoat around his muscular frame. Not too shabby. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad having some new eye candy around the place. Eye candy that didn’t talk back. Winner-winner-chicken-dinner.

“He was busy,” Lambert informed Eskel as he sat down at the bar. Eskel afforded him another nod, with a quirked brow, and then turned back to wiping down the pint glass in his hands. Lambert picked up his fork and focused on wolfing down his dinner as quickly as humanly possible. He watched Eskel work discreetly, looking up only when Eskel’s back was turned or his focus elsewhere. Lambert watched his forearms flex as he restocked the fridge with bottled cider, the fold of his shirt collar beneath the rugged line of his jaw with its light peppering of dark stubble. It was because Lambert hadn’t been laid in—

He began to run the numbers and it was just so fucking depressing he stopped—

—which was why he was hyper focused. New slab of man meat. Yeah. It had absolutely nothing to do with the meandering thoughts set a-wanderin’ by Aiden’s vague comments. What was the ‘something going on’ in Eskel’s head? What did his voice sound like? What had happened to his face? What did he like to do at the weekend, and did it involve lube—?

It was too awkward. Every time Lambert opened his mouth to talk, he knew he’d get that same calm look, perhaps the eyebrow, and in the end, he said nothing.

Aiden appeared an hour later—for Lambert, it had been an hour of pretending to play Candy Crush on his phone while watching Eskel go about his duties—and they shared a beer, a few giggles, and then Lambert headed home to his empty apartment to water his Japanese Peace Lily. No, it wasn’t a fucking euphemism. Vesemir said he couldn’t be trusted with another living thing. Not even a goldfish. He couldn’t even cook (although Lambert argued that those two things definitely didn’t fucking correlate, and boiling pasta definitely counted as cooking). He laid in bed that night and stared at the ceiling, thinking about Eskel and his quiet, calm eyes.

[frisbys-artwork]

Meet Koobori & Shin

The oldest of five brothers, Koobori was an animal lover from the start, and had his parents take him to zoos almost weekly. Koobori knew he wanted to become a zoologist and conservationist the moment he watched a documentary on an animal network. He also became fascinated by bodybuilding at a young age, and committed to working out to be able to compete in shows, winning 2nd place in a show held in Bushsray at just 17 years old, and became an IFBB Pro by the age of 22, to where he continues to compete to this day when he gets the chance.

Never the type to sit still, if he wasn’t playing sports or actively with his brothers, he was always out traveling the outbacks of Kiwattle, surfing, and diving in reefs; sometimes even volunteering at schools to give wildlife shows to kids.

Shin was born with strong psychic abilities, able to sense the presence of spirits from a young age. For many years he trained as a Kannushi, and was able to banish yurei and yokai from abandoned homes with much ease. At the age of 17 he had decided to join nursing school, since he always enjoyed helping others.

Both met by pure chance. Shin was heading to school when he stopped to check out a large crowd near a convention building, when he spotted Koobori posing for fans and the cameras in all his half naked glory. When he was too shy to get any closer, Koobori practically shoved his way through the crowd to approach Shin and ask him out to the best ramen shop in the city (he described that any trophies and medals he won didn’t matter as much as wanting a date with the Ustonese guy). Shin’s Common was too broken at the time to understand what the Kiwi was saying, but he could tell by the expression alone on the muscular man that he was being asked out. Realizing he was running late, Shin agreed and handed Koobori every form of contact he had, and rushed to school.

Both now have three sons, Giallo (16), Calder (12) and Oshan (9), and expect their triplets (which Kobori promises will be their last kids).

—

Hey guys! Back at it again, and this time with my oldest couple relative to age closeness lol. Yeah, I finally drew an older couple expecting kids, but there’s a reason for that, and that’s because their oldest kid was part of a series of characters I did many, many years ago as the lead of said series. So you can say they aren’t the main characters but that doesn’t matter as I’m not really sure where I’ll head with these two at the moment. I like them a lot, but for further related context Koobori here is actually a modernized drawing of him, now with an improved style and anatomy, design, etc.

Long ago before I came out and before I did much actually characters development, most of my characters were just colorful and there for the sake of being there, so Koobori was married to a woman originally, and so I’ve pretty much decided on redoing the entire characters a new way. Koobori is now married to this guy, who’s an entirely new character, and still has the same amount of kids, only now they’re going to be designed to better suit their designs and origins, etc.

I’ll stop there for now as I want to surprise you guys later on when I get these designs more fleshed out, but I’m happy with this design on Koobori, and I like his hubby. It’s the first time I’ve drawn a fully South Asian characters and damn are they HARD to do.

Here’s the tattoo design on Shin’s shoulder and his badge ID if anyone wanted to get a closer look at them.

Lastly, here’s a comparison of the old and new Koobori. Like wow.

[juni-ravenhall]

im thinking a lot about "what i want to do with my art" lately and i also have many years of figuring shit out already as an adult so i will post some general advice stuff that might help ppl

art should be fun. if you hate doing lineart then stop doing lineart. if you hate rendering and shading then stop doing it. if you hate anatomy then stop doing it and just draw funky shapes. if you love one color then use that color. if you love doing complicated detailed patterns then start doing those more. if you love drawing circles then make art with lots of circles. do what is fun to you, with the only exception being someone giving you good money to do something not fun, if you need the money.

u dont have to have 1 art style, consistent art is only relevant for commissions/jobs where u are supposed to deliver a specific style/quality/etc that u were paid for. if ur not getting paid or making a portfolio for a specific type of job, then draw however the fuck you want and dont care about anything. have 500 different styles and techniques, or just have 1 if thats how you work. it doesnt matter and everyone is different

the way to develop and evolve quickly is to draw as crazy as possible. push yourself as far as possible and dont care about anything dont worry about anything. fear holds you back. actively choose to draw crazy and push things far. no cringe no limit no rules no anatomy no perspective no color theory fuck everything and go crazy.

dont think "i dont know how to draw a ball room full of dancing people with fancy clothes" "i dont know how to draw a gallopping horse" just start drawing it and see what happens. when you get stuck you look up reference and tutorials. this is how you find out what parts you struggle with so you can then get specific help.

try to draw as bad as possible half the time. think, im going to draw this really fucking bad and ugly. im going to make the worst fucking horrible drawing. do it on purpose. fuck the concept of beauty and quality and perfectionism. draw bad on purpose. draw crazy on purpose. it will help you find freedom.

when looking at other ppls art for inspiration, separate between "i like this thing" vs "i want to draw more like this thing". all art that you like doesnt have to be relevant to how you draw stuff yourself, you can appreciate x type of art without your art being anything like that at all. this is especially important about things like clean lineart, rendering, amount of detail, """correct""" anatomy or perspective or shading, etc. just bc you like some art with beautiful shading doesnt mean you have to want to do beautiful shading. or maybe you do want that! thats why you figure out which ones are aspirational to you and which ones are just amazing and cool but not what you enjoy doing with your art.

the "2 cakes" concept - it doesnt matter whatsoever if someone else drew the same thing as you "but better" (in your eyes). your thing is still unique and has value existing because only you are you and your art is your art. ppl are happy theres now 2 cakes instead of just 1.

i already said this but Just Try. Just Go For It. some of my favourite comics are actually "badly drawn" from a generic perspective. but theyre unique and interesting bc every human is unique and interesting. you can draw stick figure drawings, comics or animations. you can draw simple or complex, good or bad, or go back and forth between styles and techniques, draw good one day and bad the other, make a comic where every page is a surprise in quality and style, nothing matters, do whatever you want forever.

the things you think are "bad" or "boring" or "cringe" or whatever other negative word might not be that to other people. someone might see your "ugly doodle" and love it so much they want it printed out on their wall. and even if some ppl dont like something, other people will like it. the ppl who like it are the ones that matter. not everyone has the same taste and thats how it should be.

draw for yourself. or draw for other people if that makes you happy, but do things that make you happy. draw your favourite things and your obsessions and express your feelings and draw your favourite characters and use your favourite colours or brushes. draw things that your friends like and send it to them. do things that make you smile. draw things that youre thirsty about for that matter. happy pride month. cringe is dead

if you have a hard time picking up the pen dont start thinking "i cant draw". youre probably suffering from some stress, mental illness or ND symptoms or something. try to find out how to solve problems in your life that are making you stressed and overwhelmed and not able to have fun making art. get help, talk to a counsellor, talk to a doc. and make sure you aren't pushing yourself to make art that isnt fun for you, bc that in itself will make you unhappy.

if you feel stuck, aside from looking up references and tutorials, try different techniques and materials. try a new software. try drawing on paper or on a tablet or paint on a canvas or try new pens and papers. make a collage. do papercrafts. sculpt. do something different than what you usually do

CLEAN YOUR ART AREA whether its a desk for your tablet or a table for your paper or stand for a canvas. make it EASY to pick up the pen / brush / whatever and start drawing. dont put objects on top of your tablet / papers / easel / whatever. make space for your art and keep it organised. it should take 1 second to start drawing without having to clean anything first.

if you feel like youre just bad at drawing, like i said, draw bad on purpose. draw crazy on purpose. fuck all the rules and perfectionisms and what you "should do". dont worry about anything just draw the worst and craziest you can. you can do this. i love your art. you exist. youre unique. you are you

[sharpbutsoft]

So I know you do digital art, but The Hanged fireMan looks like a watercolor. Do you work with watercolors as well, or is it the program you use?

(please brag about your art process, basically)

Yeah! So I do all my (fan)art in everyone’s favourite innuendo of an art program, Procreate. (Specifically on a 2019 ipad pro with a 1st gen Apple Pencil, both of which I would tentatively recommend if you can get them 2nd hand for less than 200euro like I did)

I did a lot of painting as a teenager, and still paint often to this day. Though I mostly worked in acrylics, I have been known to use watercolours (like, when I was in college I bought a little 3euro paint set and would use the inside of cardboard cereal boxes as diy watercolour paper and paint wild little Irish landscapes… and Winter Soldier fan art, sometimes. 2017 was a different world)

So in summary - I ‘paint’ digitally using some very traditional techniques I picked up over the years, and I kinda prefer digital art now, which I will elaborate on below the cut as I detail how I created The Hanged fireMan…

I’ll start with my favourite digital art ‘cheat’ which is that I use So Many Layers. Like seriously, pretty much every new colour goes on its own layer because I am a control freak and love being able to tweak them all as needed. So for this relatively simplistic piece, I’ve still got something like 20 layers all together.

I’m also usually better at grouping layers but in this one I gave up at some point and it felt dishonest to group them nicely before showing you guys lol

So yeah layers is my biggest hack, but the other is using specific texture brushes

I spent a while playing around with various brushes before finding this Tarraleah one which has just the most delicious watercolour-y texture and a really fun edge to it (and it’s got pressure sensitivity, so I can really control the amount of colour I want to put down on the page)

This background was painted entirely with the 1 brush & colour, and I think it turned out pretty cool. For this particular piece I did have a reference on screen to work off for the most part, but those clouded were just painted with my heart

Next (or maybe before, it’s a while sinceI drew this and sometimes I mix it up) is the lines, which are always done with my best friend, the Procreate Pencil!! I love her, she’s so fuzzy and textured and also if you tilt the tip on the pencil you get a broader line (like with a real pencil) which is just the coolest thing!

When it comes to lines I just sort of go for bigger shapes 1st and details later, and basically always with some kind of reference. I also use a very old & well known trick of putting the most detail into the object of most importance, and leaving the background more loose and vibey

Artists will tell you that this is to draw focus with details. Artists are lying. It’s cause we got lazy after drawing he fun part & phoned the rest of it in lol (I know this because I am an artist)

Also I love this pencil because I don’t have very steady hands and I actually cannot draw straight/smooth lines to save my life! If you’ve ever seen anything resembling a smooth line in something I’ve drawn, it is almost certainly a whole bunch of lines over each other and then erased at the edges to make it look neater

But who needs straight lines when sketchy sketch lines are so fun!

Next is flat colours (the 3layers in the middle with check marks beside them)

I used the same colours as the background, which you can tell from where they completely blend together right down the bottom, and what I genuinely do is use the Tarraleah brush to generally block out he shape, and then go back in with an eraser and smooth out the lines

Why do I do this? …good question

Next is one of my favourite parts, which is adding the lights! Procreate has some really fun -glowy- layer effects - my favourite is probably Add (A) though Colour Burn (CB) is great too for its vibrancy.

Also those 2 layer 11s are there because I duplicated one and then used the ‘Gaussian Blur’ feature to ‘fuzzify’ it (yes, that’s the technical term) It’s a pretty quick and easy way to add a more diffused light effect around something. (I did the same for the yellow reflective strips on the turnouts too!)

Last step now! So full disclosure - I absolutely traced that writing from a photo of a tarot card lol. I actually always trace writing, as, much like drawing straight lines, I’m bad at handwriting on a screen

I also stumbled upon the Exclusion (E) effect by accident - Originally it was going to be a plain cream boarder like a traditional tarot card had, but I wasn’t fully happy with it, so I just flipped through a few layer effects and as soon as I got to this one, I knew it was the right choice

I love the dreamy contrast of the pinks and purples to the dark navy and grey & how it makes everything looks kinda unreal and outer-spacey

And yeah that’s about it! Everything else comes from my 15+ years of Practical Art Knowledge but these are the specifics of how I utilise it digitally!

This was a lot of fun to write out, and I hope that if you’ve made it all the way here, it was fun to read too!

[stardestroyer81]

My first post of 2024 may have been cited to be the first look at Star Tower, my arcade-centric Pizza Tower AU, though consider this post to be your first real look at both the AU! This is a post I've been wanting to make for quite some time, and I am simply overjoyed to finally reveal the first set of characters for Star Tower!!! ⭐👾✨

This is a long post packed to the brim with art— some of which aren't featured in the above image— so if you're interested, I highly suggest you read on underneath the cut! 💙✨

As an AU, Star Tower dates back to March 3rd of 2023, which is when I first drew the logo for it. A sprite of myself drawn in the Pizza Tower artstyle predates Star Tower as an AU by about a month, so I think it goes without question that the stand-in for Peppino is Star Tower is a representation of myself!

It's just another day for Star Splitscreen at the local arcade, when all of a sudden, the multicade cabinet bugs out and sucks her inside! It's within the cabinet's confines where she meets the omnipotent Sinistar, who claims it'll set her free if she can best its '20-in-1 Supercade Challenge'.

What follows is an arduous adventure that sees Star venturing through arcade games familiar and obscure, and learning Sinistar's secret identity as well as escaping back into the real world all depends on her success... it's a good thing a seasoned arcade expert like her has what it takes!

I knew going into designing for Star Tower that I wanted each floor boss (I.E. Pepperman, The Noise, etc.) to be represented with an actual character from an established arcade game (With one exception...) and trust me when I say that I spent a fair amount of time carefully going through every arcade game I knew of and selecting a character appropriate for each boss's role.

Ultimately, I'm quite proud of the selection of characters I settled with, so let's jump right in and discuss Pepperman's stand-in...

Goro from 1983's Mappy! I find that, in terms of appearance, Goro was a perfect fit to replace Pepperman. Both are predominantly large red characters who are often depicted with wide, toothy grins— it was the perfect match!

Unlike both his canon personality and his personality in the animated ShiftyLook series, Goro in Star Tower is a lot more nefarious and self-centered, and sends out the Meowkies to do his dirty work when his own efforts don't cut it. I wanted to include sprites of the three Meowkies for this post originally, but I decided to save them for a future post (That's tech talk for 'I'm still trying to figure out how to stylize them').

I think of the four main bosses, Goro was the hardest to sprite in the Pizza Tower artstyle solely for the way his head is drawn. There's something about his face that was extremely difficult to draw at such a small scale, but after drawing pretty much every other sprite featured in this post, he was the final character in this lineup that I drew a sprite for, and I'm quite happy with it!

While Goro is certainly an iconic character, the same can't be said for The Vigilante's stand-in who, in spite of starring in one of the earliest known arcade games, is all the more obscure. Enter...

Mr. Jack from 1979's Sheriff! The Vigilante is the only boss of the main four who originally was going to be represented by an entirely different character, that being Kinzo from 1996's Pac-Man Arrangement.

It was when I remembered about Sheriff that I realized that Mr. Jack was the perfect candidate to replace The Vigilante. I mean, both are represented as mostly yellow cowboys armed with guns and a fashionable cowboy hat. How much closer could you get than that?

The real challenge was finding a good image of Mr. Jack to base his appearance in Star Tower off of. For those who don't know, Mr. Jack only has three known images of him that exist despite the fact that the game he hails from is over forty years old, so it wasn't exactly the easiest task.

I decided to base his appearance off of how he looks on Sheriff's bezel as that's the only full-body look we've ever gotten of him. The guy already looks like a Pizza Tower character as it is (A long lost cousin of Burton, perhaps?), and I find that his sprite looks the most like something you would actually see in Pizza Tower!

On the topic of arcade characters that are perfect fits for stand-ins of certain Pizza Tower characters...

Charley Chuck from 1983's Food Fight was, without question, the ideal choice to replace The Noise. One look at this flyer for Food Fight should perfectly encapsulate as to why. He's a little brat who's primary objective is to make the lives of the local chefs miserable. Sound familiar? It should!

Charley has had numerous different designs drawn for him around the time his game debuted, and it was pretty difficult settling on just the right one. I decided to give him a white and red striped shirt which he wears on the Food Fight arcade cabinet, and draw him as similar to the Noise as I could— I even sized him so that he stands smaller than Star, which took a lot more time than I'm willing to admit.

What's particularly interesting is that, fairly recently, Atari announced a Splatoon-like game for their VCS console, and you'll never believe who's the poster boy and what the game is a sequel to. I'm fairly certain that just before the announcement of Food Fight: Culinary Combat, I was the only person who was doing anything with Charley Chuck, and here he is starring in a brand new game some forty years after his initial debut. Not bad, kid!

One must wonder if I was the one who manifested Charley's return into existence...

With Charley Chuck properly introduced, I can move onto who may just be my favorite of this post's lineup...

Crazy Star.

With the success of 1981's Donkey Kong, an officially licensed clone was created for use in Japan only, though found its way outside of the country without the license to do so from Nintendo. This clone's name is Crazy Kong, and to say it's uncanny wouldn't be doing it justice.

Originally, I was a bit hesitant on just designing a 'fake Star' and calling it a day. I wanted there to be some arcade theming to it, and when the idea of a 'bootleg Star' came to mind, I quickly turned to Crazy Kong as a point of reference and Crazy Star is what came out of it (I should also mention that Crazy Kong released in 1981... now that's what I call meant to be)!

Out of everyone featured in this post, I've definitely drawn Crazy Star the absolute most because, as I mentioned before, it's just about my favorite of the Star Tower bunch! My favorite detail about it is that its color palette is made up of colors hand-picked from Crazy Kong itself!

Originally, I had screen-picked its colors from a YouTube video of the clone, resulting in a slightly different color scheme, but once I found a sprite sheet for Crazy Kong, it resulted in the Crazy Star you see in this post! Crazy Star may look unsettling, but in reality it's just as welcoming as Star, and all it wants is to be just like her.

Just like her... just like her... just like her...

Beware... Sinistar from the 1983 arcade game of the same name lives! Yet another instance of the perfect replacement, both Pizzaface and Sinistar are giant evil floating circles, and it was clear to me from the get-go that Sinistar would make a perfect stand-in for the former, especially since half of its name is 'Star'!

Drawing a sprite for Sinistar was both a cakewalk and a challenge. For one, seeing as its sprite is on the larger side, that meant I had a lot more detail to work with. On the other hand, however, I struggled for a while to get a good design drawn for Sinistar. Eventually, my good friend @panurei-derogatory suggested that it would be funny if Sinistar was hyper-realistically detailed compared to the other sprites, and that was something I had a lot of fun with when drawing its sprite!

Anyone who's played Pizza Tower knows that Pizzaface himself is merely a facade, as the true mastermind behind Peppino's misery has been hidden in plain sight since the very start— the comically villainous Pizzahead! I think out of every 'arcade stand-in' I chose for Star Tower, coming up with one for Pizzahead was the absolute hardest, because none of my ideas really seemed to stick the landing.

But then, I thought "What if it was a completely original character?"

And that's where Richard Benito Townsend (More commonly known by his alias 'Richie T.'), the self-proclaimed 'king of video games', enters the scene!

Richie T., who is absolutely not based off of any notorious cheaters in the arcade world record scene, is a washed-up video game master has-been, once highly regarded in his heyday for being an icon in the world of video games before his supposed 'unbeatable world records' were discovered to be fraudulent.

Shunned to a life of seclusion, the ever boisterous Richie T. now pilots Sinistar within a multicade cabinet where he's free to call the shots, daring to go toe-to-toe with Star once she proves herself worthy of being a Supercade Superstar. After all, she's just some girl— she can't possibly trounce the Richie T., can she?

Spoilers: He has no idea.

And with that out of the way, that's just about everything I wanted to touch base on in pertains to this first set of Star Tower characters! As I said before, this post has been a long time coming, and it's ever so wonderful to finally get this out onto tumblr!

You can expect a part two of sorts to this post sometime in the coming months, as there are still more stand-ins I've yet to post... this time, replacements of the supporting characters, such as Gustavo, Mr. Stick, and a couple of others! For now, I hope that you've enjoyed your first real look at the world of Star Tower! 💙✨

[gin-juice-tonic]

this is stuff for fords dating sim. I posted it last night but deleted it. It's more plot oriented spoilers than usual

UFO ACTIVITY IN GRAVITY FALLS

The energy from the crash at CSO has echoed around Gravity Falls for millenia, bouncing around and around like a super ball thrown by an all-powerful toddler. These echos have weakened over time from all the collisions, but due to the extremely powerful nature of the original blast, they are still quite potent, and continue to cause strange happenings all over town to this day. They remain constrained here by the same forces that draw all weirdness here. That drew me here. The forces I have been studying for years, but have little to no answers for.

I have recently however come to believe an occasional burst of weirdness is able to slip through the cracks. In investigating other UFO sightings across the world I’ve found similar accounts, similar after effects, similar weirdness to the activity here in Gravity Falls, but with no actual extraterrestrial source to be found. (Aside from my own findings at CSO, of course.) Based on the Roswell interview from last year, I’m inclined to believe the situation was the result of yet another “weirdness slip” of one of CSO’s echos. To think such a significant amount of weirdness has escaped as recently as 1947… Will I witness another event like this in my lifetime? Will it give me the answers I so desperately seek? Or will it all slip past even me…

[amethystfairy1]

hiya it’s been a hot minute since I sent an ask but I want you to know that I’ve been reading all your stuff for months now, refreshing multiple times a day bc I can’t get enough and I adore everything you write <3<3<3 I think your more recent writing with the darker themes is well done, it adds the perfect amount of angst and stakes to the story, more than vague threats of getting hurt, esp in the under city, but it’s not too much at the same time. Also your newest TT treebark is probs my favorite fic thus far, and treebark isn’t even my favorite ship lmao. It’s so arghhh yesss with Rens acting but Martyn can’t tell nooooo 😭 I REALLY want to know what Ren was thinking that whole time negotiating with the bandits, esp when he finally looked at Martyn bc he could probably hear his cries the whole time and UGH it breaks my heart in a good way. AND MARTYN ACCEPTING THAT REN WOULD DO THIS, AND FORGIVING HIM????? The angst, the FEELS. Stunning. A masterpiece. I start my days checking to see if you’ve posted I’m so obsessed XD. Might have to draw the scene… anyhow. I see you get a lot of requests to write certain ships now bc all the stories r so captivating we just HAVE to know more. But. I hope you don’t feel pressured or stressed about it, make sure to prioritize your own wants first. The quality is worth the wait <3 that said, I’m going insane over Martyn. oH also!!! Ren grabbing the wolf pendant!!!!!! He knows how much it means to Martyn my HEART they’re so AAAaAAaAaaaaA!! And he waited until he was between Martyn and the bandits to attack! To protect him! 🥺🥺🥺 the little details are so sweet I’m dying to know rens thoughts. He probably has the rage of a thousand suns in him after seeing Martyn tied up, hurt, crying, bc they would DARE lay a finger on the only one who protected him, who was nice to him. Just. Tomorrow can’t come fast enough. I’m def gonna draw this. Also side note love the new pfp

Hello!!!! Good to see you!!!!

I'm so glad you're still reading and enjoying my works!

Also very happy to hear you're enjoying the darker themes that have been coming up recently in both TTSBC and TT! You're exactly right, that's exactly the sort of thing I was trying to nail...oh yeah ANGST with Treebark right now!

I mean. If you feel inspired. I would LOVE if you drew this scene. Because like, I have that art you did of Ren asleep on Martyn's shoulder as the cover image to my Treebark fanfic doc 🥹

Thank youuuu I appreciate the thought about not feeling pressured or stressed, I promise I'm not! I know everyone is just excited for their favorite/most compelling storyline to continue! And like I've said elsewhere, I plan to stick to my mantra...when I try to write something I'm not in the mood to write, I burn out and don't feel like writing at all. That's what happened to me the last time I stopped writing, and I didn't post at all for nearly a year. I HATED THAT. So TTSBC and TT is the perfect situation for me! Lots of ships, lots of characters, lots of dynamics, and between the two I can write BASICALLY anything I feel like at any point in time! So yeah! I'll write what I feel like writing in the moment, because that's always when I come up with my best stuff!

THE WOLFS PENDANT YUP GOOD CATCH. Ren's a good guy, he pays attention to that sort of thing 💖

I'm glad you like my new pfp!!! I love it! It's by my same friend who drew my old pfp, but THIS one is of an original character of mine everyone who reads TTSBC is very familiar with and people very scared of, but I assure you, any resemblance to characters previously mentioned is purely coincidental, hypotheticals should be, should be, should be dismissed, and there is no need to be concerned. 😉

Thank you for coming by again!!!

[shit-taster-connoisseur]

For the qsmp valetines event, for my giftee @routeriver

howdy!! sorry for the hold up on this one, i went through 4 drafts of this story idea many times until i settled for this one ultimately dhjex hope it's at leasy up to ur taste!!

Some warnings:

-mentions of cannibalism

-unhealthy relationships

-just girls being girls

-some relgious imagery

-a whole lotta demonic imagery/mentions of it at least

But please enjoy some demon!tina x human!bagi :)))

Word count: 1500

The other wordly consumed Bagi's mind, far longer than she was capable of remembering anything.

As where there were meant to be memories were feelings, thoughts–ones she drew down with crayons and a tiny fist. Ranging from spooky men in clothes, the shadowy figures in her room, and more often than not, demons. Demons whose horns curled into knife-like edges, gangly bodies, and claws who knew just how vulnerable human flesh is.

Her obsession sent her into a spiral.

From scrawling demonic pentagrams out of crayons, to drawing pentagrams out of her own blood in high school. It all amounted to nothing in the end.

No breakthroughs or simple summoning gone right.

So she had to become an adult when she was out of excuses. She became the proud graduate her parents wanted, and went to solve the mysteries of the real world.

But the itch to settle old affairs never left her.

So her brother presents her with a book, rustic and its bindings rotting–but ancient with a story: A witch that lived isolated in the woods. One day, the children of the nearest village began to go missing, one-by-one. A mob was sent knocking at the old hag's hut the next day, and what they found was not a rugged woman cooking their children for stew, but a creature ripped from the underworld. The mob forced to watch in horror as it gnawed their children to the bone.

The witch disappeared and was never found, and the story's ending equally lost to time.

The book had been the only trace left behind. Awaiting for its next champion.

So Bagi accepted it and followed it like a commandment and she was a prophet. She wasn't quite in her right mind. Like the witch, perhaps she too was going insane from her isolation, from the mundanity of real life.

And the book offers to fulfill her what she desired most in the world.

So she gets Tina.

There'd been many scenarios Bagi played of what ifs, the first was of what if she had gotten her hands on a demon. The first was taking its head to the street and proving everyone wrong.

But she couldn't do that. Because Tina was much prettier with her head attached to her body.

If Bagi had summoned her with the holy bible, she'd have gotten down on her knees and believed she was a goddess herself. And gladly Bagi would've spent the rest of her years groveling just at Tina's feet to be saved.

But no, Tina is a demon, a woman from hell who makes Bagi feel small, with claws that know the exact pressure to make her bleed, and skin that's a delicious shade of violet.

And Bagi loves her.

It's a realization that shouldn't have taken so long to deduce–Bagi would argue that she fell in love the moment she laid eyes on Tina; her chest had burned with a fire so hot when she took in the demon for the first time, Tina who was still doused in the glow of the summoning circle for which she came from.

The fire in her chest never ceased–even when Tina pestered her, when she once pushed a plate to the ground in an act of defiance when Bagi rejected her deals, offers of riches and fame, time-and-time again. Even when Tina had watched Bagi's chest heave up and down in her sleep every night, it only ever added fuel to the fire.

Because Tina cared. Sure, Bagi had been the reason Tina was bound to her, a chain handcuffed the demon through an oath before Lucifer himself, an unspoken tie between an evoker and the very thing invoked into the existing in the same plane. But she stayed, and she stayed even when she wasn't exactly trapped in Bagi specifically. There had been a world beyond Bagi's shabby walls, Tina could readily explore at the tips of her claws, a world she surely missed. She stayed.

The night they changed, Bagi asked only a question.

“Were you a human before?” She asks through her fatigue. The flashing colors of the tv bathed them both in its artificial light.

Tina had stood behind the couch where Bagi lounged, while her stature dwarfed it, she somehow leaned up against it, craning her spine.

Tina looked cute being so memorized by things so simple–so human. The tv has only a rerun of a show which had been background noise for Bagi, but somehow the center of Tina's world that night.

Such a simple question had ripped Tina out of that world. Bagi had to learn to forgive herself for it.

She looked perplexed, almost solemn as she had lamented over decades of her life.

Still she hadn't speaked, so Bagi almost forgets about it in the fog of her mind.

But like the sun, Tina parts it like clouds. With a, “yes.”

And it hadn't been a shock or a revelation for Bagi. There'd been the small things, like how she'd somehow recognize and listen to niche singers, how she seemed obsessed with an American cartoon show about a bird and cat, that she knew the aroma of tea by heart–all of these things hell wouldn't have.

After that, Tina became shy, a shell of that cocky demon when she thought she had Bagi wrapped around her finger on behalf of all of hell–which she did. When Bagi so much as spotted her, whether a shadow or of the mortal plane, she'd rush off in a flurry of mist.

Bagi hadn't blamed her; she felt like a teenage girl all over again. Obsessing, overthinking every little move a girl of the week made–for a second, she believed Tina hated her, was tired of the mundanity Bagi trapped herself in.

But that wasn't the case. When the thought manifested, a delusion always shoo-ed it away because as she said, Bagi was obsessed. And when she's obsessed, Bagi vision tunnels where she sees only her feelings–and it's unfair, it's unfair to Tina who's been back on earth for however long, who's still not used to the changes that manifested in her absence, and snuck into the world as visitor than a human, a mortal.

So the only thing Bagi was left to do was wait. She was willing to wait forever. As whatever haunts Tina, she'll talk about it–she'll talk to Bagi.

And talk she did. When Tina was finally tired of hiding in her shadows, and places far from Bagi's grasp–she leaned down into Bagi's embrace one day.

The smell of flora choking Bagi in its intensity, but it's addicting, like the cigarettes she had in her pocket that'd surely kill her one day, but no, Tina is a different type of addiction. Because she saved Bagi, and never will Bagi promise to stop the day after.

“I'm fucked up, Bagi.” Tina pleaded against Bagi's neck. But her warnings fell to deaf ears, as all Bagi could remember was the warmth of Tina's breath on her neck, and the vicious grip Tina had on her hips.

Tina ripped herself away, to balance both hands on either side of Bagi's head – she desperately missed her touch.

So Bagi took her cheeks in both hands to wipe away the stray drops of blood pouring out her eyes with a thumb–she could only remember Tina crying.

“You'll fucking hate me.” Tina warned the second time.

Bagi couldn't help but smile to her. Because it was ridiculous, a nightmare never to come true.

“I would never.”

“You will.”

Bagi's hands explored the ever foreign anatomy of her love's face–they eventually found its home, nestled behind and in Tina's white hair.

“It's impossible, Tina.”

“Why not?” Tina hissed, a claw sinking into Bagi's pillow–fluff leaking out. But Bagi had never been deterred once.

“Because I love you.” It made Tina's face soften, her bloody tears slowing, her shock had been palpable–but there'd been a doubt, she studied Bagi's face, looking for any crease in her expression that'd contradict her otherwise. Hoping she had been lying.

To silence it, Bagi leaned up to do something she'd been wanting, praying to do for eons. But it was Tina who kissed Bagi first, maybe, because it's Tina who pulled Bagi up further and connected them at last.

It's not what Bagi had dreamt of. It wasn't as passionate as she wanted, but better, so much better because it's Tina, and her world seemed more bright with Tina.

Amidst it, Tina whispered against her lips between breaths: “I will hurt you.” Spoke like a prophecy rather than a doubt. Bagi would allow it, she'd let Tina feast on her flesh before she went a day starving, she'd let Tina's claws draw wounds on her back if it meant she wouldn't be bored. God, Bagi would accept every slap or scratch, or really anything if it meant Tina would stay.

It hadn't occurred to Bagi then, but perhaps Tina meant hurting her in a different way.

-

[hopelessromantic5]

SydCarmy clip

Artist Carmy

Sydney is his long lost muse.

TBC at a later date 💀

Carmen is a chef, that much is apparent.

But before that, he was an artist.

The notebooks that he kept hidden from the prying eyes of his disastrous family had been his only solace through a…turbulent childhood.

He would sketch whatever caught his eye. A specific bird with a pretty song. A wildflower on the playground that was shining extra bright in the sun.

As he grew, so did his art. Wobbly formations transformed into confident lines and lifelike shading. What was once inanimate became alive.

He drew what he knew. Sugar, Mikey, booths at The Beef, and most importantly, food.

It seemed that food was center of his existence. His mother, his brother, and then eventually, he himself was sucked into the love of food.

Maybe it started because no matter how many awful things they’d said to each other, dinner in the Berzatto house was never missed. They all sat, sometimes (most times) uncomfortably quiet. But still, they were together. A mess, but a mess that belonged to each other.

Maybe it was the way flavors on his tongue seemed to revive Carmy from the dead on days he didn’t think he wanted to be alive; bright mornings after a dreadful night of his mother screaming at him that he was useless, that he could never do anything right. All while she sobbed and shattered her wine glass against the wall.

But something about a breakfast sandwich from the Beef, perfectly curated by his brother, made him forget his life for long enough that he could ride to school in peace, sketching the layers to the egg and glazed bacon, the different cheeses, the perfectly toasted bun.

There was one awful attempt to draw this girl, Claire.

Carmen noticed her when she began hanging out with Mikey, which was already kind of a red flag. But for some reason, the sketches kept ending up distorted and, quite frankly, disturbing to look at. Carmen wound up ripping the pages out and burning them.

Of course, his notebooks and shading pencils began to form dust after Carmy gave his life over to cooking. Becoming a chef was exhausting, and maintaining life as a chef, a Michelin star retaining chef, was soul destroying.

Maybe it was just Carmen’s luck. Maybe he attracted assholes and bullies, people that liked to spit insults down his neck as he stood there and took it. Vomiting it back up, hours later in the alley.

Eleven Madison Park was the worst and best experience of his life. He wouldn’t be as good as he was without it, but he also wouldn’t be as fucked up, as mentally torn apart.

He didn’t think it couldn’t get any worse.

That is, until he got the call.

He should’ve known. Things can always get worse.

Yet, the ultimate dichotomy of the best and worst time of Carmy’s life was yet to come.

As he stood in the back of his dead brother’s collapsing, grease infested, death trap, an angel came to him.

Appearing in the form of a beautiful woman. Skin dark and rich, glowing with a shine all its own. Big, curious brown eyes nervously taking him in, announcing herself.

“Hi, hello. I-I’m Sydney, I called about the sous position? I’m staging today? I think you said I could stage today-“

Carmen’s head was completely fucked. He forgot about the lovely voice on the other end of the phone, after a long day of sarcastic, apathetic dickwads.

“Right! Shit, sorry. Yes, yeah. Carmy.” He gestured to himself.

He took her resume, and was blown away. Not only was she beautiful, she was also capable. Stacked by the CIA and extremely respected restaurants of Chicago.

He thought for a second that he may have been dreaming. The gods had answered his silent prayer of a reprieve in the form of this human goddess who was trained the same way Carmen was trained; knows the ins and outs of a kitchen the way he does. A true partner, in that way.

Nearly a year went by. Arguments were had and healed, copious amounts of cash was found amongst tomato sauce cans, and The Bear finally got off the ground running…after a few minor snags.

Carmy had resigned that night, in the walk-in, to call Claire one more time and end the entire thing, on top of apologizing vehemently. Apologize for ruining yet another good thing, another good person and then let her go on about her perfectly healthy life.

Carmen was ashamed to admit to himself, that he barely even liked her. Nothing was natural, everything felt like a show he was putting on for someone else. Maybe for Mikey, maybe for himself, who knows.

One thing Carmen did know, for sure; it was not good for him. Or the restaurant. Or her. His partner.

She took the worst of it, and Carmen will never forgive himself for that. She did everything, kept his dream alive, while he fucked off and pretended to be something he wasn’t.

Somehow, gratefully and graciously, he’d earned his way back into Syndey’s trust over these last few months. Carmy put his full focus into The Bear, as it should’ve been from the beginning. And he never let her forget that he was there for her, that they were partners. Even when shit got too overwhelming, too much, they would always be there.

They stood by that.

Things were…better than they’d ever been.

The kitchen worked seamlessly, every once in a while there was a small mishap. But that’s what a good kitchen is; one that can run even when the unpredictable happens.

And for The Bear, regular unpredictable is a cake walk compared to their original amount of unpredictable.

He and Sydney moved through the kitchen like two halves of one mind. Wordlessly knowing what the other will need before they have the chance to ask, small gestures of reassurance when they need it. His hand on the small of her back in passing, I’m here, it says.

Her soft smile directed his way when he quietly corrected a new hire on their technique, instead of flying off the handle.

Carmen hadn’t raised his voice that way in a while. While he went to Al-Non and saw Dick (his therapist [that’s his actual name, don’t blame Carmen]), he could credit his better sleep schedule and improved outlook on life to one individual particularly.

The more he saw Sydney, the more she came into his space, the longer she stayed, the more Carmen calmed. For the first time in his life, he was still, tranquil, happy.

It, whatever it was, that special drug, that magic, seemed to just radiate off her skin in waves of pure ethereal light.

She stood in his modest kitchen, throwing her head back laughing at something stupid he said. And Carmen knew peace.

Maybe that’s why the shading pencils that had been shoved into a carboard box in the back of his closet finally made a reappearance.

He was at the market on a random Monday, their one and only day off, when he saw a display of sketchbooks, at the end of an aisle.

Instinct made him throw one in his basket. Black with a singular word embossed on the front in gold.

Create.

Carmen’s immediate thought was: that’s cheesy.

At home, sitting on the couch tapping his leg in impatience , he narrowed his eyes at the sketchbook in the center of his kitchen table. He thought maybe it wasn’t such a bad cover.

The word was like an alarm, a reminder that he could always be doing something, creating something new.

As afternoon turned to evening, Carm didn’t notice. He hadn’t looked up.

For the last four hours, he had been practically dead to the world.

All that existed was the image in his mind and the empty pages sitting before him.

The sound of his phone ringing startled him out of his daze. Realizing all of once that he was starving, and he had to pee, and his phone was still ringing.

Fuck, the phone!

He caught it before it went to voicemail.

“Yo!” He was out of breath, for no reason.

“Yo, you good?” Sydney chuckled, poking at him. “Am I still coming over to cook or are you like…training for the marathon?”

“I could run.” He huffed. “You don’t know.”

The smile that he refused to acknowledge was difficult to keep out of his voice, but he managed.

“Ha! I don’t think any Berzatto even knows the definition of the word ‘run’. Except maybe Pete, but he doesn’t count.”

That made a laugh bubble up out of him.

“He does run. Nat complains about his early morning jogs sometimes.”

“Of course he jogs!” She bellowed, cackling on the other end. “Nothing worse than a jogger.” Followed quickly by. “Don’t tell Nat or Pete I said that.”

Carmen sucked his teeth and tilted his head as if weighing his options, though she couldn’t see him.

“I don’t know…”

“Carmen!” He loved this. He loved her.

“I’m fucking with you, Syd. I won’t tell Nat you think her husband is awful because he jogs.”

“Good. Thank you.” She sighed. “Nat loves me more, anyway. She would take my side.”

“Over her husband?” He asked incredulously.

“No, jackass, over you.” She laughed.

“Ouch. A jackass that got his sister stolen by his CDC. Might as well just end it then. Here I was, taking the jeans out of the oven, just for you.”

“Well, now I’ve caught you in a lie. You forget, I see your oven as often as you do, and I haven’t seen a single sighting of denim.”

“I wait til you leave, obviously.”

“Just shut up and buzz me in, weirdo.” He can hear her smile through the phone knowing that he was the one to put it there warmed his blood.

He was floating on a cloud as he made his way to the front door. Leaving it ajar after buzzing her into the building.