#i inked this page today but it was already sketched

[seumyo]

Idia never thought he’d be the type to have a muse. Inspiration wasn’t something he sought—it either struck at odd hours between gaming marathons or never came at all. You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite.

You were effortlessly poetic, weaving words together like they were spun from moonlight and ink. You had a way of finding beauty in things he never noticed about himself, piecing together metaphors and prose that made him sound like something out of a fairytale.

A writer who’s ultimate weapon is a pen and paper.

You write like a poet who can never run out of words.

Effortlessly so.

The first time you showed him one of your poems, he had expected it to be about something grand and abstract—love, nature, time. Instead, it was about him.

It wasn’t grandiose or overly sentimental. It was simple. Soft. A quiet sort of admiration captured in careful lines—how his hair burned like foxfire in the dark, how his voice curled around words like an autumn breeze, how the glow of his screen reflected in his yellow eyes like constellations trapped in glass.

He had read it once, then twice, then a third time, his heart hammering so hard he thought it might short-circuit his entire nervous system.

God, it’s like reading a declaration of love from years ago.

“I-I… um… wow…” he had stammered, his fingers twitching at his sleeves. “You… wrote this?”

You simply laughed.

“Of course I did. Who else would I write about?”

He didn’t know how to answer that.

So instead, he drew.

A few days after your conversation, that is.

Idia had always been good at art—sketching was second nature to him, a quiet hobby he indulged in when he needed to clear his head. But now, every idle doodle, every sketch in the margins of his notebooks, was of you.

The tilt of your head when you peered into his screen. The way your eyes softened when you looked at him. The delicate curve of your fingers as you held your pen, lost in thought.

He didn’t show you at first. It felt too raw, too personal. Like, if you saw it, you’d know just how much space you had carved into his thoughts, how easily you had settled into his world without even trying.

Maybe that was the point.

To show you how much you meant to him.

But then, one evening, as you sat together in his room—you’re lost in your writing, your boyfriend sketching absentmindedly—you caught a glimpse of his notebook and gasped.

“Is that me?”

Idia tensed, his fingers twitching as if to slam the book shut. But you had already leaned over, your gaze locked onto the pages, your eyes wide as you traced the lines of your own face on the paper.

“You’re insane,” you whispered, your voice filled with awe.

“This is amazing.”

He hunched his shoulders, his hair flickering between shades of pink and blue. “It’s not a big deal…”

“It is to me.”

Your fingers brushed against his, and Idia felt the warmth of your touch settle deep in his chest.

“You write about me,” he muttered, his voice quiet.

“I guess… this is how I write about you.”

You smiled, nodding. “Then I guess we’re even.”

His heart pounded, his fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.

“Y-Yeah… even…”

But you weren’t done looking. You turned the pages slowly, taking in every sketch. Some were detailed, inked carefully with soft shading that made your features stand out, while others were simple pencil sketches, quick and loose. Some had little notes scribbled in the margins—things like Her smile was really pretty today or I think she’d like this outfit—and the further you flipped, the harder it became for Idia to breathe.

“You’ve been drawing me this whole time?” you asked.

Idia swallowed hard, feeling like his soul was about to eject from his body. “I-I mean… you’re… I like drawing you.”

You hummed, shaking your head. “No one’s ever drawn me before,” you admitted. “And definitely not like this. It’s like a commissioned self-portrait.”

He ducked his head against his desk. It’s all too much for him, and yet, he yearns for more.

“Well… no one’s ever written about me before either.”

You reached for your notebook and flipped to a page filled with fresh ink. “I wrote something new,” you told him. “Do you want to hear it?”

Idia hesitated, but he nodded.

You took a breath, then began reading.

Your voice was steady and soft, weaving words like magic.

You spoke of constellations hidden in the depths of golden eyes, of firelight that flickered and burned but never consumed. Of hands that danced over sketchbooks, creating entire worlds with nothing but ink and quiet devotion. Of a boy who lived in shadows and blue-tinted neon, who never realized he shone just as brightly as the screens he spent hid behind on.

By the time you finished, Idia was gripping his sketchbook so tightly his knuckles were almost turning white.

“…T-That’s—” His voice cracked, his throat dry. “That’s… about me?”

“Of course, Idia.”

His mind was racing, his chest aching with something he didn’t know how to name. He didn’t understand how you saw this side of him—a version of him that is raw—in ways he had never expected. And for once, instead of wanting to hide, he wanted to let you see more.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached for his pencil and turned to a fresh page. “C-Can I draw you again?”

Your smile grew, and you leaned into his side, your fingers resting over his. “Only if you let me write about you again.”

Idia let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding.

“Deal.”

But somehow, he knew he would never stop drawing you. Even if time catches up to him and he could no longer hold a pencil. There will always be a way for him to draw his muse.

Just as he knew you would never stop writing about him.

Two halves of the same story—lines and words, ink and paper, art and poetry intertwined.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[cece693]

Hey!! I wanted to make a request for Percy x (male reader) son of Apollo

The reader is mainly good at writing and drawing, and enjoys using Percy as his muse for his works.

Thank you, take all the time you need 🙇

Shades of Green and Gold

pairing: percy jackson x maler reader tags: you are kinda a stalker, returned feelings, first kiss, percy is too handsome for the reader, you can legit write sonnets about percy, cute but kinda creepy

You’re reasonably sure that no one else in Camp Half-Blood spends as much time admiring Percy Jackson’s hair as you do. You won’t deny it, because who could blame you? There’s something about the way he grins, the way his sea-green eyes light up when he’s on the verge of a clever remark, or the way he ruffles his hair after a long day of training. It’s enthralling. You’re an artist—writing, sketching, painting—son of Apollo, heir to creativity and light. And Percy Jackson is your favorite muse.

Every morning, you wake early to catch the exact moment the sun spills over the lake, painting the surface with soft pinks and gold. You slip out of the Apollo Cabin carefully, trying not to wake your rowdy half-siblings. You carry a small sketchbook and pencil in your hand, charcoal in the other. The crisp morning air still bites, but there’s something comforting about that quiet, in-between time.

You settle on a flat rock near the canoe lake. From here, you can watch the water, the line of cabins, and if you’re lucky—Percy Jackson heading off to breakfast or morning training. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve drawn him: in graphite, in watercolor, with ink. Half-finished poems about his eyes litter your journal.

Today is no different. As soon as you spot Percy, you can’t help but smile. He’s dragging a sword behind him, hair sticking out in all directions, still yawning. He’s adorable. You press your pencil to the page and start outlining his silhouette. The curve of his shoulders, the lines of his arms…You’re so focused that you barely notice when he turns and catches your gaze.

Percy raises his eyebrows in obvious curiosity. You flush, snapping your sketchbook shut, but it’s too late—he’s already jogging over. “Morning,” he says, grin slowly turning more playful. “Am I interrupting?”

You swallow and manage a small laugh, hugging the sketchbook to your chest. “Not at all. Just…practicing.”

He nods towards your pencil. “I see. Gonna show me sometime?”

Your heart beats louder than a battle drum. “Maybe…eventually.”

Percy’s grin grows. “I’ll hold you to that. See you at breakfast?”

You nod, and he jogs off, leaving you with that dopey, starstruck feeling you’ve never quite gotten used to. By the time you arrive at the Arena for combat practice, the midday sun is high and fierce—Apollo’s domain. You tie your golden camp shirt around your waist (much to your instructor’s dismay), opting for a lighter white tank top. Sweating profusely while you train with a bow is not your ideal way to spend an afternoon, but your father’s gift—unerring aim—doesn’t sharpen itself.

Chiron pairs you with Percy for a quick sparring session. It’s supposedly to “expand your skill set,” but you wonder if it’s the universe giving you more material for your sketches. You try to steady your heart as he flashes you another signature grin.

He wields his trusty sword, Riptide. You draw your bow, focusing on the center of the target behind him, but your eyes can’t help drifting to the lean lines of his arms. You almost feel guilty. Almost.

“All set?” Percy calls, pushing his dark hair out of his face.

“I’m ready,” you answer, stepping into position.

The session starts strong. You manage to keep your arrows close to the mark, even as Percy deflects them with impressive skill and a flurry of water from a nearby barrel. You can sense he’s showing off a bit—it’s Percy, after all. You grin. His confidence is infectious, and soon the two of you are exchanging friendly banter.

When you pause to catch your breath, Percy flicks water droplets from his blade in your direction. You splutter, trying not to laugh. He shrugs with an impish twinkle in his eye.

“Heard you’re a good artist,” he says casually, striding forward until you can see the slightest hint of sweat at his temples. “Piper told me your last painting of the Apollo Cabin was amazing.”

Your cheeks heat. “It’s nothing big.”

“From what I hear, it’s a big deal,” Percy insists, stepping closer. The space between you is suddenly charged. “Will you show me your work someday? I mean it this time.”

“Sure.” You feel the sun warm you from above, the presence of your divine father giving you a little nudge of courage. “I’d like that.”

That evening, the sky burns a vivid orange as the sun descends behind the strawberry fields. You find yourself on the porch of the Big House, perched on a bench, scribbling in your notebook. You wanted to capture the memory of Percy deflecting your arrows, to freeze the moment onto the page with just the right words.

“Still practicing?” Percy’s voice comes from behind you, startling you so badly you almost drop your pencil.

“Percy! I—”

He doesn’t wait for you to form a coherent sentence; he slides onto the bench next to you. The fading sunlight catches the green in his eyes, setting them aglow. His presence is warm and all-consuming, even though the day is cooling down.

“Sorry to sneak up on you,” he says. “Thought you might be here.”

You let out a small laugh. “It’s fine. You just startled me.”

He nods toward your notebook. “May I?”

You hesitate. The words in that notebook are deeply personal. Poems about his eyes, the curve of his smile, your fleeting impressions of each encounter. But there’s something in Percy’s earnest expression that calls you to trust him. With trembling fingers, you pass the notebook over.

He flips through carefully, eyes scanning the lines of your writing. He stops occasionally, lips moving with the words, eyebrows quirking up at certain phrases. You sense your entire being is in that notebook, and he’s reading you like a story. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

When Percy finally looks up, his eyes are strangely bright. “You wrote these…about me?”

You pull your gaze away. “I guess you could say you inspire me.”

He’s silent for a moment. You dare to look up and see a smile, soft and genuine, tugging at his lips. “It’s good. Like…really good. I had no idea I could be someone’s muse.”

You exhale a nervous laugh. “I, uh…I can show you the drawings, too, if you want.”

Percy nods, looking more interested than ever. “Definitely.”

You lead Percy to the Apollo Cabin and slip inside. Your siblings are out—probably at the campfire or racing chariots—leaving the bunks and scattered musical instruments in a hush. You rummage beneath your bunk, pulling out a battered portfolio.

It’s stuffed with sketches—some finished, some half-done. A watercolor of Percy standing by the lake. A charcoal piece of him gripping Riptide. A gentle pencil sketch focusing on just his face…his eyes, to be precise. You lay them out across your bunk. Percy stands behind you, so close you can practically feel the warmth radiating off him. You swallow, heart pounding, as he takes in each piece.

“They’re amazing,” he breathes, leaning down to pick one up. “I never realized—this is how you see me?”

You can’t quite meet his eyes. “There’s something about you, Percy,” you admit. “Your energy, your aura. You’re like the sea itself—constantly shifting, alive with motion. It inspires me. Helps me write, helps me draw. I never wanted to freak you out, so I kept it mostly to myself.”

Percy gently returns the piece of artwork to your bunk, then turns you around by the shoulder so you’re facing him. His hand lingers, thumb brushing over the fabric of your shirt.

“I’m not freaked out,” he says. “I’m flattered, honestly.” He chuckles, eyes scanning your face as though he’s searching for any hint of uncertainty. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me.”

You feel a burst of warmth in your chest. “Really?”

“Really.” Percy exhales a soft laugh, letting his hand drop to your wrist. “I like it. And I’d like to see more—whatever you make. If that’s okay.”

You search his expression, uncertain if you’re reading the situation correctly. The glimmer in his sea-green eyes suggests you might be. Mustering your courage, you nod slowly. “You can see everything,” you say, voice hushed in the quiet cabin. “I—I’d really like that.”

His smile widens. “Thank you.”

You swallow, that same unstoppable grin blossoming across your own face. The tension thickens, but it’s a gentle tension, a comforting one. He leans forward, and you feel his forehead against yours, that sweet, electric moment of closeness you’ve been imagining for weeks.

Finally, your lips brush softly, uncertain at first. Then Percy returns the kiss, delicate yet full of promise. It’s the kind of quiet moment that you know you’ll replay over and over in your sketches, in your poems, in your daydreams. When you finally pull away, you can’t help but laugh in disbelief. Percy gives a contented sigh, resting his forehead against yours again.

“Would it kill the mood if I told you I knew about this?"

[drinkumoo]

A Nurse's Recount of the Past [3]

In which a ex-nurse is tasked to figure out a sleep-walking problem alongside a stray cat.

[ the apothecary diaries x gn reader ]

[1] [2] [3]

author's notes are at the bottom, no warnings today

Amber rays streamed through the windows, the dust being highlighted by the light. Brushstrokes hit the parchment as the servants bustled around the hallway outside. Porcelain, glass, and silk flowers fill the shelves, impeccably dusted off. Mahogany creaks as the occupier of the seat leans back. Footsteps fill the room cautiously, like a rabbit entering a wolf's den. The hand writing on the scroll pauses as a servant enters the room.

“Sir, I have your latest financial report,” the servant begins to speak, gently placing each fresh scroll onto the desk, “but I assume that’s of no interest to you.” 

The man sitting at the desk raises his head, staring into the eyes of the servant. His presence was like that of a predator. Unnerving, cold, masked in a cloud of stoicism. Only a slight nod is the servant’s only tell of the master’s response. 

With an awkward clearing of their throat, they continue. “The physician has sent a report regarding the heron.” 

That managed to catch the lord of the estate’s attention. His eyes harden, a simple wordless answer. Continue, his sharpened eyes seemed to speak for him. 

“They seem to have changed overnight; they’re now more active in the medical wing. The spark they once held as a child has seemed to return before Mada–” the servant’s words are quickly shut down by the gruff voice of the master of the house.

“That is enough, Liaoshu. It seems it is time to call my little heron back into their sanctuary.” 

—

When you woke up this morning, a cold wind went down your spine. A stiff groan leaves your lips as you dive back under the sheets. It’s been about a month since the powder incident. A mild cough has already made its way to your throat after trying to confiscate all the containers alongside assigned eunuchs. Some woman even threw her powder puff at you when you tried to take the contraband. 

You sit up, glancing at the room around you. It’s simple, yet the floor space is bigger than your previous bedroom in your old apartment. A square window sits above the bedspace, with papers tacked on the paper-like walls with acupuncture pins. Rough sketches of the human body that are labelled fill the wall space like some sort of creepy wallpaper. A dark wooden desk sits off at a faraway corner, the tabletop filled with stained ink blots and crumbled up pages. You look down, staring at the blanket that covers your legs. Fur, presumably from a bear. While you did not ask Guen about it, his own bed did not have such a luxury. Figuring it was something owned by the previous owner of the body you currently inhibit, you brush it off to the side. 

Thinking back to your old apartment, thoughts of  your old life fill your head. About the hospital, the old payne’s gray walls alongside that ugly beige tiling. The backhanded praise from your superiors. The shouts from patients refusing to cooperate. The grueling work hours you cannot fathom working now. Yet the technology was miles away from what they had here in the Li dynasty. The ability to have blood transfusions for the injured. Machines that tracked the statistical health of patients down to a nano-decimal. The bittersweet comfort of the awareness of survival. None of those exist here. Life and death is no longer a determined percentile, but an estimate only determined by what the gods deem a worthy fighting effort. 

Your apartment, a studio loft that pardon your language sucked literal balls. A tiny little box that was somehow enough to sustain the life of a single human being. You’d argue your previous living arrangement was comparable to a prison sentence that you unfortunately paid for. Smog would fill your dingy little home, causing you to wake up in a fit of coughs every morning. One of the only perks of being a nurse is that people wouldn’t stare when you wore a mask twenty-four seven. 

 While you miss it to an extent, the fresh untainted air of the past is a far more comforting one

The air here was clean, only filled with the scents of incense and herbs. People didn’t have the internet to escape reality to, so the only option to speak with one another at a close distance was socializing. The quality of goods were actually entirely determined by cost, and not as softened by brand. Things had to actually be quality in order to survive the day to day of a regular citizen. The stress of the outside world was non-existent for the inhabitants in this timeline, for only you knew of the events going on outside of the region and in the future. Hell, even your body in this era is far healthier. No smoker’s cough, you actually had some light muscle, and your stamina put your old body to shame! Yet, something nagged at you, much like the coils of the unavoidable polluted air of the future. 

Huuyren. Your only friend when you weren’t aware reincarnation existed. 

He sat by your side through everything. Mostly, everything. You two met in high school when he was the dumb hot jock while you were stereotyped into being a shut-in (not like everyone was wrong, per se.) When you suffered through debilitating exhaustion, he made sure you were taken care of. In his own care, of course, he’d known how much you distrusted hospitals after working in one for so long no matter how much he urged you. You can almost hear his voice still nagging in your ears. 

“Babes. Go to the ER, I can’t keep caring for you like this!” He’d always scoff out, yet he never failed to be by your side when you were bedridden. He rarely called you by name, only by corny pet names he’d learned from western media. “Why do you keep working at that shitty hospital? I can get you a job at Xiangzhou Medical!” 

“You know I’d hate you if you did that, right Ren?” You spat out, before coughing harder in your memory. “I want to work for my income, not be given it on a silver platter. Beside’s, I’ve got the best healer a tank could ask for.” 

… You still feel that guilt gnawing at your heart when you think back to him. About his concern for you. Oh, how you hated seeing his crestfallen face. He came from money, yet never did you see him use it on himself beyond basic necessities. It was always on you, when you didn't decline. Out of everything you long for from the future, he is the only thing that could make the pain in your chest stop hurting. Or maybe energy drinks, that too would suffice. 

— 

“Hi, Maomao,” You greet, writing a prescription for a eunuch. Guen is nearby, grinding herbs while two cups of tea sit on a serving tray. She had been properly introduced to Guen and yourself some days ago. You had to hold back from actively making fun of your mentor’s lethal expression towards the younger girl that day.

“Can you check this medicine?” She asks Guen, who hums and heads to the back to go pour her a cup and get some snacks. 

“Something Lady Gokuyou requested?” You speak from your spot, rising up from your slouched position. 

The green-haired girl shakes her head. “Something I prepared myself.” 

Guen soon arrives with a new tray of tea and snacks, but with only one cup. 

You take a pause, sipping at the tea Guen prepared for the two of you initially. You place a hand at your chin, thinking as to what that said medicine could be.

While you thought, Maomao and to some extent Guen examined you closely, the former far more than the latter. 

They kind of look like a dog. Maomao flatly thought out, imagining you with floppy ears like a Shih Tzu. Maybe a sad one.

Guen thought differently, humming internally about your perceived masculine features. They’re so elegant, if they really tried, they could be a court lady..! Well… I prefer them like this.

“May I have some as well?” The voice of Jinshi cut through the placid conversation. Your train of thought breaks as you huff quietly to yourself. 

Guen stands up immediately, rushing to pour Jinshi a cup as well. You stay where you are, sipping your tea while observing the interaction. 

“Good work,” The purple haired eunuch muses towards Maomao. You can practically hear her bones shuddering as she backs away. Ever so quietly, you snort. Jinshi quickly shoots you a tight smile, causing you to shudder and back off as well. 

“It’s the least I could do,” the short girl huffs, and you can imagine cat ears perched up on her head. 

Both you and Maomao observe Jinshi move towards her right, her face becoming somewhat smug. You feel sweat droop from your temple. 

That’s the face of someone not thinking innocently. Wonder what she could be thinking about, given she kind of hates him. 

He lets out a deep sigh, his head propped up against his hand. “Are you thinking inappropriately right now?” 

Guess I was right. You take a sip of your tea to hold back your snickers. 

“Heh, you’re imagining things,” she looks away as you give her an amused glance. She takes notice, sending you a flat glare. “Don’t look at me like that.”

You shrug, but don’t verbally respond. 

Just as Guen walks back in, Jinshi requests him to search for a prescription. While Guen would typically send you to do so, perhaps the praise of Jinshi is enough to convince him to do it himself.

Guen goes off sulking as Maomao asks, “So, what do you really want?” 

“Have you heard of the ghost sightings?” Jinshi prods at the “stray cat”, who looks away but confirms that she has. 

“How about sleepwalking?” He adds, as you straighten up a bit. Sleepwalking? Seems like you weren’t the only one to be intrigued as Maomao perks up. “Sleepwalking?”

“Seems like I got your attention,” His jab at Maomao only gets her to out in frustration while you’re utterly uninvolved. Thank you, at least I–

“You also seem very interested in this, assistant,” So he intentionally didn’t want Guen in this conversation. You observe, but nod. “... I suppose so, Master Jinishi.” 

He hums, suddenly leaning towards Maomao whilst grabbing her shoulder. You only send her a look of pity. “How can it be cured?” 

She manages to flatly reply, “I don’t know. There is no medicine that cures somnambulism.” 

He turns to you, but you share a similar answer, “Not that I know of. In the west, sleepwalking was simply considered a spiritual manifestation.” 

Turning back to Maomao, he continues, “Is there a cure other than medicine or some sort of ritual?” 

“My specialty is medicine,” the green haired apothecary shoves him off. 

When he looks at you, you shrug. “I’m just a doctor’s assistant, anything wack like sleepwalking is out of my league.”

They both glance at you, probably wondering what the hell you just said in English. Oops, forgot. 

Forgetting that can of worms, The purple eunuch begins to hum whilst getting back in her face, “That’s too bad. That’s truly too, too bad.” 

“.... I’ll do my best,” Maomao scoffs.

When he leaves, you let out a sigh laced with playful mockery. “Need a cold towel after that?” 

“I’d need an ice bath,” she retorts in frustration as you let out an amused laugh. 

—

By nightfall, both you and Maomao take opposite directions to investigate. Because of your “masculinity” you go alone while she gets… Gaoshun?! Why couldn’t you look more like a woman! Well actually that would throw a wrench into things, but it should’ve been you! 

Anyways.

You’re by the eastern wall when the sounds of fabric catch your attention. Glancing up, you see a hauntingly beautiful woman dancing. “Woah. Man, this feels like I just walked into a secret quest-line.”

The sounds of footsteps behind you get you to turn. Seeing both Maomao and Gaoshun, you fight off a blush and send them both a silent nod. 

Shortly after, you return back to the medical building. You report the same sighting to that Gaoshun and Maomao reported, before declaring that you were going to log this down into the palace medical records. 

Shortly after, in the dead of night, Guen enters your room with a letter. “An anonymous messenger sent this to you.”

You take the letter, placing it on our desk as you write down the account in both your personal logbook and in the medical record book. “I’ll read it a little bit, thank you.”

—

By morning, both you and Maomao head down to the estate of Lady Fuyou after learning a bit more about her past. Both you and her are peering at the concubine, both your eyes trained on how… typical, she looks. 

 “Mid-ranking concubine, huh?” You speak absent-mindedly, while your body has an unnatural jerk towards your statement. You glance down, raising a brow. Did past me experience something like that?

“She seems pretty normal, completely different when she was dancing on that wall,” Maomao comments, ignoring your confusion raised to your own body. “She seems unassuming.” 

“Reminds me of a cotton rose,” you add on. 

Maomao turns to you in agreement as the two of you back off from Lady Fuyou’s estate. While she goes to report to Lady Gokuyou, you go back to the medical wing to rest. 

It feels like eyes are observing you. While the feeling of being watched is normal in the modern day thanks to all the cameras everywhere, this feels… Personal. You shiver in discomfort, rushing back with more urgency. Their intent is none of your business and not your problem…! 

—

A few days pass. Apparently Lady Fuyou was gifted to her childhood friend; a soldier. She had faked sleepwalking in order to prevent the Emperor from taking notice of her. You weren’t too interested in figuring out any more drama, so that’s probably why you found out so late. 

That letter on your desk has been distracting you for days by now. With trepidation, you pluck it off and open the fine parchment. It’s sealed with a wax seal, a sentiment usually done in the west. It being on a letter in this place and time urks you a little bit. What you found written on it finds a chill down your back.

“Come home next winter, little heron.” 

WAHHHH this is my first time writing an a/n in years

so sorry i took forever i had exams ;;;;;

btw i'll be opening a tag list if you ever want to be notified when i update!! theres also an ask box if you have any questions about my work, or if you're just bored lmfao

[outlast-art-therapy]

February 1st, 1960

I've just arrived at the facility a few hours ago, and I can already tell I've made a terrible mistake. Considering the circumstances that led here, it's just one in a long line of mistakes. Perhaps my last? We shall see. Either way, complaining won't help. I didn't start this journal to remind myself of my shortcomings.

I started it because I feel uneasy. I always recommend journaling to my patients. And as they say, what's good for the goose is good for the gander. Or rather good for the duck, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

I finally got to meet with the facility director, Dr. Hendrick Joliet Easterman. Though we had spoken over the phone a few times during the hiring process, meeting him in person was an... experience. On the phone, his voice was almost hypnotic. He spoke in a singsong manner that was intoxicating. In person, he has a presence that could easily overwhelm. Me? Not quite. I've seen enough strong personalities to know when someone is working me instead of working with me.

Which brings me to why I'm here.

Easterman (I can not bring myself to call him a doctor after today) has a radical idea for psychological treatment. This facility has adopted a kind of "shock therapy" for his patients. He feels that introducing them to the literal horrors of their life--his words not mine--they will conquer their fears and be able to face their inadequacies.

Inadequacies.

Again, his word. I think that's what has left me feeling so uncomfortable. The idea that he refers to his patients as having inadequacies rather than a treatable psychosis. As if they aren't good enough. For who? Or what? It makes me wonder.

The other thing that has taken me by surprise is the anonymity. He won't let me see the patients! I realize that my specialization in artistic therapy allows for a completely separated analysis, but this is ridiculous. I balked, of course, but he wouldn't move. No contact. I am to render a psychoanalysis of sketches provided to me, based on the images and the loose knowledge of the individuals being disturbed and nothing more. When I refused, I was reminded of the NDA and employment contract I willingly signed. After further discussion led to borderline arguing, I was greeted by a pair of armed guards, encouraged to "reconsider" my position on the matter, and escorted back to my office--and now apartment. I knew part of the contract stated the medical staff live on site, but now I realize it isn't just a residential position. I can't leave. At all.

As I said, this was a mistake.

I'm not new to mistakes. During our heated discussion, Easterman was kind enough to remind me that after the incident at the Charlotte facility, I should be glad to have any opportunities at all. Never mind having the chance to be part of such groundbreaking research. The thing I find most troubling is... he is not wrong. I'm lucky that he found me. I'm lucky to be alive after what happened. I'm lucky to be free after what I did to those people. Even if free means being on a leash, for now.

Speaking of leashes, I suppose I need to do what I came here to do. Easterman's goons have already dumped a three inch thick folder of drawings on my desk. Most of them were child like renderings of idealized family life. Refrigerator worthy masterpieces of mommy and daddy taking little Timmy out for a play day. All of them faked. I thought, why is he toying with me like this?

Then I found it.

Among the colorful pageantry, there lay a yellow page of furious scribbles. A genuine outcry for help. At last! It's small, maybe five inches at most. It seems to be part of a legal pad, much like the ones provided as part of my office supplies. The drawing is clearly black ink. Ballpoint pen would be my guess. Why this patient has such different supplies, I'm not certain. The sketch is a duck, of all things. It has human like teeth with what appears to be a drill for a tongue, and it's wearing a top hat. The linework is wild and scrawling, as though sketched in a hurry. Like the artist was rushed, or perhaps working in secret? There are also the words I WANT COCAINE! I'm just flabbergasted. I will include the piece in this journal.

Here are my initial, uninhibited thoughts:

Chaotic energy, paranoia, and a touch of grotesque humor. The spiraled eye suggests a manic, hyper-focused mindset - like someone deep in obsession or desperation. The jagged appendage gives off a sense of aggression and hunger, like a creature driven purely by impulse and addiction.

The top hat hints at a distorted sense of sophistication as if this entity wants to present itself as refined but is entirely ruled by its urges. The phrase “I WANT COCAINE” says this thing is in full-blown craving mode.

This could be a manifestation of addiction, excess, or a character caught in a cycle of self-destruction. It could also be satirical, taking the absurdity of addiction to a monstrous extreme.

Possible diagnoses:

Substance use disorder

Delusional disorder or stimulant psychosis

Obsessive compulsive disorder

Bipolar disorder

Body horror induced dissociation (it has become its addiction)

I don't know what else to say. I'm both stunned and exhausted. After the trip from North Carolina, to the argument with Easterman, to the knowledge of my surprise imprisonment, I am done with today. I will check that horrid pile tomorrow and see if I can find anything else that feels real.

I do know one thing. I will not share this with that man. I will play his game. I will analyze the pieces his lackey brings me, but I will not share this work of art. This is for me and me alone.

It's mine.

Dr. Gabriel Walton

[purplespacekitty]

Three generations of Sisko men gathered close for a jambalaya dinner in Ben's ancient Bajoran lightship, as illustrated by celebrated science fiction writer, Benny Russell. Russell keeps a souvenir baseball on his desk, signed by the legendary Willie Hawkins. In the corner, Russell stashes the sketch that gave him the inspiration for this family's story: space station Deep Space Nine.

Deep Space Nine is my favorite Trek. It has nuanced, 3-dimensional characters who become part of the show's world over the course of 7 seasons. There are some off plot lines here and there but for the most part, the story seems to write itself. I've written at length on here about how much I love Captain Benjamin Sisko and I'd like to share a project of mine I did for a class (I have so far managed to fit Star Trek into three separate final projects for three separate classes, one of which I already posted about here).

Through the lens of Sisko's character, I wanted to examine Deep Space Nine's portrayal of Black masculinity, fatherhood and Afrofuturism with three episodes (although one's a two-parter): "Homefront" (Part I), "Paradise Lost" (Part II), "Explorers" (which I made a post about here) and "Far Beyond the Stars". Initially, the idea was to focus on Ben's fatherhood to Jake, how from the viewer's side of the screen, the two of them break down numerous racial stereotypes around Black men, an important thing to remember with DS9's debut not being far removed from the end of the Reagan Administration, from which sprung stereotypes of "absent Black fathers" and "welfare queens." As I continued with this project, I found I also wanted to analyze how Sisko's relationship with his own father informs his parenting of Jake and what it means to have three generations of Siskos in one room, on one planet. That was how I got "Explorers" and "Homefront" and "Paradise Lost" in there, as I wanted to showcase episodes that focus on these exact dynamics.

"Far Beyond the Stars" offers a window into Earth's history as a commentary on racism within creative circles and the systemic racism that shapes the world we live in today and the world of Deep Space Nine. It not only invites viewers into the life of Benny Russell, a Black science fiction writer from the 1950s, but also invites us to consider the link between the future he envisioned of the life that Sisko leads in the 24th century as a Black spaceship/space station captain, father, son, husband and cook who carries the weight of his ancestors' legacy on his shoulders and the reality Russell himself lives in day by day. "You are the dreamer and the dream" has a whole lot more gravity to it when you recognize it as less of an obvious observation of what we've known and been shown throughout the episode (Avery Brooks plays both Sisko and Russell) and more of a nod to the Black future that Sisko inhabits and that Russell dreams of. As a creation of Benny Russell, Sisko and his family are Afrofuturism in a nutshell, carrying on the cultures, stories and knowledge of their ancestors as they live their lives in a future those ancestors imagined and built. Furthermore, Benny Russell's Deep Space Nine is not only important because it features a Black space station captain but also because it encapsulates a fragment of Russell's drive to write his own stories for himself and his Black readers, to breathe life into his creations, to share his art in the ways that he wants to. To cherish his experiences and ideas and imagination and reality through the creative process of putting pen to paper, stamping ink to page, painting scenes to canvas.

The DS9 finale was originally going to see Benny Russell wistfully wandering the promenade alone and implicate him as the creator of not just the story of Deep Space Nine, but of the Star Trek franchise as a whole. Obviously, this concept did not make the cut, but Strange New Worlds' "Elysium Kingdom" follows another story written by Russell, solidifying him as a real person who lived in the 20th century within the Star Trek universe and who presumably continued to write stories that got published after the events of "Shadows and Symbols".

Comprised of screenshots from "Explorers", "Homefront", "Paradise Lost", "Far Beyond the Stars", "Shadows and Symbols" and "Civil Defense" - in which Dukat flicks Sisko's baseball off his desk - (and also a picture of a random coffee table taken by me because we see surprisingly very little of Benny's desk), the collage above is my humble attempt to honor Benny Russell and his creative vision.

[makeitmakefolsense]

I know people who do art regularly already know this but it is NUTS how different my ability to draw every day changes. Like yesterday in the 3 hours I had before work I got done an ENTIRE page of comic, sketch, ink, AND color, and today in the 2 hours I had before work, I got done 2 sketches of Desmond being depressed. Like??? Is it too much to ask for consistency, body and brain??? Is it???

[drawloverlala]

July/2024 - Commissions and Shop- Status update-

July is here and we are now halfway the year!

About Commissions:

🍩 sketch pages:

from April are almost all finished, I just have one more to finish as of today, I'll probably be announcing when I'll open some slots next week.

In any case I'll be also opening a few other slots on August!

🍩 Illustration commissions:

5 out of 12 finished

one is almost finished so it would be 6 finished soon

there's around 6 more to finish after that one and I already started working on 2, hopefully next week I'm able to start the other 4

🍩 Comic page commissions:

the one with 5 pages is now with 3 out of 5 pages inked and with base colors, needs inking of 1, needs pencils on another

I'm thinking on working on this one for one entire week so I can finally finish it lol

☕Ko-fi Shop:

I haven't had any purchases after I sent last batch of orders yet, but I've been working on some concepts for new items in the meantime! hopefully I have these ready on August!

Here's a peek at what I've been working on at the moment

Here's some sketches for stickers with some Sonic girls, I may also make an illustration with all of them together.

This one I want to make it a magnet

I've also thought on some Sonic Skyline stickers and illustration

and some other sticker ideas plus some bookmark concepts

Besides that, I want to remake a few old drawings so I can make them prints, besides of new illustrations

So yeah, I'll be working on these! I'm really looking forward to have these live on the shop! 😄

That's all for now! have a wonderful month!

[scarlet-cookie]

Ink Demonth 2024 Day 5 : Secret

Secret

Thomas winced as the old wooden door produced an ear-piercing sound against the ancient floor. He carefully scanned the room, ensuring nobody was hiding inside.

A king-sized bed by a cabinet just by the door, the floral patterned, dull green walls, a closet with a door that’s barely hanging on its hinges diagonally opposite to the bed, and a large, wooden desk and chair by the window opposite to the door.

Thomas slowly made his way in.

Wally and his wife left to go into town today, so they asked Thomas to babysit the kids. In truth, he was already crashing at their place, so it wasn’t a difficult favor. In any case, they were probably also concerned about him suddenly disappearing again.

He let out a long sigh.

Thomas’ gaze swept across the room again, landing on a single, seemingly insignificant notebook among the piles of paper on the desk. He quickly made his way over, softening his steps as to not wake up the napping children.

The notebook was clearly at least a decade in age, just from the texture of the leather cover Thomas could feel alone. Any paper sticking out was clearly yellow, even browning at the edges.

The cover seemed to be intentionally repeatedly scratched with a sharp object, as there are many marks clustered here and there, and just some marks scrawled around. It was as if someone tried to murder the book.

One of these marks was definitely the place where the original owner engraved his name.

Thomas’ finger swept over one of the spots and tried to imagine a name there.

Henry Stein..

He looked back down, before quietly opening the notebook.

The first few pages were of not much importance. There were sketches of unknown characters, and nearly neat handwriting pointing out the flaws in each design, or to self-memo. Each page was marked with a date.

He then landed on a page.

April 13th.

It contained grievances about Joey, worries, concerns and the like.

The bottom of the page was dyed black.

Thomas’ traced his finger up to the next page.

The next page was entirely black in color, its hard texture indicating that it was dried ink.

Thomas took a sharp breath.

He turned the page.

The handwriting had changed, so did the drawing style. It became sloppy, like an amateur artist attempting his first drawing. It continued on for a few pages.

Until it all became handwriting entirely.

Thomas’ eyes widened as he read the contents.

“[scribbled out date]

The ink machine…”

“[scribbled out date]

Sammy is starting to act strange..”

“[scribbled out date]

Susie has left us.”

“[scribbled out date]

It’s too dangerous. Everyone’s acting too rashly.”

“[scribbled out date]

Joey doesn’t seem to like Alan too much.”

“[scribbled out date]

The meeting with Nathan wasn’t in the appointments. Just how many people is truly in the know of this insane scheme?”

“[scribbled out date]

If someone finds this notebook, here are the things you need to know…”

As the words kept going on and on, and the secrets Thomas desperately tried to hide from the world was laid bare for him to see through the eyes of someone else, he felt his chest tighten.

Just as the sentences slowly reached the date when the near destruction of the ink machine happened, he felt the strong urge to shut the book in shame.

However, the last sentence on one of the pages stopped him.

“If you’re Thomas- god, I hope it’s you, Tom. 

Then you should keep reading.

I’m sure it’ll be useful to you.

Sorry.

Sorry I can’t help anymore than this.”

Thomas stared blankly at those words for a moment.

He carefully flipped to the last page.

It was empty.

He took in a deep breath, then began to retrace back to the latest page.

“Dorothy Newsome is the one who tipped off the news station.

She asked me for intel. This is her point of contact : ……”

After the method of contact, the writings stopped there.

That incident had happened a little over two weeks ago.

Wally was still writing down every little thing, solving, investigating and eliminating the red herrings by himself.

Thomas closed that book gently.

He gazed outside for a long, long time.

The realization that he wasn’t alone to bear the burden of those horrifying secrets began to slowly settle on to him.

Bendy : The Untrusted AU - Act 3 (Part 3/5)

[twst-aceofhearts]

𝙿𝙰𝙻𝟹𝚃𝚃𝙴: 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟿 || 𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 489

Clementine Asahi had always drawn to survive.

Not to impress. Not to escape. Just to keep up with herself. Her sketchbook was her second brain, her first language, her way of translating a world that never said quite what it meant.

But now, her drawings were saying things she never drew.

It started two nights after the rooftop. She woke to a sound like pages turning. Her sketchbook was open on her desk, even though she’d left it zipped in her backpack. On the page?

A fire escape. Not one she recognized. But detailed. Shadowed. Drawn in burnt orange ink she didn’t own.

She flipped back. More sketches. New ones. Symbols. Faces. Places she didn’t remember visiting, but somehow knew.

Every time she touched the paper, her fingertips tingled like static.

By the time school started the next morning, she was already buzzing. She didn’t tell the others. Not yet. Everyone was dealing with something, and Clementine hated being seen as fragile. As the girl who felt too much, too fast.

She slid into Art class late. The room smelled like paint thinner and eraser shavings—comforting chaos. She opened her sketchbook slowly.

Today’s drawing was already there. She hadn’t touched a pencil.

It was Saffron.

Sitting under a tree. Head bowed. Yellow light breaking through the branches above him.

Her heart hiccupped. He looked… tired. Real. Human in a way he never let himself be. She looked up from the page and across the room.

Saffron sat three desks over, perfect posture, tablet in hand.

And then—he looked at her.

For one strange second, she thought: He knows I saw it.

Then she blinked, and the moment passed.

She stared down at the page.

The light was moving.

Tiny rays of gold shimmered between the pencil strokes. Not constantly—just enough that her chest started aching from trying not to breathe too loud.

Later, in the hallway, she tried to talk to him.

“Hey,” she said, catching up. “You ever feel like… your brain is drawing without you?”

Saffron frowned. “Not recently. You okay?”

She opened her mouth—lied—“Yeah. Just tired.”

He didn’t push. Of course he didn’t.

So she let him go.

After classes, Clementine skipped study hall and went to the art wing’s supply closet. Locked, obviously. But she’d stashed a key behind the radiator months ago—teachers didn’t ask questions if you didn’t give them reasons to.

Inside, the room was full of shadows and leftover projects. Clay busts with half-finished eyes. Murals peeling at the corners. She flipped through the blank pages of her book and whispered:

“What are you trying to tell me?”

The lights flickered. A wind blew—indoors. From nowhere.

And on the wall beside her, in fresh orange paint, a word wrote itself out:

“Remember.”

Clementine didn’t scream.

But her heart cracked a little.She wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t alone. But something inside her was waking up. And it didn’t want to stay quiet.

credit to @cafekitsune for divider

[bvannn]

Weekly update May 2, 2025

Oops it’s actually May 3. But I did that on purpose again because I was busy yesterday. And I am today but I have a moment to kill so here I am. This week was a mixed bag.

Music: I released a song called Everything Sucks!, and it’s been doing pretty well all things considered. I didn’t end up getting the storyboards on the M video down after all, but I’ll plan on having those done by the end of the week minimum, and try to crunch on animation late this month and all June to get it done by early July. Given how quickly I threw together the Everything Sucks! video, I should be able to work on it and other projects pretty soundly.

Other music bits and bobs: tried sketching some more visuals for the covers I have on deck, keep hitting art blocks with those, although I might be able to use the BGCS one as a test for some strategies for the M video. May’s vocal song is a comic tie in that I already have a melody written for, lyrics outlined and partially done already. I’ll probably fiddle with instruments this upcoming week, the challenge will probably be finding a good wooden xylophone vst. Also re-outlined the song for June to tie better into the O’Malley comic because…

Comic: I did a lot of comic writing this week, for both O’Malley and Backstage. I did also start sketching page 24 this week for O’Malley, but the problem is it’s going to be the most work-intensive page. I’m getting less confident about that June release after all, but I’m still going to push for it. Maybe I’ll alternate crunch days between it and the M video. Anywho as far as writing/outlining goes, O’Malley is outlined through episode 4, Backstage has started work on episode 2.

Epithet: I did a couple tokens this week. Again, I’m kinda on cooldown on this due to prioritizing other stuff, but I did get a bit of work done on it. I don’t think I mentioned this but when I ran a oneshot a while ago I did write out the statblocks in such a way that I think I have the formatting I want for the module. So I guess that’s progress.

Artfight: I’m actually still second-guessing who the new character I add will be. If it’s only one character I can get the ref done in time no worries, but I still need to decide on who. I’d rather post characters people will actually want to draw, and since I myself avoid drawing ‘sonas’, I don’t want to throw Kyosuke up there, since he borders on that. That would make the frontrunners Middy and Scotty, and that’ll probably be a decision I make based on if my TTRPG group is planning on doing artfight. Because if so I’d love to let them use Scotty as a points piñata.

I think next week is going to be mostly pushing for the M video and comic. Lots of lineart, which I don’t want to do but don’t really have a choice. Alternatively I may just make this week an ‘oops all sketches’ week, where I sketch out the rest of the boards and more comic pages without inking the ones that are already sketched. See if that makes me more efficient. On the 9th I have another giant doctor appointment, that will probably make or break my mood for the next while.

[writingpandagoth]

These were the stories Hogwarts didn’t dare archive — the scandalous gossips, enchanted mishaps, magical crimes, emotional confessions, and glitter-fueled disasters that were left out of the official records from:

Sharp Tongues, Soft Hearts.

Summary:

In todays very last issue of "Whispering Quill: Hogwarts Most mysterious and Untraceable Gossip Scroll"

Its time to say Goodbye.

Our five are about to Graduate but before they do they have a few more Chaoses to cause. Two last Pranks, A time Capsule and shared goodbyes.

Glitter, Goodbyes And Grand Finales

Year: Seventh Time: Two days before the Graduation Ball Location: The Clubhouse, Hogwarts Grounds  

It starts with a breeze.

A whisper of summer wind through the stained-glass window of the Clubhouse, stirring glitter from the floorboards like old memories waking up.

Cassie’s lying on the conjured chaise, legs tossed over one armrest, painting her nails venom-pink while humming the Weird Sisters' latest ballad off-key. Leona’s draped herself across a velvet sofa, head tilted back as she reads through a banned romance novel the Ravenclaws still haven’t noticed is missing.

Nyra is upside-down on a pile of cushions, wand lazily lighting and extinguishing enchanted candles above her head like starlight.

You’re sketching something in the margins of your notes—half spellwork, half nostalgia.

Severus is at the Potion station, stirring something that smells like violets and vengeance, but he keeps glancing over at all of you with the softest smirk on his face.

It’s your last two days.

The last two you'll ever have here—at Hogwarts. Together.

And of course, you’re going out with a bang.

It starts with a simple idea: Yearbook Photo Day is too boring. Too structured. Too... un-Coven.

Which means one thing:

Time to weaponize glitter and legacy.

The Chaos Coven decides it needs flair. Drama. A cursed bit of beauty.

So, the night before the scheduled portraits, you, Cassie, Nyra, and Leona sneak into the Yearbook Committee's storage room and enchant every camera lens with House-specific glamour curses. Of course, with a glitter explosion.

Cassie sneezes mid-hex and a puff of shimmering gold bursts out the end of her wand, coating Nyra’s scroll, Leona’s shoes, and the last unhexed camera lens.

“Oops,” she says.

Nyra stares down at her now-bedazzled notes. “You’re lucky I already committed this to memory.”

“It’s thematic,” Leona adds, admiring her sparkling heel. “We’re glitter legends. Let’s be immortalized properly.”

You step back, brush off your sleeves, and nod. “Alright. Glamour curses are locked in. Every house gets their own style. Now we wait.”

“And pray the Yearbook Committee doesn’t notice until it’s too late,” Severus mutters from the corner, arms crossed—but you notice the tiniest sparkle clinging to the cuff of his robe. He hasn’t brushed it off.

Of course, he helped. Of course, he pretended to complain the whole time.

That morning, Hogwarts lines up for portraits. Clean robes. Brushed hair. Fake smiles.

They don’t know what’s coming.

First up: Gryffindors.

They pose proud and loud, obviously. But when the portraits develop?

Hair windblown like they just walked off a battlefield. Capes flying. Fire roaring dramatically behind them. Every eye sparkle enhanced by a heroic gleam.

James Potter nearly cries laughing. His portrait flexes and winks.

Sirius Black poses with a rose in his mouth. His photo emits violin music and slow-motion effects whenever someone flips the page.

Then come the Ravenclaws.

Every photo looks like a still from an academic fever dream. Books float. Scrolls twirl. Ink splashes mid-air like magical equations. Half of them look like they haven’t slept in weeks.

One girl is actively weeping into a cauldron.

Cassie nods in approval. "Art."

Then: Hufflepuffs.

It’s pure sunshine overload.

Every student radiates soft golden glow. Bees buzz around their heads. There are sparkles. So many sparkles. Every background looks like a cottagecore dream.

They are hugging. They are smiling. They all look like they’ve already won every 'Most Likely to Hug the World Into Healing' superlative.

But then.

The Slytherins.

Your House is last. You four lurk near the back of the line, innocent and smug.

And when those portraits print?

Every single Slytherin is transformed into an ethereal glam-rock creature of dark prophecy.

Emerald light. Snake motifs. Flowing robes. Sharp eyeliner. Glitter scales. Half look like they belong on wizarding magazine covers, the other half like Bond villains.

Lucius Malfoy is furious. Which is funny, because he looks like he models for a potion-scented cologne ad.

And Severus?

Oh.

Severus' portrait emerges like something from a gothic opera.

The candlelit angles. The stormy background. The pale skin and gleaming dark eyes. He looks like he sings in a tragic vampire band and breaks hearts with sonnets.

He stares at it. Goes still.

"You're welcome," you say casually.

He blinks. "I will hex every single one of you."

"But you're so moody and kissable," Cassie coos.

Nyra snorts. Leona fans herself.

You swear the portrait is brooding.

Later that evening, as copies of the enchanted portraits are delivered, Hogwarts loses its mind. Students are trading them like Chocolate Frog cards. Collecting them. Pinning them on walls.

The Marauders have to live with their hair permanently glamorized in every copy but they love it.

Professor McGonagall sighs so loud the portraits flinch.

"You five" she says, "are the most chaotic students I have ever had. Hogwarts will be very much quieter with all of you gone.“

You curtsy.

The damage is done. The legacy is sealed. And every copy of the yearbook now carries a special warning:

Caution: May induce dramatic delusions of grandeur.

Severus still glares when someone flips to his page.

But he doesn’t deny that his cheekbones have never looked better.

A Chaos Coven success.

“Is this the end?” Nyra says that night in the Clubhouse, sprawled on a velvet cushion.

You’re surrounded by open scrolls and the fading smell of glitter glue. The teapot in the corner brews a cup for everyone without asking.

Cassie, applying highlighter to her collarbone with a brush made from unicorn hair: “We still have time.”

Leona is fashioning tiaras out of enchanted star-dust. “One last show.”

Severus is reading a book upside down because his eyes are tracking you instead. You don’t call him out on it.

And you? You’re thinking about how much you’ll miss this.

The chaos. The glitter. The friendships sealed in hexes and glamours and starlight promises.

You smile.

“We go out with a bang.”

And the next day? You do.

The next day began, as all glorious disasters do, with enchanted soap.

The Marauders were getting sentimental in their own way, lounging around like war heroes in the Gryffindor common room, when suddenly, James stood up and shrieked.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN’S POLISHED WAND IS THIS?!"

His hair had turned a blinding fuchsia.

Sirius leapt to his feet and yelled. His teeth were glittering. Literally.

Peter tripped and released a cloud of confetti with every breath.

Remus, calmly sipping tea, sighed as his robes transformed into a sparkly ball gown.

In the chaos you all five of you strode in arms crossed perfectly synchronized.

"Ladies," Cassie said, gesturing dramatically to the mess. "Our legacy“

„May you never forget the nightmare we put you through.“ Leona and Nyra continued with smiles.

„May the glitter haunt you until you are old and gray with much love your Chaos Coven“ you added cheeky.

You looked at Severus, who was silently smirking back with a rare softness.

Remus looked down at his sparkly dress and chuckled, lifting the hem. "Well. At least it's flattering."

Then you all burst out laughing. Together.

For once, no rivalry. No glares.

Just shared laughter. Something like peace.

Later that day you all sat in your Clubhouse, surrounded by a year full of mischief memories, glitter-enchanted chaos, and the lingering scent of potion disasters and scented candles. The day of the Graduation Ball, the mood was electric and bittersweet.

"Alright," Leona said dramatically, strutting to the center of the room with a sequin-covered shoebox, "Time to immortalize ourselves."

Cassie, already tearing up, held up her wand. "Everyone, one item. One memory. One glittering farewell."

You all nodded.

Nyra placed a cracked teacup first—one she'd used to test cursed lipsticks in fourth year. "Nearly poisoned myself with that. Worth it."

Leona dropped in a black-and-silver charm bracelet that once caused a Slytherin boy to sing show tunes for three hours in fifth year. „It was Iconic."

Cassie added a folded love note that had been hexed to shout romantic poetry every full moon in third year. "The one that made Slughorn cry."

You placed a picture of all five of you, the day you first brought Severus into your dorm room. It was enchanted to sparkle when looked at with affection. "So we will always be together."

Severus stepped up next „ You all are sentimental idiots," he muttered, but his eyes were soft.

He added a single black glove—the first thing Cassie charmed of him to sparkle. You all let out soft chuckles.

You sealed the box with a flourish of magic, locking it into the floorboards with a shimmer.

"Someday," Nyra said quietly, "someone will find it and know Hogwarts was once ruled by chaos and glitter."

"And love," Cassie whispered.

"And bad decisions," Severus added.

The air thick with old candle smoke, familiar potions residue, and the magic of a years worth of chaos. The furniture was askew from collapsing into it after pranks and all of you bantering and late night chaos.

 Cassie ran her fingers over the worn armrest of the sofa where she'd once spilled her glitter tea and the glitter stain was still there like the first day. Leona gently touched the framed doodle you once made of all of them. Nyra silently collected the last teacups and set them down with purpose tears welling up in her eyes.

You took a final look around the room, heart full and aching.

No one said a word.

Cassie and Leona leaned onto Nyra, their shoulders pressed close as they softly lead her out. Severus stepped up beside you and wordlessly pulled you close, his arm firm and steady around your shoulders as the two of you followed.

As one, you all turned to the magical door.

It hummed gently, the runes glowing with deep, familiar warmth.

"Farewell, my little disasters may your next Chaos be legendary," it whispered. The voice was soft, almost fond. Without needing to speak, you all lifted your wands. Together.

One final spell.

The runes flickered—once, twice—and then slowly began to dim.

The light glowed around the frame as the Door shimmered one last time, then vanished, like glitter dissolving into starlight.

Just like that—it was gone.

Leona sniffled. "Farewell"

„Thank you for giving us sanctuary" Nyra said before turning to Cassie and hugging her.

„We will miss your sassy comments“ you whispered.

Severus didn’t say anything, but his hand tightened ever so slightly around your shoulder.

And as the stars wheeled overhead and Hogwarts shimmered behind you, you knew:

The glitter-stained years were ending.

But you would never forget them.

Not a single spell.

Not a single laugh.

Not a single moment of magic.

Now all you have left is one last Night and you would spend it on a dance floor.

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🕯️ Final Issue 🕯️ ❝Chaos. Memory. Farewell.❞

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THE FINAL HAPPENING: CHAOS, GLAMOUR & GOODBYE Yearbook Photo Day was always dull—until the Chaos Coven decided it shouldn’t be. In a final legendary act of magical mischief, (Y/n) (Y/L/N), Cassie Fairweather, Leona DeVine, and Nyra Moonborn snuck into the Yearbook Committee’s supply room. With Severus Snape silently brooding in the background (silently helping), every camera was hexed with a House-specific glamour curse. It began with a glitter-sneeze. It ended with legacy.   The Results: → Gryffindors: Wind-blown war heroes. Firelit. Winking. → Ravenclaws: Floating books, crying eyes, poetic torment. → Hufflepuffs: Bees. Glow. Hugs. Cottagecore bliss. → Slytherins: Dark glamour. Emerald light. Eyeliner sharp enough to duel. → Severus: Candlelit cheekbones. Gothic tragedy. Possibly cursed, definitely beautiful.   Hogwarts is still recovering. And trading copies like Chocolate Frog cards.

 

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 THE FINAL STRIKE: MARAUDERS IN MAYHEM Just when the school thought it was safe… the Coven delivered their final blow. While the Marauders relaxed in the Gryffindor Common Room feeling suspiciously sentimental, enchanted soap activated.   James Potter: “WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN’S POLISHED WAND IS THIS?!” → Hair turned violently fuchsia.   Sirius Black: → Sirius’s teeth glittered like rhinestones.   Peter Pettigrew: → Peter sneezed confetti with every breath.   Remus Lupin: → Remus, sipping tea in a sparkly ball gown: unbothered.   And then: the Coven entered. Flawless. United. Arms crossed. Glorious.   Cassie Fairweather: “Ladies, Our legacy.”   Leona DeVine and Nyra Moonborn: “May you never forget the nightmare we put you through.”  (Y/N) (Y/L/N): “May the glitter haunt you until you are old and gray.”  Severus just smirked.   Remus Lupin's response: “Well. At least it’s flattering.”   They all laughed. Together.

 

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FINAL WITNESS TESTIMONIES: A SCHOOL SAYS FAREWELL   Gryffindor (5th Year):   “My Gryffindor portrait still winks at me. But it’s different now. Like it knows something’s over.” (soft-eyed and stunned)   Ravenclaw (6th Year)   “Sirius’s photo still flirts. But even he looked quiet when they left.”   Ravenclaw (4th Year):   “The Ravenclaw page cried. I cried. I think Hogwarts is crying.”   Slytherin (4th Year):   “Hufflepuff portraits started humming lullabies. It felt like a goodbye hug.”   Gryffindor Prefect:   “Lucius is furious, but we all know he’ll keep that portrait forever.”   Hufflepuff (2nd Year):   “Snape’s portrait doesn’t just brood. It aches. It aches.”   Slytherin (3rd Year):   “I saw (Y/n) scold Lucius once. The portraits leaned forward to watch.”   Ravenclaw (5th Year): “The Clubhouse door flickered before vanishing. I saw it. It said goodbye to them.”

 

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 FACULTY FAREWELLS: A QUIETER HOGWARTS AWAITS   Professor McGonagall:   “The five were a hurricane of hexes and heart. They frustrated me more than any group I've ever taught. …But they also reminded me why I stayed. I will miss the noise.”   Professor Slughorn:   “They brought the sparkle to my classroom. Literally and emotionally. Cassie made me cry. Severus made me proud. You all made me feel young again. It was an honor to be their Head of House”   Professor Sprout:   “Nyra left a black pot in my greenhouse. I watered it out of instinct. When the steam turned into stardust, I understood. Thank you for the chaos. And the kindness.”   Professor Flitwick:   “Leona once turned a dueling match into a stage production. It was magnificent. I’ve never cheered so hard while deducting points. She was unforgettable. They all were.”   Madam Pince:   “They caused so much trouble and left glitter everywhere but they always took care of the books. They even repaired them if they were falling apart. They might have been pure Chaos but they were kind. I will miss their laughter”   Argus Filch: “I said I’d curse the day you left. But I lied. And I… let it be. The glitter still sparkles in the corners.”

 

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ANONYMOUS COMMON ROOM COMMENTS    snapeapologist:   “His portrait looks like a vampire prince who reads sonnets in candlelight. I'm unwell.”   devinedramatics:   “Leona’s hair is floating. She glows. She sparkles. She winked. She wins.”   covenforlife:   “They’re really leaving. How do you say goodbye to a storm in a bottle?”   fairweatherfangirl:   “Cassie’s cursed note made Slughorn cry in third year. I still have a copy. I still cry.”   nyralunacy:   “Nyra’s eyeliner was so sharp in her portrait I got cut emotionally.”   ynglitterheart:   “(Y/n) was the chaos. The calm. The crown. How do you say goodbye to someone who made you believe mischief was art?”   clubhousecryptid:   “They sealed a box under the floor. Magic swirled around it. I heard it whisper. Hogwarts will remember.”

 

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CLOSING REMARKS This is the end. Not just of a prank. Not just of a school year. This is goodbye to the chaos. To the eyeliner. To the laughter that echoed through the Clubhouse long after curfew.   To Cassie, who made hexes feel like high fashion and made very boy close to her blush with a wink.   To Leona, who turned every spell into a stage entrance and never once had a bad hair day and looked like she came straight out of a movie.   To Nyra, who lit candles with stardust and sharpened sarcasm and hexed faster than you could say glitter.   To Severus, who stood quietly at the center of the storm and let them love him and created one of the sassiest and offending doors in all Hogwarts.   To (Y/n)… who made this school her canvas. Her battlefield. Her home. And who taught us that glitter is just magic in powdered form.     This Clubhouse is gone  and so is the door with a faint hum and soft glow. But the teacups still remember. The floorboards still hum. And if you listen closely— You can still hear the laughter. Somewhere in the shadows, there is a box beneath the floor. A cracked teacup. A bracelet. A portrait. A note. A glove. And it holds a story so full of light and mischief that it will be glittering for the years to come.   They were chaos and comfort. They were curses and compassion. They were the spell that Hogwarts will never break.   We don’t just say goodbye to students today. We say goodbye to a legacy. To a family. To a Coven. To a love story written in eyeliner with hearts on the i, enchanted ink underlined in green ink and a thousand untold midnights.   And We, for the last time, With ink-stained hands and tear-sparkled pages— we close this scroll. We raise our wands. We whisper: Thank you for the Chaos and Glitter. We’ll remember. Always. We were watching. We were listening. And we have written.   Dearest Readers… This was the last scandal. Goodbye.

[nomoreusername]

Silent Coffee Dates (Part 1)

Pairing:Sonya x female reader

Summary:When you go to return Sonya's book, you end up staying the night.

The routine hasn't changed for two years. Every Saturday morning at six I show up at Camila's Coffee, ordering every meal there as well, before coming back at seven in the evening. Approximately eight hours after me Sonya shows up. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays I come here at four in the afternoon. She shows up around an hour later. After that I'm here any moment I can for the rest of the days knowing she won't be making an appearance.

That routine didn't stop today either. I was sitting at our booth in the very corner with my headphones in and sketch pad out. Beside me was a cup of hot chocolate. After all, I'm here for the peace. Not to taste a bitter drink.

Eventually, I only started showing up because she did. She sat across from me with either her book or her homework out and whatever drink she had decided to pick for the day. While she focused on that I lightly sketched her features. Occasionally, I would turn to other drawings and ideas that I had abandoned. Most of the time though it was her face I had on my paper since we were only together for a few hours. That isn't a lot of time for realism, but by now I'm sure I could draw her with my eyes closed.

As the sun started setting in the horizon she sighed before packing up her things. I just remained seated as I fixed the way I had drawn her hair just a little too dark. Without so much as a goodbye or see you later she was out the door. That was what was expected though. Despite being in our own little bubble at this place it was always popped when she left.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As the already almost vacant shop completely filed out I packed my things. Once I slid out of the booth I saw a red book with no cover on the front. Giving into my curiosity I picked it up. The spine was cracked as if someone constantly folds it while reading. It also has that old book smell. The one that seems to be a mix of dust and ink.

Deciding that maybe I could discover the owner of I took a look I opened it and peaked inside. Written on the front was the name Sonya.

Now even though we've never exchanged any words I knew her name. I've seen her write it on paper, and now that I think about it I do recall her bending the spines when she reads. At least, she doesn't dog ear the pages. That would be a true tragedy.

One other thing I knew about her was where she lived. Before you assume anything I'm not a stalker. While we live in opposite sides of town I used to ride her bus when I would babysit this little kid. He's in middle school now, but I suppose that's unrelated to the story.

Thinking it through for a moment I slipped it in my bag and headed out the door. Seeing as it's growing dark and I'm a teenage girl I should really hurry up. If I'm going to give it to her I'd prefer not getting kidnapped along the way.

Getting on my old bike with its creaky wheels and rusted bell I slung my bag over my back. Putting up the kickstand I pushed off.

As the evening, autumn air brushed past my face I resisted the urge to burry myself in my old sweater. For one, I like being able to see. Second, I'm still in a hurry. Besides, if I hesitate to do this I may not do it at all.

While normally I would give it to her the next time I see her she brings this one with her every time. Clearly, it must have some meaning to her. Even if it doesn't she has to carry it with her for a reason. After all, my sketchbook goes everywhere with me. If I lost it I would tear my entire apartment apart until it was safe in my hands. If it wasn't there I'd go through every inch of my school, neighborhood, and everywhere else you can think. To sum it up I won't let her be worried that something happened to the item she's so attached to. Our silent coffee meetups indirectly meant we were friends. It just so happens we don't actually communicate.

It's better than nothing though. I'm much too used to having nobody. It doesn't seem like Sonya's leaving though, and that means a lot to me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As I was in her neighborhood I really took in the difference between ours. Before you make any assumptions I don't live in the ghetto. Not that I judge people who do. Some people are just in unfortunate situations.

To put it lightly my family's pretty broke so being back in this area that was hardly one step below a gated community is sort of like a culture shock.

As I carefully started walking my bike alongside me in fear of accidentally running into someone I heard quick shuffling and an irritated hmph. I turned around to see an older woman glaring at me. With a sigh and an eye roll I kept walking. How dare I walk in her big, fancy neighborhood when my clothes aren't all nice and ironed. My black hoodie obviously means I'm a criminal mastermind.

People like her really need to get a life. It doesn't seem healthy to be so worried about strangers. As I stated earlier I'm a teenage girl. What could she possibly be thinking that I'm capable of?

As I rounded a corner I spotted someone I hadn't seen in a while. While his hair was still in unruly curls, and he was as happy as I remembered, he had grown a significant amount.

"Hey Chuck,"I called. He snapped his head towards me before his eyes lit up.

"Hi Y/N,"He excitedly waved. Deciding it couldn't hurt I headed over and put my kickstand down.

"What have you been up to? How's middle school treating you?"I asked.

"It's alright,"He shrugged. "I kind of miss you getting to babysit me though,"He admitted, putting babysit in air quotes. He was a good kid so I basically just made dinner, made sure he was got to bed on time (which was negotiable on weekends) and made sure he didn't do anything dangerous. Sometimes, it felt more like hanging out with a friend.

"You're twelve now. You don't need me to look after you,"I reminded him, ruffling his hair. He swatted at my hand while still wearing his bright grin.

"I'm not twelve. I'm twelve and a half,"He defended.

"Of course Chuck. I'm sorry for forgetting,"I chuckled.

"What are you doing here anyway?"He asked, cocking his head to the side.

"I'm returning something to my friend,"I explained.

"Can I come?"He quickly asked, almost bouncing on his heels.

"It's getting late, Chuck."

"Please. It's a Friday."

"I just don't want you to be out after dark,"I explained.

"But I'm chivalrous, and I'll listen to you,"He promised.

"If your mom says so then I guess I'll let you come,"I gave in. He sprinted to his house before yelling though the door.

"Can I go walk around the neighborhood with Y/N?! Please!"He begged. After a moment she came outside and looked for where I was. When she spotted me she walked over and hugged me.

"You've grown so much. Look at you. You're almost taller than me,"She exclaimed, pulling away. If I'm being honest she's sort of like a second mom to me. They're pretty much my other family. This place was my home away from home. Even though I don't work for them anymore I know they wouldn't mind having me over. Not that I would ask though. Requesting things from someone isn't something I do.

"Where are you going? Especially, when it's getting late. You don't exactly live a short walk away,"She pointed out.

"I'm just returning something to a friend,"I explained. "And Chuck was asking if he could go with."

She looked at me before looking back at her son who was still practically begging. With a nervous sigh she shook her head.

"Not tonight, but if you'd like we'd love it if you stopped by after. Even better, I could drive you?"She offered.

"Thank you, but I'm alright. I'll come over another time though,"I promised.

"Are you sure? It's not a problem,"She reassured me. Knowing that she meant her words I still had to decline.

"Okay dear. Be safe, and if something happens you know where we are."

"I know. Goodnight Chuck. Be good."

"I will,"He responded, a hint of disappointment in his tone. After repeating that I would stay for dinner another day, I got back to my original goal.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When I approached her house the streetlights were already on. Despite this place being safe I was quick to get to her door. Ignoring the chills running down my spine I rang the bell. I just enjoy being able to do that since we don't have one.

The sound of a dog barking and muffled talking sounded through the thick wood before someone finally opened it. Instead of it being Sonya or even her parents it was her brother. He eyed me up and down before looking at me in a curious way. I suppose that's valid since I generally don't interact with many people.

"Sonya left her book,"I explained, pulling it out of my bag. Just as I handed it to him she appeared from behind him with a big, white dog trailing behind her.

"Y/N?"She asked.

"Yeah. I gave Newt your stuff. You left it at the shop,"I repeated.

"It's pretty late. Did someone drive you?"She asked, seeming more concerned about me than relieved about her returned item.

"I biked. Anyways, I'll get out of here now."

"It's dark out. Why don't you stay?"She offered, holding her dog back from bolting out the door. Why is everyone trying to do things for me today?

"No. It's honestly fine."

"So you're going to go all the way to your home but yourself? It takes me twenty minutes just to get out of my neighborhood. Being all alone at night is not a good idea,"She pointed out. I just shrugged as I kept my hands in my pockets.

"At least, call your parents and wait for them."

"I don't have a phone,"I admitted.

"Then, use ours,"She suggested. Tired of the way she was so persistent on helping me out I finally accepted as Newt awkwardly gestured for me to come in.

"Do you know the number?"She asked.

"Yeah. Where's your landline?"

"Our what?"Newt asked, speaking his very first words to me.

"Your landline. You know? The home phone connected to the wall?"

"We don't have one, but you can use my cellphone,"She said, unlocking it and handing it to me. After mumbling a thanks I typed in our number.

It rang once then twice before a beep was heard. Despite that usually mean somebody answered I still waited to see if it really was that.

When not even the hint of breathing was in the other end I knew it was just malfunctioning. I hung up before handing it to her.

"No luck so I guess I'll just bike home,"I shrugged.

"Just stay the night. We have the room,"She assured me. That wasn't the problem though. Accepting help isn't something I know how to do.

"I don't have any extra clothes,"I explained. While that didn't really matter I was looking for an excuse.

"You can burrow mine."

"I don't have a toothbrush."

"We have an extra."

"I don't have-"

"Anything you're worried about we have. Just stay until morning,"She repeated.

"But your parents-"

"Aren't home and wouldn't mind. Besides, you really want to go out there alone on a Friday night?"She pointed out.

"I guess not,"I mumbled.

"So?"She asked.

"So I'm staying the night,"I gave in.

All I wanted to do was return a book. Now I think I really should have waited until Monday.

Sonya's P.O.V

I showed Y/N to the bathroom so she could shower before going to find some clean night clothes for her. While digging through my drawers Newt quietly entered my room and expectantly looked at me.

"Why do you know Y/N?"He asked.

"We hang out at the same spot,"I vaguely explained, pulling out a pair of black sweatpants and a plain top.

"Is that why you're gone all those days?"

"Maybe. Does it matter?"

"If it's her then yeah,"He whispered.

"There's nothing wrong with her,"I defended.

"Really? Come on Sonya. We've all heard the stories. Everyone knows her name. She skips school to do who knows what-"

"Which isn't anyone's business. They're just rumors, and even if they're true we don't know the full story,"I pointed out.

"What good reason is there for that?"

"I don't know, and I'm not going to ask. Whatever she does she has her reasons, but she's not a bad person Newt. Don't judge her when you've barely heard her voice,"I sighed.

Just as he was about to reply the water turned off. Quickly shooing him out of my room I knocked on my bathroom door. She held her hand out through a small crack, and I handed her the clothes.

Taking a seat on my bed I pulled out the book she had returned while I waited for her. Coming all this way to return it was an odd decision to say the least. Especially, if she had to get here in foot. Still, it's a sweet gesture.

"I'm dressed,"She said, walking out of the bathroom and twisting her damp hair into a loose ponytail. She shivered in the tank top subtly rubbing her hands together.

"Hold on one second,"I instructed, going to my closet. Glancing around, I looked for something warm but not too tight or completely unfit for bed. After a moment I found a plain, purple sweater. Running my hands over the fabric, I was relieved when it was a soft texture.

I headed back out of my room and handed it to her. Without a word she slipped it over her head. Thankfully, it fit like a charm.

"Thank you,"She mumbled, her voice seeming naturally soft. Hearing her speak was different but in a good way. It is a bit unusual that she seems less shy when she's not speaking, but it doesn't matter. Honestly, I'm just glad that she's staying the night.

"We should still have leftovers. Are you hungry?"I asked.

"No,"She answered quickly. Before I could respond her stomach growled, showing the exact opposite.

"Okay. A little bit,"She admitted.

"You should have told me. Come on Y/N. Let's get you something to eat."

"Yeah. Okay,"She agreed, following me down the stairs.

All Parts

This is seriously the girl people say is trouble? Yeah right, and even if she is there's always a reason people are the way they are. All I care about is that she has a kind soul, and she definitely does.

Next Chapter

[mimi-saurio]

WIP ST Childhood AU chapter 2:

Is it morning for you too? Well, good morning ✨ sadly I won’t be able to post chapter 2 today 💔 I really thought I could, but when you live with your parents sometimes things get chaotic so, really want to say that it will be finished by Sunday but I’m still sketching the last page so, between ink, textures and text, I don’t know 😬

What I want you to know is that I won’t drop this project, this is just a moment of weakness due to a change in my daily routine 🫠

I’m sorry to keep you waiting to the people that already got engaged with my little comic, and thank you for enjoying my art 💗✨

[mollykochblog]

FIT VISUAL LANGUAGE

Session 1- 28/01/25

Today I had my first class in visual language with sandy. It was really different for me but I enjoyed her metaphorical analysis' of colour theory and her deeper explorations into advertisements and theories.

We brand in 3 objects that represented our past, present and future. I brand in a lighter, an apple and my GoPro. I didn't have many objects in my room lol as I only moved in last week but I think it was ok, however I took it too literally I think. However, I got good feedback and analysis from my classmates as seen in this photo below. Our task was to go around and view everyones objects and write down anything we felt when looking at it- or exploring why they chose it for past, present or future.

After this we were given 2 assignments for next weeks session. One was to bring in large scans in of our finger prints with ink for next session. The other was to create a short presentation exploring shape and illustration of our 3 objects. I began by doing simple sketches of my objects, then creating a more developed sketch with shadows and more lines.

I used original images of my objects to create simple black shadowed silhouettes of them to explore shape further.

Session 2- 04/02/25

Presentation (assignment A) - I was very nervous for my presentation today, more than usual, however I had lots of time whilst other people presented to think about what I wanted to say and focus on. It went way better than I thought and it was probably my most flowed presentation I've done- it was casual and I got lots of good feedback- I talked about how my objects were more literal than symbolic however professor disagreed and said they were good objects to observe. She said to go back and add more details to my final shapes, as they have no white lines or anything to tell what they are. You can only know what they are if you know the objects before hand? Add more abstract lines or white space so they're clearer to read.

I found it really interesting to see what other approaches people took and I enjoyed listening to why they chose their objects. Here are some of my favourite examples-

Homework- Assignment B, use fingerprint and create lettering over the shapes.

After class I went back and adjusted my presentation- got rid of my final pieces on the first page, added explanations as to why I picked my objects.

Assignment c- (An apple is...)

Our task was to look into apples used in symbolism and research into various ways apples are represented and to upload them to Padlet. I wanted to do it fast as proffessor said not to copy any others and I only had a few initial ideas when I began to think about apples not as just a food...

Session 3- 11/02/25

Today we went through our fingerprints quickly and some people said why they chose words they did. We then moved onto the next assignment which is symbols and signs. We began by drawing any symbol we could think of onto a piece of paper and pinning it on the wall. I drew the present moon and star from the Turkish flag. we went through lots of peoples symbols, deciding whether some were actually symbols and also some people had to explain what theirs meant as they were unique and personal.

Our next task was to draw an opposing/ negative connotated symbol and pin it up. I chose the simple skull sign which someone else also chose. We ran through some of these again and it got quite deep and personal as people were discussing gender identity and MAGA symbolism also. It was an open, honest conversation and people were respectful and upset I guess. Our last task was to combine two symbols to make a new symbol and create a new meaning. I combined the Venus and mars gender symbol to create an androgynous gender symbol. I explained that I think it does already exist but I thought it'd be interesting to have the point at an in-between angle.

Assignment- collect images of all symbols and signs we see over the next week and print them out 1 inch big, bring in the largest piece of paper we can find along with the print outs.

Session 4- 18/02/25

Today we went through our fingerprint assignments and me and Jimena swapped fingerprints and highlighted what stood out to me about her work and analysing how she constructed her piece of work. I tried to read everything she wrote down but some was illegible as it was one constant sentence with no breaks. It was about religion and whether people are born bad or whether a persons decisions make them good or bad.

We then began creating our signs and symbols maps but I realised I hadn't taken enough photos so I walked from class down the escalators and across the road and up to my room. I took a lot more photos and went to the library to print them off. Assignment- create our sign and symbols map for next week.

Session 5- 25/02/25

My final map design-

Critique from Jimena and professor- Jimena liked that I detailed what each photo was of and where ti was found, she also appreciated the line detail which shows my walk from my room and that I did it in red to stand out. Professor liked how many photos of signs and symbols I included considering the fact I only live across the road and she appreciated that I took on the advice she gave me last class to walk down all the floors of B building to increase my amount of signs and symbols that I found.

Jimena's map-

My critique- I like how simple her design is and legible it is. The vertical line is clear and shows a clear route and is very easy to follow on and see what is happening. I like how she included symbols from her jewellery as it's a part of her getting ready for school and the symbols are unique and personal to her and no one else in the class will have the same symbols on their map.

We then went through our next 2 projects and got an assignment for next class (in two weeks as we have a field trip to Ford Foundation)- Look into examples of body parts being used in graphic design work and used as symbolism. Eg. Advertisements, book covers, projects, record covers.

[foxrazorblade]

full spread.

boring rambles and useless commentary below.

i was trying to write my emo shit before i began the ROLAL in the middle. i wanted to simply cross it out, but that'd ruin the page, with the need for it to be cropped out in pictures/hidden if others must see. so, to cover up, i wrote "MUST ROT".

i didnt sketch it out with a pencil beforehand, and the letters may feel awkward. the T looks a bit silly -- like the nose of a cat. because of the way the words go over one another i gave "ROT" thicker lines and darker shading.

already shared this one. it was actually sketched yesterday. i finished up the inking and erased the pencil today.

these are stupid thoughts taken out of context and stitched together. all of this, like "MUST ROT" above, is done without pencil sketching beforehand.

the full thing should be "MISERY INCLUDES HATE AND DESPAIR; PEOPLE HATE MISERY, AND YET THE SHARED HATE BRINGS THEM TOGETHER".

the next page was all sketched before using ink. everything except the lals on the far right was started yesterday.

the first to ink the outlines of, this lal is one that goes down not in the best way. the spacing is whack, id try to fix it, but each new attempt was worse than the last. i did the "shading" after the middle lals so that this one wasnt too bland (i shouldve kept the letters empty).

middle lals. bottom one was inked first, and turned out way better than the top lal, even if it was off-center until i added the speech bubble. im not even going to touch on the top one; i left it unfinished because i messed up the lines that i was drawing while really annoyed from my environment (class).

each of these lals was sketched in a seperate grid, toplals looking like )++( where by the middle vertical the letters should squish, and bottmlal being like (__) where the horizontal line curved in the middle was supposed to make the lines spread out. you decide if thats what it looks like.

nothing much to say about the righties. they were done today in an attempt to fill up the page. ro-lal is ugly and the perspective is incorrect. mock tribrolal wouldve been a nice touch if it was more in style.

overall, this looks bad. and so was expected; im trying out a new style. id sketch my throwups with more soft and circular shapes, so this is my first time actually giving the edges a go. instead of ovals and squiggly lines in mind, the letters were blended with trapezoids, diamonds and rectangles, while also trying to not be too stiff. i didnt use any references as one can easily tell. it looks amateurishly, and im satisfied with how it is as an actual thing, not a try-hard toy attempt.

maybe soon ill try this out on a wall. but first, practice in the 'book.

[maarchalk]

Inktober Tips

What is Inktober (skip this if you already know) I've never really been on a social media site where I get to write down my actual thoughts about inktober. I've been doing Inktober properly for a few years now and I made a few small attempts before that. Tips that I'm about to share here might be relevant for other art challenges as well. Inktober is of course a yearly art challenge where thousands of artist across the globe make an ink drawing for every day of inktober. But in my book any physical media is ok. The original challenge also had a stipulation about not sketching anything, this is also alright in my book. Anyone who tells you you're not doing it properly if you're not using exclusively ink without a sketch is a [slur of choice]. All of these artist follow the same prompt list, though in the last few years some alternate prompt lists have showed up. These prompts have showed up because of some scandall that I don't really remember. Me and some fellow artists that were also doing it decided back then to keep following the "official" prompt list, but if you want to do another one that's all good.

The only thing you should remember about all of this is that Inktober is all about getting into the habit of drawing daily and doing a decent job. Everyone is gonna be posting stuff of different quality and that's ok because we're all developing at a different rate.

Getting started with Inktober So how do you actually go about starting with Inktober? The first thing you should do is set an incredibly low bar for yourself. Inktober is long and if you're not with friends it's incredibly difficult to get motivated. Therefore you should be choosing your own pace, and to begin this pace should be incredibly low. For your very first inktober I recommend to get a small sketchbook or loose collection of pages of any size and mark out 31 days on the pages. In the beginning of the sketchbook you should write all of the prompts that month, that way you never have to look them up on your phone where you might get distracted. You can include the prompt on the page of the day if you want. That way you'll always know. My very first Inktober that I followed for almost the entire month was in 2018 and consisted of just two A4's with only 27 of the 31 prompts completed. And as you will see in the image below, several irrelevant doodles cluttered the pages as well. I started this Inktober run on the 5th so don't worry if you think you've missed the start date, just get a sketchbook and get going! Even today, a week from the end is a valid starting date if you only wanna do it for a week.

Following the prompt If you're doing Inktober remember this one thing, we're not chatgpt or some other image generator, we're artists! This means that unlike a computer we can actually creatively handle a prompt. If you're not sure what to draw at first glance, try approaching it from a different angle.

Experiment with the word, adding a B to the front of the prompt Ridge may give you the idea to put a Bridge on a Ridge, or something like that.

If you're a multilingual person or a non-english-native, try interpreting the prompt in your mother-tongue or any other language. If you're travelling or something it can also be fun to relate the prompt to your surroundings. Also on two seperate inktobers I related my inktober to the fact that I had a wisdom tooth removed that very day.

Also if you think you've got a physical item around you that you can draw to follow the prompt, go for it! These are especially fun to do without the sketch, but you can still include the sketch if you want.

Also remember to keep things fresh, if you're a little sick of using ink try changing it up. Just use a ballpoint pen or any other physical media.

Low effort Inktobers

Some days you're gonna be tired or not really feel like doing the prompt. It might have been a long day, it might be 5 minutes before midnight, hell it can even be two in the morning or the next day! The most important thing to do on these days is to put literally anything on the page! I call these the Low-Effort-Inktobers. They can either be the worst thing you've ever made or you can end up starting to enjoy it an make a friggin masterpiece! As I've mentioned, Inktober is all about keeping up the work, no matter what. And by anything I literally mean anything! Here are some Low-Effort-Inktobers!

Conclusion

Anyway Inktober is a fun art challenge that creates good habits! If you're still in doubt of getting started let me motivate you by showing some of mine. I'll show three from every year I've done, the very best, the very worst and an Inktober that is just average. I won't mention which is which cause I'm sure people would disagree with me. I hope it's gonna show a nice progression over the years! Remember if you're gonna start, only look at the first two or three, set the bar low! And feel free to show me your Inktobers! I wanna see more people show this kind of progression cause I find that interesting! 2019

2020

2021

2022 This is the year where I switched to giving every day it's own A4, the jump in quality is incredible.

2023

2024 Obviously Inktober is still running this year but here are some of mine.