#it erases colored pencil and ink but i imagine it probably also erases the paper itself...

[notebookshelf]

[ectonurites]

how do you make a stamp??? Where do you get the materials for this???

gdfhgf OKAY so it is actually not the most complicated process in the world and you can make a simple stamp with some pretty basic craft supplies! like the actual carving bit can be a little tricky/is something you kinda just gotta practice to get the hang of- but nothing terribly fancy materials-wise is involved.

The Robin one I made (which I imagine is what prompted this ask lmao) was made with the following supplies:

half a pink eraser (like. this is the exact one i had used)

an x-acto knife

a stack of post-it notes (regular paper is probably preferable, i just have a ton of post-its on hand LMAO)

a pencil

a marker (i tried a few different ones i had on hand and was having the most luck with my tombows but other markers would def work too, or alternatively an actual ink pad)

i will make another one to show u the process with these exact materials (also the Robin one is here too just as an example of the finished thing)

(tho pls ignore that that is a used eraser i sanded down a little bit… i didnt have anymore new ones fjdjdh i would in general recommend only doing this with a new one)

the basic steps are:

1. cut eraser down to the size you actually need it (if the design you want to make is already nearly the size of the whole eraser then you don’t need to do this, this is more when doing something smaller)

2. trace around your eraser on a piece of paper, so you know exactly how much space you have to work with

3. draw your design in pencil! don’t worry about it being flipped or anything, just draw it how you want it to appear. if this is your first time doing this, i’d highly recommend sticking to very simple shapes. another thing i’d recommend is to color in darkly the areas you want printed, and leave blank what you’re gonna cut away (or mark with X’s in the blank space, i do that as a reminder personally), to give you an idea of how it’ll actually look

4. line up your eraser with the outline you made earlier, flip the whole thing over, and just scribble on it a ton- making sure you go over all the lines you had drawn on your design. (I folded the paper around the eraser to keep it in place)

5. Take the paper off, and your design should be visible on the eraser flipped from how you originally made it (realizing now my example is mostly symmetrical- but it is flipped)! If it’s too light/not super visible, darken the lines with your pencil on the actual eraser so that it’s clearer as a guide for cutting. (if it’s not visible at all, you can try tracing over your original design again on the unflipped paper while pressing harder/getting more graphite on it, and then repeat the previous step). If your design is symmetrical (or you feel confident in your ability to draw things flipped from how you want them to end up) then you also could just draw directly on the eraser to start with.

6. X-acto time! please please please be careful- especially if you haven’t got much practice using one of these. But basically just cut away all the parts you don’t want to have print- aka what was left blank on your design! (this is the most time-intensive part imo).

7. Once you’re done with that, if you have an ink pad then you’re all set to use your stamp with that! but if you don’t (i didn’t have one with me lmao) then you can just go over your stamp with a marker and then stamp it on stuff! you may need to experiment with pressure while stamping/how much you go over it with the marker/etc before you find what you think looks best, but ya!

woohoo crafts!

[scrawler-jay]

of mice and artblock

So, midterms happened and I abandoned this blog for a while. But now I’m back, and I come bearing mice.

*

I’ve been really struggling with finding subjects I like to draw. I’m happy to work on skeleton studies until Judgment Day to better understand anatomy, but I know I need to balance “homework” art with “for fun” art, or else risk losing motivation for learning to draw -- and I’m so used to writing fiction at this point that no subject really appeals to me artistically unless it’s got 5,000+ words of story attached (or at least some narrative/character ideas, yanno -- something for my brain to pick at). The obvious solution is to draw concept art and characters from my written stories, but I feel really intimidated by that because I’m such a beginner artist that nothing I create now will do justice to the vision I have in my head.

I need art OCs and concepts – things that I will only draw art of, and have never written a story about. Stuff that doesn’t have to match a previously established, written story, and that I can change as I learn more and my skills improve.

I ended up drawing a bunch of mice.

This was initially just a whim. Human anatomy requires a lot of skill to pull off, especially faces and hands, but mice felt more beginner-friendly to me. Admittedly, I was going for a more cartoony style as opposed to photorealism, so if you’re looking at this from a realism perspective then these are pretty poor mice. However, I don’t feel ashamed of them, which I am taking as a good sign.

I kept drawing one mouse over and over. I ended up calling him Leo just because it was funny – “leo” refers to lions, but here Leo is just a little mouse. But of course, giving him a name (and a gender, incidentally) is the start of a story. Via a flight of fancy, I got it into my head that I wanted to do a painting of Leo trying to catch a big snowflake. I made some thumbnails of what I wanted the scene to look like, and then cut out a roughly 7 inch x 7 inch piece of watercolor paper from a big sheet that I had under my bed, sketched the scene in pencil, and then finished with watercolor pencils (and a white gel pen for the snowflakes). The process probably took 2.5 to 3 hours.

So, now the lore is that Leo is a mouse living in a little house in an old tree at the edge of the woods, and he wears a red scarf. I did not like this painting. It seemed over-saturated and the colors didn’t quite work the way I wanted them to. I ended up watching a tutorial on color theory, and decided to redo the painting using my newfound knowledge of color schemes. I used this color palette tool to get an idea of what kinds of colors would look good together, and settled on a complementary scheme with bluish green and brownish red.

And then, everything went wrong.

I tried to redo the painting, still working traditionally. I rushed the sketch because I was so eager to get right into working with color. This time, to avoid over-saturation, I used watercolors out of a pan rather than in pencil form. Mixing the colors in the lid of the pan took a really long time because I was so picky about shades, and because I continued rushing I didn’t allow the layers enough time to dry. Leo’s scarf (now green instead of red) bled into his russet fur, and the mailbox was the wrong shape, and I tried to erase a pencil line and created a dark blotch over an area that was supposed to be white with snow – and then I gave up.

I had downloaded Krita, a piece of digital drawing/painting software, a while ago, but hadn’t had any success using it because my desk isn’t big enough to accommodate both a laptop and my small tablet. Using my lap to hold the tablet was an exercise in frustration, and I knew so little about how digital art works that I just felt really overwhelmed and lost whenever I opened the program.

However, Krita (like most digital art software) has an undo button that I find very alluring, so I decided to try it again, now on a shiny new desk from Ikea that is actually big enough to support tablet and laptop together. I think just the space on the desk really made all the difference, but also I was determined to get this artwork of a mouse to a place where I felt satisfied with it.

I spent a solid 5 hours working on what ended up being a very simple colored drawing of a mouse catching a snowflake outside his little house. I barely blended anything at all, and there’s no light source that required me to shade anything – it’s just flat color. However, I really like these colors, and I think I did well (for an absolute beginner). I want to go back and add textures/shading to give an impression of depth, but I'm not sure how.

Leo – like all of my figures – feels really stiff, so I also want to work on gestures/studies of mice doing things. And, thanks to the popularity of mice as lab animals and pets, there are way more reference photos of mice than I expected! Most refs depict the house mouse, Mus musculus, but I did find the work of a wildlife photographer named Dean Mason who spent 15 years photographing harvest mice (micromys minutus).

Unfortunately, all of the prior artwork in this post I had drawn almost purely from imagination, and I think it shows. I studied two mice from photos in pencil, then erased the lines until they were barely visible and tried to do the fur texture in ink (with a dip pen, so there is some unevenness when the pen was extra inky).

Left is my first attempt doing the fur texture. I was more cautious with layering pen strokes, so you can see the lines of strokes fairly evenly. Right is my 2nd attempt, where I was bolder with the pen. I like these mice more than the one I created in the digital painting; these ones (especially the right) feel more Beatrix Potter-ish, which is a vibe I like.

Do I want to go back and fix the anatomy in my digital art of Leo? Yes. I also want to take another stab at doing this piece traditionally, but this time, I'd go monochrome and try to do everything in brown. However, part of me is exhausted from drawing ten million snowflakes and does not want to relive that experience with a gel pen -- I've already done it once with a tablet pen, and that was enough.

I have a hazy, far-off goal of creating a comic of Leo having adventures with another mousy friend, but that’s so far in the future that it’s not worth spending time considering right now. In the nearer future, however, Leo’s friend might become a reality – I know he’s an albino mouse (name TBD) who either escaped from a drug-testing facility (I loved The Secret of NIMH movie as a kid) or else is a pet who was dumped into the wild by a human owner who no longer wanted him. Leo is outgoing and adventurous, and this friend is shy and cautious.

[astarlightmonbebe]

__April Showers

You fell for Choi Hyunsuk in April, head over heels in love, only to lose him as soon as the showers ended.

Pairing: Choi Hyunsuk x female reader 

Word Count: 4,293

Featuring: Byunggon, Jihoon, Junkyu, Keita, and Yoshinori

Warnings: Some a-n-g-s-t

A/N: Hi, hello, I wrote this in the last four-ish hours instead of working on my other drafts. Obviously, this ended up being a whole 4k mess of words, so read at your own risk. Also, the ‘...’ indicate section end/scene change since sometimes the dividers don’t work. Sorry for any mistakes!!!

You fell for Hyunsuk in the beginning of April, when the air was thick with the incoming rain, everything humid. When fate had brought you to a small cafe as it had begun to sprinkle, a cafe that nobody ever visited, occupied by the one lone barista and customer, back to you and newspaper in front of him.

You remembered staring at his back as your ordered, the dark tips of his dyed blonde hair and the curve of his shoulder, swaying silver earrings. The kind of profile you wanted to draw with thin charcoal, outline in dark ink with a splash of glitter gel pen for his jewelry. You stared for so long that he eventually looked back, eyes connecting, hint of a smile.

“Sit with me.” He had called, and you had taken your drink and sat across from him without a second thought. He was your age; straight out of high school but not yet on his way to college, and so tiny you could fit him in your palm, like a little fairy with a hero’s face. “You’re a new face.” He had said, that same smile flitting across his face.

“I’ve never been here before.” You explained, sipping on your drink. He nodded, and you noticed the open notebook in front of him, the music notes doodled thoughtlessly across the margins. “Do you compose?” You asked, lifting your chin at the notebook. He moved his hand over the page, biting his lip.

“A little. Do you draw?” He motioned to the spirals of your sketchbook sticking out of your haphazardly thrown together bag. Blushing, you nodded. He grinned. “Draw me?” He asked, cupping his chin in his palm. You laughed, shook your head; though it was more of the sense that you never drew anyone, not that you didn’t want to draw him.

“Here, how about this.” He had said, reaching forward to tap the top of your sketchbook. “You draw me and I’ll write you a song.” You looked at him, dumbfounded, but he only smiled that blinding smile, all white teeth and lips. It was the type of smile that made you fall at first glance, head over heels in dangerous love with a boy you had just met.

“My name is Hyunsuk.” He, Hyunsuk, said. It was a name that fit him so perfectly, fit his raggedy black hoodie and flashy new sports shoes. His hand was small, thin gold bands tracing up his fingers, inlaid with jewels that were almost certainly fake, but nonetheless pretty. You stared at his outstretched hand, soft and warm.

“I’m y/n.” You introduced yourself shyly, shaking that warm hand. His skin smelled like flowers, violet rose. It made you think of petals blossoming in the winter, unfurling against white snow, ice dripping down in a messy aesthetic of sharp color. “And deal.” You added, taking out your sketchbook and one of your drawing pencils, the ones without an eraser so that you only drew and never stopped.

Hyunsuk smiled, biting his bottom lip, and it made your heart beat faster. You watched him bend his head, look down at his paper, already concentrating. Only moments ago you had been imagining tracing his profile on blank paper; now you were in control of the picture, a smudgy nose and soft eyes, messy hair falling in all the wrong directions over his eyes.

The two of you sat in silence as your drinks got cold, focused on each other and the art in front of you. Your sketch of Hyunsuk became a portrait, black and white shading and strokes, while Hyunsuk’s doodles became a song, the blank page filling up with notes over crooked lines and scribbled words.

Hours passed, and then the cafe was closing, and you and Hyunsuk were standing under the awning as it poured. The air was fresh and electric, ozone in the air, and Hyunsuk laughed, rain tangling in his bangs as he ripped out the song, folding it and handing it to you. You took it hesitantly, feeling flushed all over.

“You can keep the drawing. I had enough enjoyment watching you.” Hyunsuk said, waving and then looking up at the sky, thinking. He pulled his hood up, tucking his earbuds in and his phone away, and then dashed across the street. You watched him go in shock, the paper crinkling in your hand as you watched him disappear into the hazy gray night.

When you looked at the song, you saw he had written a number at the bottom, along with the words ‘call me-chs’.

...

You told yourself you wouldn’t call him, but you ended up dialing the number the next night, when the emptiness of your apartment stretched out a little too long. Silence was a lonely companion to have, your fingers tracing over the music notes, wishing you had a voice to sing the tune to you.

“Hello?” His raspy voice asked as soon as he picked up, and you smiled. “Hey, this is y/n. We met the other night, remember?” There was a beat of silence, long enough to make you feel nervous, hand curling around the frayed denim of your cutoff jeans.

“Of course.” Hyunsuk said sweetly. “How could I forgot such a beautiful artist such as yourself?” Warmth bloomed in your chest at the fact that he had called you an artist, not just a pretty human. It made you feel more like you were worth something, more than just your face or your curves.

“Ah, well, the problem is that you gave me a song but no way to sing it.” You admitted shyly. “I can’t sing to save my life.” Hyunsuk mmm-hmmed on the other end of the line, and you heard crackling static, voices mixing away from the call. You wondered if he was with other people.

A moment later he was back. “Hey, wanna go someplace with me?” He asked. “I can pick you up, if you like.” The you you knew didn’t jump into situations randomly, didn’t fall for strangers like a girl tripping on a dress. So why were you nodding, agreeing, falling for this stranger with a smile that would probably break your heart?

“Cool, I’ll text you my street.” You murmured into the receiver, hanging up before you could regret it. You’d wait at the corner, you decided, standing up and surveying yourself in the mirror. Faded and ripped jeans, a loose white shirt, and bare feet. Appropriate attire for a day at home, but you had no idea what this place Hyunsuk was taking you to held.

Moving to your room, you threw on a loose purple blouse and a pair of white shorts, as well as your knee length black socks and chunky white tennis shoes. A little mismatched, a little unordinary, but perfectly you. An artsy, paint stained mess of a girl with hair that was cut a little choppy, unruly bangs, but enough of a look to make you feel kind of cute.

You jogged back out of the room, grabbing your purse—which contained keys to a car you hardly used, your phone, and other essential items—and ran out of your apartment. You felt like you had been electrified, thinking of Hyunsuk running his hands through his blond hair, his rakish smile. Was this what people talked about when they said they fell head over heels in love at first sight? Maybe it wasn’t that bad of a feeling after all.

Hyunsuk pulled up five minutes after you had stationed yourself at the streetlamp on the corner, watching the dimming sunlight. The whir of his motorcycle broke the still air, and your hair fluttered in the breeze as he skated to a stop inches from where you stood. Pushing up his visor, he leaned forward, hands covered with leather biking gloves.

“You look nice.” He said, passing you the other helmet. You fitted it over your head, tugging the straps down and trying to fasten it with your clumsy fingers. Hyunsuk laughed, and it sounded like sunshine and late nights and too many stars to count. “Come here.” He said, motioning you forward. Reaching up, he did the clasp for you, hands brushing the bare skin of your chin. You shivered, not used to contact with others.

“Hold on tight.” He told you as you swung your leg over the back, cautiously wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” You asked, your voice coming out strangely teasing and playful. Hyunsuk laughed and shook his head, eyes in half moons when he did.

“No, it’s a secret.” He said, kicking back. “Besides, I want to make our first date have an air of mystery.” You sat back, hands pulling tight around his waist, and the smile faded off of Hyunsuk’s face. “Why, did I say something wrong?” He asked carefully. “Do you not want me to call this our first date? Did I misread the situation?”

You shook your head, knowing that the helmet didn’t hide how red your cheeks were. “No, I’ve just never really dated before—but I do want this to be our first date! I mean, I’m willing to give it a try...I mean…” You trailed off, hiding your face in his back so you wouldn’t have to meet his eyes.

“Okay.” Hyunsuk said, starting the motorcycle up with a roar that shook you. “First date it is, then.”

...

The place Hyunsuk took you looked inconspicuous, a small graffitied entrance to a beat down club. He led you in the entrance, hand loosely holding yours, and you looked around in puzzlement as it opened up into a spacious room. Music was pounding, the lighting a soft pastel, fairy lights strung up. There weren’t many people, but the ones there were obviously enjoying themselves.

“What is this place?” You asked in awe, looking around with your mouth hanging open. Hyunsuk only let out another bright laugh, leading you to a round table in the back, near where the DJ was blasting music. He waved upwards, and the DJ waved back, headphones slipped around his neck.

“This is where I make the magic happen.” Hyunsuk said, letting go of you to spread his arms out, like an announcer. “You said you wanted to hear me sing you the song. I admit I can’t really sing—rapping is more my thing—but I’ll try my best for you, darling. He pulled out a chair at the table, motioning for you to sit down. Four other boys were looking at you, wide eyed and curious.

“Y/n, meet Jihoon, Junkyu, Yoshinori, and Keita. The angsty looking DJ up there is Byunggon.” You nodded timidly, shaking hands quickly with each one of them—except for Byunggon, who was obviously preoccupied. “Now, guys, take good care of her. I have a song to sing and a deal to fulfill.” Hyunsuk said, winking at you as he moved away as quickly as he had come.

“Ah, another girl who fell for him.” Junkyu said, giving you a wide smile. Though you were unsure of what he meant, you offered a thin smile anyways, trying to hide how uncomfortable you were. No matter how kind they were, you still didn’t enjoy meeting new people. Except for Hyunsuk, it seemed.

“She’s already head over heels.” Jihoon tsked, and you slunk down in your seat. Keita hit him. “Dude. I think it’s for real this time.” Jihoon scoffed, and you swallowed, deciding to not pay attention anymore.

There was the sound of a screeching mic, and then the music cut off abruptly. “Hey guys, sorry to interrupt your dance time, but I have a special song to sing tonight.” Hyunsuk said, the mic squealing with feedback painfully. He grimaced, leaning away and adjusting it slightly. You watched him, transfixed.

The lights faded out, darkness surrounding you, and you stared at the stage, the pool of light making Hyunsuk’s edges glow. He took the microphone from the stand, standing back a few paces, and started to sing, the very notes of the song you had written playing over the speakers. You wondered if he’d planned this just now, or had it planned already.

Hyunsuk was right; he wasn’t the best at singing, but his rap was amazing. You closed your eyes, taking in the sound of his husky, slow, sweet voice, like a soothing balm. It felt perfect to you, like a voice that would whisper ‘i love you’ in your ear, read stories aloud at night, play the radio and sing along under his breath.

When he finished, you opened your eyes, a smile spreading across your face. The other boys faded away, and you were only watching Hyunsuk hop off the stage, in his ripped jeans and silky jacket. He waved at you, running over to the table with an expectant look on his face. You slow clapped in his face, unable to keep a silly grin off your face.

“You were too much for words to express.” You said, standing so you were face to face. Hyunsuk practically beamed, grabbing your hands and giving you a quick spin. A chorus of ‘oohhs’ rose from the table as Hyunsuk dragged you down to the dance floor, spinning you out in a twirl.

You let out a loud laugh, feeling something unfurling in your heart, like you were letting go of a ten pound weight that had been holding you down. Your feet felt light as you spun back against him, the floor a moving pattern of squares all lost in a blur of color beneath you. Hyunsuk’s eyes were dark and captivating, and you let yourself spiral into them, dark pools of water with tiny crescent slivers of light.

Through his shirt, you felt the beating of his heart, slamming against his ribcage like a bird threatening to break free. Or maybe that was your own heart—maybe it was both your hearts, beating erratically together. Or maybe you two were sharing a heart now, a wild heart that beat for each other only.

“I’d write a million more songs for you, if I could.” Hyunsuk murmured in your ear, his voice exactly like you had imagined, and you smiled against him, feeling safe for once in your life. “What do you say you give me a chance to do so?” He added, pushing your hair back from your face.

You liked the sound of that.

...

Hyunsuk kissed you on the dance floor, hands cupping your face, bodies pressed together as everyone else revolved around you, a slow burn of emotion. It was perfect.

...

“What would you think of putting your artwork in this gallery?” Hyunsuk asked, holding the magazine up to you. It was a lazy day in late July, and you were sitting in your living room, Hyunsuk’s head in your lap was you both paged through various newspapers and magazines. The late afternoon sunlight was spilling in like honey, criss crossing his face. His hair dye was fading out, a messy patchwork of brown and wheat.

“Hmm, I don’t know.” You hummed, taking it from him and reading through it. “It sounds really hard to get into.” Hyunsuk smiled up at you, warmer than the sun itself, your one beacon of light.

“I think you could do it.” He murmured, pulling you down to kiss him. You ran your fingers through his short hair, feeling the cold metal of his earrings press against you. “Remember the girl who boldly demanded I sing a song for her? Channel that girl and go submit that artwork I know you’re hiding.” He let go, voice teasing.

You blushed. “I didn’t demand you do anything.” Hyunsuk quirked one eyebrow.

“That’s not how I remember it.” You hit him lightly, mood already passing, the entry in front of you seemingly full of possibilities. Hyunsuk was your magic, your inspiration. You had a sketchbook full of pictures of him; in charcoal and pencil, paint and oil, watercolor and crayons. You could fill a million more, all of him, his face and his hands and his necklaces and his jackets and his lips.

“I’ll give it a try.” You finally said, and the smile Hyunsuk gave you was reward enough.

...

For your six month anniversary, Hyunsuk took you for a ride on the highway. You rode with your arms firmly around his waist, watching the lights whip past, that feeling of being able to go anywhere. You fit into Hyunsuk’s shoulder now, head tucked there, feeling the sharp edge of his collarbone.

Hyunsuk pulled off the highway, coasting to a stop in front of the ocean. You hopped off excitedly, peering over the railing and smelling the salt on the wind. “How did you know I’ve always wanted to visit the ocean?” You asked excitedly, hooking your feet around the bottom and leaning out.

“Careful there.” Hyunsuk said, pulling you back. “Come on, let’s go down.” He jumped over the railing, slipping and sliding down the coast. You followed suit—though more carefully than him—and landed in the sand. It was cool when you steadied yourself, the sun having long left it.

Hyunsuk had moved down to the waves, leaving his shoes behind as he waded in. You hurriedly falling in, sucking in deep breathes, trying to keep some of the scent with you. Growing up you hadn’t been close to an ocean, and you’re one taste of the beach had been enough to leave you hungry for more. One of your dreams was a beach house, summers spent with golden sand and salty waves, surfing and swimming and floating.

“It’s cold!” You shrieked, dancing on tiptoes over the frothy tide. Hyunsuk pulled you in tight, arms interlocked. He didn’t say anything, just smiled, and you pressed yourself against the warmth of his body. He was staring out across the waves, and you followed his gaze, over the endless ocean.

“Something on your mind?” You asked, wrapping your arms around him and leaning in close. Hyunsuk smiled lightly, shifting in the slightest, his expression more distant than it had been in a while.

“No, nothing.” He said, and then he splashed water all over you, scooping up a handful and flinging it in a shower. You screamed, stumbling back and slipping. Hyunsuk’s eyes widened comically as you grabbed onto him, silencing him mid laugh as you both toppled backwards, water enveloping you.

You surfaced, bodies tangled together underwater, your faces so close to each other that you could make out every feature of Hyunsuk’s face clearly. He studied you, pushing wet hair back. “I love you so much.” He mumbled, kissing you, and you melted into it—into him—and everything was right again, because he was yours, and you were his.

...

Christmas was cold and loud, you in the center of all of Hyunsuk’s friends, gifts passed around and wrapping paper floating through the air. Hyunsuk had a ribbon tied around his wrist, a bow stuck on his head, and you pulled him close, giggling.

“What, are you my gift?” You teased, kissing his nose, and Hyunsuk laughed, adjusting the bow. His eyes said; I’ve always been yours, but the room was too loud for him to actually say something to you.

“Ugh, the two lovebirds are still going strong.” Jihoon said, wrinkling his nose, and the room faded into uproarious laughter, Hyunsuk throwing his gift at Jihoon, who barely caught it, doubled over at something that wasn’t even funny. Everyone was laughing, and you were laughing too, so much your sides hurt.

Something about Hyunsuk made you so happy it was painful, knowing that this happiness was only yours while it lasted. Still, you let yourself be taken over by this instantaneous joy, this feeling of being full of everything someone needed. Love and friendship and family, Hyunsuk’s hand in yours and his million dollar smile, his voice and the way your bodies fit together, like each curve had been made for the other’s. Two puzzle pieces, finally finding each other.

“You have a pensive look on your face again.” Hyunsuk observed, leaning forward to gently brush wrapping paper out of your hair. You were sure there was even more still stuck there, tape too probably. Junkyu had thrown a whole gift at you, and it had gone everywhere. You smiled at him, grabbing his hands gently.

“I’m just thinking that I’m so happy that I have you, that I have this.” You confessed with a soft smile. Hyunsuk didn’t smile, a vaguely sad expression crossing his face. “And I hope I have you forever.” You added with a whisper, trying to hold back years. “Because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Oh, y/n.” Hyunsuk exhaled, chin wobbling and tears glittering in his eyes. He pulled you in tight, hand on the back of your head. Face buried in the fabric of his shirt, you let tears slip free, wetting it. You felt Hyunsuk’s shaking shoulders, your own shirt damp as well, and clutched him tighter.

Please, never let me lose him.

...

Hyunsuk and you were never perfect. You fought about music and art and politics and what it meant to be in love. You fought about boundaries and limits, about the time Hyunsuk kissed another girl when he was drunk. You fought about getting drunk and going to college and futures that weren’t quite as mapped out as Hyunsuk made them see.

Hyunsuk wasn’t perfect, and neither were you, but your imperfect relationship was working out fine. It was fine, because you had confessed your heart to him, and he had given yours back.

...

One day, you opened the door to the apartment you now shared, and found it empty. Hyunsuk’s stuff was still strewn all over the place, opened notebooks and uncapped pens. Everything was there except for Hyunsuk and his motorcycle—it was your one year anniversary, and he had told you to come home, because he had another one of his spontaneous plans thrown together.

You called him, listened to the empty ringing, and wondered when he was getting home.

...

You waited, and waited, and waited. You called his friends, only to be met with answers that weren’t quite right, Junkyu stumbling over his words in a way that made you wonder if Hyunsuk was kissing another girl again, had his arms wrapped around some other stranger on the dance floor.

...

You called him again and again, but got tired of listened to the repetitive rings. Finally, you threw your phone across the room and slumped against the wall, burying your face into your knees, a curled up ball of pain.

...

Jihoon called you.

...

It was raining, but you ran anyways, slipping and sliding across the ground, tripping and ripping your jeans open, blood dripping down from your cut knees. You ran and ran, drenched and trembling in the emergency room, gasping sobs as you scanned every room for Hyunsuk, Hyunsuk, Hyunsuk.

When you found him, all you could see was red at first, then Jihoon standing at the foot of the bed, hands white and gripping the rails, face twisted into an expression of grief. “Y/n.” He said, and you knew, but you didn’t, you couldn’t.

Please, I asked you to never let me lose him.

“You’re lying.” You were screaming, your voice a crescendo of wavering notes, even though Jihoon hadn’t said anything more than your name. “No no no, you’re lying to me. Hyunsuk...Hyunsuk’s still here. He’s just hurt, right? You’re lying. He’s fine. He’s fine. He has to be fine—!”

You screamed, sinking to the ground, hearing the flatline on a monotone. There was nobody to grab your shoulders, shake you, hold you, because that was what Hyunsuk would have done. He would have hugged you and sung a song in your ear until you could breathe again.

Now all you could hear in your ears was a dull ringing, a repetitive pulsing of red lines behind your eyelids. You couldn’t breathe. Where was Hyunsuk to tell you to breathe? Who was supposed to help you catch your breath when he wasn’t here; when he was the one who was causing you to suffocate?

Your voice was raw, but you screamed on—though maybe you weren’t even making any noise anymore, maybe you had used it all up, maybe your voice had left when Hyunsuk did.

Hyunsuk.

...

“He wrote a song for you.” The funeral was dark and dreary, and you felt like you could barely stand, a swaying shadow on her feet, in the back of the crowd. They had asked you to make a speech. You had walked up to the podium and stared at the mic, remembered Hyunsuk singing to you the second day you had met.

Your voice was still gone. When you opened your mouth, nothing came out. No more ragged sobs, stuttered cries. Your eyes were dry now, too. It was like Hyunsuk leaving had sucked everything he had given back to you away. No more heart, no more soul, no more art, no more smiles.

No more magic.

...

In the darkness of your apartment, you listened to Hyunsuk’s last song, his familiar voice filling your ears. His one year gift to you, his surprise. The studio he had been coming back from, the one where he had finished recording. A story you had found out in bits and pieces, a goodbye you had never got to say and he had never got to tell you.

“Oh baby, I’ll love you forever.” Hyunsuk said in your ears, and you sobbed into your sleeves, the sadness overwhelming, the memories a crushing force.

...

It was April and it was raining outside, a shower that never ended.

[End.]

[cleverbroadwayurl]

Chiaroscuro Portraiture (Connor Murphy x Artist!Reader)

Word Count: 3070

A/N: Okay so I attempted to get this done because I felt bad about not posting so uhh if this isn’t what you wanted, please tell me and I will fix it. I tried to kinda do like what McEwan does in Atonement because let’s be real that fluffy language is amazing. But uhh yeah again: I do take criticism if it’s not up to your standards, just let me know!

Trigger Warnings: uhh kissing, language, Zoe being angry, IF I MISSED ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW

Taglist: @catatonic-kuragin 

Connor didn’t mean to take a shower at 1:30 in the morning. It just sort of happened. He didn’t mean to walk past Zoe’s room when the door was cracked, it just happened. And he definitely didn’t mean to eavesdrop on the events unfolding second by second. It just kinda happened.

Of course, the staying behind to continue to listen to the conversation was a conscious decision. He’d made himself comfortable, perfectly unseen in the hallway by you and Zoe, just outside the cracked door that emitted a sliver of light. You two had been doing this for years, since before eighth grade. God, was that right? You’d been best friends with Zoe for over 4 years? He shrugged the thought off as he lowered himself to the floor, choosing to sit—sitting wouldn’t attract attention, wouldn’t make any extra noise. It would swear him to secrecy, which is exactly what he wanted. While each sentence that left your lips was inaudible, Zoe was loud. She knew her entire house would be asleep, well, unless Connor himself didn’t feel like it. But she also knew that he wouldn’t walk over and tell her to shut up. Not with you here, at least. “Oh! I remember this!” she exclaimed, followed by bangs and crashes. “Your old sketchbook! I wanna see your progress! Show me!”

That’s right, that yellow book that was bound with little metal pieces. The special paper that never seemed to flap in the wind but could catch shading like nobody’s business. He could remember you sitting in biology at the large black tables, eyes squinted in concentration towards the back of the classroom where the windows were. He always assumed you were drawing the spidery veins of branches outside, noticing how with each passing cold day, they would get bleaker and bleaker, until he assumed you were drawing something that would look like broken glass on a page. But in the summer, at the beginning of the school year, the leaves canopied the trail that the track and cross-country assholes would take to “condition” for their meets. As the year would go on, the trail would be used less and less; around Halloween, it was always muddy, and then always covered in gross slush by the time Winter came along. He assumed you liked to draw in the footprints of the poor people who had to still use those trails after a particularly rainy day. He guessed it would make for a cool drawing, at the very least.

He could remember you doing that a lot, noticing in the fall light how your hair perfectly framed your face, the light hitting it in such a way that almost made you look more delicate than those glass figurines that his mom had collected when he and Zoe were babies. Your eyes would scrunch at the windows, getting that new twig barely notable by the passing eye, but everything to you. You must’ve drawn those same trees often—Connor didn’t usually pay attention to his classmates, but he could distinctly remember you sketching like that, day after day. That had to mean you did it often. So yeah, Zoe had a point; your art must’ve gotten better as the years went on and as you kept pulling it out to do a new study of some new art term Connor had never heard before.

Connor could also remember you in his house sometime over the summer, or was it last year, sketching something in the room. Zoe would always claim to be studying with you as he lazily made a sandwich after his hellish school day, and yet somehow still irritating Zoe. He could remember you trying to capture how the light just barely lit the room in a golden glow and attempting to get each curve and angle of the room just right. He assumed you used softer leaded pencils for the walls, giving it texture that it deserved. If Connor didn’t know any better, you’d be getting into some high class college for architecture, right angles so sharp you could swear it would prick your finger by just running it over the page.

And there was of course the library. You’d always sketch in the library. Sitting at the same table, you’d construct your artistry with nothing more than imagination, a pencil, and some special paper. He’d only been in there to get a book, any book, to convince someone that he was actually doing work and actually trying. Maybe do something for his mom for once, or perhaps himself. But you were there, carefully crafting your version of the bookstacks and cases around you. It was a solid 20 minutes of him looking before he could hear you uncap that special pen with the felt tip and black ink that could stain every piece of paper if you weren’t careful enough. The angles must have been perfect that time; pen is permanent. With another glance at the aisle Connor had been in, he spotted the book he needed: Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?. A nod to the librarian, and a quick glance back at you, he was off.

And then—

“Wait a second. Why are most of these done as portraiture? You hate drawing faces. And more importantly, why are they of Connor?!”

Connor misheard something. He had to have. When did you have the time, the effort, or even the means to draw him? Zoe was right, why draw him when he wasn’t anything special? Silence didn’t last long, Zoe’s demanding continuing.

“Some of these are dating like months, fuck, years ago?!”

He finally heard your voice through the cracked door as his eyes remained wide and trained onto one of the hardwood floorboards. “Zoe I can explain.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Zoe—”

“I’m serious, don’t go in depth about how much you adore my brother. I don’t want to hear it.”

Zoe bolted out of the room, completely missing Connor outside of her door as she did so. She stepped down the stairs quickly, stomping on every step as she did so, her steps almost percussive as her anger. The door nearly slammed in the draft that followed her speed, but Connor caught the white door with his foot, carefully making sure that it wouldn’t slam and actually wake up the whole house. With that same foot, he opens the door a little wider so he can actually peer in, curious about the sketches in question.

The only light that’s on is Zoe’s bedside lamp. There’s a soft glow around the room, similar to lighting a dozen candles and leaving them as the sun sets past twilight into dusk. The colorful clock against the pink shaded lamp says a harsh 2:06 AM. Had he really been out there for half an hour? His eyes shift to you, who is crumpled on Zoe’s bed. He doesn’t need to look closer to know, to understand that you’re upset. You’d just caused some kind of conflict between you and your best friend of however many years it’d been now. It probably looked like you betrayed Zoe, using her only to get to him. It’s at this moment that Connor decides to slowly step in, but is wary of the things that are on the ground.

Your sketchbook catches his eye, the beat up book open to a sketch of him, the shadows of his face darkened by a bold marker, the lights done by a hard leaded pencil. The date underneath the drawing is marked last week, showing off your progress beautifully. Connor can’t come up with any words at first. It’s…perfect, which sounded dumb to him. It perfectly took each aspect of Connor and threw it onto a page. If anyone looked at it, they would easily be able to tell exactly what Connor was like, exactly what his mannerisms were, and they would be able to easily distinguish one mood from another. It’s almost a brighter version of himself staring back at him, one who looks so confident but so lost. And Connor remained speechless, unsure of how to express his feelings.

Another minute went by before he actually said something: “Fuck, that’s really good.” A sniffle practically erupts from you before you look up at him. The two of you make eye contact, and in a swift attempt to grab the book, it ends up in Connor’s slender fingers. He begins thumbing through the pages, his eyes grazing over each and every line, every erased mark, every place you’d used pen instead of pencil, each shading variation, each curl you’d drawn; every single time you chose to draw him in a different light than he could’ve ever imagined. None of them were did in color, almost as if you were preserving the pages, as if you’d scan them in and color them digitally so you could get the blending just right. His eyes flew over dates as he kept turning, pupils dilating at each new sketch; the first drawing he’d seen was dated a little over a year and a half ago.

Then there’s one he can place; it must’ve been an exam day or something in biology because he could see the trees behind him, each branch perfectly placed, almost like someone had altered a photo rather than drawn it out. The leaves were somewhat there, the lush summer branches fading away into fall. But they’re there enough that Connor knows this was drawn at the beginning of the year—only some of the leaves are shaded in to show their differing colors. Purple was done in a dark grey, a softer lead, while green leaves were almost stark white, done in a harder leaded pencil. They were outlined beautifully by a pen, or perhaps many different pens.

Then it hits him—you didn’t care about the trees. You weren’t getting the perfect pitch of the ceilings in the kitchen that sat downstairs, memories burning onto the sketchbook’s pages. You weren’t trying to capture the world in a new light. You had been trying to get him in different shadings—a test in chiaroscuro. He had to hand it to you, each sketch was done artfully, completely taking each curve of his face and each line flowing directly into another, but in such a way you’d gotten every little thought that had ran through his head on that particular date. Connor’s heart started beating a little harder as his hands got a little sweaty, eyes still trained on one particular drawing and the way the pen swirled on the page. He licked his lips before speaking up again, not even bothering to tear his eyes away. “All of them are actually, really fucking good.”

He heard you shift forward, Zoe’s bed making that too familiar creak he usually heard from the other side of the wall. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he finally looked up and locked eyes with you. It was obvious you were upset—which was a dumb thought, Connor realized. Of course you were upset. Your best friend just stormed out of the room and down the stairs because you’d been artfully drawing wonderful images of her brother. Pink surrounded the color of your eyes, your waterline more prominent than Connor had ever seen before. It was his turn to study your face, each contour in the dull light of the stupid pink lamp Zoe had gotten when she had turned 13. Your facial features cracked, a smile finally escaping through the blurry clouds that had been drawn up around you. “I mean, I’m not an art critic or anything, but I love them.”

“Oh.” It was a suppression of something, Connor couldn’t tell what—your eyes flicked to the floorboards. “Thank you.”

He nodded before stepping forward, wire bounded notebook being extended out towards you. You took it gently, almost as if the moment would be ruined by sharp, abstract movements. There was a moment of nothing, your eyes meeting his again, before you started going through the drawings just as Connor had. No words were exchanged, they didn’t need to be, as he sat down on the bed next to you, admiring your hard work. He hadn’t gone through all of them, that much was apparent even in the darkness. Your style changed as the dates became more and more present, almost grabbing Connor in a new way that he couldn’t even fathom—when he was in a bad mood, the lines were sharp, almost making him look stuck in an abstract world that consumed him. You had started to include white pencil to highlight the lights of his face and the darks that seemed to surround him at any given point. There was one that Connor had been smiling, the stark contrast of grid to fluid making itself clear. White colored pencil littered that page, giving his cheeks and overall vibe almost a sunshine attitude. He wasn’t even sure how you’d done that, how you’d caught him smiling so long that you actually could draw it out. Your latest date appears, only two days ago before you start to close the book.

There’s a moment of nothing, completely dullness except the yellow that blanketed the room. With another beat, he looks up, a newfound fondness of you completely taking over, heart ablaze like someone had used your sketchbook as kindling for something—anything other than numbness. It’s now that Connor realizes he was leaning into you, getting closer and closer until this very second—faces inches apart and eyes scanning, searching, almost fleeing around memorizing each color of your eyes. The pink is almost gone, and you start to lean forwards, eyes not deciding what they want to look at: his eyes or his lips. The space is closing more and more, the process expedited as Connor begins to mirror your actions, the moonlight outside now seeming like the only thing that’s illuminating in the room. Before proceeding, he pulls away for a second, deciding that maybe he was just misreading cues from you. You could just be trying to get up to find Zoe, soon leaving the house and out of Connor’s life. But he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want this to end, he wants to know the curves of your face, the way you look when everything is geometric and scheduled and when everything is fluid and free, the white pencil contrasted with the black marker, each level of shading on your face. He wanted to know you at your lightest and darkest, when the leaves are lush to the leaves die and make the windows look cracked from the inside. It’s another moment until he finally gets the grip he needs, asking you “Can I kiss you?”

You nod eagerly, hands already snaking around the back of his neck and pulling him closer. He resists for a second, a mumbled “I need a verbal yes or no. Otherwise I worry that I crossed a boundary,” escaping him.

“Yes,” is exhaled from you onto Connor’s lips, giving him full access to everything he didn’t know he needed or fuck wanted until this moment. There’s a level of softness to the moment your lips grazed his, the laziness of the night consuming both of you. Relaxation seeps into the kiss as it deepens, providing a sense of warmth that could only be described as rosy cheeks and whipped cream. It’s here that Connor realizes that his heart had skipped a beat, the pink organ working in tandem with yours, blossoming into something spontaneous and wonderful with you. Connor’s hands glide from where they were to your face, almost capturing the light you’re giving him, an ability to feel like the sun is inside of his hands as the kiss deepens further. Everything is synched—a puzzle finally put together by warm light and soft touches. Something erupts in Connor and he can only hope the same from you, it’s a sense of fluff, a sense of complete and total comfort and security, almost as if someone had come in here and wrapped you and him in a blanket as silent snow fell outside. It was heated, like a warm shower after a night in the rain, but soft, sweet, something fluttering from inside into the outside. It was almost like this was something long awaited, and better than expected; far better than expected.

Footsteps stomped up the stairs, and the air turned cold, a firm reminder that the world could touch them. Connor already knew what it was—Zoe was coming back from making hot chocolate downstairs. The darkness of the room returned, almost blinding to Connor as he attempts to smoothly get out of the room before Zoe sees and gets even more upset. Purples plague the walls, steps coming louder and louder as he practically stumbles out of the room, hoping that his sister wasn’t looking up as she went upstairs. With a sharp glide out of the room and into the complete darkness of the void, Zoe slipped in and began to talk to you about something he couldn’t quite hear.

Shuffling down the hall so he isn’t heard, Connor recounts the events in his head. Maybe that had been a bad idea. Maybe the warmth around you two as you kissed was just something to dwell on but never have. Maybe it was better this way.

Fuck that. He slipped into bed, covering himself with the covers, still imagining your hands around him, circling him with warm light that rivaled sunlight at the end of the first warm day of spring after a harsh winter in the Northeast. He attempted to get that from his blankets, but couldn’t. He craved that moment now that he’d had a taste of it, every contradiction, line break, finally forming into a continuum, an image of your smiling self depicted by the lines that finally painted a beautiful picture of life. He needed everything you offered: the darks, the lights, the curves, the edges. Connor craved it as he rolled over, eyes closing for the night, the last image in his head of you artfully crafting him on the page before smiling at him in that way you always do. His heart skips a beat before falling into a smooth rhythm, breathing following the pattern as the world washed away in the golden light that consumed him.

[jellyfishin]

Trying alcohol markers on inkjet matte postcard paper

Not too long ago, I picked up a stack of Staples inkjet matte white postcard paper (reorder number 12496) from a swap meet. I thought I could use these to do mini illustrations and whatnot. So, I ended up trying to do a marker drawing on one of the paper cards. 

To make a long story short: I found it rather difficult. 

Not unbearably difficult, but definitely an unpleasant experience. 

Below is a copy of the drawing I did, along with some comments pointing out which parts I like and which parts I dislike about the result. For reference, I was using Marvy Uchida LePlume markers, with Faber-Castell for the lineart:

Not mentioned above is the fact that graphite pencil does not erase well from the paper if applied heavily (it will streak and leave a mark when erased). I was using a standard #2 pencil with hard lead. I can only imagine what a much softer lead will do. 

Also not mentioned is the fact that it is possible to smudge the lineart. The more ‘heavy’ the coloring, the more ‘abrasive’ the marker will be. 

Some theories on why this was so difficult

I don’t know all too much about matte paper, other than the fact that it’s paper that has a matte coating on it; reading about it mentions that a disadvantage to using matte coating is that prints using this paper can be prone to abrasion, which makes me think the ink just sits on top of the coating or doesn’t go past it. This probably explains why I could smudge the lineart under certain circumstances - most home inkjet printers use a water-based ink, and if this paper was designed for inkjet, a water-based ink like Faber-Castell would probably also be just only surface deep at most. 

The paper I was working with was specifically designed for inkjet printers, and this also suggests that the paper likely contains a pretty significant amount of titanium dioxide and clay (or some other absorbent material designed to prevent feathering). I had a hard time blending in some cases, and I have a feeling that the paper composition causes the inks to potentially settle in layers as opposed to blending, for the following reasons:

Usually (though not always), grey inks are just black ink that has been diluted to various concentration to get a different color saturation. The odd caking of the dark greys and black could be a result of the black colorant being piled on top of each other. 

The background where the ink doesn’t blend looks like as if the inks are just sitting on top of each other. 

It seems like the only case where the colors are blending well is where the colors are very similar. My guess is that the inks are still sitting on top of each other in those cases, but it’s hard to notice due to color similarity so it looks like a good blend.

It would be interesting to retry this with water-based markers. 

[mysticsparklewings]

Bug Girl

My WIP Wednesday! piece is all finished!   (Warning: LOOOOOOONG description about the art process ahead!  ) I don't think it's terribly obvious for a number of reasons (at least not at first), but this piece is actually a bit of fan art/inspired by How to make Friends with the Dark by Kathleen Glasgow, which I finished reading Monday night--Though I actually started this piece a couple of days before   There's a concept that gets brought up a few different times in the book of the main character Tiger imagining a "bug-girl" in a jar, usually to help visualize her emotions to us, the audience. This concept really resonates and stuck with me even before I finished the book, and thus I was compelled to draw it. Technically the way I see that concept in my head looks different from what I've done here, so sometime in the future I may take another stab at it, but for this time I wanted to strengthen the connection between the bug-girl concept and the book, so visually I modeled the overall aesthetic largely off of the book's cover; white lines and white dots on a dark blue background that has a slight gradient at the bottom. The gradient on the cover is more subtle and is more on the lines than the background itself, but I took artistic liberty on that to make my life a little easier. My original plan was to do the background with watercolor, do the lines digitally and print them out (since I had some kinks in the sketch I wanted to experiment with digitally instead of doing a lot of additional drawing and erasing) and then use my lightbox and a white gel pen to trace directly on top of the watercolor, then splatter away with some white ink. But of course, things can never be that simple. The way I see it in my head, the bug-girl has, well, bug eyes, but for this piece, I didn't want to lean too heavily into the "creepy" factor, given it doesn't really fit with the content of the book (which is a great read if you like realistically heavy YA novels, by the way) so I angled her head down and her hair covering her face to keep from having to make the decision on whether or not I wanted to go with that look. And additionally to do proper bug eyes (at least the kind I was imagining) would've involved a lot of tiny circle/cell shapes, and I imagine that would've made things feel too crowded or would have blended into the splatters/background in an uncomfortable way. Additionally, I was going to have her wings raised behind her, but after playing around with a few different references and positions in Photoshop (knowing full well I was not happy with the original wings from the sketch that I completely free-handed), I felt like this more asymmetrical, lowered position and dragonfly-type structure just looked better and fits better with some of the movements of the wings described in the book (using them to cover her eyes, etc.) which in most cases aren't technically plausible with normal bug wings. My first real problem was with the jar. Realistically, it needed to be tall enough for the girl to stand at full height at least. And in theory, probably a little bit higher so it would be more comfortable overall and so that in theory she wouldn't just stand up and be able to push the lid off. But I was having issues with the sizing because the jar could only be so big so that A. it would fit comfortably on my paper and B. if it was too tall, the empty space between the top of the jar and the girl would noticeably awkward. So I fiddled with that for way too long and ultimately, it's probably too short, but the size balanced is more comfortable to the eyes, I think. (I also added the cross-hatching to the lid to make it more obvious there was a lid since originally it just kind of looked like the jar had a very wide lip.) I also gave her a set of antennae, and after trying the concept of segmenting her whole body to be more bug-like (which was way too many lines everywhere) I decided to add some plates on the front of her forearms and calves. It's not much at all, but I didn't want to stick solely to traditionally "fairy" imagery since she's a bug-girl, not a fairy, but in this lines-only format, there was only so much I could do and still get the proper impact I was looking for. Speaking of which... I did a lot of swatching and testing of my various watercolors that I have on hand to A. get the colors I wanted right, B. practice my blending of two colors with more paint than water since I wanted very dark, opaque colors, and C. test if my lightbox would even work under the thick watercolor paper and the actual watercolor. However, I made two errors in judgment during the testing: 1. The areas I swatched to test were considerably smaller than the actual size of the area I wanted to cover and even with my biggest brush when I went to do a practice go I very quickly realized that was going to take an absurd amount of paint, time, effort, and I was very likely to run into some blending problems with the gradient. (So, in summary, half-pan-sized watercolors and mostly small brushes are not great for very large areas) 2. Once I realized the above, (and I had already done two very quick tests with alcohol markers and that idea almost immediately went out the window for the same issue) I had to switch course and ended up using some water-soluble pencils (one Arteza Woodless Watercolor Pencil for the dark blue and one Derwent Inktense pencil for the dark teal at the bottom) to lay down the color for the background and then wet them down to smooth out the color. Which turned out pretty nicely, especially once they dried. (I was a little worried at first since while still wet it was looking kind of patchy and weird ) The problem with number 2 is that after it had fully dried (aside from the paper curling pretty badly since it was in a sketchbook and I didn't think to tape the edges of the page down before taking water to it, which was mostly fixed pretty easily by wetting down the back of the page and sitting a very heavy box on it while it dried overnight) when I went to use the lightbox, the pigment from the water-soluble pencils was noticeably more opaque than the straight watercolor tests/swatched I had looked at previously. It wasn't so opaque that I couldn't see my lines underneath at all but it was opaque enough that a lot of the smaller details wear really hard to see. And thus I had a pretty big problem on my hands. What I should have done was trace the lines in black on the blank paper first so they would be more likely to show through the pigment in the first place and there's a good chance that would've fixed the problem, even if I still needed the lightbox to see those lines perfectly. But hindsight is always 20/20 so that knowledge didn't really fix the matter at hand. I knew pretty instantly that I didn't want to try tracing the lines onto another piece of watercolor paper and trying to color matter since I seem to always have majorly noticeable issues with that, especially when there's a gradient involved, and also because I knew when I scanned it in it would be fairly obviously there were two layers of paper instead of one because of how thick watercolor paper is. I also knew alcohol markers were out because, again, color matching issues with the selection available to me, and also from some of my much earlier testing with trying to get the specific gradient that I wanted. That left me with colored pencils. And thus I went through the five different sets I use enough to keep where I can easily access them (I have others I don't like as much that would've just been a waste of time) and started swatching colors on a piece of the same paper I had the lines on and then held them up to the background to color match as closely as possible. I ended up picking one dark blue and one dark teal each from both my Prismacolor and Polychromos sets since the blue from the Prismacolor was closer but the teal from the Polychromos was closer but they were both slightly off, so to keep the texture consistent I mixed both together for both colors. This ended up being a very good idea in hindsight because I finished off with a final layer of the Polychromos and that kept my white gel pen from having the problems it would normally have over straight-Prismacolor pigment. (Since Prismacolors are wax-based the wax usually clogs the pen tip very easily; the Polychromos are oil-based, so the oil created a slicker layer between the wax and the pen). And all I did was use my lightbox to see the black printed lines through the colored pencil as easily as possible and went back over them with my white Sakura Gelly Roll, then I went back and outlined the jar and the lid specifically with my white Uni-Ball Signo, since the ink is slightly brighter and the nib is larger. Once that was all done to my satisfaction, I cut out the girl in her jar and placed it on the watercolor background with some double-sided tape I picked up the day before from DollarTree, clipping a few edges so they'd be as flush with the edges of the paper as possible. And I figured that would be a better idea than glue because the glue had a very good potential of being very messy and leaving notable marks. The tape was just a safer bet. And fortunately, the paper laid pretty flat, save for a couple of spots I either missed because I applied the tape by lifting up the edges so I wouldn't totally lose my placement or up by some of the nooks and crannies that make up the ridges at the top of the jar that were just too small to do individually. And there is one spot where that tape wrinkled on me, but it's fortunately not terribly noticeable in the final product. Then I made a paper mask for the girl inside the jar and got to move on to the slightly more fun part; I dipped a paintbrush in some white ink (white ink as opposed to white watercolor because I was concerned the water part might cause some reaction to the existing watercolor background that I didn't want and I was a little concerned it would make the non-watercolor paper that the girl and the jar were drawn on warp) and started tapped it against another paint brush to get splatters everywhere. I masked the girl since I was pretty sure she'd blend in too much if she got splattered too. After the ink was dry, I removed the mask and went in with the white Gelly Roll again to make some stars here and there; mostly just because I wanted to since the original book cover only has dots. I left it at that for the night since it was almost 3 and I was tired, but I came back to it the next day and racked my brain for a bit since it felt like it was missing something. I ultimately ended up putting the mask back on the girl and used my pastel blue PanPastel to create a glow effect around her. After that, I scanned it and did make some minor adjustments in Photoshop (mostly color correction, but there were a couple of black lines of shadow around the edge of the jar since it was still a separate piece of paper on top of the other one at the end of the day. And here we are. It's still not perfection, but I am ultimately happy with it since I think I got the look I was after in the end. Plus, I think I capture the spirit of the original book cover's style pretty well ____ Artwork (c) me, MysticSparkleWings I do not own How to make Friends with the Dark or the cover art ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[latinegro]

Sketchy

I am a brilliant asshole and not in a good way. I’m always putting myself in a situation that sounds great at first, but as it happens, it’s not so great at all. 

I put the pencil on the paper and I begin to outline the basic layout of my model. Myra is laying on the couch in front of me. It’s old couch too, she’s probably the best thing that has happened on that couch in years.

She posed herself in a particular way so that the contours of her curves can be accentuated. I nervously erase the first mistake I make. It’s been a very long time since I’ve drawn a nude model. I’m acting like I’ve never sketched a naked woman before, it’s really not that hard. But, this is absolutely the first time I’ve drawn a woman that I’m acquainted with. It doesn’t help that I find her to be one of the sexiest women I know.

I can feel my heart racing because I know what I’m doing is wrong. I know that I shouldn’t be doing this but an opportunity presented itself and I had to take it. It does sound selfish but in a way, it really isn’t. First of all, the artist in me will not allow me to call this whole thing off. Secondly, I try to tell myself that she’s not a hot woman that I have been attracted to for a while but rather a future portrait for a client. I take a few deep breaths so I can maintain my concentration. Nervousness will only lead to a shaky hand and that’s not good for any sketch.

But, of course, I had to open my big mouth. I’m a writer at heart and by trade. I can describe what she looks like the best way I can use words and adjectives not with this damn pencil that I’m pretending was my hand going down those beautiful thick brown legs of hers. The thing is, I used to draw fairly regularly. I was one of those kids that would be so annoyingly good at drawing anything that I felt I didn’t need those pretentious art classes. I could freehand any comic book cover I see. I could draw anything or anyone if they were standing in front of me. My only weakness was I could never draw anything as I good as I wanted to from memory. My measurements were always wrong, at least that was what I was told.

At the end of the day it wasn’t big deal to me because no matter how good I was at drawing, my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t love it like other people love it and that’s probably why I didn’t take it as seriously. I felt much more at ease using words to describe anything. I can perfectly describe how beautiful Myra is. She’s like a brown-skinned Athena from Themyscira that Wonder Woman would never talk about. Myra is the reason some would believe that God exists. When scientists talk about how we’re all made from stardust, they had Myra in mind.

I need to focus.

I have the basic shell of her body that fits perfectly on my old couch that should seat three people comfortably. Her black curly hair may be a problem for me. Myra chooses to wear it natural which makes her even more attractive but if I don’t shade it correctly this whole drawing would look like a caricature. But, alas, her big brown eyes look past me. She stares off into space truly hoping that I’m capturing this moment and indeed I am catching this very moment of her looking past me. I will consider that to be my fault. I may be good with writing words but actually speaking them to women is another thing entirely.

I met Myra first but I lacked the basic courage to kick it to her. We ended up being a little less than friends but more than just passing acquaintances. Of course, when Jules met her it was all downhill from there. I was always happy for them but mad at myself. Jules is a decent guy and when they first got together, all they did was fuck. Yes, I know that is normal because if it were me, I would hope that she would break me every damn day.

Another mistake. I may need a better eraser.

I get up and she asks, “Everything OK?”

“Sure, I just have to get another eraser,” I answer. She shrugs her bare shoulders as I walk to the desk and open the drawer. Jules is the real artist in all this. He’s one half of the team behind the independent Black comic book, The Insiders. We met at the NY Comic Con years ago and Jules and I became fast friends. Through the years we created our own comic book universe that has a plethora of characters. The excitement for this project is palpable because we’re building something important. In our universe, there are no meaningless black characters created for the sole purpose of being sidekicks. Together we’ve molded superheroes that matter; superheroes that look like us. There is a true meaning behind every page and we’re ready to take the industry by storm.

Jules has tons of different art supplies in this desk that it’s hard to keep track of all of it. But, at least I know where the erasers are. He stores most of his art supplies in my apartment since it has become our default workspace. It’s just easier this way since both of our day jobs make it hard to be the creators we are. We need a place to work and bounce our ideas off of each other. I pick one a small eraser and close the drawer. Before I walk away from the desk, my eyes focus on one of the sketches he was working on from issue #3. One thing about working with friends is, at times, it’s hard to come to a real agreement on the philosophy of a particular story. I really don’t think that the splash on page 11 is necessary but clearly, he’s working on it anyway.

I walk back to my chair and I smile at Myra before I sit down. I grab my pad and I keep going. My eyes scan slowly scan her from left to right. She’s laying on her right side with her right arm holding up her head and her left arm resting on her hip. Her breasts are a perfect size. They don’t sag at all and her tummy is a result of a lot of gym work. No visible stretch marks and no tattoos. This makes this sketch easier than what I originally anticipated.

I draw carefully. My pencil tries to mimic everything that my eyes absorb. I cannot believe that Julius’ wife is laying on this couch modeling for me. She wants this to be a present for him on their upcoming anniversary. Has it been two years already? It must be. That’s was around the time we decided to build this whole comic book company together. He’s the artist and I’m the writer. Now, look at me, doing a sketch that I may be getting more pleasure from than she is. Granted, this probably a bad idea, but how can I deny her this. I tried to convince her that perhaps it would be a better idea to dress up as a sexy gender bender of Grand Admiral Thrawn and I would make sure to get the colors right. She denied that, but I can, at least, convince myself that I tried to get her to wear the most clothes as possible.

I scan her navel trying to make sure that I can get the correct dimensions and diameter of the belly button ring. It looks like a small little pendant that sparkles from the light coming from the ceiling fan above. I scan further past her navel toward her vagina. Her legs are slightly crossed with her left leg slightly bent downward covering her right. It casts a shadow from the light.

My pencil breaks. Shit, was I pressing down that hard? She chuckles, “Having trouble?”

“Not at all,” I reply as I grab the extra pencil next to me. I want to try to be as emotionless as possible. Mentally I’m shaking my head. How did you get into this Zander? I will tell you how; I was cocky. I thought that I could talk enough shit in hopes to just flirt a little and now... my partner’s wife is my living room, nude.

Did I mention I was a brilliant asshole and not in a good way?

I remember staying over their townhouse in Brooklyn one night and while I have wondered what is that she does that allows her to own such a place, that was the night I got a glance of how skillful she was.

It was a late night of partying and they offered me a room to crash. I was so drunk that night that I just passed out as soon as I hit the bed. It must of been an hour or two later when I really had to use the bathroom. I got up and there was a long hallway that I had to navigate despite my lightheadedness. As I begin to walk down the general direction of what I thought was the bathroom, I hear noises. I slowly passed the room where it coming from and that is when I catch a glimpse of her reverse cowgirl riding Jules in a way that made me realize that twerking needs to a sport. I tried not to voyeur too long and thank God I had to piss, but all I remember was my heart beating so much that I felt it in my dick.

I need to continue on her legs and feet. I really do hate drawing feet. I can never get the right angle. I need to take my time and make sure the curvatures are correct. Shadowing will also be a problem. The lighting is pretty decent in here but I will need to at least need to define her curves with some type of shadow.

I can’t even imagine actually inking this. The good thing is that I can scan this into the computer and work on all the coloring there. I assume she wants it colored. Actually, I never asked. “Did you want this sketch in color?” I do my best to look at her eyes when I converse with her.

“Hm, You know, I think that would be a nice touch. Sure, if you can do it. But I will take one in black and white, just in case,” Myra chuckles a bit. I think she knows that coloring may be a tad difficult for me. Not only do I have to make sure that I color inside the lines, but how do I get her exact skin tone?

Then it hits me. I put the pencil down and I look at her. “So, I have an idea and it’s totally ok if you’re not willing to do it.”

“What would that be?”

I’m nervous to even suggest it. “You know what? Never mind. It’s a dumb idea. I don’t even know why I would even think of such a thing.”

“Just tell me.”

I take a deep breath, “Ok so, I want to get the shade of color just right and once I scan this in into the laptop I will need to..”

Myra laughs, “Zander, just spit it out.”

“I need to take a picture of you so that I can match your skin tone with the RGB color code.” I look down at my unfinished sketch as soon as I said it.

“You sly little devil!” Myra sits up and looks at me with a surprised look on her face as if she caught me red handed.

“What do you mean?” I ask

“Why the fuck you lyin?” She asks in a sing-songy manner. “You just want a nude picture of me!” I honestly can’t tell if she’s being serious or not, but she’s absolutely telling the truth. See how much of a brilliant bastard I am? This is how I get myself into trouble and once again I feel my heart coming through my dick.

“I mean, I would delete it as soon as I got the color correct.” Which is a lie.

“I don’t know about that. In all honesty, you can just take pictures of me with my clothes on and then screen-grab the color.” She was totally right about that. I hadn’t thought about it. Then she continues, “The reason why I am asking you to do this sketch is because I do trust you. That is why I never said anything to Jules when I saw you peeping into our room that night.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask nervously. I was never sure if she actually saw me and I assumed that since no one said anything that perhaps we were all just drunk. Of course, I cannot forget that after I went to the bathroom I returned to continue my voyeurism. Shit.  

Myra gives me a smirk, “Please, do not insult my intelligence. I know you’ve seen me naked before and I am quite comfortable with my body. So I will save you more embarrassment by saying that I do want this drawing to come out correctly. So I will allow you to take a picture but I want you to delete the picture in front of me.”

I pull out my iPhone from my pocket and ask her to return to her original pose. Myra is right about this but I don’t care right now. Even if I delete all the photos from my device and the cloud, I will still have her body burned into my brain. If not, there is always the original copy of this sketch… for portfolio purposes of course. I take a few pictures with and without the flash.

Myra smiles and asks, “How many photos do you plan on taking?” I want to explain lighting and such but then she cuts me off, “I hope you have enough space on the cloud for all of these.”

I freeze, “Um…”

“I am not stupid, Zander. I fully expect you to find a way to try to keep pictures of me. Just know that…”

Bang. Bang.

We both look up. There’s a knock on the door. I look at Myra as she gets up quickly and covers herself with a robe I gave her.

“Who is it?” I ask cautiously.

“It’s Jules. Dude, let me in. We need to talk…about everything.”

Shit. I put my face in my palm. This could be four years and three issues down the drain.

[mariarax]

When I was in college, I made a list of the things I wanted to do after studying. One of that is creating my own anime. To do that I know I have to enhance my drawing skill first and also my imagination to create a good story.

At that time I was already trying to create my own characters but only have ballpen for my ink so my colors are limited to black, blue and violet. (That's so weird, I have a violet but no red. Haha) So my next goal was getting more colors.

That goal was achieved by the time I was already working as a teacher. Another teacher gave me a set of pencil color, oil pastel and water color, a sketch pad and a pair of charcoal pencils as a gift for Christmas. She said it was because she noticed that my desk had lots of drawings. I did not stay long in that job tho and it was only a part time one. I left and pursue graduate studies. Well, allowance for that is 2x more than staying in the job so why not. 😉

Graduate school was not easy for me. It's the first time I was having problems with studying. But at least even for once a month I was able to draw something. At those times, I was just drawing to relax my self. I think I totally lost hope in my dream.

Yup, lost it. If it is not possible in grad school even though I got lots of free time, I don't think it will be possible if I have 40hrs of work every week and weekends are occupied by house chores. And if I will have extra free time I would just want to sleep. (Not very productive 😉)

Then the pandemic hit. Since I will just be staying at home I definitely got extra free times. So I bought a digital tablet and started digital drawing to once again spark a hope for my dream. (I read somewhere that I should be setting a small easily attainable goal for that something I really wanted to do. And now that I am already earning buying something is very attainable. 😉)

I also moved to a place of my own so that I could set up my workstations. I was only sharing a place with a relative before so my space is limited. (I already bought a keyboard, if I add one more table there won't be space left for me to move. The keyboard is for another story. 😜)

I thought moving will help me achieve more of my goals, I was wrong! Maintaining a house by myself is hard. Instead of more free time, I had more chores! 😅 I'm back to just one good art per month. But these were not digital. My digital art is still not as good as my drawings on paper.

For 2021, I set goals to draw at least one digital art and one traditional art every month. And before the last days of 2020 I created an Instagram account for my drawings to motivate myself to update regularly. But that only work for the first two months. Weekly drawings stopped by the 3rd month.

The phone I recently bought was not compatible with the drawing tablet. I specifically bought that tablet so that it will be possible to draw on phone even when in bed. I have free time after work, but at those times my body wants to lie down so I had to draw in bed if I want to.

So I was back to planning. Should I sell the phone and buy a different one? Or sell the tablet and buy the canvas type? Or should I just give up?

Giving up is not an option, even if I tried. I might have given up/stopped with the other dreams, but this one is something that my system won't try to not do. There will always be a voice saying I want to draw this, draw that.

Ok fine. Let's do it in paper.

Drawing on paper needs a desk and a place that I could easily clean. Dusts from my eraser is always too much. 😆 So I will need to remove the set up on one of my tables. Thus, I can only do this on a day off. (Or probably should set up a new one. 😉)

And so, today not only that I produced an art more stunning than anything before, but also I am more determined not to ever give up. I am still not sure if I can really do it, but I will always try.

(Why not just be very determined to achieve it? 🤭)

[tiny-smallest]

life’s lessons

Rating: G Characters: Henry, Bendy, mention of Joey and various others Warnings: character death (offscreen) Description: The death of a loved one is always a hard thing to cope with. The sudden death of a loved one you would unquestionably outlive and have to spend eternity without once they’re gone is even harder. Unfortunately, it looks like Bendy's going to have to find a way, anyway.

But first he has to learn to accept it happened at all.

Also on AO3!

Because the Hell’s Studio death drabbles weren’t sad enough without adding my own take on the idea of the toons (Ben specifically) being rudely confronted with human mortality.

Hell’s Studio AU was made by @doodledrawsthings​ buckle up and enjoy my attempt at writing Emotions.

Funerals were supposed to be for old people.

Well, dead old people, but old people nonetheless. People who’d lived seventy, eighty, ninety, a hundred years. Maybe more. And that notion was juuuust fine with Bendy. The studio that brought him to life both in the 2D world and the real world was full of healthy, young adults. Death was a concept he’d only seriously considered after the dog incident, and it wasn’t anything he wanted to imagine his humans experiencing. The fact that there would be, bare minimum, forty years between almost everyone he’d come to know and never seeing them again eased the tightness he’d felt after realizing how definite death was for humans. Forty years was a long time. Plenty of time to forget, and maybe, just maybe, enough time to eventually learn how to say goodbye.

For a while, though, it would be out of sight and out of mind. He was a busy toon, after all. There were deadlines to meet, pranks to pull, slacking workers to yell at, younger staff members to critique and bolster and celebrate the success of. Not to mention the children who would sometimes come to visit! Life was busy enough without thinking of death, and there were going to be at least forty years.

So then why didn’t that car stop?

Why couldn’t the doctors save him?

Why was there a funeral going on downstairs for a man in his mid-thirties, who he’d just said goodnight to the night before?

It’d been a Tuesday. They played piano. He’d sucked. Par for the course. Joey had laughed and said he was getting better; he was just mad that he wasn’t immediately great at it, that’s all, and hey, no need to make that face Bendy, you’ll get better. We’ll have another lesson on Thursday, yeah?

Okay Joey, fine, whatever. Don’t see why you keep insistin’ on this but whatever. If I gotta learn how to play this thing then someday I’ll play circles around you, just you wait; I hope you’re prepared!

I bet you will, Ben. But it’s getting late and I gotta skedaddle.

Yeah, I gotta get to bed, too. Okay, goodnight.

Goodnight.

Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight; it was supposed to be goodnight, not goodbye.

He hadn’t learned how to do that yet.

Had he said anything other than goodnight? Said anything besides the normal at all? He couldn’t remember; that two minute conversation blurred together, words fading and slurring. He’d stayed up working on storyboards instead of sleeping like he was supposed to; that he remembered with crystal clarity, right down to that stupid pose that wouldn’t stop coming out as rigid as rigorm- a board.

Somehow there was guilt over that. Going to bed wouldn’t have made a difference, so why did he feel so bad about it?

Why hadn’t he said anything other than goodnight?

That was Tuesday. Wednesday, Henry was waiting for him outside his room when he left it. He didn’t remember much of that day, either.

(If he tried really hard, Bendy could remember a lot of half-hearted laughing and ‘very funny Henry’ and ‘okay you know I love a good prank but really it’s time to stop.’ He remembered mournful howling and soft sobs. He remembered a tight embrace and the feeling that the entire world was coming down around him, and all he could do was stand there, that the hug wasn’t anchoring him at all. He remembered, after he managed to slip away from his mourning friends, and, failing to find the yellow ink, finding the white ink and drinking, drinking, drinking because maybe, the more he drank, the longer the effects would last; that’s how it worked, right?

The colored ink was quickly locked up after that.)

Thursday he sat at the piano all day.

Friday he didn’t bother leaving his drawer.

Today was Saturday.

Sitting in his office without Joey in it was weird. Sure, the idea that Joey lived in his office was a joke, not reality, but there was no denying the fact that if you wanted to find the man, he was probably in his office. And he made the room, not in the way a piece of furniture does, but as an inherent part of the room, like its spirit. The place just felt warmer with him in it, more full, more alive. It was very weird to be in here while Joey wasn’t, especially with Bendy in his chair like he was, but if he stayed up here, kept the door closed, and stared long enough, maybe Joey would come walking through it. Any minute now. With coffee. For both of them, Bendy noted, adding a second mug to Joey’s hands in his daydream. He hoped Joey put extra cream in his.

The door creaked and Bendy almost screamed, scrambling frantically in Joey’s chair and falling out of it as gracelessly as he possibly could have as the door squeaked open, light from the hallway flooding the room. Grabbing the edge of the desk, he hauled himself somewhat upright, any sputtering thought of seeing Joey’s stupid mustache and accompanying smile stomped flat by the sight of Henry’s much stockier frame. He was wearing a tired expression that had no right, absolutely none, to be on his face.

And no coffee.

Clearing his throat, Bendy pulled himself back upright, sitting in the chair and folding his hands on the desk, giving Henry his best smile. “Howdy, Henry! What brings you around here?”

Henry looked like he was trying really hard not to grimace and was being, if Bendy was feeling generous, only half successful.

Then he sighed, the grimace melting off his face, an uneasy smile taking its place. “... I’ve got a brand new sketchbook that needs filling, and you’re one page away from finishing your current one. Wanna draw?”

“Wait, now?” Of all the stuff he was expecting out of Henry’s mouth, that was not it.

He shrugged. “Why not?”

Why not indeed? Bendy frowned in contemplation for a moment before nodding. Henry passed him his sketchbook and sat on the couch against the wall to the right of the desk, opening his book. Bendy reached into Joey’s desk, finding his pencils without even needing to really look for them, flipping open his own book.

For a while there was soft skritching and occasional mutters of disapproval or grunts of satisfaction. From Henry, at least. Bendy reached for the eraser more than he ever had in his life, scrubbing at the paper with fervor, growls of frustration growing louder each time.

After twenty minutes Henry jumped at the TWAP of Bendy slamming the sketchbook to the desk.

“Why won’t you come out right!? Why isn’t this working!?” He threw the eraser to the desk. It bounced and fell right off. “Why is this going wrong!? Why is everything going wrong!?” He was melting now, breath coming in soft hitching gulps as he vented his anger on the desk, pounding his fists on its surface. “Why’s this happening, why is everythin’ so wrong, why couldn’t- why-”

His throat had gotten too tight for words.

“Sometimes I think that’s why we make cartoons.”

Bendy’s head snapped over to look at him. “What?”

“Life is messy, Ben.” Henry squinted at his drawing and added another line. “It’s crazy, it’s chaotic, and sometimes, it doesn’t make sense. Sometimes it’s- ” He sucked in a breath and set the pencil down. “Painful. Sometimes it’s over far- far too soon. Humans have been making stories since the time we came into being, and it’s always been to explain stuff to themselves. Work through it. Find a way to express what they’re feeling. You’re no cave painting or some wise elder dramatically telling a tall tale over a campfire, but you’re the same concept. Man’s attempt to explain and express everything around us and inside us. To share that with the world.”

Bendy’s ink had long since been running, but still, he remained silent. Henry set his sketchbook aside and stood up, slowly making his way over to his friend.

“This isn’t gonna be easy. It- it never is. We all have our coping mechanisms, and yours isn’t any less right then anyone downstairs sobbing their eyes out. Now that being said... it’s not good for you to shut yourself away, okay?” Bendy opened his mouth and was silenced by Henry’s lifting a placating hand. “I don’t mean that it’s bad of you. I mean it’s bad for you. The more you bottle this up, the worse the flood will be when the cork pops. We don’t want that for you, Ben.”

Henry averted his eyes for a moment to wipe them. “... We love you. There’s nothing any of us can do for each other to take the pain away, but we can share it, you know? We can bear it together. And we don’t want to watch you struggling with it all alone.” His eyes flicked back to Bendy’s, holding his gaze as ink dripped down the toon’s face. “I promised Joey if anything ever happened to him, I’d look after you three. It’s not just for his sake that I intend to follow through on that promise.”

“I c-can’t- I can’t-” Bendy half choked, half gulped.

“You can. I promise. You can.” For the second time that week, Henry leaned over and hugged him. “It won’t feel like you’re drowning forever, I promise.”

Suddenly feeling very afraid, Bendy latched onto him.

“But you’re allowed to feel like you’re drowning. You’re allowed. You’re allowed to- to fall apart, to cry, and you should, you should let it happen. Don’t hide from us. Don’t hide from reality. Please Ben.” His grip tightened and Bendy whimpered. “Your friends need you. I need you. We need you to face this, not destroy yourself over it. Please.”

The last of his resistance crumbled away.

He buried his face in Henry’s shoulder, goopy shoulders shaking as he sobbed harder then he even thought he could. His friend held onto him as he clung like Henry was a lifeline, waiting out the storm for as long as it would last. With each sob it felt like something inside his chest loosened just a tiny bit, let him breathe just a small bit easier, and when at last he’d been wrung dry and he hung limply in Henry’s embrace, he didn’t feel anywhere near as numb as he’d expected to feel.

Henry gave his back a pat and moved back to hold him at arm’s length to look at him properly, his voice low. “You wanna just sit awhile?”

Bendy’s eyes looked over at the door. Still partially open, yellow light leaked into the dark room, blue with evening, he could hear sounds from downstairs. It sounded like...

Laughter?

“Why’re they laughin’?” Jeez, he sounded more tired than he wanted to, despite the flare of anger he felt.

Henry glanced over at the door as if he could see right through it and downstairs. “... Well, I imagine they’re probably swapping Joey stories.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Joey stories?”

“Yeah. Funerals are... there’s no one formula for ‘em but sometimes, after all the crying, people like to talk about the happier times. Remembering the person who died and all the crazy shit they might’ve done together.”

“Like summonin’ a demon?”

He smiled. “Yeah. Like summoning a demon.”

Something weird and unidentifiable was starting to bubble up, and there was no stopping it, so he may as well take after Henry’s example and just go with it. “And forcing piano lessons?”

“Yea- wait, what?” He blinked in surprise as Bendy leaped up and away from him, dashing over to the desk and snatching up his sketchbook. “What are you-”

But Bendy was already gone, throwing open the door and sliding down the banister, because the stairs would just slow him down. He could hear Henry’s heavy footsteps behind him, struggling to try to keep up, but Henry was never a fast runner and the little devil quickly left him in his dust.

The room they’d chosen for the ceremony was big, which made sense. The studio had a lot of people who’d want to attend, as well as the few bits of Joey’s family that were left. The podium was in an easy place to spot; up on the little stage, in the front and center of it. People were giving him some funny looks as he ran by them, and he was fairly sure he heard Boris’s voice calling him, but he ignored all of it, climbing up onto the stage and pulling over a nearby chair someone had left on the stage to reach the podium.

“Hello? Howdy? This thing work-” The microphone gave a hideous screech. “Eugh. Well, I guess it is, kinda.” He set the sketchbook down on the podium. “Howdy everyone! So- so Henry tells me that now is the time that we- we all talk about Joey, right? Well-” He held up the sketchbook. A man and a toon, sitting at a piano together. “Let me tell you- lemme tell you about this garbage he decided was necessary—so like, one day after work is over, and I’m kinda steamed because some mook decided to not do his end of the work and all the backgrounds are gonna be late, Joey decides to pull me aside and give me a piano lesson. A piano lesson, can you imagine!? Like that would make any difference about the backgrounds being late! But he sat me down at the bench with him and started plinkin’ away on that silly thing and y’know it was kinda pretty, so to shut him up I decided to try it, and I was terrible! Godawful! You never heard a worse sound in your life! And he laughed so I decided, hey old man, I’m gonna do it again and I’m gonna be better, and I tried again and- still awful. But he showed me how the technique actually works and I got a little better. Still terrible at it. And I remember we were laughing by the end, and he never let that go, like, ever; anytime I complained about him dragging me off for piano lessons, he reminded me we were always laughing by the end. An’- an’ I promised him, every time, that someday I’d play circles around him and guess what, Joey!”

He looked up at the ceiling and shook his fist at it. Some were still gawking at him, but others looked at each other with quiet, knowing eyes.

“Ya don’t get out of that promise just ‘cause you’re dead! I’m gonna be a better piano player than you ever were an’... an’ play for my friends and laugh whenever- whenever I try and it comes out bad, because I know that someday I’ll be the best! So- so...” His fist lowered.

“Thank you, Joey. For somehow usually knowing exactly what I needed, an’ trying hard to figure it out when ya didn’t. Thanks for- the laughs and the lessons an’... everythin’.” His face colored at all the eyes on him. He cleared his throat again with a mumble of ‘that’s all, folks’ and moved to get down from the chair, but as he grabbed his sketchbook, he spotted a large, stocky frame in the doorway of the room.

Henry’s eyes were red, but he was smiling, and so were the two toons on either side of him, leaning against the wall. Their eyes met, and the corner of Bendy’s mouth quirked up a bit.

Yeah. Thanks, Joey.

And all’a you guys, too.

He got down from the podium and ran to his friends’ arms.

There was an attempt. Some of this came really easily and other pieces fought me the entire damn way so hopefully it ended up cohesive and halfway decent.

I almost titled this “Thanks, Joey” and I hope it’s even halfway clear that I figured Joey dragged him into piano to help him loosen up whenever he got too stressed because laughter is the best medicine and sometimes the stressed toon seems to forget that.

[doodlewash]

Today I present a Daniel Smith Titanium White and Mars Black watercolor ground review.  So many puns came to mind for this supply.  I’ll try to keep them to a minimum.  If you are not familiar with watercolor ground, it is basically an absorbent primer that allows one to use watercolor, or acrylic paint/ink, on a variety of surfaces and/or build up texture on surfaces.  We start with the main feature, and then a couple little tidbits at the end.

So let’s hit the ground running….

The directions on the jar say:

“An excellent ground for watercolor on all surfaces.  Absorbent surfaces: Canvas, Paper, Plaster, Hardboard.  Non-Absorbent surfaces: glass, plastic, metal- for best results these will need to be abraded before application of the ground.  Thick, brushable and heavily pigmented.  Allow 24-72 hours to cure before applying watercolor or acrylics.  Can be thinned up to 10% with water.  Wash brushes immediately after use.”

Ground from this brand also comes in Transparent and Iridescent Gold, but I don’t have those.  These are the 4 oz jars.  The Titanium White is also sold by the pint.  The white is thicker than the black.  I’ve had the white for longer, so it could be due to age.  It happens to the best of us.  The black has a smoother consistency before drying, the white reminds me of buttercream frosting.  The 4 oz sized containers are going for around $11-$12 on Amazon.  Looks like it can be found for less expensive prices elsewhere.

I know what the directions said, but I’m often fond of looking past such direction.  So I applied these to cardboard, along with Canson XL Mixed Media Sketchbook, a Leda Art Supply Sketch Book, and a small and cheap canvas board.  A ½ inch flat brush was used for application- as evenly as possible. They say 24-72 hours to cure, but I’m in Arizona, nothing takes that long to dry here.  I gave it about 12 hours on the Canson paper. I probably would have waited longer if I had applied it thicker, was building up the ground for shapes, or layering effects.  I want to point out that curing denotes something different than ordinary drying (although I’m not sure what), so my semi cavalier treatment of the product might not be suitable in all locations.  A friend on Instagram shared that in her experience, if the white ground didn’t cure for at least 24 hours, it made the paint look chalky. Another friend uses the ground on top of Altoids tins to paint on and pretty up her palettes.

I had some reason for buying the Mars Black, but don’t exactly recall.  Probably for space painting, as in- “Space the Final Frontier,” so that’s what I’m going with here.  And woo-hoo, now there’s an excuse to use that white watercolor that we’re told not to use!  Or use those pastel colors that contain the white pigment in the mix, which professional brands Daniel Smith and Holbein both carry.   Aren’t we told to never mix white in with other colors?  And why is it included in every palette set when no one uses it, or is instructed not to- taking up space where a more usable color could have been?!  I’m pointing these contradictions out because it’s one other reason I’m not compelled to always listen to, or follow directions or rules.  My supply reviews have a more adventurous creative flavor, than purist views.  What’s not acceptable or popular today, might be tomorrow.  So really- just do what moves you, that’s all that matters.   I love those pastel colors and have a few from Holbein.

Now after saying all that and experimenting, I’m coming right to it- I  don’t like the black ground. Everything I used on it looked terrible.  I’m showing these as examples of what NOT to do- cardboard for one, which might seem pretty obvious, but I gave it a go anyway.  And to further illustrate that, the black ground looks like bad 1970s velvet paintings. Velvet Elvis should leave the building.

This video shows a close up of Luminescent and Primatek Lines from Daniel Smith used on the Mars Black.

Below- the Mars Black ground painted in a Canson XL Mixed Media Sketchbook. The top row are Luminescent and Primatek Lines from Daniel Smith, pastel watercolors from Holbein, and a few Finetec watercolors. White FW Acrylic Ink was used to make stars, and gaseous clouds in the nebula.  I became so displeased with the results that I quit part way through my experiments.

Australian artist Cindy Lane has some amazing galaxies that she paints on black pastel matte using various luminous colors from the Daniel Smith line. Folks on Instagram might be familiar with her artistry.  Click either link to see her IG account.

On to these disasters- the cardboard.  The black one is especially terrible- I used white and pastel watercolors from Holbein, Finetec watercolor, and then Gelly Roll pen to try and help it some. Egads! White watercolor acted the strangest of all, it was difficult to control in some spots, and looks like a toothpaste stain.

General observations before I get into showing more examples. Lifting paint from the surface is easy to do.  Using a pointy tipped fountain pen will scrape through the surface, pens didn’t do that well, I tried a Pigma Micron and Gelly Roll.  Pencil worked fine, but I didn’t try to sketch a bunch or erase. The texture of the black ground surface reminds me of pastel matte. The white seems to be a little bit more paper like, but like painting on unsized paper. Images lack definition, aliveness, luminosity and depth, everything looks a little dull.  In some cases, getting detail was not easy. Anyone that is better with dry brush techniques, might have better luck using ground. This was a frustrating review to do samples for.  To queue the song I was hearing in my head when I thought about presenting these- click here.

Titanium White ground in a Leda Art Supply sketchbook.  This sketchbook has thin paper, and doesn’t accept watercolor without deteriorating some, at least the way I use watercolor. I thought it would be a good place to try ground. Most of the watercolors used were Daniel Smith Primatek and they looked the best out of anything, and this is the best example I have.  Even the gold ring came out sad and dull.

I applied the ground using a brush and a credit card, and also a more uneven application. It sat for months before I painted on it, so it was plenty cured. Close-up to show texture, which worked great for the rock formations.

Lastly, the white ground on a canvas panel, painted with Liquitex Muted Collection and Transparent Collection acrylic inks, which behave much like watercolor. It cured for the proper amount of time before use.  This was also a exercise in frustration.  The painting on the left is the ground covered canvas panel.  The one on the right are the same paints used on an Ampersand Aquabord, included for comparison.  Again, tough to get detail or definition, or depth on the ground surface, and I attempted to put in detail. Blasé.  No transparent luminosity like there is on the Aquabord.

All I can do in these reviews is present from personal experience, and anything personal comes with bias- pretty much anything anyone ever shares comes from that place- eye of the beholder and such. Some people might like how the black ground looks. These products might work fantastically for others because of their personal preference and/or skill.  I didn’t find a lot of examples out there. Here are a couple of links to artists that used ground, whose paintings look good.

Artist Stephanie Law uses watercolor ground in a lot of her paintings to achieve different textures, and layering effects.

This lady on Wet Canvas has a partial example on canvas.

And now that we are all feeling grounded (if this didn’t work, try “Earthing”), here are some Daniel Smith watercolor swatches on regular ‘ol Canson XL paper.  I can’t remember what I was going for here, but they are nice to look at.  I figured I would pop them in because I don’t know one person into watercolor that doesn’t like looking at swatches.  These were personal notes of a sort, so there is sure to be scrawl and misspellings and the swatches were done at random.  Other actual reviews on Daniel Smith watercolors can be found here– Part I, and here– Part II which covers the Primatek and Luminous lines.

Explorers’ Sketchbooks– I asked for this book for my birthday (thanks mom & dad).  It’s a beast of a book, textbook sized, and features the sketchbooks from 70 explorers. One modern explorer in there is Wade Davis– Explorer in Residence at the National Geographic Society. If you are into outdoors, nature sketching, exploring, travel sketching, looking at handwriting, old documents, history, anthropology, archaeology, it might be interesting to you. If available, it’s a good one to check out from a library.

In closing, I’m sharing a quote from the brilliant Austin Kleon.  Today, I resonate with this all the way.

“Try this: Next time you come across someone’s work and you’re not sure exactly how they do it, don’t ask them how it’s done. Don’t go after the “right answer” like some eager honors student. Look closer. Listen harder. Then use your imagination and experiment with the tools you have. Your bad approximation will lead to something of your own.”

The uniqueness and beauty of your personal artistic expression is just that- uniquely yours, right now, this very day.  May it continue to deepen, grow and transform, as you do.

Thank’s for taking the time to read this review, it’s for you.  Supply reviews happen when I have a supply to review, and always on a Saturday.

Join us for World Watercolor Group!  It’s a group for everyone who enjoys watercolor. It is a very active group. There’s also the #WorldWatercolorGroup tag to use when sharing your work on social media.  More info in the link above, or click here.

DOODLEWASH REVIEW: Daniel Smith Watercolor Grounds Today I present a Daniel Smith Titanium White and Mars Black watercolor ground review.  So many puns came to mind for this supply. 

[fangirl-overload13]

Write my love and draw my heart

Based on this post

 Ch.1

Will Solace has always been well liked by everyone who knows him and he has a way of getting along with pretty much everyone, he’s kind, caring, and athletic, so it went without saying that he was very popular.

Nico di Angelo is the dark and lonely artist type that most people stay clear of because they are a little scared by his dark clothes and quiet personality but most of all his drawings that are always done in red and black ink on stark white paper making the images more dramatic and horrifying.

No one would have ever expected these two to ever have anything in common or to even get along, so imagine the surprise when these two pair up for a class project and get closer than anyone could have guessed.

 Senior year had been going pretty well so far, Will was captain of the basketball team, his grades were going well, he had plenty of friends and he thought that he could handle anything that came his way, that was at least until his AP English teacher assigned a project that required partner work and he got paired up with Nico di Angelo, his secret crush. The project was a writing assignment that could include any accompaniment such as artwork, dioramas, video trailers, or dramatic reproductions (read: short plays). Will had some confidence in his writing abilities but he knew that with Nico working with him then they were sure to get an amazing grade if Nico’s artwork was involved.

…

Will had admired Nico and his artwork for years now, it had all started in freshmen year when Will had been taking a breather after first trying out for the basketball team and had decided to catch his breath over on the bleachers. He had been about to head to the locker room to shower and change before heading home when he thought he heard the sound of music playing faintly somewhere nearby. He stood and looked around and as he got closer to the edge of the bleachers the sound became clearer and when he found the source his heart skipped a beat. Sitting beside and a little behind the bleachers in a small alcove was a boy about his age dressed from head to toe in black with headphones around his neck, the music playing loud enough that Will could hear it from where he stood, the boy seemed too absorbed in what he was working on to notice Will. Will was curious about what he seemed to intent on so he moved closer to get a better look, as he got closer he saw that it was a sketchbook that the boy was holding, and he had his supplies sitting next to him Will noted as he saw a pencil, eraser, and black pen that went with the red one that he was currently using on whatever it was he was working on.

Will loved art and was really interesting what it might be that this boy was drawing with only these two colors so he decided to announce his presence. “Um hey there… what are you working on?” Will felt bad when he saw the boy jump when he heard Will speak to him “Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you like that, I heard your music and saw you drawing something so I was curious.” The boy looked up at him and Will couldn’t believe that he had never noticed this boy before, his eyes looked a little sunken in and had faint dark circles under them like he had lost sleep recently but those same eyes drew Will in even more, they were on the larger side and were so dark he couldn’t tell were iris ended and pupil began, they were like twin pools of shadows that he felt like he could get lost in…

Will snapped himself out of his oddly poetic thoughts when he realized that he was staring and likely making the other uncomfortable as a result. “Sorry I guess I should probably introduce myself or stop bothering you and mind my own business…” he trailed off when he received no response from the other “Sorry I’ll just go and leave you alone now.” He could feel his face burn from his embarrassment as he turned away to head over to the showers like he had planned on doing before.

“It’s okay; you can look at it if you want…” Will stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the other boy speak to him, what really caught his attention was the faint accent that he couldn’t place. Will turned back to see that the boy had set down his pen and was just holding the sketchbook in his lap, he seemed kind of shy though so Will tried his best not to act too excited about getting permission or that the boy had spoken to him so he calmly walked over to where the other sat and took the sketchbook when the boy passed it to him. He looked at the page that it had been open to; he assumed that it was the one that he had just been working on. Will was totally mesmerized by what he saw, the bold outlines, the shark angles, the bright red ink mixed with the black ink and white paper gave the image the illusion of leaving the page. Will was blown away by the level of skill he was seeing and though he wasn’t quite sure what it was that he was looking at exactly he still knew that this was incredible talent.

“Wow you are amazing; I’ve never seen anything so cool. What is this?” he smiled as he looked at the artist sitting in front of him. Apparently this talented artist wasn’t used to receiving such praise because his face turned as red as the ink on the page “A demon...” he said it hesitantly as though he was sure that Will would criticize him for his choice of subject, but Will just looked closer at the drawing and now that he knew what he was supposed to be looking at he was even more blown away by it “Whoa seriously?!” Will smiled even brighter at the boy sitting in front of him, now looking at Will as if he was some kind of strange creature “what?” clearly he was confused by Wills response.

“This is amazing! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this before. It would look so cool in a horror movie or in a video game or something! Do you always draw things like this?” now the other boy was completely speechless and could only nod in answer to Wills question. “Really can I see?” Will was excited to see more of these drawings and the amazing work like this. When the other nodded again Will flipped to another page and saw a drawing of a skull with what seemed to be a single red rose and black thorns encircling the two, again Will couldn’t believe the awesome artistic skill shown on a single page. Will sat down next to the other boy and showed him the page that he was looking at “This is so cool, does it have some sort of meaning behind it?”

But then he remembered being told that an artist’s sketchbook could be the same as a diary or journal and therefore should be treated as such “Oh sorry, I guess that’s probably personal. But really you have so much talent! Oh and by the way my name is Will, nice to meet you.” He held out the sketchbook to hand back to its owner. “Nico.” Well now he had a name to go with the face. But before Will could say anything more the coach blew his whistle and signaled that tryouts were over and that it was time to head home for the day “Well I guess it’s time to go, I’ll see you around Nico.” Will said as he stood up and headed over to head to the showers. He hoped that he’d get the chance to talk with Nico again sometime.

…

Over the next few years following their first encounter Will and Nico had sat together and talked from time to time, Nico liked to sit in that same spot and draw whenever he found the time, he claimed that it was secluded enough that people other than Will that is, wouldn’t bother him there. It also meant that when Will finished with practice he’d have a bit of time to talk to Nico and see more of his artwork. You might be able to call it a friendship but they didn’t talk much other during these times or spend time together any other time. Will blamed it on the fact that he was always busy with something or always taking to someone and couldn’t get close to Nico, but his heart soared when in his final year he walked into his AP English class and saw that Nico was in his class. He hoped ever since for a chance to spend more time with Nico and get to know him better.

When their teacher announced this writing assignment Will saw it as a gift from above. “And the best story and accompaniment will be displayed in the upcoming school wide showcase so I want all of you to put your best effort into this with that in mind.” Well that was unexpected but Will wasn’t worried, as long as he could convince Nico to draw some illustrations to go with the story that they come up with then they were sure to do well.

…

The bell rang and the class let out for lunch. Will quickly packed up his things and headed out to meet Nico by his locker, it was close to the gym which Will had learned one day after leaving practice and finding Nico standing at his locker grabbing a pencil case before heading back to where he had left his sketchbook at his usual spot.

Will was glad to see that Nico was still by his locker when he finally made his way over to him “Hey Nico!” Will called cheerfully, causing a few curious passersby turn and look at the two of them, as far as anyone else knew these two were as different as night and day so seeing them talking to one another was an odd sight. Nico turned when he heard Will call out to him “Oh hey Will, is this about the English assignment?” even after four years Will still loved hearing that slight accent when Nico spoke, it had taken some time but Will had eventually learned that it was Italian, though what with Nico’s last name it was no surprize. “Huh? Oh yeah!” Will chided himself for getting distracted again but he always got distracted when talking to Nico.

“So I was thinking that we could come up with the story together and you could add some drawings to go along with it, I’m sure that whatever we come up with your drawings would be incredible!” but Nico didn’t seem as sure about it as Will did. “You’re the only one who would think that Will.” Nico said as he grabbed his bag from his locker, it was only lunch but Nico looked like he was getting ready to leave school for the day. “But it’s the truth, your art is so amazing I’m sure it could really help bring our story to life better than anything else could.” Will tried his best to sound convincing.

Nico still didn’t seem willing to go along with it though “I don’t know Will, but could we talk about this some other time? I have somewhere to go this afternoon so I won’t be here after lunch, good luck in your game later.” Will was a bit surprized by that last part but then again Nico’s favorite spot was in the gym so it should come as no surprize that he knew that Will had a game today after school… “Huh? Oh right thanks.” But before Nico could walk away an idea came to Will and he pulled out a pen and reached out for Nico’s hand stopping him as he was about to leave and Will wrote his cell number on Nico’s arm “There, this way you can text me later after you’ve had some time to think things over, no rush though. Just brainstorm some ideas for our story if you want.” he gave Nico a bright cheerful smile before turning and heading to his own locker.

Next chapter

[fangirlingatthreeam]

Write my love and draw my heart

Write my love and draw my heart

Story idea by: fangirlingatthreeam

Solangelo Highschool Au where Will is like basketball team captain and really popular and sun shiny and Nico is that one art student whoes drawings are amazing black and white and red but theyre really dark and creepy and they kinda scare people so a lot of people avoid Nico but then Will gets assigned to write a creative piece from his advanced english class for like a school showcase so he talks (read:bugs) Nico into helping him and their exhibit just wows everyone even if it freaks them out a little.

And if Nico is later seen wearing Wills varsity jacket before a big game? Well, no one comments.

Ch.1

Will Solace has always been well liked by everyone who knows him and he has a way of getting along with pretty much everyone, he’s kind, caring, and athletic, so it went without saying that he was very popular.

Nico di Angelo is the dark and lonely artist type that most people stay clear of because they are a little scared by his dark clothes and quiet personality but most of all his drawings that are always done in red and black ink on stark white paper making the images more dramatic and horrifying.

No one would have ever expected these two to ever have anything in common or to even get along, so imagine the surprise when these two pair up for a class project and get closer than anyone could have guessed.

Senior year had been going pretty well so far, Will was captain of the basketball team, his grades were going well, he had plenty of friends and he thought that he could handle anything that came his way, that was at least until his AP English teacher assigned a project that required partner work and he got paired up with Nico di Angelo, his secret crush. The project was a writing assignment that could include any accompaniment such as artwork, dioramas, video trailers, or dramatic reproductions (read: short plays). Will had some confidence in his writing abilities but he knew that with Nico working with him then they were sure to get an amazing grade if Nico’s artwork was involved.

…

Will had admired Nico and his artwork for years now, it had all started in freshmen year when Will had been taking a breather after first trying out for the basketball team and had decided to catch his breath over on the bleachers. He had been about to head to the locker room to shower and change before heading home when he thought he heard the sound of music playing faintly somewhere nearby. He stood and looked around and as he got closer to the edge of the bleachers the sound became clearer and when he found the source his heart skipped a beat. Sitting beside and a little behind the bleachers in a small alcove was a boy about his age dressed from head to toe in black with headphones around his neck, the music playing loud enough that Will could hear it from where he stood, the boy seemed too absorbed in what he was working on to notice Will. Will was curious about what he seemed to intent on so he moved closer to get a better look, as he got closer he saw that it was a sketchbook that the boy was holding, and he had his supplies sitting next to him Will noted as he saw a pencil, eraser, and black pen that went with the red one that he was currently using on whatever it was he was working on.

Will loved art and was really interesting what it might be that this boy was drawing with only these two colors so he decided to announce his presence. “Um hey there… what are you working on?” Will felt bad when he saw the boy jump when he heard Will speak to him “Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you like that, I heard your music and saw you drawing something so I was curious.” The boy looked up at him and Will couldn’t believe that he had never noticed this boy before, his eyes looked a little sunken in and had faint dark circles under them like he had lost sleep recently but those same eyes drew Will in even more, they were on the larger side and were so dark he couldn’t tell were iris ended and pupil began, they were like twin pools of shadows that he felt like he could get lost in…

Will snapped himself out of his oddly poetic thoughts when he realized that he was staring and likely making the other uncomfortable as a result. “Sorry I guess I should probably introduce myself or stop bothering you and mind my own business…” he trailed off when he received no response from the other “Sorry I’ll just go and leave you alone now.” He could feel his face burn from his embarrassment as he turned away to head over to the showers like he had planned on doing before.

“It’s okay; you can look at it if you want…” Will stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the other boy speak to him, what really caught his attention was the faint accent that he couldn’t place. Will turned back to see that the boy had set down his pen and was just holding the sketchbook in his lap, he seemed kind of shy though so Will tried his best not to act too excited about getting permission or that the boy had spoken to him so he calmly walked over to where the other sat and took the sketchbook when the boy passed it to him. He looked at the page that it had been open to; he assumed that it was the one that he had just been working on. Will was totally mesmerized by what he saw, the bold outlines, the shark angles, the bright red ink mixed with the black ink and white paper gave the image the illusion of leaving the page. Will was blown away by the level of skill he was seeing and though he wasn’t quite sure what it was that he was looking at exactly he still knew that this was incredible talent.

“Wow you are amazing; I’ve never seen anything so cool. What is this?” he smiled as he looked at the artist sitting in front of him. Apparently this talented artist wasn’t used to receiving such praise because his face turned as red as the ink on the page “A demon…” he said it hesitantly as though he was sure that Will would criticize him for his choice of subject, but Will just looked closer at the drawing and now that he knew what he was supposed to be looking at he was even more blown away by it “Whoa seriously?!” Will smiled even brighter at the boy sitting in front of him, now looking at Will as if he was some kind of strange creature “what?” clearly he was confused by Wills response.

“This is amazing! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this before. It would look so cool in a horror movie or in a video game or something! Do you always draw things like this?” now the other boy was completely speechless and could only nod in answer to Wills question. “Really can I see?” Will was excited to see more of these drawings and the amazing work like this. When the other nodded again Will flipped to another page and saw a drawing of a skull with what seemed to be a single red rose and black thorns encircling the two, again Will couldn’t believe the awesome artistic skill shown on a single page. Will sat down next to the other boy and showed him the page that he was looking at “This is so cool, does it have some sort of meaning behind it?”

But then he remembered being told that an artist’s sketchbook could be the same as a diary or journal and therefore should be treated as such “Oh sorry, I guess that’s probably personal. But really you have so much talent! Oh and by the way my name is Will, nice to meet you.” He held out the sketchbook to hand back to its owner. “Nico.” Well now he had a name to go with the face. But before Will could say anything more the coach blew his whistle and signaled that tryouts were over and that it was time to head home for the day “Well I guess it’s time to go, I’ll see you around Nico.” Will said as he stood up and headed over to head to the showers. He hoped that he’d get the chance to talk with Nico again sometime.

…

Over the next few years following their first encounter Will and Nico had sat together and talked from time to time, Nico liked to sit in that same spot and draw whenever he found the time, he claimed that it was secluded enough that people other than Will that is, wouldn’t bother him there. It also meant that when Will finished with practice he’d have a bit of time to talk to Nico and see more of his artwork. You might be able to call it a friendship but they didn’t talk much other during these times or spend time together any other time. Will blamed it on the fact that he was always busy with something or always taking to someone and couldn’t get close to Nico, but his heart soared when in his final year he walked into his AP English class and saw that Nico was in his class. He hoped ever since for a chance to spend more time with Nico and get to know him better.

When their teacher announced this writing assignment Will saw it as a gift from above. “And the best story and accompaniment will be displayed in the upcoming school wide showcase so I want all of you to put your best effort into this with that in mind.” Well that was unexpected but Will wasn’t worried, as long as he could convince Nico to draw some illustrations to go with the story that they come up with then they were sure to do well.

…

The bell rang and the class let out for lunch. Will quickly packed up his things and headed out to meet Nico by his locker, it was close to the gym which Will had learned one day after leaving practice and finding Nico standing at his locker grabbing a pencil case before heading back to where he had left his sketchbook at his usual spot.

Will was glad to see that Nico was still by his locker when he finally made his way over to him “Hey Nico!” Will called cheerfully, causing a few curious passersby turn and look at the two of them, as far as anyone else knew these two were as different as night and day so seeing them talking to one another was an odd sight. Nico turned when he heard Will call out to him “Oh hey Will, is this about the English assignment?” even after four years Will still loved hearing that slight accent when Nico spoke, it had taken some time but Will had eventually learned that it was Italian, though what with Nico’s last name it was no surprize. “Huh? Oh yeah!” Will chided himself for getting distracted again but he always got distracted when talking to Nico.

“So I was thinking that we could come up with the story together and you could add some drawings to go along with it, I’m sure that whatever we come up with your drawings would be incredible!” but Nico didn’t seem as sure about it as Will did. “You’re the only one who would think that Will.” Nico said as he grabbed his bag from his locker, it was only lunch but Nico looked like he was getting ready to leave school for the day. “But it’s the truth, your art is so amazing I’m sure it could really help bring our story to life better than anything else could.” Will tried his best to sound convincing.

Nico still didn’t seem willing to go along with it though “I don’t know Will, but could we talk about this some other time? I have somewhere to go this afternoon so I won’t be here after lunch, good luck in your game later.” Will was a bit surprized by that last part but then again Nico’s favorite spot was in the gym so it should come as no surprize that he knew that Will had a game today after school… “Huh? Oh right thanks.” But before Nico could walk away an idea came to Will and he pulled out a pen and reached out for Nico’s hand stopping him as he was about to leave and Will wrote his cell number on Nico’s arm “There, this way you can text me later after you’ve had some time to think things over, no rush though. Just brainstorm some ideas for our story if you want.” he gave Nico a bright cheerful smile before turning and heading to his own locker.

(P.S. If you liked this I will continue.)