#its a mix i colored a scanned ink drawing

[kabukiaku]

you're greeted by these two handsome but masked gentlemen.....what do you do?

more venetian omega3 ! finished this one after it being a pencil sketch for weeks 🫣

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐌 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ↟ 𝐓𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞

↠  summary: After receiving a few letters from your previous accomplice, your withstanding in Techno's home is questioned.

↠ fantasy au, slow-burn romance

↠  pairing: c!Techno x fm!reader

↠  tw: angst, mentions of blood, slight manipulation, fighting, language, knives, language, a lil fluff

↠  wc: ~2700

↠  previous chapter ↟ make a request ↟ create the next moodboard

this post contains an image of a letter. if you find it difficult to read, here is the transcript.

The wind howled against the cabin, snow beating against the shutters to make the structure trembled as if it was battling the cold like you were. The heavy blanket around your shoulders served as an anchor from your intruding thoughts as you attempted to self-soothe. The fire blazing in front of you was your only consoling friend as you debated whether or not Techno would make it back during the storm.

In your gross self-pity, you wondered if he even would want to come back. You had been living like a parasite in his domain for weeks, relying on him as your wounds slowly mended. How many times had he stayed up to cool your fevers, or told you to sit down when you had been on your ankle for too long? When would it be too much for him? When would he want you gone?

You had never had another person before. Sure, Dream was your friend and partner, but the two of you lived independently of each other. Techno had gained your respect and trust within a short amount of time and you hated to admit that you liked having him around.

But was it the same for him?

You pulled your knees to your chest, hugging the fabric tighter around you as you dug your nose into its velvety coloring. It smelled like Techno, a mix of pine and sage. It quelled your neediness for his presence. You debated whether or not your worry was because of your obsession with his impression of you, or the fact that he was the first person that had let you rely on them.

The blizzard grew stronger with each passing second, and you were a hairline fracture away from throwing on a jacket and searching the snowbanks for him. Your mind darted to if packing your belongings and getting out of his hair would be the option. Clearing out before he had to tell you to leave seemed almost like the better idea; the possibility of gaining back your independence secretly made you melancholy.

With that, the image of Dream came to you. In the summers when the two of you were hunkered down against a rotting log looking for one of the King’s enemies, you could practically smell the sunlight on his skin. His freckles would darken, and his blond hair would shine as if it were a ray in and of itself. If you let yourself, you could feel his green eyes on you, watching as you would dip your knife in a tranquilizing agent if your target were to be delivered alive. He would always wander into your root cellar, running his fingers along the hanging rosemary and strands of lavender.

He would always pitch the idea of poisoning the King and running away to grow mushrooms in the forest together. For most of your time as accomplices, it seemed like the perfect life but as his brain became infatuated with the poison of power and majesty, it seemed a distant fantasy only to be left for the wind.

The door opened abruptly, Techno stomping out his boots as he kicked the entranceway shut. He shook the snow from his clothing, and you pushed yourself to stand. He grabbed one of the candles, using it to light a few of the others beside the door and blowing into his cold hands for more warmth.

You approached him, leaning on the doorframe as he pulled off his cloak. “You made it back,” you chirped, hoping to mask the utter relief washing through your body. His ruby eyes flashed to you, a softness in them that warmed your heart.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, reaching one of his hands out to you to angle the cut on your face towards him. He inspected that cut at least three times a day and if you would let yourself indulge on the thought, it might have just been an excuse to touch you.

His fingers were cold against your jaw, but you had to restrain your urge to lean into his gentle touch as his eyes grazed over the cut. “Better,” you answered with a light sigh. He looked as if he were holding back something from you, something that was plaguing his conscience.

He pulled away from you reluctantly, digging into the bag he had tossed on the table. His knuckles were red from the cold, the stack of letters in his hands appearing almost pure white. There were specks of blood sprinkled on the edge of the stack. “We found another mercenary searching for you,” he let out a soft chuckle. “I know what to look for now,” he mumbled; a small ode to you. The pair of you stared at the envelopes in his hand. “These are for you,” he added, holding them out for you. There was a seal on the last one, the design mimicking the symbol on your shoulder as it wrapped around the letter ‘D.’

You swallowed, hesitantly taking them from him. He watched you carefully as you examined them, your hands shaking from the anticipation of what was in them and why there were so many. “Did you read them?” You asked; the pads over your finger tracing over the broken seal of the top one.

He shook his head. “Only enough to find out they were for you,” he assured. You trusted that fact. “I’ll leave you alone with them. I need to clean up anyway,” he illustrated, eyes scanning you as you stared down at them. He seemed to have a hesitancy to him as if he were reluctantly giving them to you, wanting to know what it meant for your future.

You nodded slowly, unable to find more words as you threaded the dark green ribbon binding them together through your fingers. Your stomach churned, knotting together as if you were awaiting punishment.

As you sank into one of the chairs, Techno left your side wearily, looking over his shoulder at you before closing the door behind him. You opened the letter he had already seen after counting at least eight letters in the stack. Your mind got fuzzy after eight. The seal was dusted with soft gold. You had always found random flowers to give the appearance of wealth and prestige to your letters when you were sending them back and forth to each other. You figured that it was real gold this time since the color didn’t stain your skin while you brushed over it.

Your heart hammered in your ears, thumb drawing against the blood that had seeped through as you read his words, his voice whispering in your ear with each curl of his handwriting.

The next letter sounded similar, detailing what had become of some of your old teams and idols. He had removed the mad King’s advisors, flushing them with his own. Each word you read weighed heavy on your heart until you figured you couldn’t take any more of the venom in his ink. The sickening nature of him begging for your return made your nerves flip. He was an old friend of yours, brought up through the orphanages as your twin practically, but that didn’t mean you trusted the man that he had grown into being. The boy you had once known was now in shreds, held together by the façade he was hiding behind.

You stood, throwing the letters into the fire and standing back, breathing rigid into your chest. Your ankle began to ache, but you couldn’t seem to bring yourself to look away. With Dream’s threats, you knew you had to leave.

“He calls you ‘hemlock,’” Techno mumbled, his voice coming out in a questioning tone, hesitant of overstepping the unspoken boundaries the two of you had set for each other. He played with his fingers, back pressed against the wall behind him as he avoided stepping into your space. He gave you an emotionless look as if refusing to show his true feelings on the situation. You weren’t sure what he thought of you after diving into that letter. “Almost like you’re some kind of…” he paused, chewing on his lip as his eyes fell to the hardwood floor and then back to your gaze. “Malice,” he finished.

Your mouth grew dry, feeling small and vulnerable in front of him. You inhale deeply, attempting to steady your nerves. “It’s always been some kind of joke for him,” you responded. You weren’t sure if you were defending Dream or fishing for Techno’s assurance.

He nodded. “It’s not very funny, is it?” You shook your head quickly, suddenly finding it difficult not to cry. It had been too long of a day for you. Techno watched you, surveying eyes waiting for you to ground yourself.

He took a few steps, sitting down and motioning you toward him. You silently took a seat at his feet, eyes trained on the fire in front of you as his scent surrounded you. You crossed your legs, taking a deep breath once again. His hands moved into your hair, softly running his fingers along the crown of your head as he separated your short locks. His touch was gentle and calming, brushing against your ear as he braided.

You closed your eyes, letting him relax you and bring you back from your frizzled edges. He was quiet while he worked, your mind silencing to only focus on his fingers. You could swear that you had never felt more at ease than you did then. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice barely audible, worry that if you spoke louder he would hear the extent of your distress.

His hands moved to your shoulders, finished with his words as his fingers rolled against the knots forming. You settled your cheek against his hand. “I’m not going to ask for an explanation,” he began, his thumb pressing between your shoulder blades in a sensitive spot. You focused back on the flames, eyelids feeling heavy. “But I need to know if you’re okay.”

You mulled over his words as he loosened the tension weighing on your mind. “I’m okay.”

⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫

The next morning, you were setting your plates on the counter, listening to Techno chop wood outside. The front door clicked open in a rush, a man stepping inside and throwing off his hood. His brown eyes bore into you with a wave of lingering anger you recognized in the eyes of someone when you had been on the other end of their blade. He was increasingly tall, like Techno, but his features were more child-like and innocent, apart from his eyes.

He went after you, lunging for your body as you swiveled out of his path, grabbing onto the knife beside you. Your fingers gripped onto the back of his collar, pinning him to the table with a loud thud. The blade was resting against his throat as the two of you panted, him from being caught off guard and you from being dormant for so long.

He gritted his teeth as you pressed the blade tighter to his neck. “Who are you?” You bit. His Adam’s apple bobbled against the metal as he swallowed, catching his breath.

“I see you two have met,” Techno called, a tired look in his eyes as he spotted the man beneath you.

The brunet chuckled, the sound coming out more like a frustrating example of fear than a true laugh. “I like your new guard dog, Tech,” he mumbled, spitting at you. You pursed your lips, striking the blade against his cheek to draw a bit of blood and making him wince.

Techno rested his shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms. The man’s hand reached to brush the collar of your shirt to the side, his eyes focusing on the branded symbol on your shoulder. His breath was warm against your chest as his expression changed. You continued to glare at him. “It really is her, isn’t it?” He muttered, betrayal evident in his tone. You searched his face as his eyes met yours.

“This is Wilbur,” Techno stated, moving towards the two of you. You pulled away from him, letting him up as Techno stood beside you. Wilbur’s hand reached up to brush away the line of blood trickling from his fresh wound.

Wilbur straightened up, digging into his pocket to pull out a wadded-up piece of paper. He unfolded it slapping it on the table where he had just been laid out by you. Bold letters spelled out the terms of your arrest and the price on your head. There was a crude drawing of what you used to look like staring back at you as you took half a step behind Techno’s arm.

Wilbur stiffened and it hit you. He wasn’t actually after you rather than worried for Techno’s safety. Concern was painted across his face at just how close the two of you were standing as he gestured to the Wanted poster. “I’m not sure what she’s told you, but I know I’m right,” he pleaded. It struck you that the two had previously discussed trading you into the authorities. You weren’t surprised, mainly because before you knew Techno, you would have done the same. “Think of the money. You could actually retire. Give up babysitting-“

Techno cut him off. “No,” he answered flatly, shocking you. “We’ve already talked about this.” You stepped back, leaning against the counter to relieve the weight on your ankle. Techno peered over his shoulder briefly, as if feeling you step away from him.

Wilbur shook his head in disbelief. “They’re going to continue to look for her. It’s not safe.”

Techno shrugged, indifferent towards the look Wilbur was giving him. It made you sick to think of the divide you were causing. “We’ll get her name changed then.”

You raised your eyebrows as Techno chuckled, moving to finish your job as Wilbur looked between the two of you. “Yeah, and how are you going to accomplish that?”

Without a beat, Techno replied, “I guess I’ll marry her.”

Your breath hitched, facing flushing a deep red, but before you could reply, someone else barged in; a blond panting slightly as he doubled over to catch his breath. The two men looked upon the boy, waiting for him to stop wheezing. “Tommy, go home. It’s not safe here,” Wilbur commented. His gaze shifted to you. “Techno’s harboring a murderer.”

So, this was Techno’s famous Tommy; a boy barely older than sixteen and tall enough that he could knock your head off your shoulders with a flex of his elbow.

“Wilbur, we can’t give her up. Who knows what will happen,” he groaned, standing up and putting his arms above his head. You wondered just how far he had run to get to Techno’s. “You weren’t there when we found her.” He looked to the side, giving you a half-wave as he attempted to steady his breathing. If they weren’t discussing such intricate matters, you would have giggled at him.

Instead, you cleared your throat. “I’m leaving soon anyway. There’s no need-“

Techno interrupted you. “No. No one’s going anywhere, okay?” He sighed. “Obviously, we can handle ourselves. If not, at least let her get back on her feet before you excommunicate her from my house, Wilbur,” he adjudicated, his tone quipping as if to suggest that Wilbur’s opinion on the matter wasn’t holding water. “Tommy’s right anyway. You don’t know what it was like.”

Wilbur chewed the inside of his cheek, glaring at you. You felt hot and uncomfortable under his gaze as if he were hexing you secretly. He sighed, grabbing onto Tommy’s arm as he brushed past you, knocking into your sore side. “One wrong move and I’ll kill you,” he stated. You could tell he wasn’t normally such an antagonist, and you respected his devotion to Techno.

You nodded. “I’ll let you.”

Tag List: (to be added, please follow this link :))

@udontneedtokno @cyanflowers @more-like-reyna @deepestofwaters @sparkletash @aroyaldarknessbr @camerondiaz48104 @madsbbg @victory-is-here @valkyrieidunn @cdizzlevalntyne @simpforblockguys @ribbitsworld @victoria-a567 @miiilliiee @thegirlwhowritesawksh-t @roryann04 @book-of-anarchy @lightdreamy @hiccupofttea @wreny24 @deepestofwaters @exenestea

[rottingraisins]

What materials do you use when drawing?

Oh god my traditional art tends to be these like. Mixed media monstrosities using every single type of paint I own so this will inevitably get sort of long BUT generally:

- for lineart: waterproof ink if i want very clean, professional looking lineart, ballpoint pen (i have one of these 4-in-1 ones that i rlly love) if i want messier, "angry" lineart

- for light colors (like here): watercolor, let it dry & do multiple layers to get more depth into the shadows, i also like to add some texture with watercolor pencil

- for solid, vibrant colors (like here): gouache, i LOVE gouache its rlly intuitive and fun 2 paint with, my one tip is to mix it until it gets a little foamy before starting to paint, otherwise it will look kind of uneven (though that can be charming in itself i think)

- like i said i also mix them a lot! i almost always do skin in watercolor cause you can get it to look rlly fun and splotchy but use other paints for the rest of the drawing

- i also sometimes use china ink (more vibrant than watercolor but less opaque than gouache, good if you want this very even sort of ductus that almost looks printed) and acrylic (WEIRD AS HELL and pretty much impossible to paint over in anything that isn't also acrylic, i only use it for highlights + on surfaces that my other paints dont stick to e.g. leaf metal)

- lastly: I do a LOT of digital trickery after I scan my finished paintings, not only do i make the colors more vibrant and fuck around a lot with overlays, I also sometimes make the background a different color from the white of my sketchbook (did this for pretty much all of these). Blend mode: multiply is your friend!!

Hope this helps! 👍

[19mrs-barnes17]

Don’t Be Stupid

Summary: A blast from the past, Sam Winchester stumbles his way into a hunt already in progress. Little does he know they’re flying solo.

Part: 1/1

Pairing: Sam Winchester x reader

Warnings: minor mention of loss, flirtation, minorly graphic

Word count: 2,733

A/N: The fact that most of the Sam smiling gifs are in the early seasons hurt my heart. But enjoy!

~

She knew it was a bad idea. The lack of a completed plan in her mind barely got her through the foyer, blood dripping down her forehead as she struggled against the force. Her foot reached out for the machete that lay a foot or two away, nearly snagging it as the clean cut sound of a blade running through flesh was followed by the vamp’s head toppling from its neck. Wiping the blood from her face she was met with an angry man, an attractively tall and hazel eyed man, who didn’t get a moment to lecture her. Though she could tell by the way his eyes locked onto her, they were practically a window into his brain where the gears could be seen turning as they attempted to produce a speech. 

She dove for her machete and continued on while he fought off two vamps who almost seemed to have a personal vendetta against the guy. Despite knowing she had no time to wonder how another hunter ended up on her case, she was curious about his identity and couldn’t help but let her mind wander as she sliced through the nest. Everything was going a lot smoother with that stranger to watch her back, but she’d never tell him that. Can’t go feeding any more egos.

“I’d drop that blade if I were you.” Halting in her tracks she turned to glance behind her, eyes trailing from the machete on the carpet to the way the vamp had the hunter in a hold. So much for smooth going. Her mind was calculating from the moment she laid eyes on the pair, an idea forming in her head. And it was a two person job.

“All right, calm down.” She shifted her gaze to the stranger’s, bending her knees as she went to set down her weapon, but a quick nod from him set it into motion. The stranger clawed at the vamp’s face while she spun, ducking when she released the machete from her grip. Somehow the blade actually made it halfway through its neck, striking the creature at an odd angle. However, this was enough to throw him off and the stranger landed the killing blow with his own blade.

“I can’t believe that actually worked.” The stranger was kneeling before the vamp with a mixed expression, half in shock and half impressed.

“I don’t think anyone is going to.” He glanced up from the body, a soft smirk on his lips as he handed her machete back. The sound of cries rang out and both heads snapped to the direction they emanated from, the long dark hallway becoming less empty by the minute as a few vamps began to trail out of the rooms. “Well fuck me. Guess we just hit the beehive with a bat.”

“Seems like it. What’s the plan?” She had scoffed, eyes scanning around them for something to spark an idea. “Are you telling me you waltzed in here with no plan?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize I brought my mother along for the trip. My plan was to wipe ‘em out one by one as I snuck around the house. What I didn’t account for was you following me here.” He rolled his eyes before shoving her into the nearest room and pressing his back against the door.

“Yeah well you can thank your buddy Garth for the tip.” That’s when it hit her, she knew exactly how he had gotten there and was going to smack Garth for his big mouth later. “Now grab that desk.”

“Yeah okay let me just shift into She-Hulk.” Muttering angrily she knocked the knick knacks from the top and pushed the desk with her back. “Remind me to remind Garth I hunt alone. Especially when it's the nest that killed my partner.”

“That’s exactly the type of hunt you call in backup for, emotions always cloud judgement on a revenge hunt.” She rolled her eyes, knowing full well he couldn’t see with her back to him. “Some friendly advice? Anger makes you stupid. Stupid gets you killed.” 

“Gee thanks for the tip. Next time keep it to yourself, especially since, oh I don’t know, we’re not partners or friends.” Once she’s close enough he joins in pushing the desk up against the door, the pounding against the door intensifying. “Now what wise guy.”

“Sam.” 

“Sorry?” 

“My name is Sam. And now? Now we can control when they get in, and take a breather beforehand.” He had this cocky look about his stance and his gestures as he spoke, as though he thought himself an expert of some sort.

“Who are you?” It was killing her that he seemed so experienced, and yet she had never come in contact with him before. Even worse was that the more she looked into his eyes, the ones that seemed to shift color depending on the lighting, the more she felt that she had.

“I just told you.” The rattling of the door has him speaking louder, his stance stiffening and ready. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re way too good at this.”

“Uh, thanks?” He chuckled softly but she shook her head, the atmosphere growing tense as she stared him down and the banging on the door softened. 

“Oh fuck me.” Her eyes scanned the room before landing on the balcony, “No seriously, fuck me.”

“I don’t think that’s the be-” His gaze followed hers, eyes widening in realization as he caught up. “Oh, fuck.”

“How fast can you move that desk?” Sam was already on it and she stood watch, the first vamp shattering the glass but only making it a foot before losing his head. 

“Let’s go!” Sam slices his way out while she backs her way from the room, her blade swinging violently back and forth. 

“There! Let’s draw them out.” The open foyer was the last stand, her back was pressed against his as they waited for the first vamp to venture a strike. “I’m Y/N.”

“What?” 

“You told me your name, but I never told you mine.” He glanced over his shoulder, brow furrowed. 

“You really don’t remember me do you?” Did you know that vampires have excellent timing? And by excellent she meant terrible. Mid-conversation bad. 

“Can’t say I do, those eyes are familiar though.” She grunts as a vamp nails her in the gut, her blade soon enough severing the woman’s head. Sam slices through the final vamp and the two are left huffing and puffing.

“You think we could just burn the building as the security measure?” He laughs, nodding at the idea before muttering something like ‘sounds good to me’. 

The blaze of the fire was wild as it nipped at the night air, the two only sticking around long enough to ensure it would keep burning. As they approached their cars they slowed to a stop before glancing once more at the house.

“Are you staying anywhere or did you just rush straight here?” She sent him a look with a smile that said, ‘I’m not that stupid’.

“I may rush into a ‘revenge case’ as you called it, but I know how bloody this job gets. A shower is a must.” She opened her car door, but paused before leaning inside. “Why do you ask?”

Sam shifted his weight awkwardly and she gasped, her smirk one that he had begun to admire. He glanced away quickly, praying the night hid the look in his eyes as he stared at the flaming building.

“Wow, Mr. Plan didn’t think to include a place for a clean up?” He rolled his eyes before sliding into his car and starting the engine, waiting for her to show him the way.

Refreshed she was, but also starving. For food and information. She knew it was time to figure out what she had somehow forgotten. Sam was a mystery puzzle piece and her brain would not be able to rest until she found out what happened between the two of them. When she opened the door there he stood, fist raised and ready to knock. Sam’s eyes met hers and he lowered his hand with a sheepish smile, he was next door and probably kicking himself for being so close. 

“That’s a frighteningly close guess.” He shrugged and pointed to her car, parked right outside the neighboring room. “Ah, nevermind it was an average one.”

“But still incorrect. You hungry?” This man was going to be the death of her, she could just tell by that dangerous smile and those pretty eyes. She didn’t stand a chance.

There was a diner 5 minutes away with the best chicken bacon melt she had ever tasted, melt in your mouth cheese that could make a girl foodgasm. She couldn’t help but moan as she took the first bite, rolling her eyes and mumbling at how delicious it was. Sam chuckled to himself, glancing at her as though she reminded him of someone. When dessert came round she knew she had to try their house special chocolate mousse pie, and he once more gave her that look of familiarity. 

“Southside Diner. About 5 years ago.” She froze just before she was about to slide a fork full of pie into her mouth, eyes flitting up to his. 

“Come again?” Setting her fork down she tilted her head, brow knit as he fumbled for something in his pocket. Out came his wallet, out of his wallet came a card. Suddenly she knew exactly what she had pushed from her memory, and she knew why. “Oh my god. Fuck me.”

“That has to be your catchphrase, because I still remember you flipping off my brother for his retort all those years ago.”

Y/N and Q sat upon the stools of the diner, rejuvenating their energy through copious amounts of food. Neither had spoken a word since the hunt, nothing had gone wrong per say, but both were officially too exhausted for words. The bell chimed and just like when someone walked through the door of a classroom her head couldn’t help but turn to look. In walked two tall men, one like a damn tree but the other not too far behind. Both fairly handsome, but one set of eyes ensnared hers instantly as they shifted colors under the fluorescent lights. She sent a smile and a small nod which he returned, his gaze torn away by his companion.

“Here.” Q slid a business card her way, the formerly blank back now covered in ink, her eyes scanned the note before she shook her head. “Oh come on. You never flirt, I’m getting tired of you letting them walk by.”

“You know it’s best not to date non-hunters, and you know I don’t do hookups.” He shoved the card into her hand with a smirk.

“Then it’s a good thing you just selected one, eh?” Brow knit together she glanced haphazardly over her shoulder, gaze meeting the emerald green pair instead. Quickly she turned away, one deep breath in and she slid out of her seat and turned toward the booth. However, she of course could never pull off a move so smooth and immediately ran into a waitress with a tray of milkshakes.

“Ah, fuck me.” The chocolate and strawberry ice cream absorbing into her black and white print leggings, her muddled navy top barely noticeable. 

“You should at least buy me a drink first, don’t ya think?” Her eyes trailed up to the emerald eyes that taunted her, her mind raging at the dick move he just pulled. Pushing herself off the floor she placed the card before the hazel eyed man who sat glaring at his companion, turning back to the flirt.

“There’s a place where you can pick up someone who’s actually interested down the street, it’s called a bar. Maybe you should try it some time.” She didn’t wait for a reply before flipping him off and heading for the door, only pausing to nod for Q to follow.

“Holy shit, you kept it?” She scanned the chocolate and strawberry pink stained card, fingers running over the faded ink before falling short at the phone number. “So that’s why you never got a hold of me, the dumbass wrote the wrong area code.”

“Ah, so that’s why I got some guy named Phil on the other end asking if his wife was expecting my call.” Sam laughed along with you, eyes seemingly a lighter shade. “I thought you were just messing with me, or you just really wanted to tell Dean off.”

“Can you blame a girl? I get doused in milkshake, curse, and the genius thinks I’m looking for a pick up from him. I don’t do hookups, especially not with guys that approach me like that.” Sam smirks, shaking his head at his brother’s antics.

“Trust me, I’m amazed by some of the lines that work.” She scoffs and demands an example, shoving her now empty plate aside and resting her chin in her hands. “No way.”

“Boo, you’re no fun. I’ll do one I’ve gotten if you tell me one of his that’s actually worked.” Sam arched a brow, but nodded. “Did you sit on a pile of sugar?” He shakes his head and mumbles a no, doing his best to contain his smile. “Cause you’ve got a pretty sweet ass.”

Sam pauses for a moment, cocking his head to head to the side and making a face that says, ‘mmm… yeah that’s accurate’. She leaned forward and smacked his chest with the back of her hand, head shaking at him. 

“Okay, a deal is a deal. Now I don’t remember the exact delivery, but it was something to this effect.” Sam clears his throat and regains his composure, eyes taking on an expression she’d never seen before. “I just thought I’d let you know that I value my breath, so it would be nice if you didn’t take it away every time you walked by.”

For some reason her hormones betrayed her brain and she was left rendered silent for a minute or two. She cleared her throat and was immediately searching for something to say. She should have known better than to ask a man she’s attracted to to tell her a pick up line.

“Well fuck me, that was smoother than he probably delivers it.” She immediately grabs her glass of water to take a sip and avoid eye contact. “Let me guess his shirt is made of boyfriend material.”

“Oh, no. Not his shirts, those are hookup material and nothing else.” 

“So what’s yours then?” She couldn’t believe the words slipped out, her cheeks flushing under his gaze.

“What do you want it to be?”

“Oh fuck you, stop being so damn smooth. You’re killing me here.”

“You asked, I delivered.” He held his hand up in surrender and she wanted him then and there, this big, dumb, but smooth as hell dork.

“I didn’t know I would unleash a flirting machine.” She tore away her gaze, a smile tugging at her lips. “I do know what I was hoping it to be.”

“Hoping what to be?”

“The material.” She felt ridiculous, but comedy was the only way she’d ever get this out.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Boyfriend.” She muttered the words through her hands, eyes peeking between her fingers to look at his reaction. His soft smile melted her worry, hands reaching for hers and intertwined his fingers with hers.

“I think that could be arranged. We did pretty much just have a first date.” 

“In that case, I usually don’t offer this on typical first dates… but I have a good feeling about you.” She stands up after the bill returns, her eyes daring to meet his gaze. 

The drive was quick and silent apart from the radio playing softly in the background. She found it pretty comical that after all this time, Garth of all people was the reason they had met again. Who would have guessed? 

“Well, you know the way to my room don’t you?” She paused, leaning against the hood of the car with a smirk that drove him wild.

“I think I might have it right this time.” It was official, that smile was her demise. And wouldn’t ya know… she didn’t mind that one bit. 

~

Tags: @qtmeryr​ @broken-hearted-barnes​ @asphalt-cocktail​ @cantnkrusshedevil​ @gstran18​ 

To join character tags or the everything tag please send an ask!

[teamyellremade]

because i’m in the mood to talk about art supplies, here are my favorites!

i’ll start out with acrylics!

i have been using this set of Winsor & Newton Galeria Acrylics bc winsor and newton is a pretty reputable brand, and the color selection + amount of paint for the price worked for me.

i also already owned a HUGE 6.75 fl oz tube of white paint from this set prior to buying it, so that worked out nicely! i would definitely suggest picking up at least another bigger tube of white paint because i go through quite a bit when i am blending, mixing and painting.

here are some examples of things i’ve painted using these paints:

one 

two

for watercolors, i have another set of winsor and newton paints!

this time, it’s the travel set though! i picked it up because of the price mostly. (full sets of watercolors are Expensive) i don’t really use watercolors too extensively, so i don’t need huge quantities of paint. this travel set works very well for me! the colors are very vibrant and mix well together, and i love their compact size!

i also tend to use watercolor as a base coat before applying a layer of colored pencil to make the colors more vibrant and seamless, and this set does its job nicely for that! :>

here is an example of a piece created with these watercolors!

when inking pieces that i intend on coloring using watercolors or my tombow markers, (AKA water-based materials) i will usually use a nib and a bottle of ink.

this is because if i use anything that’s not totally waterproof, then the ink will smudge and smear as i color over it with the water-based markers or paint. waterproof tech pens i find can be very hit or miss and it’s hard to judge the quality of the pen without doing a test with watercolors or markers first. 

i do not have one set brand of ink i swear on because i have. so much black ink. i just cycle thru depending on whichever bottle feels the most full. dr. ph. martin’s black india ink is pretty good though! just make sure that the label says waterproof before buying it!

i just picked up this set of speedball nib holders and nibs cuz it was on sale but it’s worked well enough for me! (the big nib holder that is, the smaller ones don’t work as nicely in my experience but i MAY just be using them incorrectly.)

i included a photo of that small glass container because i use it to hold the ink as i am drawing. when the bottle of ink gets too low, it can be nearly impossible to dip your pen in it, so i like using a smaller, narrower and shallower container to dip the nib in. i picked that up in a set of glass jars of varying sizes at michaels, but im sure that you can find a substitute for less.

i also use fine inking brushes when necessary!

i inked this piece traditionally using a nib and brush, and then scanned them and colored it digitally

i inked these pages and cover with a nib and ink

im p sure i inked this with a nib

i inked this piece with a nib, then went over it with a brush and finished it with watercolor and colored pencil

another piece!

for colored pencils, i mostly use prismacolor! they’re a great colored pencil, though a bit expensive. (it’s worth the extra cash tho!)

idk what else to say here because i think everyone knows about or uses prismacolor. they’re a great brand, definitely recommend!

for markers, i used to use copics a lot, but they are so expensive so i switched to tombow!

tombow are water-based, meaning they can blend well with watercolors! (havent tried that myself, but i rly should sometime......) 

here’s some stuff i did with my tombows:

one

two

three

[askiisoft]

FAN ART FRIDAY: Triple Dragons

Imagine dragons. It can be the European winged lizards or the long, windy Asian ones, it doesn’t matter. Now imagine that, like most lizards, it molted its skin every so often. But afterwards, that shedded skin came to life, put on a suit, and started trying to take over the identity of the original, creeping out its friends and war buddies in the process.

That’s the sordid history of Gamma Fifteen, a.k.a “The Dragon of New Mecca”. I think no one behind Katana ZERO imagined he’d become the game’s breakout character, receiving more fan love than the rest of the cast combined. But we’re not here to talk about him...or at least, not just him. Thanks to the raw talent and wild imaginations of fans, there have become at least three different versions of Fifteen in fanon.

So buckle in, because today we’ll be going on an expedition into the urban jungles of the Third District, to get a look at the three species of The Dragon in the wild.

Thanks to @55_yamisan for drawing all the species illustrations below! You can see the original artwork here.

[WARNING: Contains plot spoilers for ‘Katana ZERO’]

Ssshhh. Stay low, and be careful of snapping twigs underfoot. Just through the brush, we can see a juvenile Dragon in its natural habitat. Here, have a look.

Don’t be fooled by his boyish charm—at the tender age of 15, this NULL specimen is already a proficient killing machine. From this juvenile form, a Dragon can eventually grow into one of three different forms depending on its diet, habitat, and artist. 

—

Exhibit A. Here, we have most prolific and successful species of The Dragon. Using his long, spindly legs, he prowls the Earth’s upper atmosphere for small birds, passenger planes, and other prey.

One of the mandates for Katana ZERO’s promotional art was that spoiler characters like Fifteen and Headhunter couldn’t be shown. It was a smart move for hiding the game’s various late-game twists, but as a consequence, fan artists had nothing but his in-game sprites as reference material. 

This led to debates about whether he wore sunglasses or had cat ears, until natural selection produced the perfect assassin; a bishonen-yet-deadly apex predator.

by @IERotAK

I love hatched lines. They’re useful for drawing the eye or adding texture, shadows, and folds without the use of color. Unfortunately, a combination of shitty tablet drivers and my own unsteady hand means I can only draw lines a couple dozen pixels long before they start losing their straightness.

That’s clearly no issue for IEROtAK, who manages to convey the distinct textures of glossy leather gloves, a dark suit, and cold steel using nothing but amazingly neat hatched lines and negative space. The thick webs of intricate lines dazzles the eye from afar before it slowly makes out the clean shapes and low perspective of this masterpiece. Real badasses don’t look at explosions.

by @PsykoShipht

One of the best ways to make dynamic action is by accentuating movement; things like Batman’s cape, Strider Hiryu’s crimson scarf, or Rad Spencer’s dreadlocks billow and sway with their every movement, giving a sense of momentum and a clear line of action. 

PsykoShipht gives Fifteen’s stylish ponytail a life of its own; I can already picture it straightening with each Chronos Rush attack or forming zig-zags and right angles and he navigates platforms. Even Fifteen’s comparatively lanky proportions and clean silhouette scream ‘agility character’ before he even draws his sword.

—

This species is a rare sight in the wild, and thankfully so. His briefcase is lead-lined, so even X-ray scans have been unable to reveal its contents.

It all began in The Concept Art of Katana ZERO and seemingly normal piece of concept art by Kenju, depicting an alternate version of Fifteen bearing a green sheath, green hair, and what looked like mild burn scars on his face. 

by Kenju

Fan artists immediately took the idea and ran with it, inventing a bizarre, disfigured, and delightfully mad doppelgänger—first dubbed “Proto Fifteen″ and later, “The Snake” or “The Serpent”. He carries around that mysterious silver briefcase and a creepy yandere obsession with Fifteen’s old comrade, Zero. 

Is he a failed clone? A bizarro-version from another dimension? And what’s inside that briefcase? We may never know. But the idea of having a stalker with Fifteen’s level of speed and swordsmanship is an utter nightmare...

by @55_yamisan

Why drown a drawing in rainbows when just a few spots of color makes all the difference? 

Adding red eyes to Yami-san’s black-and-white art style immediately leads one’s gaze in a serpentine spiral, from the snake’s glare and up its graceful coils to The Serpent’s cocked head and seductive smirk that distinguish him as the ‘evil twin’. Even without the green in his hair or his signature briefcase, it’s easy to tell this is a totally distinct character from The Dragon. 

Let’s hope Zero can tell the difference, too...

“There’s something important inside.” by @moryu​

When Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction hit in 1994, everyone had their own guesses about what was inside the ‘mysterious briefcase’. Diamonds. Nuclear launch codes. Perhaps even a human soul.

In this case, however, my guesses are a lot more morbid, as anything The Serpent holds dear is likely slick, smelly, and related to Zero in some way. The way fan artists took a discarded detail from concept art and transformed it into The Serpent’s central conceit is beyond impressive.

I shudder to think of the kinds of reference photos @moryu​ used to achieve such realistic-looking burn scars in this picture. It doesn’t stop there, though; the mottled glow of The Serpent’s suit and hair and dull metallic sheen of his briefcase add an extra dimension of warmth to this otherwise creepy portrait.

—

“The Crocodile” is a relative newcomer to this ecosystem, but has carved out a niche of lifting his prey with a single arm, then drowning them in a toilet or other convenient body of water.

Truth be told, this one’s on me. When drawing some Steam Backgrounds for the game’s PC version, enough time had passed that The Dragon was fair game for publicity material. What I drew ended up like a blood-spattered cross between Clint Eastwood and Owen Wilson.

by @godsavant

This sent shockwaves rippling through the Katana ZERO fan community. Where was the sharply-dressed samurai prince everyone thirsted for? Surely this stomach-kicking, mobster-torturing beefcake couldn’t be him, thus earning him the moniker “The Crocodile” or “The Alligator”: muscular, deadly, and singularly obsessed with revenge.

by @sbserpent

Dragons are a consistent theme in art across many Asian cultures; for example, the Chinese once believed their emperor was descended from dragons, and thus bore their wisdom and benevolence. Here, sbserpent demonstrates just how frightening a human embodiment of a dragon really is.

Where The Dragon carries himself with an air of calculated composure, The Crocodile exudes sheer terror. The thick, angular brush strokes evoke Japanese sumi-e artwork, yet blotchy ink spots and harsh shadows are a far cry from the koi fish and bamboo forests of those traditional paintings. 

by @Zebralineku

Chiaroscuro is a technique that uses bold contrast between light and shadow to leave certain parts for the viewer’s mind to fill in. 

Here, Zebra gives us an imposing film-noir bust of The Crocodile as glimpsed through narrow blinds or a slat in a dark alley: the foreboding red mixed with heavy shadows evoke a hitman staring out at crimson neon signs, and his dark suit mixes with the black background to make him almost a shadow. Yet we can envision the other half of his face and ponytail in our mind’s eye from the scantest details; truly the touch of a master.

—

Remember, the specimens we’ve observed must be viewed from a safe distance; should you spot any of them in the wild, do not approach!

If you’d like some artwork featured on a future Fan Art Friday, just use the Submit Button on this blog!

by @Kazzang3

[mysticsparklewings]

2019 Art Summary!

It's that time again when we all look back on the year we've had and reflect, and then look forward to what's to come in the New Year. This only my second year doing a yearly Art Summary piece (I didn't miss February like I did last year!) but I'm grateful for the tradition now. Looking back, 2019 had a lot going on for me and my art; I started out not that different from how I've been handling my art and myself online for the past couple of years, but as the year went on, I feel like I've done a lot of growing, finding myself, and even though I didn't start off in a terrible place, I think I'm in a much better one now. This really was a year of tremendous personal growth for me, both in art and just in life, and I can only hope that continues through the New Year and beyond. (As sappy as that is to say, I really mean it.) That said, let's look back on 2019 in a little more detail, shall we? January: Birthday Wishes I actually didn't have a ton of options to choose from for this month, as I think I was a little burnt out from the last couple of months in 2018 and giving myself some breathing room.  Still, this Shopkin colored to match my actual birthday cake actually remains one of my favorite mixed media pieces I've done. I don't know why, there's just something I really enjoy about how it turned out, for as simple as it is.  And for the record, I think I will be doing another custom Shopkin drawing for my birthday again this year, but I haven't decided anything beyond that yet. February: Floating Away (+ Time Lapse!) So as I mentioned earlier, on last year's Art Summary I discovered I didn't have any submissions dated in February and I hadn't yet gotten in the habit of documenting completion dates for my artwork, and so I didn't have an artwork to put there that I could definitively say was done in February. This year, however, February was actually one of my busiest months and I had a pretty wide variety to choose from. I ended up going with my little hot air balloon, as while it's a bit different from my normal work, I still think it's really cute and it also represents one of my attempts to start making videos of my artwork...Which I've been too lazy to do since the few attempts I did during this month... But who knows? I have a better camera and slightly larger workspace at my disposal, so perhaps I'll try again and be a little less lazy about that in 2020. March: Once a Killjoy, Always a Killjoy Oh boy, if past-me had only known what was to come later this year! March saw a lot of pieces from me practicing with watercolor and new supplies, but I think my favorite to come out of the month was my annual artwork to honor March 22nd, the anniversary of when My Chemical Romance, my favorite band, broke up. Only this time instead of doing pure fanart, I made myself into a Killjoy for the occasion.  (The design of which needs to be revamped a little because my hair is purple now, but that just means I already have one option for the anniversary this coming year!) And once again, this is a mixed media piece that I look back on very fondly. The concept is fun and the end result looks pretty cool. April: Doodle Moon I leaned pretty heavily into honing my watercolor craft in April, and among those efforts, this one is definitely my favorite. (Even if it doesn't fit on this template very nicely ) This one was a bit of an experiment in branching my traditional and digital art together in a different way, and I still really love how it turned out. Although unfortunately, I've yet to return to this technique, simply because I feel weird a lot of the time about "half finishing" a traditional piece and then making a lot of modifications to it digitally. It feels like cheating or being fake in a way to me. But I think I get that hangover from the concept of editing photos online and then passing them off as real & unedited...in which case it's a personal problem that I just need to deal with on my own. May: Butterfly Babe I didn't have a ton of artwork in May, but what I did have were usually bigger/more involved pieces, and this one is no different. I think 2019 is the year when I really came into owning my love for mixed media (which comes in large part from "I'm not good at x thing with y supply, but I can do x effect with z supply really well!") and this piece is a really great example of that. Once again, still one of my favorites and the scan really doesn't do it just with all the sparkle/metallic accents I incorporated. And I think I want to do more involved almost crafty projects like this more often, but that usually comes down to having the right inspiration to make it happen. June: Bug Girl Funnily enough, June 2019 is now my busiest month of all-time (in the almost 9 years I've been here on dA), and yet I only had one "real" piece of art for the Summary.  This was the month when I really got heavy into making my own Swatch Charts/Swatching Resources, and while some did carry over into July, the bulk of it was posted in June. I have to say, I don't think a ton of other people are using the charts, but I've certainly been getting good use out of them! And if I'm being honest I mostly wanted them for my own personal use anyway.  But for the artwork that you see here, this is another mixed media piece, this time commemorating one of my favorite books I've read this year, How to Make Friends with the Dark by Kathleen Glasgow. The artwork itself had some annoying problems in development, but the result is really beautiful to me, and so I think it was worth it in the end. July: Homemade Mini Sketchbooks! This month is more of a craft project than artwork, but I couldn't help myself as these little sketchbooks I made myself are probably one of my most favorite projects I did in 2019, and these first two spawned many more afterward.  It's funny to me because I've always wanted a way to combine my loves of books and art beyond just illustrating my writing (which isn't always something I feel like doing) and this, while maybe not a perfect solution, is definitely a unique way to do that. Plus, while making each book does take a little while, it is usually a pretty fun process now that I've gotten the better hang of it. These first two books aren't perfect, but they kicked off something I think I'll be sporadically doing for a good while to come. August: Mon Cher It feels like a lot happening this month, despite not having quite as much art as other months this past year. The month started off with the end of our family vacation, and I posted a journal when I got back where you can see that part of the reason this month felt so busy is that this is probably when I had the most new art supplies available to me to test out/play with during the year, including some items that I got at the tail end of July.  Out of the options I had though, this artwork seemed like the best choice to represent this month, as just like in April I leaned pretty heavily into using and practicing with watercolors and painting in general (as I dipped my toes into seriously painting with Acrylics this month too) and this is one of my more ambitious watercolor pieces. As I said when I first posted it, it has its mistakes and growing pains, but I still think it's really lovely. September: Fly By the Moon I was actually surprised, looking back, at how busy September was. My second acrylic painting (this one more in-depth than the first), an array of cute kitty drawings which have sort of become a series now, some personal pieces, and two contest entries. (One of which actually won!) I went with the acrylic painting since I'm still very proud of how it turned out, given that I don't use acrylics terribly often and hardly ever I go for realism (even semi-realism like this painting) either. Plus, this one is a nice memory of the two real luna moths that visited us, and I had to admit that it is just really nice to have a full painting on a canvas to hang up too.  I haven't done much more with acrylic painting yet, but I definitely want to. My main issue is that for me it's hard deciding on a good subject for the way I like to paint that I don't feel like would look equally as good if not better with a different medium. But hopefully, I'll find more excuses to break out the acrylics in 2020. October: Ink Dance Oh boy, what a month this was!  Inktober, new mini-magnets, trying gouache for the first time, and on the very last day the news of the decade (at least for me) that My Chemical Romance is back!  I followed my same principle as the art summary last year where it just doesn't feel fair to pick a favorite Inktober or use the wrap-up picture, so that left me with my gouache pieces or this one that looks more like a normal person's Inktober artwork, and out of my options, this is the one I like best. The gouache paintings aren't bad, I just need more practice and this one has more charm to me. And it's also funny to me that I was so concerned about ending up hating this one for the stippling and yet it turned out to be one of my favorites from this year. November: I will be with You The artwork for this month was pretty much a no-contest. I made this piece as a love letter to My Chemical Romance after the news of their Return, and likewise, I poured my heart and soul into it. It just might be one of my most favorite artworks to date; perhaps even worthy of being a "portfolio piece" on my website. Even more so after the fact now that I've seen the Return concert (albeit over a Livestream and not in person because California is like 2-3,000 miles away from me ). I was pretty busy throughout the month trying to keep up with a prompt challenge from Art Philosophy, but even so, I pushed myself to get this piece done and I'm so glad I did. December: Daises on Strawberry Hill Ah, and here we are at the very last. It's funny, the first half of this month seemed to drag by pretty slowly, but then after the second week things picked up pretty quickly (what with the Return concert and all) and I have to agree with my mom that Christmas went by so fast we almost missed that it happened at all. I don't have as much to show for this month, but that's in large part because I've been taking time off for my mental health and to spend time with and enjoy my family. I'm pretty happy with everything I produced this month, but my Looking for Alaska inspired art is definitely my favorite of the bunch. It's very graphic-design-ish and despite at the time having been done rather quickly and not super precisely, looking at it now it reads very cleanly. It's a little outside my normal art realm, but if anything I think that makes it stronger on its own.  I'm still chipping away at my longer review of the Hulu series I originally made it to talk about (like I said when I posted it, I have a lot of thoughts I want to talk about and not rush through), so I am indeed still planning on finishing and posting those...I just don't know when that'll be, considering I've already got a bit of a content schedule for myself going into the New Year, but eventually! Eventually, it'll be done! Overall, I'm honestly very happy with what I've managed to accomplish this year. Just like last year, I did a lot of experimenting with new supplies and new mediums--this time some I thought I'd never touch--and I hit even more milestones, including my first Daily Deviation in November. I feel like I've grown significantly more as an artist and a person this year though than I did last year. And in many ways, I feel like this year has renewed my confidence in my own skills and work. I'm not much of a "New Years' Resolution" type person, as I think the concept as tied to that particular phrase has been...I'll be generous and say overinflated and mistreated...but some of my Art Goals for 2020 are: Post more consistently/regularly (which I worked on a lot in 2019 too) Be more active & engaged on social media (I've already started working on this a little, but for some reason, this is honestly kind of hard for me as I always debate what's worth sharing online and what isn't ) Promote me and my work/art outlets more (Also something I find hard to do) Keep experimenting (Not really a goal so much as my artistic state of existence but whatever ) This past year has been one heck of a wild ready, but I'm more than ready to see what 2020 has in store for me. Cheers for the New Year ahead! ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings Art Summary Template: 2019 Summary of Art Template (Blank) ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[seenashwrite]

12 Days

Status: Complete Word Count: 4.7K Category: One-shot; Humor; Holidays; Christmas; Behind-the-scenes canon-compliant; Fluffersnark Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, Cas, You, special guest stars Warnings: None Author’s Note(s): Merry Christmas ya filthy animals; let’s use some tropes for good not evil; don’t sweat the word count, a good chunk of it is listing things (you’ll see); more post-story Overall Summary: It’s twelve days until Christmas, business is slow, but boredom has been chased away by the arrival of some very special gifts for two very deserving hunters.

1.

It started on the thirteenth, which - as all supernaturally-inclined people know - is a harbinger of doom. But Dean didn't see it that way, at least, not at first. Neither his hackles nor his suspicions were raised, and why would they be?

Sam pointed out that they should be, given the lack of postage or a “from” on the fancy tag attached to the fancy box with the fancy bow.

Here was the thing, though: pie.

The smell was heavenly; well, as heaven ought to smell, as far as Dean was concerned. And it should taste of whiskey. And it should sound of classic rock and classic engines. And it should feel of broken-in leather seats - hell, even just broken-in flannel. Anyone who knew Dean would presume such, and they would be correct.

And there, now, atop a library table, was a little piece of heaven. The tag had a "1" drawn on it in ornate calligraphy, a TO DEAN just under, and when opened, a charming drawing of the best of desserts, more fanciful handwriting proclaiming: A Fresh Homemade Apple Pie.

"Whoa," said Dean.

"Hmmm," said Sam.

It was beautiful, it was exquisite, it was delicious, and Dean ate it straight from the box, demolished it, nothing but crumbs in just under an hour.

"You don't think this is a bit weird?" Sam asked, watching as his brother leaned back with a contented sigh.

Dean brought his eyes to Sam's, then rolled them. "Our life is weird. Anyway, I know exactly who this is from - it's about trying to make up for that fight we had last week."

"Hmmm," said Sam.

Again.

2.

The next day, there were two boxes - the first was identical to the the prior day's, from packaging to content. The second was wrapped in kind, only bigger, the tag sporting "2", and featuring a tiny inking of brightly-colored shirts, though this time the tag read TO DEAN & SAM. Inside were plaid flannel button-downs, one for each of them, perfectly sized, in exactly the colors they would have chosen.

Dean was pleased, goaded Sam into trying his on; he begrudgingly admitted it was nice. But he had a question, so he asked it.

"I don’t get it - why? I mean, including me, if this is about your fight?"

Dean shrugged. "Got me. Who cares? I'm up for getting my ass kissed six ways to Sunday - if she wants to run The Twelve Days of Christmas gambit, she can knock herself out."

"Technically, the twelve days should start after----"

Dean interrupted as he picked up the box with the pie. "Before, after - I can handle twelve days of this whenever. So? You in this time?"

3.

Outside the bunker door on this day were three boxes: first, pie; the next, shirts; and the newest elicited a gasp from its recipient. TO DEAN, read the tag, Three Rocking Tapes. And there, just as the little drawing had shown, were three mix tapes full of his favorite songs, and his favorite songs only, no filler, no B-sides. He would soon find that one of the tapes was strictly live recordings, and the tunes were as crisp as if time had been rolled back briefly so as to capture the melodies in HD, sounding as if he were right there in the front row.

Dean put on his new flannel, stuffed his pants pockets with the tapes, snatched up the pie, and scurried to his room without another word. Or a fork. Or a napkin.

Sam sighed, and then he put away the shirts.

4.

Brought into the library were four packages - one pie, two shirts, three tapes, and now a box which held tiny bottles of top-shelf liquor. Four Shots Of Whiskey declared the tag, and Sam would swear that Dean erupted in what one could’ve interpreted as a squeal. A very manly one, naturally. 

It tasted wonderful, according to Dean, and he thought to offer Sam the fourth after pounding the first three. Sam tried it, happened to agree, and he drank his shot as Dean hacked into the latest pie.

An odd look crossed his face.

“What?” asked Sam.

Dean shook himself out of it. “Nothing. She tweaked the recipe, I guess.”

Sam nodded, set his empty bottle with the rest, but before he began to gather the shirts, he asked another question:

“Didn’t she always say she hated to cook?”

5.

Dean was singing under his breath as he tied his robe a little tighter, then opened the door. “It’s the most wonderful time of the---- Whoa!”

He’d yelled so loudly that Sam came rushing out of the kitchen and up the stairs. “What is it? What’s wr---- Wow.”

The morning had brought with it one pie, two shirts, three tapes, four whiskeys, and there, on a very large, very heavy box, a tag reading TO SAM.

As he flipped the tag open, he said, “I think she’s doing it wrong, I don’t think each gift is supposed to be repeated every----” Sam cut himself off with a massive intake of air once he saw it:

FIVE BOOKS OF LORE!

They were old, slightly yellowed, smelled ancient, and Dean wrinkled his nose, but Sam inhaled deeply, and his eyes sparkled as he laid each of the books out on the table almost reverently.

“These…. are…. AMAZING.” He looked to Dean, excited. “They’re really rare, I’ve been looking for a couple of these for forever!” A pause. “Something wrong with the shirts?”

Dean had opened the package, and was staring into it with a perplexed expression; he held up a sleeve for Sam to see.

“This look pink to you?”

6.

A hunt had taken the duo away from the bunker overnight, and on the front steps the evening of the sixth day, waiting for them to return, were: one pie, two shirts, three tapes, four whiskeys, five books, and six bags of salt.

“That woulda been useful last night,” Dean muttered.

“It was a big body,” Sam commented.

“He was a whale!” Dean snapped.

Sam frowned. “Why don’t you eat some pie and calm down.”

Dean grumbled something unintelligible.

“Huh?” Sam asked.

Dean didn’t answer, but did continue to grumble as they brought the salt bags - and the rest - inside.

“Will you please just tell me what’s wrong?” Sam tried again.

Dean sighed, and said, “Yesterday’s pie was… off.”

“Define ‘off’,” said Sam.

“It was really… I dunno, sour, or something.”

“Maybe it was a different kind of apple.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, now you’ll be used to it, if it’s in today’s.”

“You assume I’m gonna try today’s.”

Sam gave Dean a look.

Dean returned it in kind - then he shrugged, picked up the pie, turned to go to his room, thought better of it, turned around, and grabbed the whiskey, too.

7.

A suspect stomach prevented Dean from seeing the newest batch of presents until Sam had brought most of it down into the war room, the flush of a toilet echoing down the hallway heralding his arrival, and he stood by the stairs, watching as the job was completed.

“Nice of you to join the party,” Sam said with a grunt, depositing the last box onto the map table.

Dean studied his sweaty brother. “Why’re you so-----”

“Because, look,” Sam said, pointing.

The bags of salt had increased in size, tripling, in fact, from the few modest pounds the day prior; even for Sam, it was quite the haul. That made: six bags of salt, five books of lore, four whiskey shots, three rocking tapes, two flannel shirts, and a fresh homemade apple pie.

“Fresh, my ass!” Dean practically screamed at the package. But then his attention went to the newest arrival. “You or me?” he asked.

“You do it,” Sam replied, flopping into a chair, hair flopping out of his eyes as he did so.

Dean looked at the tag and grinned. “Ah-ha. Lucky you. Hopefully this time it’s something we can both----” Scanning further, he cut himself off, raised his eyebrows. “Welp. At least there’s the whiskey.” He gestured to the box as he took his own seat. “All yours.”

TO SAM ~ Seven Healthy Smoothies

As Sam removed the ornate wrapping and began to open the box, he jostled it, and his eyes met Dean’s briefly at the sound of clinking glass. He began removing the smoothies and setting them in a line. All seven were cool to the touch, all in crystal goblets, all piled high and with a dusting of peppermint flakes on top, all ready-to-drink due to the thoughtfully-included straws.

And all were an interesting shade of slightly neon green.

“It’s… festive,” Sam finally said, after several beats of silence.

“So? You gonna try it?” Dean asked, caution in his voice, a hand reflexively coming up to rub his belly.

“I dunno - you really think the pie made you sick? The pie itself - not the fact that you’ve been killing off a whole one every day for a week now?” Sam asked pointedly.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Then try it.”

“All right,” Sam replied, and picked one up, brought it to his nose for a sniff and, apparently satisfied that it wasn’t toxic in that regard, took a tiny sip. He grinned. He sipped more. He grinned more. And then he removed the straw and began to gulp it down. When he lowered the glass and his line of sight was clear, he found Dean eyeing him.

“Really?” Dean asked.

“It’s great!” Sam exclaimed, picking up another. “I gotta ask her for the recipe! Hey, have you talked to her at all? To say you’re sorry?”

“I’m not sorry,” Dean replied, smug, and stood - pausing briefly as his gut let out a horrific moan - then took the box with the tapes and retreated to his room.

Sam huffed, and shouted after him. “You’re not gonna help me with all this salt?!”

8.

“You need to call her.”

Dean and Sam were standing near a bookshelf, watching the box, both jumping in sync, startled when the shaking started up again.

“No.”

“Then go open it.”

“You open it.”

“Yesterday’s was for me, this one is probably----”

“It may be for both of us----”

“I can see your name on the tag from here!”

Rock, paper, scissors ensued.

Dean lost.

He flicked open his pocket knife as he walked to the table. The box suddenly went still when he gingerly raised the tag with the tip of the knife. “I can’t read what it says,” he told Sam.

“You could if you actually opened it!” Sam replied, growing annoyed.

“Fine, I’ll open it!” Dean declared, and used the knife to draw a large slit through the paper, enough to where he could get the flaps of the box open.

“I meant the tag--- oh, never mind,” said Sam.

Dean stood there staring down into box for so long that Sam finally walked over - and he found himself staring, as well, once he came to a stop by Dean.

The contents of the box were glowing.

Along with the seven healthy smoothies, six bags of salt, five books of lore, four whiskey shots, three rocking tapes, two flannel shirts, and a fresh homemade apple pie, it appeared the Winchesters were now the owners of eight canning jars, based upon the two rows of four metal caps, jars with minuscule holes pierced into the lids, jars whose contents pulsed gently with a warm amber light.

Rock, paper, scissors ensued.

Sam lost.

Dean backed away.

Sam reached in, removed a jar, snickered, then turned to show Dean that there, trapped inside the glass, was a fast-chirping, hard-glowing, wings-vibrating, bird-shooting, larger-than-usual-size, very pissed-off little lady.

Dean’s eyes grew wide. “But why?” he whispered.

Sam read the tag aloud. “TO DEAN - Eight Angry Fairies.” Then he burst into laughter.

“Sure, real funny!” Dean said with a sneer. “This is a total bitch move, even for her!”

Sam laughed harder. “We only have one microwave - you gonna go for the oven this time? What do you think, about three-fifty for a half-hour should do it, huh?” He set down the jar, still chuckling as he moved to the box containing his smoothies, took one out.

“You still have some in the fridge!” said Dean, coming back to the table, but hesitating briefly when the fairy threw herself against the inside of the jar, rocking it and causing a puff of sugarplum-scented glitter to waft into the air. He quickly picked it up by the lid - using his fingertips only - and deposited her back with her friends, closing the flaps for good measure.

Sam continued unpacking, said, “I know, but I wanted to see if she’d done anything new to these.” He took a sip, closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth turning up as it slipped down his throat.

“And?”

“They still taste great. Better, even. How’s the pie been?”

“Didn’t finish yesterday’s, it was mushy.”

“Mushy?”

“Yeah, mushy!” Dean exclaimed. “Why do you care?”

“Jeez, Dean! I’m just making conversation!”

“And the tapes suck, too, before you ask!”

“What are you talking about?”

“The first day they were great, and the second day, and then all of a sudden hair band rock started sneaking in----”

“You like----”

“NO, not ALL of it, and then there was grunge----”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh, and you know what was on the last one? Right in the middle of ‘Black Betty’? Friggin’ Bieber!”

Sam went back to laughing. “This is too good, you get what she’s doing, right? She’s telling you she’s not sorry, either!” 

Dean began to sulk, and Sam went back to drinking the smoothie, both still doing so when Castiel came into the room.

After a brief frown at the pile of salt bags - once more having increased in poundage since the last batch - he asked about all the packages. They explained. The frown returned.

“So you haven’t been helping her in any way, at all?” Dean asked.

“No,” replied Castiel, picking up a fairy jar and studying it. “I wager someone is, however, based upon the books Sam is receiving, and based upon these specimens - they’re quite reclusive and quite aggressive, that she managed to locate eight is… impressive.” He returned the jar to the box and turned to Sam. “Have the books continued to be rare tomes?”

Sam swallowed the most recent mouthful of his lime-hued treat, and answered, “In a way - they’ve all been different, and nothing we already have, but…. it’s just….”

Dean and Castiel raised their eyebrows, prompting him.

“Well, a few have been about cryptids, some about urban legend type stuff, things that she knows aren’t true. Maybe it’s some filler, since she’s having to come up with so many of them, or something.”

“And today’s?” asked Castiel.

“Open it up and see, if you want,” answered Sam, and Castiel did so.

“These are hardback copies of first-edition Chuck Shurley stories,” he said.

Sam just barely managed to avoid a spit-take. “This is great!” he choked out.

“Laugh it up, ass,” Dean shot back, and tore into the box with the shirts. He groaned. He yanked them out, threw them on the table, greeted with more of the same ol’, same ol’. Sort-of. Their sizes, yes; flannel, yes; pleasant-colored-plaid, no. They were patterned in pastel flowers.

A thought striking, he ran to his room, came back with a boombox, tested out the tapes. They were indeed classic rock. The elevator music version. Dean was fuming. The box of whiskey still held liquor, and it was still whiskey, though just a taste told him it was no longer top-shelf; not swill, but definitely well.

And then there was the pie.

Once the seal was broken, the smell was an assault, something sharp and pungent, all three men muttering “ugh” and “oof” and “ew”, and when Dean set it on the table, it made a belching sound, the slightly burnt crust sinking down, a thick grey ooze seeping out and over the edge of the dish.

“Man, she’s really nailing you, Dean!” Sam cried, laughing so hard this time that tears came to his eyes, and he had to sit down, Dean’s glare doing nothing to stop him, and when he settled, he was finishing off the last of his drink when Castiel directed a question his way.

“Why are you consuming pureed elf?”

9.

“This doesn’t make sense,” said Sam.

He held up one of the shoes. A left shoe, because they were all lefts. He had been gifted, according to the tag, Nine Missing Shoes.

Dean ran a hand over his face. “They’re not actively trying to kill us. Can we not look a gift horse, here?”

Sam tossed the shoe back into the box. “Let’s get started.”

Castiel had advised the fairies be kept in the dungeon - in their tightly sealed jars, of course - until he could determine what best to do with them. Dean and Sam, meanwhile, had a plan for the rest. Seven smoothies, flushed away. Six salt bags, piled in storage (after all, it would eventually get used). Five books, after being screened for usefulness, taken to recycling. Four whiskeys, after being tasted for quality, down the drain. Three tapes, after being checked for listen-a-bility, crushed underfoot. Flannel shirts, if not of plaid or plain flannel, donated. And as for the pie, into a trash bag it would go.

Their mission took the entire day, and after they pulled back into the garage and Dean cut the engine, he turned to Sam. “I think she’s trying to say something about bad luck.”

“With the shoes?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded. “Maybe she’s trying to say that it’s like the other stuff - nothing bad at first, but get ready, it’s coming.”

“Can you just… just get over it, and call her? I’m afraid she’s messing with some bad stuff, if she’s getting into cursed objects all because of a stupid misunderstanding---”

“I have tried, okay?! It kept going to voicemail, all last night, and when I tried earlier, it was disconnected!”

Sam blanched. “We need to do a locator spell, or get Cas to find her - she could be in real trouble, Dean.”

“She’s not in trouble, she’s being a dick,” Dean spat, and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him - and then he froze.

Sam climbed out, followed Dean’s gaze, and he was stunned - there, near the steps leading back into the bunker, was every gift they’d just disposed of, stacked and wrapped, not a bow out of place. They shared a serious look, then spoke at the same time.

“I’m getting the ingredients!” Sam announced.

“I’m getting Cas!” Dean announced.

The locator spell did not work, and the brothers, defeated, went to bed, but fell asleep with faith in their hearts, with faith in their angel friend, who was, at that very moment, out looking for the source of the mischief which had fallen upon them.

However.

They knew he was having no success when they were awoken at the same time in the middle of the night by footsteps running down the hallway. Sleepiness initially impacted aim, but a baker’s dozen of rounds later, and the shoes had been brought to a halt. The pair of gun-wielding, mussed-hair, pajama’d hunters looked upon the pile of hole-filled sneakers at their socked feet.

“Heh. Lucky thirteen,” said Dean.

Sam just looked at him.

“Thirteenth try’s the charm?” Dean suggested.

Sam rolled his eyes, shook his head, and went back to bed.

“‘This is too good, Dean!’ ‘This is great, Dean!’ ‘She’s really nailing you, Dean!’” Dean muttered in a high-pitched, mocking tone as he shuffled off to his bedroom. A squeak from behind caused him to whip around, fire a shot into the side of a shoe which had weakly tried to make a run for it. Its laces went lax.

Dean made sure to reload before his head met his pillow.

10.

A not-so-fresh homemade rotted-apple pie. Two lavender, paisley-patterned flannel shirts. Three rocking tapes filled with “Rock-A-Bye-Baby”, karaoke-style, by a singer who sounded a great deal like William Shatner. Four rancid whiskey shots. Five Hardy Boys books. Six twenty-pound sacks of salt. Seven pureed elf smoothies, with what appeared to be fingernails sprinkled on top. Eight angry fairies, whose flailing was beginning to crack the glass. Nine missing shoes, which squeaked out whines despite not making contact with the floor.

And now, ten tiny bubbling cauldrons of putrid purple, Ten Witches’ Fluids, all for Dean.

“I hate her,” Dean said.

“No, you don’t,” Sam said.

“I’m gonna kill her,” Dean said.

“No, you won’t,” Sam said.

11.

Dean crouched down, jaw dropped, putting himself on eye-level with the intricately-carved case, fixated on the row of eleven clown marionettes. He poked one in the tummy with his index finger. They all began to sway and giggle maniacally.

“Yep,” he said. “Eleven clowns-a-dancing.”

“Nope,” Sam said, and he fished his lighter from his pocket, then held it between his teeth as he began to drag one of the massive bags of salt toward the table. He managed to tear the corner of it open, spilling salt everywhere, scooping up two handfuls and stomping to the creepy diorama.

Dean shook himself out of distraction and stood in between his adrenaline-fueled brother and the newest gift. “What are you---- no, Sam, NO!”

Sam threw the salt in the direction of the snickering puppet nightmare anyway, but the lighter now resided in a tightly-clutched fist. “WHY NOT?!” he bellowed in response, his neck - his entire face - flushed.

“You wanna do a salt-and-burn inside? Are you insane?”

“SHE’S insane! Why would she do this, what have I ever done to her?!”

“Oh, because I deserve this? Because I’ve done something to her?!”

Sam was livid, and he’d be lying if he said a good portion of it wasn’t from fear. “What was the fight about?”

“Whadda you care?”

Now it was Sam’s jaw that dropped, and he wordlessly gestured to the clowns; they tittered and chanted “Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam!” in acknowledgment.

Dean sighed. “She got pissed because when she met up with us to help out, I said… look, she’s real independent, I get it, and I get that she’s been hunting a long time, but not as long as we have, and….”

“What. Did. You. Do,” Sam asked, voice low, teeth grit.

“I maybe said… suggested… that she hang back a little, because… well, you remember her leg? The time before last? When she wasn’t paying attention, and that rugaru shoved her into that rusty junk at the scrapyard? How nasty it was? How much she cried, I mean, I’ve never seen her cry, and...”

Sam crossed his arms, narrowed his eyes.

Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find his next words, and when he did, they came out in a burst. “She could've gotten tetanus!”

Sam looked at Dean in disbelief. “Do you like her-like her?”

Dean gave him a look. “Are we in grade school? What the hell does----”

Sam quite possibly gasped. “You do.” Now he took a few steps in Dean’s direction, quite possibly poised to punch. “I heard you talking to her about staying safe, and giving her tips she doesn’t need, but you’re the reason she cut out early, aren’t you? You went and pulled a bunch of ‘Hey sweetheart, you’re gonna get yourself hurt, I’ll protect you’ crap, didn’t you?”

Dean’s silence was all the confirmation that was needed.

Sam shook his head, began backing away, pointing to the clowns. “Burn them!” he hissed, then continued in reverse out of the room, not turning his back on the pile of presents til he was halfway down the hall.

12.

So it was, on the twelfth day of Christmas, the exhausted and gut-churned brothers now had in their possession:

A troupe of tiny clowns who wouldn’t shut up; a now-quarantined med room because of witch fluid corroding anything in its path; shoes that screamed as they pounded against the door of the room into which they’d been thrown; a dungeon filled with escaped, definitely rabid fairies; a stopped-up sink of viscous elf; a storage room stacked with overflowing bags of salt that trickled into the hall; a kitchen table filled with bottom-barrel whiskey; a crate with un-spooled tapes that would re-spool each night; racks filled with garish flannels; and taking over the refrigerator, worm-laden apple pies.

"It's the 24th. That's it," whispered Sam.

"What could that mean for tomorrow? Since it'll officially be Christmas?" Dean whispered back.

Sam turned to him, seriousness coating his posture, his expression, his tone. "It means we should be the hell out of town."

Dean grabbed Sam by his jacket, eyes wild. "She’ll find us! It doesn't matter where we go! Cas is still out there looking for her, but he’s never gonna find her!"

“She doesn’t want to be found. And I know why. I know what I did,” Sam said.

A barely-there vroom prompted them to look warily upon the twelve glossy, innocent-seeming toys in the long, narrow box. Dean let loose of Sam, and then he snatched the tag off the box - TO DEAN ~ Twelve Classic Cars - ripped it in two, and tossed the scraps to the side. Not that it would do anything but it felt good. 

“So, what? What do you think? Will it help us get out of this mess?” he asked.

“I don’t know, because how am I supposed to apologize?” Sam asked in reply, and then he said, “I heard you being all patronizing with your hunter 101 tips, at the motel. I was right there, and I didn’t speak up. I could’ve changed the subject or pulled you aside and told you to lay off. That’s what I did - what I didn’t do.”

Dean grew solemn. “So that’s what I was being? Patronizing?”

Sam nodded. “You’d wouldn’t talk that way to me. I mean, you want me safe - I want you safe - and you sure as hell tell me when you disagree with me, but... you’d never make it seem like… like…”

“Like if you got hurt on a hunt, it’d be because you couldn’t take care of yourself.”

“Yeah. I think... I think all she needs to know is that you believe in her, and you’ve got her back.”

“And how I think she’s pretty freaking badass,” Dean added. “Because, I do.”

They stood silently for a few moments. Twelve tinny horns honked. They looked to the cars.

“Curse box?” asked Sam.

“Curse box,” confirmed Dean.

The curse box, while sturdy and appropriately chanted over, was - apparently - on holiday, as it were.

It was midnight when Sam was jolted awake by his door slamming against the wall, Dean jumping on his bed so hard it nearly rolled him onto the floor with the rebound. He immediately pulled his gun from under his pillow when he saw Dean’s shocked expression, the shotgun in his hands, aimed somewhere at the floor. Then he noted twelve pairs of headlights, heard twelve revving engines.

And eleven cackling clowns.

And nine pounding steps.

And eight flapping wings.

The clock on the bedside table flipped to 12:01.

Despite everything, Dean grinned. “Merry Christmas,” he said with a pump of the shotgun.

The grin was returned. “Merry Christmas,” replied Sam with a click of the hammer.

You leaned back, moving your legs to the side as Chuck took his seat, then passed two of the small popcorn containers he carried to you and Amara.

“Extra salt?” you asked.

“Got you covered,” he said in reply; to Amara, he said, “And there’s M&Ms, too, Sis."

“Oooooh, yes,” she responded happily.

“What’d I miss?” asked Chuck.

“Round one just started,” you answered, then ate a mouthful of the best popcorn ever created.

“Oh, I almost forgot to ask - did you want some elf poltergeists in the pipes?” Amara inquired.

You shook your head. “No, this is good. I think they learned their lesson. Besides, I’m glad they’re having some fun.” You pointed to the large movie screen at the front of the empty theater. “Look at those faces.”

“Pure bliss,” she agreed. “And I must say, you’re very creative.”

“Not really,” you said with a little laugh. “I just thought: how do I show them that even the best hunters can get wrapped up in a crazy situation? How sometimes it’s just bad luck? And that the last thing that’s helpful is to be babied about it? Plus, well, ‘tis the season of giving.”

“So do you think you’ll go for it with Dean, now that you’ve got some inside scoop?” asked Chuck.

“Ah. Well. What do you guys think I should do?”

“Can’t answer that,” Amara said.

“Free will’s the name of the game,” Chuck said.

“Fair enough,” you said.

A few moments of chewing on the parts of all parties, then:

“He’s a great kisser,” Amara offered.

“I wrote him to be fantastic in bed,” Chuck added.

You gulped, then coughed. “Good to know,” you croaked.

Chuck smiled. “Who says we don’t answer prayers?”

See Nash Write : Master  /  See Nash Write : Mobile

🏷️🏷️Wanna be tagged? Hit me up! 🏷️🏷️

Author’s Note #2: I know I took liberties with the 12 days dates, hope you don’t mind too terribly much 😉

Author’s Note #3: My trope comment means: Dean likes pie? Are you sure?! and Sam loves THE LORE?! OMG! and on and on and on, which often... often... offfften... we (and yes, I’m pointing fingers at myself, too!) beat into the ground in our stories. I thought I’d attack some of those. And granted, they attacked back.

Behold, the summoning of The Nashooligans:

  @butiaintgonnaloveem @impandagrl @waywardjoy @jalove-wecallhimdean @jame-sbarnes @just-another-busy-fangirl @amanda-teaches @fanforfanatic @salt-n-burn-em-all @idreamofhazel @cyrilconnelly @rozadolphin @theblackharrystyles @carryonmycobaltangel @ilsawasanacrobat @klaineaholic @helvonasche @ericaprice2008 @amionthetumbler @tankcupcakes @littlegreenplasticsoldier @emlostinwonderland @michellethetvaddict @theoriginalvicki @ellen-reincarnated1967 @copperseraphim  @mrswhozeewhatsis​  @crowleylovesyou  @bumbleball13  @anticipate1003  @sixtysevenandwhiskey @raspberrymama  @lastactiontricia  @babypieandwhiskey  @winchesterprincessbride   @gripmetight-raisemefromperdition   @roseblue373   @waterfeenix137   @thisismysecrethappyplace  @fandomismyspirit  @thedevilinthedetails​  @rainflowermoon

[cyberiandreams]

Here's a little story about this piece. I've been playing back and forth often with different options for working materially thru the last few months of creating different types of images. Some days it's all working with ink, or maybe I'll do a session with just pencil drawings for hours, then grab a brush and work on something totally different for a while. Some days I just mix materials on top of one another just to see what might come out on the page. I have no idea most of the time. I just get to playing., I might scan in some drawings and print them out on different paper quality. Luckily, my printer can handle thick texture Watercolor paper and smooth but thick Bristol board. Sometimes, I don't wanna ruin a piece that's inked just right. Rather than work on that sheet, I can print out the image after scanning it in onto another sheet and work on top of that. This one worked out like that. The original pencil drawing is on regular sketchbook paper, nothing special. Definitely not a good surface for Watercolor. So I tried scanning it, the damn computer wouldn't connect. Eventually, I just hit the copy button ( accidentally ) and I had left some nice paper in the bed. Out came the sketch on nice paper, and boom, I could work right on top and build up the color and tones right away. Remember, you never know till you try something. Its worth playing around and finding new paths to the same place. You're never too old to learn. Just because you cant use that info right now, doesn't mean you can't or won't in the future. https://www.instagram.com/p/B5LWlzvF6CL/?igshid=2hrp21tw4az3

[maeveekitten]

Butterfly AU, Chapter Two: Discoveries

I finished the second chapter. I’m not sure if anyone is reading this, but I have a lot more to write, so I’m going to continue posting it. I don’t feel like this chapter is quite a good as the last one, but it’s still pretty good.

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Beastie had been trying to learn how to write. He had barely been in the world for three days, and he was already concerned by the way Joey had been acting. At first, Joey had been treating Beastie kindly, and Beastie felt like things weren’t going to go south, but that changed almost as soon as it began. Joey had begun muttering to himself on the second day, and getting distant. It was the third day, and Beastie was worried. Joey had been fidgeting with some key frames of Bendy and staring at Beastie the whole morning, and Beastie felt the emotions of the room going strange the entire time.

Beastie picked up a pen and a piece of paper. Joey began to stare at him curiously as Beastie tried to write words on the paper. Beastie vaguely knew the meanings of words when he heard or read them, but his vocabulary on paper was lacking. His handwriting wasn’t too good either.

After Beastie struggled to write for a solid minute, it finally seemed to click for Joey what he was trying to do. At that point, Joey took out his own piece of paper and made a quick sketch. When Joey started to walk over to the machine, Beastie felt a slight tingle of panic up his spine, but he opted to ignore it. After Joey ran the machine he handed Beastie what he had created. It was a simple book on the alphabet, the kind you would give to a child. Beastie almost immediately started to read the book, and Joey smirked, in the way you would if you were trying to hide how happy you were.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a couple days after Beastie had started learning how to write properly, and he had been learning quickly. He had already figured out how to write coherent phrases with the help of the alphabet book and a dictionary that Joey had brought from home.

Beastie awoke to the sound of the ink machine running. He felt uncomfortable for a brief while, before Joey walked over to him and handed him something. It was a small notebook with a fabric loop holding a pen. Beastie opened the notebook, only to find all the pages were blank. Beastie looked up at Joey, confused.

“Since you can’t talk, you can only communicate by writing,” said Joey “I figured the notebook would be easier for you to carry around instead of loose sheets of paper, just in case you needed to communicate with someone.”

Beastie flipped the notebook open to the first page and scrawled on the words thank you before showing it to Joey. Joey smirked. Beastie then turned the page and wrote out something that had been on his mind over the last few days.

You can’t make Bendy using the machine

Joey looked concerned when Beastie showed him this

“Why not?”

The form already belongs to someone

Joey looked shocked, then confused. He wandered over to his desk and started muttering to himself again. Despite this, Beastie felt like he had done the right thing. That being said, he was a little scared when Joey turned to look at him.

“If the form already belongs to someone, where could I find them?”

Beastie thought for a while about the question, before writing

I don’t know, but I can look.

Joey then thought about the response and replied

“If you do, let me know,”

Beastie felt another buzz of rightness run through the room, whatever had just happened, it had made the disturbances in the emotion disappear for a short while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beastie had been trying his best to find where the person who Bendys form belonged to was, but he wasn’t getting anywhere. He felt that this was partially due to the fact that he could only explore in Joeys office, and partially due to the reason that he was afraid to touch anything in said office because he didn’t want to get ink on anything.

Joey had just gone home for the night, and Beastie had taken this opportunity to examine the stuff on Joey desk. There was almost nothing special on the desk except for the drawings that were attempts at making Beastie a new form. Beastie picked up one of the drawings, and felt a hum of discomfort speed down his spine. He quickly dropped the drawing and the feeling stopped. Beastie quickly turned on the lights, he wasn’t supposed to, but he felt safer with the lights on. Beastie then had a strange idea, what if any of the other drawings felt different? He decided that the only way to figure it out was to test it, so he went back to Joey’s desk, neglecting to turn the lights back off beforehand.

Beastie had tested about five drawings to similar effects before he stopped. He then just sat, trying to dispel the residual buzz of unease that was humming up his spine, while he tried to decide if he wanted to try any more drawings. He was also feeling uncomfortable about the lights. He liked having them on, but he knew Joey would yell at him if he found out about it.

Beasties thoughts were cut short by a knocking at the door. Since there was knocking, that meant it was one of the other employees, Joey never knocked on his own office door. Since it wasn’t Joey, Beastie knew he needed to hide, he tried to quickly duck into the corner that had been prepared specifically for that purpose, but his foot slipped underneath him, causing him to fall. Out of ideas, Beastie made himself as small as possible and hoped whoever was coming in wouldn’t notice him on the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wally was silently having a panic attack. He had lost his keys early that morning, and had been trying to find them all day. He had looked everywhere in the studio, he knew his keys were in the studio, he had used them to unlock his closet, but they were nowhere to be found. Worst of all, he had to carry his mop around with him all day, and his arm was getting tired. Actually, scratch that, the worst thing was that his keys were almost defiantly in Joey’s office, and the lights were a clear sign that he had miscalculated when Joey would be leaving, and that he would need to confess to losing his keys for the third time that week. This would definitely dock him enough bad-employee points to get him outta there, for sure. Wally had already come to terms with being one of the most expendable workers in the last job he was fired from, but when else was he going to get the opportunity to work at an animation studio? Wally nervously knocked on the door, mentally edging himself to get it over with.

Wally waited 30 seconds with no response; maybe Joey had fallen asleep at his desk, or forgotten to turn his lights off. It could happen, anything was a possibility. Whatever was going on, Wally’s hopes were back up for going a day without Joey finding out about him losing his keys. He carefully opened the door, trying to enter the room as quietly as possible. Just get in, find the keys, and get out. Wally entered the office and immediately spotted his keys in the trashcan, thank goodness Joey hadn’t noticed. And, best of all, Joey himself was nowhere to be seen! Wally sauntered over to pick up his keys, internally humming about his lucky break. Then he saw the lump on the floor, and his entire mood flipped.

Wally wasn’t inexperienced with dealing with live things; he had had just enough of a time with rats in one of his previous jobs to know exactly how much he hoped that whatever was on the floor wasn’t a rat. If he had to deal with an infestation of rats, or anything else for that matter, then maybe getting fired wasn’t so bad. Wally slowly slipped his keys into his pocket, making notes on the unknown floor-creature as he went. It was definitely alive, and cowering, which meant that it was probably the kind of creature that could be spooked by a loud noise and made to run away. It was also a bit too large to be a rat. Wally was now thinking that it might be a stray cat that had wandered into the studio somehow, which would also explain the white that was mixed in with the black. He felt his nerves loosen a little bit; cats were much less likely to swarm than rats. He inched closer to the assumed-cat, ready to shoo it out with his mop, easier to deal with it now than wait until tomorrow.

When Wally poked the lump, it became quite clear that what he was dealing with wasn’t a cat. Wally wasn’t really sure what it was, but cats were not generally bipeds. Most animals weren’t bipeds, except birds, and this wasn’t a bird. Whatever it was, Wally was certain that he didn’t want to deal with it; he wanted to be in a different room than it observing it behind a window or something for at least a week before he would even consider himself even remotely ready to deal with it. But that wasn’t an option, since he had just poked it with a mop, causing it to jump back to the far wall of the office. Wally had responded to this response by retreating to the opposite wall, while silently praying that whatever it was wasn’t dangerous. When he looked at it, he could tell it was made out of some kind of liquid, he was guessing ink by the color, and that it had a strained grin on its face. Actually, the more Wally looked at it, it kind of looked like Bendy, if someone had tried to draw Bendy while drunk, and then decided to scribble out the entirety of the drawings upper face. Wally then proceeded to stop observing whatever-it-was, and start trying to get out of the room, maybe he could just leave and go about his life like this had never happened. His escape plans were somewhat halted by the fact that he had somehow managed to end up on the wall opposite to the door, but the creature now seemed distracted, scanning the floor in a panicked fashion, so it would probably be easy to sneak past it… the creature found what it had been looking for, and sprinted across the floor towards it, causing Wally to press himself farther against the wall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beastie had been completely caught off guard by the stranger who had entered the office. At first it seemed like he had gotten away with everything without being spotted, and then the stranger hat poked him with the mop he had been carrying. This had caused a very drawn out exchange of terror. Beastie decided that the best thing he could do would be to explain everything, then he might be able to convince the stranger to not tell Joey about the lights. He quickly scrambled for his notebook, which he had dropped when he had tripped.

Beastie quickly wrote in his notebook

Please don’t tell Joey!!!

The stranger quickly glanced down at the notebook, and then whimpered

“About what?!?!”

Beastie responded

I’m not supposed to have the lights on, I knew I wasn’t, but I got scared and turned them on anyway. The last time I turned on the lights when Joey was out he yelled at me. I don’t want Joey to yell at me again, it’s scary!!!

Beastie was getting worked up, and the ink on his face was starting to drip on the floor. The stranger was slowly inching away from his position on the wall, seemingly gaining confidence.

“Oh… I’m fine with that. I’ve gotten into trouble with Joey before; he really can be scary when he’s mad,”

Beastie was now too worked up to write anymore, he was barely holding himself together at this point, he was afraid that the form he was currently holding would collapse, and then who knew what he’d reform as?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wally was no longer fully convinced that he was still awake. The creature had picked up a notebook, and then proceeded to write fluent English. They had been having a tense conversation, before the creature stopped writing. It was now trembling, making soft noises that could be approximated to sobs. Wally was now almost certain that this wasn’t an animal, it was clearly sentient.

Wally wasn’t really sure what to do. He was almost certain he was dreaming, but he felt like if he was dreaming he would have felt different after realizing it. Instead, he was still in the office, feet still firmly rooted to the floor, and the strange creature seemed like it was having a panic attack. He was fully capable of leaving, but a nagging part of his brain wanted to understand what exactly was going on.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not even supposed to be in here,”

The creature remained rooted to the spot, but it stopped sobbing so loudly

“I lost my keys today, I’m not supposed to do that, and I was worried that if joey found out, that he’d make me leave,”

The creature seemed to regain some stability over its emotions. It shakily scribbled on its notepad

Joeys  Scary w hen hes mad..

Wally chuckled a little, the creature was a lot less frightening when he knew a bit more about it and was certain it wasn’t trying to kill him.

“Yeah, why do you think I was lurking around here at this hour? It’s not like I have an excess of sleep in my life,”

The creature let out a gargley laugh, and wrote down

He’s nice when he tries.

Wally looked at this message for a little bit. He had thought he was the only one who was scared of Joey

The creature looked curiously at Wally, and then wrote

My name’s Beastie

“Oh, well my name’s Wally, nice to meet you!”

Wally wasn’t sure why, but knowing that Beastie had a name made him feel a lot safer.

“So, Beastie, how did you end up… here?”

Beastie pointed at a strange machine in the corner of the room, which Wally was surprised he hadn’t noticed sooner, and wrote

That made me, it gave me my form. I was supposed to be Bendy, but that didn’t work, so Joey’s trying to help me get a better form

Wally was somewhat confused, that explained why Beastie looked a little like Bendy, but it still left some questions unanswered

“Better how, exactly?”

This form feels wrong, and bad. Joey is trying to make me a proper toon form, so I don’t scare him as much. I assume that form will feel a lot better.

Wally thought about that response, he got the distinct feeling that this was none of his business, but he was getting a little intrigued about the whole matter

“Well, if our exchange earlier means anything, I’m sure it won’t be too hard for you to be a toon,” Wally said, deciding to briefly change the subject “that could have easily been scripted into an episode.”

Beasties grin suddenly became a lot more sincere

Really?!?

“Yeah, definitely!”

Beastie seemed to think for a little bit, before writing

I think that there’s and actual Bendy out there somewhere and I’m supposed to be looking for him. Could you help me look?

Wally was a bit taken back by the sudden request, but he honestly felt a little flattered that Beastie was so quick to trust him.

“I guess, but I really need to put my mop away and get home, what if I came back tomorrow?”

Beastie thought about that, and responded

Ok! But we should probably tell Joey, so we can interact earlier

“Ok, I’ll be heading out then, see you tomorrow!”

Wally was about to leave, before he felt a slight tug on the leg of his pants. He looked down to see Beastie, who handed him a piece of paper that looked like it had been torn out of the notebook. The paper had the words don’t forget written on it, and Wally tucked it into his pocket. He figured that it would be a surefire way to check to see if this interaction was a dream in the morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joey arrived at work feeling on edge. He had been having the feeling that he had seen Beasties exact limp before, and last night he had finally identified it. That was the same limp that his grandfather had before he was confined to a wheelchair, that was the same limp that his father was showing signs of when he berated Joey for his pursuit of an artistic career, that was the limp that was getting Joey concerned about the feelings of instability in his own legs. Needless to say, Joey wasn’t entirely in the right headspace for work, and the fact that Beastie kept anxiously checking the door wasn’t helping.

Joey had muddled his way through a small portion of the day’s work, less than was usual for him, when someone knocked on the door

“One second.” stated Joey, gesturing for Beastie to hide in his corner

Beastie briefly looked like he was going to defy the gesture and stay where he was in the room, but he quickly changed his attitude and went to hide.

“Come in.”

Joey was barely surprised when his unexpected guest turned out to be Wally, this would not be the first time that the janitor had come in to ask the whereabouts of an item essential to his job.

“So, Joey, sorry for dropping in uninvited, but I have something I wanted to tell you…”

“What is it this time Wally?” sighed Joey “did you lose your keys again?”

“What! No, no, I definitely didn’t lose my keys, of course not!”

“Well, what is it this time?”

Wally paused briefly, and seemed to be considering his words, before responding

“So, I came to work early today. You know, to pick up the trash and whatnot before everyone else showed up. So, when I came into here, to get the trash of course, no other reason…”

Joey felt a jolt of panic run down his back, there were very few reasons for Wally to bring up entering his office, and nothing in the room appeared to be broken.

“You saw something, didn’t you? You came into my office, and you saw something strange.”

“I, suppose you could say that…”

“You didn’t tell anyone about it, did you? I’m the first person you’re telling. Please tell me I’m the first person you’re telling”

Wally seemed startled by Joeys change in personality, but he still replied

“Yes? It’s your office.”

Joey sighed in relief. If word had gotten out…

“Please don’t tell anyone else about what you saw here. It’s not ready for the public yet”

“What, you mean Beastie?”

Joey then lost all composure. He had not told anyone about Beastie. He was unaware of Wally meeting Beastie until this morning. This meant that Wally had to have gotten the information about Beasties name directly from Beastie, which would mean that he would have had to talked to Beastie.

“Please give me a minute.”

Joey hurried out of the room, and locked himself in one of the bathrooms. He had had too much revelations for this early in the morning, and really needed to let his mind stew before his personality slipped more than it already had. He had already dented his prefect image by panicking; he couldn’t afford to lose any more. It was a small mercy that Wally had seemed more afraid of Joey than he was of Beastie, but that opened an entire other can of worms for Joey, was he really that intimidating to his employees?

When Joey finally regained his composure enough to return to his office, Wally and Beastie were having a conversation. It didn’t seem like they were talking about anything important, but Joey was still in a position to be suspicious of everything

“What are you two talking about?”

Beastie looked at Joey and wrote

Stuff

“What kind of stuff?”

I asked for Wally’s help in my search, since he can leave the office and I can’t

“Well, why didn’t you ask me for help?”

You were busy

“Ah.”

Joey returned to his desk, he felt slightly insulted that Beastie had trusted Wally more than him. After all, he had created Beastie, didn’t that count for anything? But Joey kept those thoughts to himself, there must have been some reason for his lack of trust, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to find out what.

“So, Joey,” stated Wally, breaking the light silence that had settled over the room “You wouldn’t happen to have any leads, would you?”

“Leads on what?” asked Joey

“The search?”

Joey thought about this, he hadn’t actually considered helping in the search for Bendy until today, but the subject of him joining in had brought to mind the drawer in his desk. In his spare time, he had been trying to flesh out of his cartoons, before he had gotten involved in the whole matter of making real toon objects, and it had occurred to him that the world Bendy lived in would be a good place to look for Bendy. Joey quietly opened his drawer and took out a couple of the papers that were stored in it

“I suppose this would be a good place to check,”

Joey quietly divided the papers between the three people in the room, and they all began to leaf through them. Joey was on the fifth page of random facts when Wally piped up

“Would this help?”

He was holding up a map, a made up map. None of the places shown in the map existed in real life. Joey recalled making it when he was having trouble coming up for locations for episodes, meaning that the map was vaguely the reason for him beginning his world building phase.

“I don’t see how, it’s not like we could follow it, it’s just a visual representation of the locations in the show,”

Joey was interrupted by Beastie making a noise, presumably to draw attention to himself. When Joey looked at him, he was holding his notebook, with a message written on it

What if you put it through the machine?

Joey thought, and then responded “well, I’m assuming than an entire world is a lot more than I could contain in the studio, and I don’t really want any of this to get out…”

Beastie then rose his hand in a clear request for silence, and then wrote

I don’t think that it would take enough ink to make an entire world; Beastie paused, thought for a little bit, and then continued I assume it would only really take as much ink as you would need to make a doorway.

“But, what if it doesn’t!” rebuked Joey “that could be a disaster, there could be a flood!”

Beastie took the map from Wally and fidgeted with it briefly, then handed it to Joey

The world is already made; you just need a way through.

Joey looked at the map, then at Beastie, then at the machine. He then turned to Wally and said

“Get a bucket, a large one.”

[md3artjournal]

It suddenly occurs to me that after all my years of switching from drawing directly with ink, because I was sick of having to ink my pencil drawings (and my ink lines never being as good as my original pencil linework), I'm suddenly growing more interested in digitally tracing my traditional artwork---once I finally open my new touchscreen laptop.

I mean, I keep looking at everyone else's art and how all their different colored lines soften their art, and I want to get that effect too! ;o;! For a few years, I started collecting technical pens with different colored inks, but it turns out a lot of those nibs don't feel right to me for sketching. Definitely fine for outlining and inking pencil drawings, but I didn't want to return to all that tracing inking again. If it wasn't a brushpen, I didn't want to draw with it. But then I discovered that I really like drawing with fountain pens, and fountain pens could have any color ink you wanted, as long as they didn't clog the nib with pigment-based sediments. I was about to invest in a collection of many colored fountain pen inks. I was even considering that Platinum brand of bottle inks, especially made for color mixing. But I had to face it: No matter what I drew with traditionally, I draw so small and my paper is so cheap, that once I scan my artwork and blow it up for merch, it's just so grainy. And I'm too nervous about messing up expensive paper to ever draw with it. If I wanted that clean look that everyone else in artist alley was getting, I needed to learn to draw digitally. At the same time, my current laptop was repeatedly telling me it was on its last legs. So I did my shopping research, I got a new touchscreen laptop with stylus pen for Black Friday, and...It's still sitting in its box. I need to unbox that thing. And at this point, my big motivation to do so, is seeing everyone's fanart every day, and how nice these multicolored lines are. And how smooth and clean everyone's art is! *o* The only way my traditional illustrations could get away with my grainy, blurry paper, is if I went back to watercolors. But I had multiple reasons for dumping that medium. I mean, I love drawing in charcoal and pastels too, but one of the big reasons I stayed with ink/markers is because it's so clean to work with. I procrastinate less, when I know my hands aren't going to get smudgy, I can work anywhere, I don't have to make sure I have level surfaces for cups of water, and brushes, and rags. ---What am I rambling about again? Anyway, I really should get to unboxing my new laptop and practicing digitally tracing all my traditional fanart.

[sumisuchan]

The Lost Children Ch.3

I went to the market the next day. Morganite had prepared a note for me, stating I had her permission to go. She had even sealed it like an envelope meant to be delivered, written in her aristocratic cursive and signed at the bottom, with her card and its credits tucked in the middle.

The stationery she selected was light pink.

“I’ve never had a Pearl before,” Morganite explained. “I hope this is enough. If anyone bothers you, come to my office. Do you know where it is?”

She wore such a look of concern.

“This should suffice, My Lady, but I’ll alert you if there’s any trouble.”

“Alright then,” for the first time, it occurred to me how much shorter she was than I am. Before, she seemed somehow taller, but stood only to the point of my nose.

I took her letter and tucked it away.

“Well, I’ll see you after work today, Pearl.”

“Thank you, Madame. I hope today isn’t too taxing for you.”

“Thank you, Pearl. I hope the same for you.”

How many times would I need to stifle my laughter?

I left shortly after finishing Act Four of the play I was reading.

It was rare that I ever went to the market; it was rare that any gem went. Whenever Blue Diamond sent her Pearl, she always sent her alone, aside from the one day she allowed me to go along in an odd bout of sympathy.

I remember it as a circular chamber, divided into sections of various goods. At the time I went, they carried books, tea, and household items a noble might want. The entire area was full of searching Pearls with short lists in hand.

I was unsurprised to find it wholly unchanged as I waited to enter.

Two Quartz guards stood before the polite queue of Pearls. They towered above us, only admitting one at a time. The reasoning behind it didn’t make much sense to me. I suppose they didn’t want the marketplace swarming all at once, so they allowed only a certain number of Pearls in and waited for a few to leave before admitting more. Standing in line, I looked at the others. Most were some shade of blue, white, or yellow, but even then, there was the occasional green or red. Each of us wore our uniforms to imitate our masters. Soft fabric mimicked shoulder pads, or lengthy skirts to shadow heavy fabric.

I lost myself in admiring the different outfits, but Blue Diamond’s Pearl emerged with an opaque bag and drew my attention. She, too, opened her mouth in surprise.

The guards allowed her through, and in one smooth motion, she pulled something from the band of her skirts, walked at an even pace to me, and stuffed it into my left hand and moved along, as though nothing had happened. No one had noticed, and I felt the smooth texture of paper.

Promptly, I placed it inside the front part of my outfit, flat against my stomach, and stepped forward, presenting my note from Morganite to the guards.

“What a cute note,” the one on the right said.

“Let me see—” the left one giggled, reading it over. “Who is your master? I haven’t seen you before.”

“Lady Morganite of Yellow Diamond’s Court, Ma’am.”

“Lady Morganite?”

“You didn’t write this yourself, did you?”

Before I could answer, both of them began laughing and gave me the note back, allowing me through. I squeezed it a bit too roughly, but moved on to find a bustling market place, much like the one I remembered. Now there seemed to be newer things, different spices, and more options, but I went straight for the tea. That’s what Morganite had sent me for, after all.

The shopkeeper of this section belonged to White Diamond—a Pearl who watched me come in with a little shock, twisting her face and crinkling her nose, which stuck straight up into the air. With a hand on her chest and a gasp, she said, “Oh my…My condolences. Has Blue Diamond sent you today?”

“No,” I answered. “I work for a Lady Morganite now.”

“Well—” It was odd, seeing some of White’s mannerisms grafted onto this Pearl. She was a true miniature, keeping her mistress’s elegance. Had I kept any of my Diamond’s? Did I consciously realize it or was it just programing? She continued. “At least you’re working under a pink gem, though it must be odd to switch courts again.” She must have been older. That was why White allowed her to work here.

I answered, “It is odd. I wonder who they’ll pass me off to next.”

She didn’t laugh. Her face instead displayed a mixture of disapproval and horror, as if it were my fault I had changed owners so many times.

I began to browse the overwhelming number of teas.

“Please let me know if you have any questions, or if your mistress has requested any flavors.”

“She didn’t, actually. Lady Morganite doesn’t seem very picky.” The shelves stood from the floor to the ceiling, without a free space between the boxes and jars. Some wore labels from worlds whose writing I couldn’t read. Would I create poison if I mixed the wrong two together? From the other side of the room, the other Pearl’s eyes burrowed into my flesh, at the nape of my neck, hunting after my secrets. I’m sure she wondered what was wrong with me, having been assigned to a lady who would send me for tea, but wouldn’t specify a flavor.

“Do you recommend any?”

“The cosmic fruit infusions are easily the most popular,” she walked straight to the back wall and held out her arms, indicating three separate shelves. “Enchanting space berry is very good in my opinion, certainly suited for a pink gem, though my personal favorite would be black hole with Earth orange, but it is quite strong.” She removed a jar and took off the cap, then held it beneath my nose.

It was strong, with an influence of citrus.

“We actually cultivate this brand on Homeworld. I’ve even seen the trees from which these fruits grow. How they managed to make such a savage thing taste so wonderful is beyond me, but oh—” She placed the cap back on, slowly, “Perhaps that was insensitive of me. Your Diamond…”

“It wasn’t the fruit trees that did it.” I picked under one of my nails. “I’d like that flavor, and the space berry as well.”

“Certainly. My apologies.” She took both jars. “Your mistress lets you drink tea?”

“She does.” She makes it for me.

“You must be very good, then. I’m one of very few Pearls My Diamond treats to tea, but I’ve served her for so long.” Her gem reflected a deep crème color, an off-white that suggested an older style of procuring Pearls. Its perfect roundness struck me as uncanny, and she stuck her nose in the air again, placing the loose tea into two clear, separate bags. “It’s nice to see another Diamond’s Pearl here, even if…” Her finger paused on one of the numbers of her machine. “You do resemble her.”

“Thank you.”

“That will be fourteen credits.”

I handed her Morganite’s card, which she scanned and quickly returned, along with my bag.

“Let me know what you think of those flavors, if she allows you to taste them.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Another Pearl entered as I left, who the clerk greeted with a simple ‘Hello.’ I didn’t bother looking at the other goods the shops had to offer, despite lingering outside the bookstore for several seconds. They were out of the budget, and Morganite’s permission. Not to mention, the note begged to be read and answered. It burned against my stomach, no doubt collecting sweat along the edges.

I had learned to write by copying.

Armed with every word my Diamond had ever commanded I read, I traced my finger through the dust of Blue Diamond’s library, before wiping it away and destroying the evidence for good. I would write the titles of the books stacked upon the shelves, and try to make the loops and hooks and corners as loose, or tight, or thick, or thin as they were printed.

I can admit that it was an especially useless skill. In that opulent pit of untouched literature, I neither needed to read nor write, but there I was, touching every virginal title with my ill-meaning eyes and copying them in dust I made accomplice to my crimes, before murdering them away and hoping for more to abuse the next day.

Her Pearl caught me once. I had written halfway through A Diamond’s Wish in amateurish but passable calligraphy when I heard her gasp. I turned with my print covered in dust, grey-handed, my face undoubtedly severe.  

Quietly, she said, “I didn’t know you could write. Or read.”

“What are you even doing here?” I smeared my hand into my skirts. “Doesn’t Blue Diamond have you record her messages—”

“She does, but,” the edges of her lips folded into a grin. “Yellow Diamond has come to visit, so she sent me away. I like to come because there’s usually no one else here, except for you.”

For good measure, I wiped my hand off again, this time against my stomach. “Yellow Diamond, huh?”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell her.” She leaned in, a bit closer. “In fact, I’m glad. The house Pearls can barely read at all. I thought I really might have been the only one.”

I asked her about her favorite story, but she didn’t have one. Blue Diamond never asked her to read out loud for her. She did, however, shove a note into my hand a few days later. It even included a blank sheet for me to reply, which I did in small amounts of stolen ink when absolutely no one was watching.

There wasn’t too much shit to talk, but we made do.

She would write me paragraphs about how Blue Diamond would cry (usually about My Diamond, but there were plenty of other topics) and how she would hold in her sighs. One time she told me she was glad her hair hid her eyes so no one could see them rolling.

I laughed out loud at that, which echoed inside the library.

We exchanged notes as often as possible, without drawing suspicion, and destroyed them once we had read and answered.

That day, her note began in typical form. I read it over a pungent cup of black hole orange I had made, sitting at the table in Morganite’s library. She wrote in her neat hand:

‘I worried I wouldn’t be able to write to you ever again. I’m not even sure if you’ll receive this message. I’ve been trying to devise a way to get it to you, but not much comes to mind. I plan on carrying it with me everywhere until I see you again. We have to meet at some point.

‘Blue Diamond is crying as much as ever. I think she misses you, even though she would never admit that. I see her stop in front of the library and sigh before we keep moving. You must have reminded her of Pink Diamond, even though she didn’t have much for you to do. I miss you too. Things seem even slower now that you’ve left.

‘How is life with Morganite? Does she treat you well? Does she allow you to read? I hope you’re happy there.

‘—Pearl’

I took a sip of tea while considering my response. There wasn’t any paper I could use to reply in Morganite’s library, but there was in her office, as well as writing utensils. Still, I remained a moment and read it over again, smoothing my index finger and thumb over the corners of the paper.

I made a point of finishing my tea before I stood, as the kitchen was on the way to the office. Opening the door, I went to drop off my cup, and moved toward those wide double doors I had polished not long before that day. They were styled classically—the kind you had to open manually, and with Pearl’s note folded into my hand, I pushed the right-side open and slipped inside.

Any parchment she kept in the bottom drawer of her desk, and surely, she wouldn’t notice one sheet missing. Or would she? Perhaps my fingers would have the distinct feeling of parchment if they ever met hers again.

I stood in one place too long, and as I took a single step forward, the doors opened in the main room a little before Morganite should have come home. Nearly dropping and the crumpling the note, I stuffed it back into my outfit. My body quickened but I held still.

“Pearl—” My Lady’s voice reverberated outside the office in the wide expanses of the chamber itself. “Pearl, where are you?”

She sounded pained and panicked. If I remained where I was, she would surely look for me, so I came out and found her crinkled on the floor before the entrance, bleeding.

Morganite was on her knees, skirts pulling and trapped beneath her legs when she looked up to me with blood trailing along her cheeks. “Pearl—” her arms shook and seized, which left her to claw at the floorboards as she fell. “Call Jasper—her number—”

Her head began to roll around like a ball moving back and forth, and I went to the phone.

[ethreesixty]

List of 5 World's most expensive books

I have something a little bit different for you today. A mix of culture money and some world records you guessed it. I am talking about the world's most expensive books that have ever existed. For a book to be worth several millions of dollars. It needs to be written by a famous author. Who has a controversial or highly important subject and is a few hundred years old. Books get better and more expensive with age. I can’t pinpoint just one book that is the most important or relevant because there are so many. However, there are a few manuscripts that shaped our modern world. They are now worth quite a lot of money and can be found in the biggest and most important libraries. Precious Books:

The list that I do have today is indeed the most precious book history is kept safe and hopefully. Since some books are very old their state is quite fragile and the ink possibly fades out in some areas. That’s why it's so important to keep them in extremely good and safe conditions. So future generations will have a piece of history to look upon. Technology can help us preserve the book for years and years as a digital copy. But that takes away the whole feeling of a book. The texture and the smell holding a book in your hand. Flipping through the pages and making notes will always be the ultimate sensorial experience. Our children will probably not experience. IPads and Kindles are great tools for minimalist lovers’ digital nomads and our environment. But we have to admit that a physical book can be utterly luxurious and special. Let’s see which are the most expensive books in the world? Who are the proud authors and why they cost so much money? 1. Book of Mormon Joseph Smith 35 million $:

The first book on the list that I brought you the biggest and most expensive book that was ever sold. This book is highly controversial but even more than the book the religion it depicts and the people that follow it are believed to be a part of a secret world-leading organization. Although Mormons are viewed as the Illuminati of the modern world they actually believe in Jesus Christ and are much attached when it comes to this book. It was first published in 1830 and has been traveling quite a lot. Since then last year in 2017 the remaining manuscript was bought by the Church of Latter-day Saints for thirty-five million dollars. Making this book the most expensive they paid that much for the manuscript. Not because it's old or famous but because it's written by their founder Joseph Smith. He wrote the book after a revelation he had when he was 17 years old and with divine guidance. 2. Leonardo da Vinci Codex Leicester 30.8 million $

It was first named codex hammer but later changed with its first owner's name Thomas Koch Earl of leister who purchased it in 1719. Da Vinci was a genius and the manuscript is also one of his most desired papers. The codex provides a unique look into the brilliant mind of renowned Renaissance artist mastermind scientist and inventor. As well as an exceptional illustration of the link between art and science and the creativity of the scientific process as Leonardo thought of it. Handwritten with notes and observations the manuscript contains info regarding astronomy physics and chemistry all in Italian. The 18 pages folded in half and written on both sides were, in fact, one at an auction in New York City by another great mind in businessman Bill Gates. He bought it for thirty point eight million dollars. He was not the richest man just from Microsoft while he had the Codex. Bill scanned the pages and turned them into a screensaver and wallpapers for the Windows 95 Edition. 3. ST. Cuthbert Gospel 14.3 million $:

If the Gutenberg Bible was once one of the most important books ever printed there is one more religious piece on this list. The Holy Bible was written by the 12th disciples of Jesus and upon that some of them wrote other Gospels that were later discovered. Even Judas has written a gospel but the church does not recognize it nor the one written of Mary Magdalene. Dates back to the eighth century and is a small pocket size containing some parts of a notorious Gospel of John one of the most beloved disciples of Jesus. What makes this tiny book so expensive is the fact that it's the most well-capped book of its kind from that age and it's written in Latin. It has survived a lot of travels and Viking invasions and 1,500 years later it was bought by the British Library for fourteen point three million dollars and it will be on public display as of 2018. 4. Rothschild prayer book 13.4 million$: Moving on with a great book that belonged to an even greater family the Roth shield prayer book. It dates back from the late 15th century and it's full of amazing illuminated details on the sides of the pages. The opening pages show a beautiful Requiem Mass, a mass used for the dead. While the rest of the books 67 pages contain different illustrations made by the most renowned Renaissance Flemish artists.

The book is a masterpiece with splendid paintings and rich details which some say has great value for any art and history lover. Some of the famous illustrations depict Mary Magdalene of the famous prostitute that some say carried Jesus Christ's children. The book was stolen from Lewis Nathanael von Rath shield in 1938 and purchased later by an Australian businessman for thirteen point four million dollars. Which makes this manuscript the most expensive. John James Audubon the birds of America 11.5 million$: This time some subjects like biology or plants need good and realistic drawings. Where all the details can be seen and explained and since portable cameras were invented pretty late. Illustrations were the most accurate way of understanding and learning the birds of America by painter and naturalist John James Audubon. This is a collection of 435 hand-colored life-sized prints and includes a series of now-extinct species of birds from the US dating from 1827. There are only 119 complete copies known to the world and some of them were sold for millions of dollars. So far three of them were sold for 7.9 million dollars one for eight point eight million dollars and the last one for eleven point five million dollars. The drawings are so amazing and detailed they were even used for fabric painting in the UK. Conclusion: People who love history and books are also known for the value and importance of books. These are some of the world's most expensive books list. Later on, I will share another list of the rest of the expensive book. If is there any other books in your knowledge please share it in the comment box. Read the full article

[4colorrebellion]

4cr Plays - Woven (Switch)

Video games, perhaps more than any other visual medium, have the ability to place their consumer in an infinite variety of worlds not possible in our own narrow reality. Games take place in everything from photorealistic deserts to lush mountainscapes sketched in thick strokes of ink. Naturally, then, games like Kirby’s Epic Yarn and Yoshi’s Wooly World have looked to textile crafts for inspiration.

While those games simply used yarn, leather, and linens as visual inspiration, the new 3D exploration game Woven goes a step further - drawing on the ideas of textiles as inspiration for gameplay mechanics.

I sat down this week with the Switch version of Woven ahead of its launch today. Read on for my impressions.

Woven follows a stuffed animal - a lumpy elephant who has seen better days - named, appropriately, Stuffy. Stuffy’s world used to be a peaceful utopia where knitted creatures lived in harmony... until the machines came. Smoke-spewing creatures and artifacts have begun to litter the landscape. One day, Stuffy stumbles on Glitch, a metal firefly who has lost his memory. Glitch needs help to recover his identity. Stuffy needs help to do, well, everything. Together, Stuffy and Glitch will get to the root of the metallic mystery that threatens their world.

Woven is a 3D adventure game. While it visually reminds me quite a bit of N64-era platformers - with the use of bright colors and cute mascots - it relies less on tight timing and reflexes and more on your problem-solving skills. You explore massive environments, looking for the tools you need to solve puzzles gating your progress. Both Stuffy and Glitch have a variety of tools that can help get through the puzzles scattered through the worlds. Glitch can operate machines, shine a light in the dark, and examine objects, while Stuffy can do things like move blocks, sing to birds, and leap over obstacles.

Now, Glitch can operate machines, right? Stuffy is a stuffed animal, right? Well, the world is full of sewing machines. Sewing machines can be used to alter Stuffy’s fluffy body for whatever task is at hand. You can swap out Stuffy’s arms, legs, torso, and head for different designs found on blueprints across the world. You can also change the textile and color used for each part, using different patterns scanned from the environment. See a patch of plaid on the wall? Get Glitch to remember it for later.

This customization is both cosmetic and functional. You can freely mix and match different parts and colors to create the Stuffy you want to use. Want Stuffy to be bright pink? With patches of leather and plaid? Great - you can do that. This customization is also the core of the gameplay as well, as your choice of parts determines the abilities that Stuffy will have access to at any given time. For instance, you might need elephant arms to push a huge stone, and rabbit legs to leap over a wall.

This customization is a great gameplay concept, and makes great use of the concept of textiles as more than just a cool-looking visual motif. The ability to customize your protagonist and tune them for a set of tasks gives you a wide and interesting toolbox for exploring the world. In a way, you can think of Woven as “my first adventure game”. None of the puzzles I’ve encountered were particularly difficult to solve, but required just enough thought that I think Woven would be a great game for kids to play.

While the core ideas behind Woven are great, I think the implementation of those ideas could use more work. The levels themselves are huge, but are largely empty and could use more visual hints to guide progress. There were multiple times where I got lost and just wanted a map to reference. The controls also feel a bit sluggish, like there is a bit of a delay before movements register. Overall, this was not a huge problem, but it also did not feel quite right either.

On the Switch, Woven is a mixed-bag when it comes to the technical performance. The overall art direction is quite nice. Character designs are strongly reminiscent of Rare’s N64 games - Banjo Kazooie, Conker’s Bad Fur Day - and the levels are colorful and fun. However, the game is not well optimized for the handheld system. In portable mode, the game is extremely blurry, making me mildly nauseous at times. I’d recommend playing this on one of the other systems (it is on all of the consoles and PC). 

Overall, there are a lot of good ideas at the heart of Woven. The core gameplay mechanics are interesting, particularly the customization of Stuffy. However, sluggish controls and poor technical performance make it hard to recommend the Switch version in particular. If you are a crafting aficionado, you might find something to love here. Others may want to steer clear.

A copy of Woven was provided for this article.

Official Website

[mysticsparklewings]

Beach Nights (Gelatos Test)

Here we have another, slightly stranger, art supply that's been on my wishlist to try for a while: the Faber Castell Gelatos! Which, for those that don't know, are one of many options available on the market for water-soluble/watercolor crayons/pigment sticks/etc. I grabbed up every unique color my local Michael's had when I went in one day and they were on clearance for $0.97 each. They retail for usually around $3 a pop if you buy them individually like this, and so I jumped on the opportunity. I ended up with a total of 35 colors to pick from. They do come in sets--some smaller ones of 4, a few that have 15 colors each, and there are a couple of bigger gift sets with around 30 each, as well as other specialty sets that come with a few gelatos and some other things for specific projects. As of yet, I can't comment on the arrangement of any of these sets, but I do like these well enough that I would like to end up with the full range of 80 colors eventually, so I've already worked out a few sets I'd need to purchase going forward to make that process as inexpensive and quick as possible. So perhaps I'll update this to comment on that at a later date, we'll see. Even so, I felt like I ended up with a pretty good range to pick from, just missing a couple of colors here and there that I didn't get simply because they weren't there at the time. I even ended up with a handful of metallic colors, which are pretty interesting, though I didn't use any of them here and when scanning artwork, metallic colors consistently fall flat anyway. Though I was pleasantly surprised that in swatching the metallics they don't lose hardly any of their metallic sheens after being hit with water. (As metallics in water-soluble colored pencils tend to become not-metallic anymore when that happens.) At first, I wasn't sure what to draw to test these things out. They come in little lipstick/chapstick/lip balm/whatever tubes, where you twist the bottom to get more product to come out, but are mostly flat on the end and so they're a little too big and super creamy to get super precise lines, unless you were to take a wet brush to them to pick up the color or be so bold as to cut chunks off to make them into a finer point/crisper edge, and even then I'm not sure how long said finer edge would last with how soft they are. My first thought was a galaxy, but that seemed a little too easy/obvious, and I had a feeling my gel pens would give me a fit over the top of these, based on how they don't like a lot of wax and they aggressively don't like watercolors. Eventually, I decided to try replicating one of the pictures I'd taken when we went on vacation to the beach recently since that would be broad enough and not require such fine detail other than the silhouetted buildings, which I had no intention of trying to do with the gelatos from the very start. Although I had made this artwork at a much larger size, that may have been a somewhat viable option. But I like relatively small art pieces. (Though this doesn't look exactly like my reference partly because of the unpredictability of art and partly because my eyes got confused while I was figuring out so of the powerline details, as well as I added the visible moon and stars and birds for some more visual interest). The one other thing about the gelatos I'm not crazy about is that some colors, mostly the pastels and some brights, melt almost seamlessly when hit with water, while others, mostly certain darker colors, either take more work and water to melt nicely or in some cases just won't fully dissolve the lines/texture marks. At least not on the cold-press watercolor paper I was using; I suspect some colors may have faired a little bit better on smoother hot-press paper, but I've yet to test that out. This has its advantages and disadvantages. It can work and give you some interesting textures, as you can see peeking through in a couple of places here. But if you want a super smooth, seamless look then you'll have to be careful and pick which colors you use accordingly. I tried a couple of different methods of applying the gelatos, mostly just to see what would happen. The most obvious thing to do is to apply the dry gelato to dry paper and then come back in with a brush to melt them down. But I also tried wetting the paper and applying the gelato straight to the wet surface, which was interesting and in most cases seemed to prevent harsher lines and textures being left behind, probably because the colors were already "floating" on top of the page without settling into the fibers. And because of that, I ended up inadvertently trying a wet gelato on dry paper.  That was okay, but not much different from the other methods I'd already tried. I also tried mixing two gelato colors--Boysenberry and Fig--on a plastic palette by scribbling a bit of each right on the palette and then adding a couple of drops of water, and then I applied my new custom color to the drawing with a brush. This was interesting, and likewise, I think those that prefer more traditional watercolor techniques would probably like this method best. But I also like this method as it gives you a way to make a few more colors if, like me, you just don't have what you want/need and don't want to risk trying to blend/mix the gelatos straight on the paper. (Which I did try and is very much an option, as is blending two colors by using just water on the paper). And just as a side note that the edges of my scene here may not be perfectly blended or applied consistently because I lightly drew a rounded rectangle as "this is the size and roughly the area where I want the color to go" since I knew the gelatos were too imprecise to try and get right up the edges, and I was using a slightly larger piece of paper than usual. And I didn't use any tape to isolate the area, which in hindsight was probably a better idea, but oh well.  Same thing with the funky outline; I defined the area with a glitter marker and tried to cover any gelato that was too far outside the guideline I'd given myself, but there were a few spots I had to cover up a bit with a white gel pen. Speaking of which... I was very right about my pens not liking whatever this gelato stuff is. The white gel pen did okay, but it wasn't as vibrant as I'd hoped and it did get clogged pretty easily, but I had a struggle with black pens similar to my Wire Sunset piece. Except for this time, after trying three pens I saw the light at the end of the tunnel instead of continuing to struggle with more. After a bit of thought, I ended up going with my black "Shark's Eye" Jane Davenport Mermaid Marker, since those use a dye-based ink that behaves similarly to watercolor, but not identically. That way I knew the color would go on top of the gelatos but as long as I was careful and only used so much, wouldn't reactivate any of the colors underneath and leave me panicking with a big mess.   And in the end, even if some lines are bit wobbly/imprecise and I had a few smudge accidents, I think the mermaid marker ended up being for the better because the buildings weren't pitch-black in my reference, but I was really not into the idea of trying to draw enough detail to convey that, and yet because the mermaid marker ink is similar to watercolor, the pigmentation was just inconsistent enough that I think it implies that by accident. In a good way. Overall, I'm pretty happy with how the piece turned out and this certainly convinced me I want to try collecting all the gelatos so I can use them for backgrounds more often, despite some of the difficulties I had with them. They're a unique tool that takes some getting used to. And this does make me want to try some other brands of water-soluble crayons, but I'm not sure if I'll follow through with that just because I feel like these are really good enough on their own for me unless I find some unique colors in other sets I'd just really like to have that I can't get in the gelatos. Time will tell, I suppose. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[ihearthemcallingxx]

Red Handed...And Blue

Harry really wasn’t sure what he supposed to do. The fatherhood handbook hadn’t quite specified the procedure for these types of situations.

He’s only left her alone for two seconds. How-?

“Erm, yeah man I’m gonna- I’m gonna have to call ya back….yeah alright….bye.” Slowly he lowered his phone from his ear keeping his wide eyes locked on the equally as wide and slightly guilty eyes of his daughter. She sat on the rug in the middle of her spring themed room with an open red marker in her hands.

Literally, she had been caught red handed.

Any other time Harry would have taken the time to make a joke out of it, maybe even snap a few photos with that caption but, alongside that marker was the rest of the pack, and their ink had collectively found its way all over her body, her dolls, and the rug making for a big - and rather colorful - mess.

“Wha’s happened in ‘ere, love?” He says as he steps slowly into the room, eyes scanning around the room checking to make sure nothing else was ruined by – the what he hoped were washable – the markers.

Fearing the consequences, Y/D/N’s mind ran rapid, working quickly to come up with an excuse before she rushed, “It wasn’t me daddy I promise!”

Harry raised his eyebrows incredulously, “It wasn’t? I don’ see anyone else in ‘ere, honey.”

She shook her head, “It was- it was…it was, um…Olivia!” Harry turned his head to look at the little rag doll he was almost positive he’d stepped on coming in that lay haphazard on her floor, yarn hair spread around her cotton stuffed head. “She telled me too.”

“Did she?” Harry questions, pouting out his bottom lip and nodding, “She told you to draw with your markers without telling Daddy, yeah?”

“Mmhm,” she hummed, and though she felt confident that Harry actually believed her, her eyes were still big with regret, “She tolded me that I was a big girl and I didn’t need to ask anymore. And I told her no daddy, I said, 'No daddy tolded me no.’ But she didn’t listen. And then she tooked the markers and started coloring me and then I taked them back.”

Harry isn’t sure if he should laugh or be angry for her lying. (Once again Fathers for Dummies briefly mentioned this on page 67 but, it wasn’t enough for him to take away anything he could apply.)

“So, Olivia told ya to do this, eh?” He says, pointing his finger around the rug. Y/D/N nods, “And she was the one that colored all over your face.”

“Yes. And then she colored the rest of my dollies.”

Harry chuckles while shaking his head, taking one final step to scoop her up. He pries the markers from her hands and placed them on the carpet, not caring to cap them. “Alright then, let’s jus’ get ya cleaned up then.” He sighs.

He’s not necessarily happy - now he’s not only going to have to clean this up but he’s going to have to explain how this happened once you get home - but the situation is all too comical. And the fact that Y/D/N actually thinks that her story is plausible is one of the cutest things she’d ever done and he remembers clearly the time she asked him, “Since your eyes are green does that mean everything you see is green?” so that was a big thing to say.

He carries her to the bathroom attached to her room and places her on the sink. Her little feet dig into his stomach as he stands before her, wetting a rag under the running water before putting some soap onto it. “Told mummy to get those wobulous color or color wond- whatever those markers are called but no, she didn’ listen to me.”

He grips the back of her head to keep it steady while he scrubs the color from her skin. Her eyes and nose squeeze close as he wipes the soaked rag over them, the colors mixing and dying her skin a weird dark green before finally rinsing off.

It takes a few minutes to finally get Y/D/N looking like herself again and once he does, he grips the counter at either side of her dangling legs and bends down so he’s level with her face, looking into her eyes sternly.

“Listen baby, and I want ya to tell daddy the truth, alright? Did Olivia really make that mess?”

“Yes daddy I promise, and then she-”

“Y/D/N.”

Her big eyes brimmed with tears and her lip began to wobble, “I’m sorry daddy I did it. I sawed the markers and I wanted to play I didn’t mean to- to lie.”

Harry’s face softened as he listened to her explain truthfully what happened. It made his heart happy to hear her tell the truth as well as take responsibility for that she’s done wrong but the moment is bitter sweet. It reminded him that his little girl was growing up – as if the fact that she’d even been able to reach the markers that were on the top shelf of her bookcase wasn’t enough. In fact, part of him wanted her to keep telling him Olivia had done it.

His thumb swipes a giant tear that dripped from her eye down to her chubby cheek, “It’s alright, sweetheart. I forgive you. And thank you for telling the truth because what did daddy tell you about lying? Ya remember?”

“It’s better to get caught doing something bad than to lie about it.”

“Good girl.” He smiles, snuggling into her neck and pressing several kisses into it, inhaling that baby scent that was slowly beginning to fade away. She squealed, pushing him by his shoulders to defend herself from his attack.

“I’ll help ya clean up daddy.” She says when he places her on the marble floor, reaching to hold his hand.

He looks down to her and nods, “And I won’t tell mummy. Deal?”

“Deal.”