#just slightly rendered sketches

[trebuchet151]

They agreed to let Anathema take ONE photo with their polaroid camera. And they got tipsy enough to forget their jacket somewhere so Ortega's helping them keep warm, that's all. Don't make it weird.

Sequel to this post

Gonna start dropping links to songs from Corey's playlist that match the vibe of the art so here's Sugar by Sleep Token

[eggsbenedictinurmom]

Silver Week day 2: Delivery

First day to have a pattern of “I will not draw Silver lonely. Give him a friend!”

The gift? Well let’s justr say…

A boxfull of these

They’re HELLA expensive in bulk (at least to my broke ass), so I just know Espio can’t get at least a reasonable amount of them without killing Vector’s wallet at the end of the month

Barely finished this one so Espio’s reaction is only a sketch I’m afraid 😔 (this + the original traditional art sketch below the cut)

If you’re having trouble with reading my handwriting (which I can absolutely understand), I transcribed the speech from the second image in the alt text! ^_^

[hydrossity-zone]

[5/3/2024]

decided to finish an old sketch I had

(as usual, click for better quality!)

[pitgritted]

I did a Garen Crownguard sketch ! I sorta wanted to try drawing other LEAGUE characters and my friend suggested Garen while we were on VC drawing together on the same canvas . Honestly might end up coloring … depends .

[velvet-games]

AUGH I forgot how much I hate doing digital lineart

[mariasont]

not sure if you’re planning to write this, but smut with spencer & bimbo!receptionist!reader would probably fix my problems 😔 i feel like spencer would be praising her nonstop, while also being condescending & i fucking live for that‼️

Undo You - S.R

a/n: i love ur mind anon 😚 i hope this lives up to what you want 🫶🏼🫶🏼✨ thank you for requesting xoxo

anyway i kinda think this is bad bc i didn’t proofread but whatever ill prob go back and edit laters!

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

summary: bimbo reader and spencer doing the nasty

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fingering, degrading? (not really), spencer being slightly condescending, p in v, unprotected sex (BE BETTER!), creampie (STOP I HATE IT TOO BUT WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO CALL IT?!?!?! TWINKIE?!?!)

wc: 1.3k

Mustering the courage to ask you out was a feat in itself but getting you into his bed was a whole other ballgame. But here you were, fingers roaming through his hair and tracing the contours of his back. You were perfect, and you were in his bed.

The wasn't the first, nor would it be the last if he had anything to do with it. It's hard to fathom his good luck--to have you, breathtaking in every sense, under him, your fingertips gently grazing his waist band as you inch towards his cock.

Your makeup was almost artfully messy, with mascara delicately pooled beneath your lashes, rendering you devastatingly tempting. You had glittering eyeshadow on, and it was getting everywhere. Spencer felt the urge to undo you--to disrupt the pristine image you presented to the world, to make you uniquely his. Selfish? Without a doubt. But that didn't diminish the idea. 

Your hands, with their perfect manicure, were now wrapped around his cock, tugging and pulling as if your palms were sculpted precisely for this purpose. 

You were saying something, your lips a mesmerizing motion as he grasped the sheets beside you, each fistful a concerted effort to remain control.

"What, angel?" He was trying to be patient with you.

You talked a lot in general, but in bed, it only seemed to amplify. This was not a bad thing, not in his eyes, no, it was almost too much of a good thing. Each time your mouth opened and closed with another airy comment he found himself that much closer to spilling his load all over you.

"Your face is really red," you breathed out, nostrils flaring slightly, your eyes averted, engrossed in the sight of his length enclosed between your hands.

He stifled a laugh, resisting the urge to shove his cock into that pretty mouth of yours.

"Well, you see," Spencer starts, pausing as your hand presses to the tip of his length, "when someone is excited...or aroused, blood flow increases to the f-face, causing...vasodilation. It's... it's a sympathetic nervous system response."

"Oh, like when you get all red after running?" You tilt your head in that curious way of yours, your actions uninterrupted as words flowed from you.

"Yes, exactly like that."

He grabbed your hand, pulling you off of him and pressing that same hand to the mattress below him.

"And just like my face gets red, your pupils dilate when you're excited," Spencer explains, his hand poised just above your collarbone, sketching paths on your skin, "It's due to the release of norepinephrine, which is part of your body's fight of flight response."

Your lips were parted, pressing your body into him like you couldn't help yourself, hips squirming under his.

"So, what's the verdict, sweet girl?" Spencer asks, watching your gaze met his, lips parting as he dragged a hand over your clothed heat. "What's your body telling you? Fight of flight?"

You kissed him, gasping into his mouth as he pushed a finger into you. You were drenched. "Is submit an option?"

"That's my girl," he said, feeling his cock tighten even more, as if that were possible, almost moaning at the sight of your dimple being drawn out.

You whined, arching your back against the navy-blue sheets as your hands locked around his neck, pulling him impossibly close. He could smell everything about you from here—your coconut shampoo, your vanilla perfume, your lavender lotion. He wanted to inhale it, to inhale you.

He didn't even bother with your skirt, simply pulling your panties out from under it and lining himself up with your entrance. He watched, enthralled, as your chest rose and fell, holding your breath as you braced for his cock. You were so good for him, too good for him.

One hand clasped against your hip as the other guided his length into you, hissing as you tightened around him. It was a feeling that could never get old, like he was being reborn, like the world was ending and you and him were the only two people left. He would be fine with that.

Your face twisted up in pleasure as you began to rock against him, not giving yourself that chance to adjust. You did this often and it caused him to push down on your hips, stopping your movements. He could come if you kept doing that. He would.

"Patience," he hissed, but you were never one that was good with following orders.

You moved again, tits bouncing up and down your chest as you did. He stifled a groan, meeting your movements with thrusts of his own.

He imagined this is what Buddhists meant when they referred to finding the garden of Nirvana. This was it for him. The ultimate state of liberation and profound peace.

You were a blubbering mess, fingertips clawing down his back, surely to leave marks, but he couldn’t care less.

“Look at you,” he cooed, rutting his cock in and out of you. “You’re awfully quiet. Got something on your mind, baby?”

“N-No,” you stammered, legs wrapping around his waist as your arms went around his neck, clinging to him like a koala, your moans now pressed up against his ear.

“I figured as much.”

Your tits were flush against his chest, his breath stalling as he reached in the limited space between you, thumb circling your clit. Your whines intensified, just as his thrusts did.

“Spencer, please, yes, oh fuck—,” you paused, a gasp releasing from your lips as he felt you unravel on his cock, your wet cunt clenching around him in a way that made his legs shake.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that.” His movements were more desperate now, sloppily slamming into you without mercy. “You’re so fucking good, baby.”

He barely recognized your lips against his ear. “Will you come inside me please?”

That was all it took, those simple words, brushing against his skin and rushing all the way down to his cock. His thrusts slowing as he pumped himself inside you, the sound completely obscene, but it just made him enjoy it that much more.

You were limp against the bed, and Spencer was quick to follow, face finding the crook of his neck as he tried his best not to crush you with his weight.

He could feel your pulse against his lips, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses into your honey induced skin as he waited for you to return back to planet Earth.

He was well aware of the drill, pressing one last kiss to your sweaty forehead before prying himself out of your hands and making a beeline for the bathroom. He grabbed a towel and a glass of water before coming back to the bed, nearly fainting at your tired smile shining at him, at him.

“Hi, gorgeous.”

“I really love when you call me that,” you said, almost dreamily as you pushed your tousled hair into the pillow.

He laughed, placing the water on the table and moving your legs so he was between them.

“Gorgeous,” he repeated as he dabbed the towel to your sex, cleaning the mess he made on you. “Do I not call you that enough? Because I can certainly make it a more regular occurrence.”

“Well, I mean, it couldn’t hurt,” you said, giggling as you flinched away from the pressure on your clit.

He pushed your leg down, preventing you from squirming. “Let me clean you up.”

You pouted, and he had the sudden urge to bite your bottom lip. You gave him a salute, giggling before you could even get the words out. “Aye, aye captain.”

He tossed the towel to the side, climbing up your legs as he kissed you, soft and slow, murmuring into your lips, “come here, smart ass.”

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf

[fishlung8877]

Dare I say... Coooked?

Wip, perhaps... Willl fix lighting later

[seongwars]

forget me not | ii

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 7.7K Warnings: swearing, allusions to self disappearing, mentions of ghosts and the unliving

Fic Masterlist

a/n: ngl, I teared up writing this chapter. poll results were also incorporated into the plot 🤭

The sun was setting behind the outfield, casting a golden hue over the empty baseball diamond. You sat on the bleachers with your journal in hand, taking in the post-practice calm of the field, as you waited for Yunho. 

Fall had arrived, bringing with it crisp weather, cozy sweaters, and the start of your final year of high school. In the soft light, you focused intently on your sketchbook, your pencil moving deftly across the pages. You were engrossed in capturing the essence of a black cat in various poses—the cat’s form, rendered in fluid lines and delicate shading, seemed to come to life on the page.

“You know black cats are bad luck,” Yunho chuckled, his voice warm and teasing as he leaned closer to peer at your sketches. His tone carried a light-heartedness that matched the playful glint in his eyes.

You glanced up, catching his gaze with a smile. “They’re just little guys,” you pouted, brow furrowing in mock frustration. 

“How was your meeting with the counselor?” he asked, gaze drifting over the field he loved so much. The question carried a note of genuine curiosity, and his eyes, shaded by the brim of his cap, held a look of earnest concern. 

You shrugged. “It was okay,” the words drifted out as you turned back to the sketches. “Just a lot to think about. What did you tell her?”

Yunho hummed thoughtfully. “Told her I’m going to hit up the Tigers and build a winning team.” His voice was filled with a quiet determination, the kind that comes from years of dreaming and planning.

“But of course,” you snorted. There was something comforting about Yunho’s single-minded devotion to the sport, a constant in a world that felt increasingly uncertain as graduation loomed closer.

“It’s a long shot, but I’m willing to work for it.” His eyes lit up with a spark of determination, the same spark that had driven him to countless early morning practices and late-night games. You’d seen firsthand how much effort Yunho put into everything he did, how deeply he cared about his teammates and the sport itself. There was no doubt in your mind that he could make his dream a reality.

Yunho’s gaze softened as he turned to you, his expression sincere. 

“Did you explore any career options with her?”

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and uncertainty swirl in your chest. “Not really. I’ve got some ideas, but nothing’s set in stone.”

“What about art? Or photography? You’re a great photographer and you’re always sketching in your journal.” 

A small smile played on your lips as you considered his words. “Yeah, but I’d probably hate it if I made a career out of it,” you sighed, closing the leather-bound book with a soft thud. There was a truth in that statement you hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. The idea of turning your art into a career felt like it would strip away the joy and freedom that came with creating something purely for yourself.

But now, as you stood on the brink of a new chapter in your life, you realized how much you had relied on Yunho. His presence had been a constant, a safety net that you had come to depend on. The thought of making decisions without his input was daunting, and you felt a pang of anxiety at the prospect.

Yunho’s brow furrowed slightly, and he seemed to weigh your words carefully before responding. “I get that. But whatever you choose, just make sure it’s something that makes you happy. That’s what really matters.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon. As the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, Yunho stood up, offering you a hand. 

“Ready?” he asked, his voice breaking the peaceful silence, but not disturbing the tranquility of the moment. 

You looked up at him, taking in the sight of his relaxed posture, the way his cap sat slightly askew on his head, and the easy smile that always seemed to come so naturally to him. There was something reassuring about Yunho, a steadiness that made even the quietest of moments feel meaningful.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, slipping your hand into his. His grip was warm and steady, and as he helped you to your feet, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of ease wash over you. 

“Where are we going for dinner?” he asked, picking up his bag. 

“How about that little place by the river? The one with the outdoor seating?” you suggested, glancing up at him.

Yunho’s face brightened at your suggestion, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Perfect. I’ve been craving their chicken skewers.”

“What can I say? I know what you like,” you grinned, bumping your shoulder into his. 

You drifted away from Yunho, your steps slow and aimless, as if the ground beneath you had shifted in a way that left you unmoored. The path ahead was shrouded in darkness, the streetlights casting long, eerie shadows that seemed to stretch out toward you, mocking your loneliness. 

The cold breeze stung your cheeks, mingling with the tears that you couldn’t hold back any longer. You wiped at them hastily, but more kept coming, each one a reminder of how much tonight had hurt. The heartbreak was overwhelming. It wasn’t just the loss of your best friend; it was the loss of a part of yourself. 

Sixteen years. You’d grown up together, sharing secrets, dreams, and fears. Yunho was there for you when you felt like the world was too much to handle, offering a shoulder to cry on and words of encouragement that always seemed to make things better. 

You thought back to one of those moments, a memory that stood out vividly despite the passage of time. You were eleven, and the world felt like it was crumbling around you. Your dog had passed away, and the weight of it was too much for your young heart to bear. 

You called Yunho right away, your voice breaking as you tried to hold back the tears. You didn’t need to explain; he just knew. Within minutes, he was at your house, breathless from running across the street. He wrapped a lanky arm around your shoulder the entire time you cried, hoping he could shield you from the pain that was tearing you apart.

Or the time you got a ‘C’ on your first big exam in university. You were devastated, convinced that you weren’t good enough, that you would never succeed. The weight of disappointment was crushing, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had let everyone down, including yourself.

He dragged you out of your dorm that day, refusing to let you wallow in self-pity. Despite your protests, he insisted you needed a change of scenery. You spent the afternoon at the art museum, wandering through the quiet halls filled with the vibrant colors and intricate details of the paintings and sculptures. The silence of the museum was a balm to your frazzled nerves, allowing you to lose yourself in the art, if only for a little while.

But Yunho, being Yunho, couldn’t let you leave without doing something more to lift your spirits. As you were about to head out, he steered you toward the gift shop, his eyes bright with an idea he hadn’t yet shared. You half-heartedly browsed the shelves, not really in the mood to buy anything, but Yunho seemed determined.

“Wait here,” he said, flashing you a quick smile before disappearing behind a display of postcards. Moments later, he returned, his hands hidden behind his back, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, and despite your skepticism, you complied, hearing the faint rustle of a small bag.

“Okay, open them,” Yunho’s voice was filled with barely contained excitement. When you did, you found him holding out a small, carefully wrapped package, tied with a simple ribbon. “This is for you.”

You unwrapped the gift, your heart swelling as you revealed a figurine of a golden retriever. The dog’s playful expression, with eyes full of joy, instantly brought a smile to your face. It was so perfectly Yunho—loyal, dependable, always bringing a bit of sunshine into your life, even when things seemed bleak.

As you felt a lump in your throat, tears began to well up in your eyes. You couldn’t hold them back and immediately started sobbing, drawing attention from onlookers. It was such a small thing, a simple gesture, but it meant everything to you in that moment. The figurine was more than just a gift; it was a symbol of Yunho’s unwavering friendship and his ability to understand you in ways no one else could. Through your tears, you managed to smile at him, grateful for his presence and the comfort he brought into your life.

How could someone who once knew you so intimately now feel so distant, so unreachable? It was as if you were looking into the eyes of a stranger, and the realization was like a knife to the heart. You were left to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, trying to make sense of a world where your best friend had become your greatest adversary.

Stopping at the edge of the river’s walkway, you watched the water move steadily, its surface deceptively calm. You longed for that same tranquility, that same sense of direction. Instead, you felt lost, adrift in a sea of emotions you couldn’t navigate. The cold night air wrapped around you like a shroud, beckoning you into its deceptively calm waters.

“Sad… Sad…”

It was hypnotic. Shadows danced along the water’s edge, and you could almost hear the whispers of spirits wandering through the night. Their presence was palpable, a chilling reminder of the unseen forces at play. The river pulsed with an otherworldly energy, drawing you closer, tempting you to step into its depths and join the spectral procession.

The spirits seemed to take notice of you, drawn to the sorrow that weighed heavily on your heart. They circled closer, their ethereal forms flickering in the moonlight. You felt their cold, ghastly fingers brush against your skin, feeding off your anguish, growing stronger with each passing moment. They were inviting you to surrender to the darkness, to become one with the night.

“Hungry… hungry… ” they murmured, their words merging into a single, chilling plea. It was as if they were lured by the raw, unfiltered emotion, driven by an insatiable hunger that could only be sated by consuming your sorrow. 

The weight of grief, loss, and betrayal from someone you loved suffocated you, pressing down on your chest like a vice. You looked around, desperate for some sign of relief, but the ghosts were relentless. Their forms circled you, their murmurs growing louder, more insistent. The despair you felt seemed to feed their hunger, making their presence even more intense, more invasive.

“Give in…” one spirit whispered directly into your ear, its cold breath sending another shiver down your spine. “Let us take it… let us take the pain…”

Desperation clawed at you, and you tried to push them away, but your hands passed through their ghastly bodies. The more you struggled, the more they seemed to tighten their grip, as if they were trying to pull you into their world, to make you one of them. The night air seemed to close in around you, the darkness growing heavier with each breath you took.

“Scatter,” a voice commanded, deep and resonant, cutting through the night like a blade. The spirits, who had been swirling around you with growing hunger, recoiled in sudden fear. Their flickering forms dimmed and began to dissolve into the shadows, retreating from the voice’s commanding presence.

You gasped, as if surfacing from the depths of the sea for the first time, and blinked, the voice shattering the spell that had held you captive. The oppressive chill and haunting whispers began to recede, replaced by a strange, unsettling calm. You looked around, trying to grasp what had just happened, your heart still pounding from the encounter.

The figure’s presence was both terrifying and oddly comforting, a paradox that left you feeling simultaneously alarmed and relieved. His silhouette was sharp and defined against the dim moonlight, and though his face was partially concealed beneath a deep, shadowy hood, there was no mistaking the sheer authority he commanded.

“Brave of you to be roaming near my realm, mortal.”

You blinked, disoriented by the strangeness of the encounter. It felt like you had stumbled into a scene from a dream, and your mind scrambled to make sense of it. With a flicker of rational thought cutting through the haze of confusion, you spun on your heel and bolted, your footsteps pounding against the pavement in a frantic rhythm. 

“I’ve been eaten by ghosts, I’m dead. I’m so fucking dead,” you panicked as your feet pounded against the pavement in a full-on sprint. 

“You’re not dead,” the figure’s voice was smooth and unnervingly calm, laced with a hint of amusement. He materialized before you in a swirl of black mist, his sudden appearance silent and startling. Your heart skipped a beat as you skidded to a halt, eyes wide with panic. He stood there, smirking, clearly relishing your bewilderment.

Without a second thought, you turned and ran again, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The cityscape blurred around you as you darted through the park and vaulted over obstacles, your mind a whirlwind of fear and adrenaline. You could hear the figure’s footsteps behind you, a steady, unhurried pace that only heightened your terror.

You glanced over your shoulder, your heart sinking as you saw him gaining on you effortlessly. You rounded a corner sharply, nearly losing your balance as you bumped into him. Panic surged through you, a cold sweat breaking out as your mind scrambled for an escape route. Fuck fuck fuck. You swallowed hard, trying to mask your fear. 

“What do you want from me?” The words slipped out, more out of desperation than defiance. The surreal nature of the situation was twisting your emotions into a knot, leaving you uncertain whether to be angry, terrified, or something in between.

He stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. “I was curious about what could have triggered a feeding frenzy among the ghosts.” 

You felt a chill run down your spine. “So I have been eaten alive by the ghosts,” you muttered.

He paused, his gaze steady and deliberate as he chose his words carefully. “No. When the veil between the worlds is thin and the energies of the living and the dead are in flux, spirits are drawn to heightened emotions,” he explained, his voice holding a note of measured calm. “That’s why you were being swarmed earlier. And for the last time, you’re not dead.”

“Now that I think of it, being eaten by ghosts sounds better than the bullshit and humiliation I just went through,” you spat with an edge of bitterness.

The fight with Yunho was still fresh, the sting of it cutting deep, and the bitterness in your words was impossible to hide. Every memory of your friendship now felt like a cruel reminder of your naivety, and the humiliation of being deceived cut deeper than any physical wound.

The figure studied you intently, his gaze piercing through the darkness, as if he could see into the very depths of your soul. “You have a strong desire to disappear,” he said, his voice low and measured.

From the corner of his eye, a small black cat appeared and found purchase underneath a streetlamp, its onyx eyes staring intently at the stranger, urging him to wrap up whatever business he was conducting with you. 

“Is it that obvious?” you asked, a hint of vulnerability creeping into your voice. You felt exposed under his scrutiny, as if he had laid bare your deepest fears and desires. 

He stepped closer, his presence nearly overwhelming. “I can sense it within you,” he said, his voice a blend of solemnity and intrigue. “The shadows that cling to your heart and a yearning to disappear from the pain and humiliation that haunt you. But…”

“But?” you prompted, as you tried to grasp the meaning of his words.

The cat flicked its tail with an air of impatience, its gaze fixed on you with an intensity that was almost unnerving. The small creature seemed to radiate an aura of quiet authority, as if it, too, was a part of this mysterious world that was slowly unraveling before you. 

“But it seems,” he began, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “you’ve captured the attention of more than just the ghosts tonight.”

You could feel the weight of his words, the implications swirling in your mind like a storm. “What are you saying?” you asked, your voice barely steady, dread and curiosity pulling at you.

Without a sound, the cat began to walk away from the waterfront, its sleek form gliding through the shadows as if it were a part of them. The man gestured subtly encouraging you to follow. 

“I suggest you see where this leads.”

You followed the black cat as it led you through the dimly lit streets. The air around you shimmered with an otherworldly energy, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being guided by something far greater than mere chance.

The cat paused in front of an unassuming door, its facade a curious blend of traditional and contemporary styles. The door was adorned with a delicate flowery overhang, its intricate designs seeming to shift subtly as if alive. With a soft meow, it pawed at the door, encouraging you to open it. 

So you do. 

The realm seemed to breathe with life, its atmosphere humming with a quiet, almost magical energy that seeped into your very bones. The walls pulsed with a soft, rhythmic glow, as if the shop itself were sentient, aware of your presence. Every corner of this enchanting realm was meticulously crafted to evoke wonder, from the collection of curios on the shelves to the hanging flowerfield above you.

“Seonghwa, you bastard, you’re late— Oh?” The voice was sharp and accusatory, cutting through the ambiance. 

Your gaze shifted to the source of the voice. There stood a vibrant and enigmatic stranger, his presence striking in brightly colored robes and glinting jewelry that shimmered with every subtle movement. He was a living embodiment of the mystical realm he presided over–captivating in his otherworldly grace.

As your eyes met, the shopkeeper studied you, sensing the heaviness in your heart, the weight of whatever burden you carried. It was clear that you were barely holding it together, your composure a fragile mask meant to shield you from further vulnerability. 

“Seonghwa”, the shadowy figure, followed behind, seeming unfazed by the rebuke. There was a subtle ease in his movements, a confidence that suggested he was entirely at home in this strange and wondrous place. 

“Your traveler has arrived,” Seonghwa announced with a casual nonchalance, as if his presence was a matter of routine rather than a potential disruption. His tone was light, almost amused, adding an air of detached amusement to the situation.

“Welcome traveler. I must apologize, it seems Lord Death and his ghosts gave you quite the scare,” His gaze flicked towards his friend, and a scowl of mild irritation crossed his features. “Please call me Hongjoong. I am the keeper of the Astral Emporium,” he bowed, turning his attention back to you.

“Astral Emporium?” you echoed, the name lingering on your tongue with a sense of wonder. Your eyes wandered over the shop’s interior, taking in the gilded spines of ancient texts and the array of artifacts that seemed to shimmer with hidden magic.

Hongjoong nodded. “The shop exists in a realm between the supernatural and the living, responding to the energy of your desires, known as wishes. Think of wishes as the hidden yearnings of your heart, and this place has the power to bring them to life.”

“You bring wishes to life? As in, you grant them?”

“In a sense,” Hongjoong replied, his voice carrying a playful lilt that softened the gravity of his words. “To have a wish granted, you must offer something of equal value in return. This realm operates on a principle of balance—the universe demands equilibrium.”

You glanced down at the little black cat that had guided you here. Its fur was soft and comforting beneath your fingers, and its gentle purr seemed to blend with the quiet, expectant atmosphere of the shop. The cat leaned into your touch, clearly content with the affection. You tapped your finger gently on its nose, trying to think through the implications.

“Do I have to make a decision tonight?” you asked, a note of urgency in your voice. The least you could do is say goodbye to your parents and figure out how you were going to pay for your wish. 

Hongjoong’s expression softened, and he looked at you with understanding. “No. The shop has already revealed itself to you, and you may make your wish whenever you are ready,” he said with a reassuring smile. “However, I encourage travelers to take their time. Once a wish is granted, it cannot be undone.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the impending decision settle heavily upon you. The quiet, almost palpable presence of the choice lingered in the air like a delicate mist. Your heart pounded as you contemplated the gravity of the situation, the stakes higher than you had ever imagined. 

You eyed the golden retriever statue Yunho had given you your freshman year. Its calm expression remained unchanged, frozen in time. As you picked it up and ran your fingers over the smooth, cool surface, it served as a reminder of the past—one you were now trying to reconcile with the present.

Scrolling through your contacts, your finger hovered over Yunho’s name. The thought of reaching out, of trying to bridge the gap, was tempting, but the fear of what you might find on the other side held you back. What if you needed him? What if he needed you? The questions swirled in your head, making it hard to think clearly. 

You sighed, setting the statue back on the shelf. It felt like a relic from another life, one where your best friend was a constant presence. The memories were bittersweet, filled with laughter and shared dreams, but also with the pain of growing apart. 

Yunho stood at the window, his face pressed against the cool glass, watching with wide eyes as the moving truck rumbled to a stop across the street. The hum of activity and the clatter of boxes spilling onto the driveway filled the air. He bounced on his toes, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Mom, there’s a moving truck across the street!” Yunho exclaimed, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm. He pointed out the window, his eyes following the movers who were already hard at work.

His mother, busy in the kitchen, wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked over to join him. She peered out the window, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Looks like we’re getting new neighbors,” she said, her tone warm and welcoming.

Yunho’s mind raced with possibilities. Would there be kids his age? Maybe someone who liked sports as much as he did? He imagined all the games they could play together, the adventures they could have. The thought made his heart race with anticipation.

Outside, the movers were unloading furniture: a large, comfy-looking couch, a dining table with matching chairs, and a tall bookshelf that Yunho imagined would be filled with interesting books and knick-knacks. He watched as a family car pulled up behind the truck, and a woman stepped out, followed by a girl about his age.

Yunho’s face fell as he saw you step out of the car. “Aw, it’s a girl!” he exclaimed, his excitement clearly dampened.

“Yunho, it doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl. What’s important is that you’re welcoming a new neighbor.”

His cheeks reddened slightly as he looked up at his mom. “But I thought it’d be someone I could play baseball with.”

His mother knelt down to his level, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You never know, Yunho. She might like baseball too, or maybe she has other fun games to share. Why don’t you give her a chance?”

Yunho sighed but nodded, his curiosity piqued despite his initial disappointment. He watched as you helped your parents carry boxes into the house. You seemed about his age, with a friendly smile and an air of confidence that intrigued him.

“Why don’t you go over and say hello?” his mother suggested, giving him a gentle nudge. “It’s always nice to welcome new neighbors.”

Gathering his courage, Yunho took a deep breath and walked over, but not without looking both ways before crossing the street. “Hi!” he called out, trying to muster up his enthusiasm again. “I’m Yunho. Do you want to play with me later?”

You looked up from the box you were carrying, a surprised but friendly smile spreading across your face. “Hi, I’m Y/N,” you replied, setting the box down. “I’m six. Um, what do you like to do?”

Yunho’s initial nervousness began to fade as he saw your welcoming expression. “I like baseball. And I’m six too,” he said, his excitement returning. “Do you like baseball?”

You nodded enthusiastically, “Maybe we can play together here,” you exclaimed, pointing to your backyard. “My backyard is really big!” 

Yunho’s heart soared, feeling a sense of relief and happiness. He had been worried about making a new friend, but it seemed like things were going to work out just fine. He couldn’t wait to show you around the neighborhood and introduce you to his favorite spots. 

“Mom, Y/N likes baseball too!” Yunho called out as he ran back to his house. His mother smiled, watching her son’s excitement. He froze suddenly realizing he forgot something. 

“I forgot to ask her about her favorite team!” he exclaimed, his voice bubbling with eagerness. He had clearly been so caught up in the excitement of meeting his new neighbor that he had overlooked this important detail.

His mother chuckled softly, sensing the genuine enthusiasm in her son’s voice. “Well, it sounds like you have something to look forward to next time you see her. Maybe you can invite her over for a game or something.”

Yunho nodded vigorously, already imagining the fun of discussing baseball with his new friend. He dashed back to the window, peering out to catch another glimpse of you, hoping for a chance to continue your budding friendship.

Your life had largely revolved around Yunho, with him at the center of everything you did. Your world seemed to orbit around his presence, to the point you were deeply entangled in the expectations and dreams you had placed on him. 

“Pathetic.” That was one of the words Yunho had used to describe you, a word that echoed in your mind with a cruel sense of truth. As Yunho moved on with his life—dating Haewon, expanding his circle of friends, and pursuing new opportunities—you remained as you were: unmoving, uncertain of what kind of future you would have without him.

Then came your literal brush with Lord Death himself and Hongjoong. The experience sparked something within you. You found yourself irresistibly drawn to the mysteries of this otherworldly realm, feeling an intense, almost primal urge to be a part of it. It was as if the brush with the supernatural had unlocked a deep-seated desire to break free from the constraints of your old life.

You opened your contacts again, your finger hovering over Yunho’s name. You hesitated, feeling the gravity of what you were about to do.

Taking a deep breath, you pressed the delete button. Yunho’s name vanished from your contacts, leaving an empty space where he used to be. It felt like a small act, but the weight of it hit you immediately, a reminder that some doors, once shut, could never be reopened.

A soft meow from outside your window drew your attention. Pulling back the curtain, you see the little black cat perched on the ledge—the same one that had first guided you to the emporium. The cat’s eyes shimmered with a curious intelligence, locking onto yours as it stretched its small, agile body and began to paw at the window.

With a gentle push, you opened the window, and the cat trotted inside with an air of casual confidence. You crouched down, your fingers instinctively reaching out to caress its velvety fur.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, scratching behind its ears. “You’re quite a ways from home.”

“The ordinary rules of reality don’t apply to me.”

You blinked in disbelief, your mind struggling to process the extraordinary claim. “You– You can talk!?” The words escaped your lips in a stammer, your astonishment palpable. The notion that a cat could converse was something straight out of a fairy tale, and yet here it was, happening right before your eyes.

“Indeed,” it said with a gentle purr that seemed almost amused. “Master created me to assist with managing the shop while he’s away. I am a familiar, with the ability to traverse between realms. I can come and go as I please.”

Your eyebrows knitted together as you tried to absorb the cat’s matter-of-fact response. “But if you’re here, then who’s–”

“Master is, obviously,” the cat interrupted, its tail flicking lazily. “But when he isn’t, I’m there.”

“And where does he go?” you asked, your voice edged with curiosity. The cat’s nonchalant demeanor contrasted sharply with the gravity of your question.

The cat’s demeanor shifted to something softer, almost wistful. “Master Hongjoong is a powerful sorcerer. His duties often take him beyond the confines of this realm. 

Sometimes he’s negotiating peace between warring factions, other times he’s retrieving lost artifacts of immense power.”

“While he’s away, I watch over the shop and keep things in order,” it continued, its voice carrying a note of quiet resignation. “It’s a lonely task at times, but it’s necessary for the travelers who come through looking to have their wishes granted.”

You noticed the subtle strain in the cat’s voice, the way its eyes reflected a deep solitude.

“It sounds like you have a very important role,” you said gently, hoping to offer some comfort. The depth of the familiar’s responsibilities became clearer to you, and with it, a newfound respect. 

“I’m certain your master appreciates everything you do,” you added, your voice filled with sincerity.

The cat’s eyes, still reflecting that subtle loneliness, brightened slightly at your words. “Thank you,” it said softly.

You reached down and gently scratched behind its ears, hoping to offer a bit of solace. “Ah, I don’t know what to call you,” you said gently, realizing you hadn’t yet asked for the cat’s name. 

“Wooyoung,” the cat replied, the name rolling off its tongue with a sense of pride. “Master Hongjoong gave it to me.”

“And what about you?” Wooyoung continued, its gaze curious and attentive. “You didn’t give us your name yesterday.”

“I’m Y/N,” you replied, your voice carrying a bit of warmth and a hint of vulnerability. The exchange felt like a small but significant step towards understanding this strange new world you had found yourself in. 

As Wooyoung settled comfortably in your lap, purring softly, you found yourself contemplating the implications of your conversation. The idea of disappearing into the emporium’s enigmatic realm began to seem increasingly appealing. Perhaps this magical world, with its mysteries and hidden depths, was exactly where you needed to be.

“Have you heard from Y/N?” Yunho asked, his voice strained and laced with worry. 

Haewon looked up from her phone, her face mirroring his growing alarm. “No, I haven’t,” she replied, her brows knitting together as she struggled to grasp the gravity of the situation. “Did something happen?”

“Her dad called me this morning,” he said, his voice tight. “He hasn’t heard from her in a couple of days. She hasn’t posted on her socials, and she’s not responding to texts. I think the cops are going to do a wellness check. I’m going to meet them there.”

Haewon’s worry deepened, her heart sinking as the implications of Yunho’s words settled in. “That’s not like her at all,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Y/N is always so reliable. If she’s gone silent for this long, something must be seriously wrong. She would never just disappear like this.”

Yunho sighed, running a hand through his hair. His gaze dropped to the floor as he wrestled with a surge of guilt. The fight he’d had with you, the way it had spiraled after Sungjae’s humiliating display at his apartment, weighed heavily on him. He could still see the hurt in your eyes, the way you stormed out and dumped your journal, leaving behind a trail of unresolved emotions.

He hadn’t reached out, thinking it might be best to give you some time to cool off. After all, you always came back. But now, as the days dragged on without a word from you, each passing moment felt like a missed opportunity to mend the rift he had caused.

“You don’t think it was because of Sungjae, do you?” Haewon asked. “You know he didn’t mean to say those things. He was drunk.”

But he did. Yunho knew, deep down, that the words Sungjae had spoken were hurtful and that they had contributed to the mess of emotions you were feeling. But there was a darker truth he couldn’t ignore: he had not only allowed Sungjae’s actions to influence the situation but had also failed to stand up for you and make amends. 

“There’s always an excuse for Sungjae,” he suddenly snapped, his voice sharp and edged with anger. “It’s always ‘he didn’t mean it,’ ‘he was drunk,’ as if that makes his words any less hurtful. It’s like you’re just brushing it off!”

Haewon’s expression hardened, her patience wearing thin. “I know you and Sungjae don’t get along, but right now, focusing on him won’t help Y/N. We need to find out what’s going on with her,” she retorted, rolling her eyes.

“You don’t get it, Haewon! Sungjae crossed the line and no one said anything! He fucking humiliated her in front of everyone!” 

They made her feel worthless, and I stood by and did nothing. I should have defended her. I should have been there for her, is what Yunho wanted to say.

“And what good does yelling at me do, Yunho? You think I don’t care? You think I’m not worried about Y/N? She’s my friend too!”

“You’re always defending him! Why can’t you see how much damage he’s done?”

“Standing here arguing isn’t going to help her!”

Yunho’s eyes burned with intensity. “Fine. You stay here and make excuses for Sungjae. I’m going over to Y/N’s.”

With that, Yunho turned on his heel and stormed out, leaving Haewon standing there, her heart pounding with fear. She knew he was right about one thing: they needed to find you, and fast. But the rift between them felt wider than ever, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of a much deeper conflict.

As you approached the shop, the familiar, otherworldly ambiance enveloped you once more. The air was thick with the scent of ancient incense and jasmine, a blend that always made you feel both curious and comforted.

The door creaked open, and a soft, melodic chime rang out, greeting you with its gentle tinkle, like a whisper from another world.

Making your way further into the shop, you caught the faintest whisper of hushed voices. You slowed your steps, moving quietly to avoid intruding on what sounded like a private conversation. The shop was a labyrinth of towering shelves, each filled with enchanted curiosities that seemed to hum with their own secret lives.

You noticed that Hongjoong’s expression was serious, his brow furrowed in concentration, while Seonghwa listened intently, his eyes reflecting the gravity of their discussion.

“The Auroran Empire is preparing for a major offensive against Wonderland. It’s not just about territory anymore; their queen has officially lost her mind,” he said, his voice low and tense. 

“She wants to bring about a new era of dominance,” he continued, his eyes narrowing. “But in her madness, she’s likely to destroy everything in her path. Her decisions are unpredictable and increasingly violent. Wonderland won’t just be facing a military assault; they’ll be up against an unpredictable force of destruction.”

“Dragons against dragons,” Seonghwa murmured, referring to the legendary beasts often associated with said realm. “The collateral damage could be catastrophic.”

Seonghwa’s expression grew serious as he met Hongjoong’s gaze. “You’re going to have to leave for quite some time, aren’t you? If this is escalating to such extremes, there will be a need for intervention, and it won’t be a quick affair.”

“Let me take over the shop,” you said, stepping out from the shadows. Your voice was steady, though your heart raced with the weight of your request. The air crackled with the energy of the emporium, and you could feel the gravity of the moment settling in.

Hongjoong looked up, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Hello to you too, traveler,” he said, though the casual greeting did little to mask the seriousness underlying his words.

“Wooyoung told me your powers take you elsewhere,” you said, your voice steady despite the swirling emotions beneath. “If I take over the shop, you can continue to fulfill your duties in other realms while I manage things here.”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed slightly as he considered your proposal. “This place,” he began, his voice soft but firm, “is where the threads of many worlds converge. It’s about understanding the intricate balance that holds these realms together.”

You followed closely as Hongjoong started walking through the aisles of the emporium. Each step echoed softly in the vast space filled with enchanted artifacts and mystical relics. 

“I understand the gravity of this responsibility,” you said, matching his pace and keeping your voice firm. “I might not have your experience, but I’m willing to learn,” you continued your plea.

Hongjoong stopped abruptly and turned to face you, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of concern and skepticism. His expression was stern, the weight of your request clearly pressing on him. 

“It’s a significant responsibility, one that requires dedication and resilience. I’m not going to hand it over to a human—”

“Aren’t you a human as well?” you shot back, your voice tinged with frustration. The retort slipped out before you could stop it, and the sharpness of your words echoed through the shop.

Hongjoong’s eyes widened in surprise, and he crossed his arms defensively, his posture rigid. “That doesn’t matter,” he stammered, clearly caught off guard by your response. “My situation is different—”

Seonghwa, who had been quietly observing the tense exchange, decided to interject as he trailed behind you. “She has a point. Wonderland is asking you to intervene on their behalf. The situation is escalating, and having someone reliable at the shop would be crucial.”

“No,” Hongjoong replied sharply, continuing his stride through the labyrinthine aisles of the shop, his frustration evident in his quickened pace. “The emporium is a nexus of power that requires a deep understanding and connection. It’s not something you can just hand over to anyone.”

“Then take my memories,” you blurted out, your voice trembling with urgency. “If you’re worried about my ability to handle the shop, erase my memories of everything but the basics of running this place. Make me a blank slate so I can focus entirely on managing the emporium.”

Hongjoong halted abruptly, turning to face you with a mixture of shock and contemplation. His eyes searched your face, as if trying to gauge the sincerity of your offer. Seonghwa, too, looked intrigued by the unexpected proposal.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Hongjoong gritted, his voice laced with disbelief and a hint of frustration. His eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. “That’s a drastic measure. You’re willing to give up everything for this?” He gestured broadly to the surroundings, the air thick with the hum of ancient magic.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his question. “At first, I just wanted to disappear,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “My life had become a tangled mess of unfulfilled expectations and unresolved emotions. It didn’t matter what happened to me as long as I was…gone.”

You took a deep breath, meeting Hongjoong’s eyes with newfound determination. “But then, I realized something important. I didn’t have a purpose, and I was uncertain about my future. I thought about the night I came here, and it made me see that I wasn’t just trying to escape from something; I was searching for something to move towards.”

Hongjoong studied you intently, his eyes searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. Seonghwa, meanwhile, shifted his weight thoughtfully, clearly processing the significance of your words.

“I’ve spent so long feeling adrift,” you continued, your voice filled with conviction. “But now I see that the emporium is an opportunity to find and fulfill my purpose.”

Hongjoong’s gaze remained piercing, yet the softness in his eyes deepened, reflecting empathy and understanding. He took a moment to absorb your words, the weight of your request settling over him. His expression softened further, and he nodded slowly, as if coming to a decision.

“Is that your wish?” he asked, his voice gentle yet carrying the gravity of the moment.

“Yes,” you confirmed, your voice carrying a blend of certainty and resolve. “That is my wish.”

“Mom?”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before your mother’s voice came through, warm and concerned. “Y/N? What’s the matter? You sound a bit off.”

“Nothing, really,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though a catch in your throat betrayed the weight of your emotions. “I just wanted to call and see how you and Dad are doing.”

Your mother’s voice softened further, her concern evident as she sensed the underlying sadness. “We’re doing well. It’s been a quiet day. Your father’s been busy with his garden—he’s finally getting those tomatoes to grow—and we’re just taking a break now. How about you? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you said, though the words felt hollow and insubstantial. “I just… wanted to check in before I go back to studying. I also think I might have found an opportunity worth pursuing.”

“That’s great, honey! I’m glad you’re staying on top of things,” your mother replied, her voice filled with pride. “Just remember to take care of yourself, okay? Don’t push too hard.”

“I won’t,” you promised, though the truth was far more complicated than you could ever explain in a single phone call. 

As you spoke, a tear slipped down your cheek, betraying the sadness and relief you felt. It was a small release, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil that had been simmering just beneath the surface. 

“Mom,” you said, your voice softer now, the vulnerability creeping in despite your best efforts to hide it. “I just want you to know that I love you and Dad.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, the kind that only comes when someone is processing something unexpected. “We love you too, Y/N. I’m happy you called. If there’s anything you need or want to talk about, we’re here for you.”

“I know,” you whispered, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you, letting the comfort of her words wash over you, even as the weight of your own decisions pressed down harder. “I love you both.”

“We love you too. Take care of yourself.”

You ended the call, the weight of the conversation lingering as a poignant reminder of the ties that bound you to your family. Their love and support were a comforting anchor, grounding you as you prepared to navigate the irreversible course ahead. 

“Traveler?” you called out, your voice soft yet clear, cutting through the haze of the man’s thoughts. You stepped closer, concern etched into your features as you reached out to him. “Is everything all right?”

The man blinked, pulled back into the present by the sound of your voice. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words to respond. His mind was still tangled in the web of what-ifs and should-haves, but the look in your eyes—steady, patient—reminded him that he wasn’t alone in this moment. 

He swallowed hard, his throat dry as he struggled to form a coherent thought. “I… I’d like some time to think about what I want to wish for,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a vulnerability in his tone, one that spoke of the doubts and fears he’d been carrying for far too long. 

You nodded, your expression softening as you stepped closer, your hand nearly reaching his. “Take all the time you need,” you reassured gently. “The shop exists outside of time and welcomes those it chooses. You’re welcome to come and go until you’re ready to decide.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. The weight of making a wish, of deciding on something so significant, had been overwhelming, but your presence made it feel more manageable. “It helps to know that I can come back when I’m ready.” 

He looked at you–there was no judgment in your gaze, no expectation—just a quiet understanding that allowed him to breathe a little easier.

“I’m Yunho, by the way,” he added softly, as if sharing his name was a small but significant step toward reconnecting with you—at least this version of you. The corners of his lips lifted in a faint but genuine smile, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“Yunho,” you repeated. The way you said his name was like a delicate thread, fragile and precious. It felt as though each syllable was an attempt to capture something fleeting, a moment of intimacy slipping through your fingers, yet cherished all the same. 

<< i | iii >>

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl @intowxnderland @hwasa28 @thedistractedwriter @beabatiny @lovelyglares @spenceatiny18 @tiny-apocalypse @sunnysidesins @heyitsmetonid @jwone @laurenwidjaja @potatos-on-clouds

[mclalan]

Can you share what your art-making process is? What software and tools do you use?? I'm falling in love with your work!!

Thank you, I'm so happy you like my work and are interested in the process. The short answer is I mostly use Adobe Animate.

I hate how I'm using an Adobe product (although I still regard it as a MacroMedia Flash product), but there's just no other software that compares to its jankiness. Perhaps it's just my long familiarity with the program, but nothing I've experienced matches how it simultaneously feels like drawing in MS Paint and using Microsoft PowerPoint vector shapes. The result is something that feels in-between the two; handmade yet computer-generated.

Typically, I'll start with a hand-drawn sketch, often beginning as a thumbnail done with pencil and paper.

I'll then do a mix of hand drawing and vector shape tool rendering. I use the Paint Brush tool to hand draw strokes, and the line and shape tools mixed with transform to make more geometrically accurate shapes. The design is rendered into divided closed loop shapes, ready to be filled with a solid. The strokes are kept or removed depending on the design.

These fill shapes are then either coloured and rendered in Adobe Animate, using fills, gradients, or a more complex process of masks and effects.

Alternatively, I'll bring all these vector shapes into Photoshop and use them as clipping masks. The vector shapes act like masking taped areas or shields to maintain sharp edges, while the brush is like an atomized airbrush used to build soft volumed forms.

Please excuse all that horrible Adobe Cloud and AI bloatware...

And there we go!

Variations in the process include just using MS Paint, index color in Photoshop, or 3D programs.

Very old works of mine were almost abstract, just exploring digital mark-making, which was a trend I was following in the mid 2010s that I loved. This kind of stuff.

While my current work uses its digital material specificity as an intermediary to the subject in the illustration.

For example, #ersatz.world parodies clip-art and flash edutainment styles but imagines the characters living within that kind of world. The designs are meant to be cute, easy to read, light in computer processing, but also irreverent, janky, and generic too.

People typically regard this sort of clip art style as ephemeral trash, but I always found them charming. I use Ersatz World primarily as a satire vehicle, parodying educational formats to spoof corporate explainer content and digital media.

However, part of the problem with Ersatz is I've made it look too polished, complex, and I've grown too attached to the characters, which I imagine is a typical issue with overbuilding a world. So recently, I've made an even jankier Ersatz-like set of characters to play about with, using an even simpler style with less cohesion. I like to try and use slightly different styles and digital material styles to relate to the property at hand.

That’s why #autonymus has a bitmap digital material and a denser feel to it. Unlike Ersatz, Autonymus is not meant to be an overt semi-meta fiction. It’s not exactly pixel art, but the pixels are just about visible, as the intention is to create a digital expressionist depth to the setting. Although it’s still stylized and not realistic to our world, I definitely still want to evoke semblances of our world. That’s why there’s attention to landscape, plant life, and implied life beyond what you see in the frame with the characters, etc. But I'm still making a cartoon, and I still want it to feel at ease with itself being a digital material work. Characters are therefore flat, simple, stiff, and the speech style is like a bad Shakespeare parody. I like to balance between ugly and appealing, simple and complex, familiar and unfamiliar.

In regard to things like inspiration, references, and my relationship to aesthetic genres; these things certainly factor into my work, perhaps I'm even overtly dependent on them. My work can definitely be post-modernist in method; creating new, ironic, or fragmented interpretations through deconstructing a mix of various styles or methods. But at the same time, I'm still trying to make a digital gestural representation where the aesthetic is driven by my relationship to the software and techniques directly—not simply in an attempt to reference a style. For example, I like drawing lines in sweeping strokes, not to a point of geometric perfection, but just in a way where the curves are smooth and simple. But if I want perfectly curved or straight lines, I'll use the vector tools.

Working this way, you can sort of learn why certain styles and design choices in past vector aesthetics were made, as they would have also needed to make similar choices. That’s why I’m more mindful of using digital material specificity as a foundation to build narrative and subjects upon these days.

For example, genre references like cyberpunk clichés for #cyberhell or late medieval design for #autonymus or 2005 to 2015 era subculture fashion for #gradientgoblinz.

I think it’s important to take inspiration and reference from a wide variety of sources, but I think they’d mean nothing without having something to say or express. Autonymus, although it is a collection of tropes and clichés, isn’t just about that. It’s a story about the tensions of socially constructed systems and how that shapes faith, technology, and the natural world, or at least that's what I'm aiming for anyway.

But despite all that, I think there’s a danger of locking myself into the past by using these methods. For example, using nostalgia and references to past aesthetics can result in just recreating the past in a form of role-play. To avoid that, I try and evoke the past through a messy, inaccurate pastiche rather than caring to accurately re-enact anything. I’m probably not always successful at communicating the deliberateness of this, and it can certainly get very frustrating and pedantic. To be honest, I do kind of hate aesthetic labels (terms like Y2K, global coffee house, utopian scholastic designs from a pre-9/11 world).

I do not believe that a project aimed solely at mapping history through aesthetic styles is worthwhile. Sure, they can be handy for organizing style trends, but they can also be reductive and ahistoric. Who are these people to define the history of these design eras? The result is a kind of suffocating simulation of design history but removed from context, perfect for moodboardism. I wish it felt more tongue-in-cheek, less absolute of itself in its own practice. Instead, it acts to legitimize and engender those making these labels, almost giving them ownership of the design styles. It’s similar to the logic and process of generative AI and its databases in a way, just done manually.

I’m very inspired by artists like Oneohtrix Point Never in this regard, as I think he’s able to create an aesthetic portal to all kinds of memories, feelings, and worlds reminiscent of the past, while still being in the present. It’s more a reflection of how timelines are messy now, like a memory or dream, rather than an audacity to say the past was actually like that, or to try to actually map some kind of timeline.

I think the benefit of this process is how it avoids the other side of the spectrum—being locked into chasing the cutting edge of digital processes. I don't necessarily think using an old digital process means your work inherits the semiotics of old aesthetics. Non-digital mediums don’t have this issue to this degree, as you can still paint in oils and be considered contemporary, or at least it's not frowned upon to such a degree. And I also don't think anyone in the heyday of Flash ever made work the same as I do, especially as computers are more powerful now so can handle more. I probably shouldn't boast too much about that though, as artists at the time probably just had more sense than to use Flash like a painting program! So then, why is my use of Adobe Animate critiqued as obsolete and an aesthetic dead-end? Because to whose standards is this process obsolete? If you value digital aesthetics as an apparatus in industry practice, then sure, my work is redundant.

But as wonderful as the latest tech can be in creating new aesthetics, I do feel it can be overtly dependent on the trends and directions of tech corporations, and therefore act as an indirect propaganda tool to their hegemony over digital aesthetics, such as the ever-demanding processing power needed for simulated realism. If anything, work that does follow in the direction of the latest tech trends is ironically the quickest to date once the trends move on.

I've noticed I've not really described what my work is about, just the process, in this text. But I don't know, maybe I like Flash because it is regarded as redundant. No one really cares about it, so I feel free to make whatever I want, and can decide on form myself, to my own standards, the quality of my work. As fun as making images is, I find it difficult to put into words what it is exactly I'm expressing in my work, and perhaps that would spoil it anyway.

[puckpocketed]

who is #43?

Hello !! First off thank u for visiting. If you clicked read more by accident rip sorry it’s a lot of text. ENJOY!!! <3

1. This was the photo reference I used. I really did mean it when i said he photographs well!! I really like how scrungly he looks at times lol. v paintable

2. here’s a timelapse for your viewing pleasure in video + gif form <3

3. Process breakdown below. I am not formally trained, so don’t take any of this as professional advice!! The way i paint has been compared to channeling some evil contract with a demon also. So um . Im saying that i dont remotely think that this is efficient or correct, its just whats comfortable for me <3

3a) the dreaded lining phase. I have 2 modes of operation when it comes to painting - either i go full-dick with fancy inking/sketching + cel shading (rare, unrefined, haven’t figured out a nice workflow yet) OR i do a very very basic chicken scratch set of lines like so:

It’s less about being realistic here and more about laying down some guide lines for the chaos ahead. If i thought i could get away with it, I would start every rendered painting i do with laying down colours — but unfortchh ive tried that before and it usually ends in really weird proportions. Even with the lines i still need to make adjustments. This is something no people except me would notice but look at the above sketch; the eyes are too big and slightly too far apart, the forehead is too small and thus the hair is also not quite big enough… I have a bad habit of drawing eyes too big on faces, they’re my favourite facial feature to draw.. i barely resisted giving him big cow eyelashes (I love big cow eyelashes… all of my OC’s and most of my more stylised fan art of characters get big cow eyelashes… god…. Big cow eyelashes SAVE ME……….)

Anyway. Structure of the face + hand somewhat established. <3

3b) Underpainting!! Okay stay with me here . Ever since i figured out i dont have to paint in 03925893853 different layers, I’ve joyfully painted on 1 layer as much as possible. I dont have the brain power all the time to be managing layers so I simply dont work with that many layers. For this painting, the skin in its entirety was painted on one layer, the hair on another layer, and the effects on the last layer. There was a placeholder background off-white/grey colour for a while there, and I duplicated the line layer — one for figuring out where to lay colours, and one hidden for later so i could check back to see how accurate to the sketch/proportions were to the actual painting. 6 layers, 2 of which i painted the bulk of the piece on, 1 more at the end.

3c) here’s where I started carving out features. I think about objects in terms of volumes and light rather than lines. i love painting and sculpting because of this!! Here you see where I’ve begun to define his features — his eyelids, his bags, his nostrils. Just refining what was there before. The suggestion of facial hair before i gave it up and left it for later (his face is so naked the WHOLE time)

3d) nose bridge highlight, suggesting his eyebrows, a cheek highlight. A touch more coral red and muted yellow pull away from the grey/blue underpainting. Strategically leaving some of it peeking through.

3e) i truly start messing with the fidelity of his features here. Red lipstick <3 and some violet/blue for shadows on the right side of his face.

3f) the part where it starts looking like q.hughes to me (though, my friend said i got his vibe pretty early on which is such a compliment.. waaaaa…..) I love this part of every painting i do. I know it’s definitely not the Correct order since other parts of the entire painting are simply Not Rendered or Done, but whos gonna stop me?? :3

I love love loveeee painting faces. Adding the little shinies to his eyes + lips + upper lip + nose … you don’t know how much of a difference it makes until you do it. Also i snatched his eyebrows

3g) i really pushed the red/coral/ochre/orange here. Note the yellow highlights on his cheekbones, the forehead, and the thin thin line of pink right between where his bottom lip ends and his chin shadow starts <- very important . To ME!!!!!!! Also highlighting his waterline and adding his lashes was so so fun <3

3h) FACIAL HAIR!!! And I started rendering his hand. Some micro adjustments made to his face for proportion check.

3i) i start painting his hair in earnest and realise his forehead is too small so i make the adjustment. I really love how it falls into his eyes in this photo. <3

3j) i make some final adjustments to his eyes — a bit smaller, closer together. And i refine the outline of his jaw, push the stylisation of it just a little.

3k) Finishing details; his flyaway hairs, his moles, a bit of texture on his face, shadows cast by his hair, his little forehead cut <3

3l) i adjusted his hand here, added more texture to his skin, refined his hair a tiny bit more, and made the decision not to fuck around painting his jersey because i wanted the focus to be his face <3

3m) Canucks blue and green. Captain at 23. His form bleeds into the background. He is the franchise.

theee most fun ive had painting anything. and i finally feel... warmed up? if that makes sense. art for me is like. if i dont do it in a while it feels like nothing goes right when i come back to it. i hate that feeling, and the most difficult hurdle to clear is letting myself feel that until i get back into my Zone. after all this time i feel like im BACK !!!!!!!

i loved painting this fella. hes SO Shaped. <3

Apologies i simply do Not have the energy to write the alt text for all of these so i hope the little blurbs are okay aslkjasdklj. i gotta post and go to bed . if u made it this far, thank you for reading!!

[milkie2]

I've been really admiring your ava art; I REALLY REALLY ADORE THEM SO MUCH!!!❤️😭💕💕 and I’m kinda interested in your ava art style. Could you do tutorials with tips or techniques on how to draw in your “ava art style”? I'm really inspired by your work and would love to incorporate some elements of your style into my own art style practice. I don’t want to force you to do this. It’s fine if this is something you prefer to keep to yourself. Btw, Love your work! ❤

AAAAA HIHIII Here's my art process of how i render stuff^^^

Entire explanation and process here:

I make a sketch first and then do base colors underneath

(occasionally I might skip the sketch entirely and go straight into colors, but thats a bit more complicated)

I then merge the layers and start painting on top of it (on the same layer), using the lineart of that sketch as a guide

The reason why I am doing this all on one layer is so that the colors mix and blend together in the way seperate layers just won't do.

I paint two layers of shadows, each with a slightly different hue (usually shifted towards the cooler tones)

After that, I paint the lighting. This time the hue I will use is to a warmer one, painting over the shadows with a warmer tone for the reflective lighting as well

I also do fixing and cleaning up (which is what I really like about coloring on one layer since its easier than doing it with multiple)

Then I do shading again, this time with another layer clipped with 'multiply' on

as well as add another layer for the 'overlay' and edge the shadows

I clip two more layers, one for 'multiply' and one for 'add' for lighting using the gradient tool

Occasionally I will also add an extra 'add' layer and put a color gradient on the shadow for that extra oomph on the lighting

Final result :33

Hopefully this isn't too confusing and fast FJDKSLFLSD Im pretty bad at explaining stuff 😭

[ruija]

So! The evil art challenge! Thank you everyone who gave their input, you wrote really nice things💙💙 and you've definitely picked out my habits pretty well, lmao. Below I'll write a breakdown of my style and thoughts behind the "evil" version.

Aesthetically I love pastel and saturated colors and I'm 100% biased toward cooler tones. Regardless of color, whether it's red or blue adjacent, I'll always pick the cooler variable of it. I tend to avoid using black and I particularly have an aversion toward basic red. I have a short attention span and limited reserves of energy, so I try to work fast and stick to simple techniques; hence the sketchy linearts and mostly flat colors. I also just visually like smooth surfaces and gradients.

I want to convey the shapes and weight of the things I draw but with a minimalistic amount of lines and shading. This ties into putting emphasis on anatomy and muscles. I do tend to spend a lot of time sketching, because I usually have a very specific pose or vibe in my mind, and I want to be able to capture it.

For the "evil" version: - I sketched Raph and Leo a lot faster and attempted stiffer poses than in the normal one. - Thick and non-sketchy lineart - Dark and reddish color scheme - More rendered, airbrushy and kinda messy shading (I suffered) - Slightly less defined muscles...?

At some point I thought I should make them sharper, but then I just forgot lol.

Also, here's a flat colored version of the evil art because I like it 100% better. (Works better with the lineart style)

I picked Leo and Raph for this challenge for the opposing red and blue color schemes. As an extra, I put them in Fast Forward gear, as its blueness and the season's more saturated look are very fitting for my style. And then I'd get to make it work in a warmer tone.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed my ramblings and art~

[veinsfullofstars]

🪞 Fallen angel... who do you see staring back from the Mirror? 🪞

(ID: Kirby series fanart of Galacta Knight and my personal interpretation of his Mirror World counterpart. GK hovers above facing slightly to our left, his feathery wings spread wide, shaded in lilac and tipped with gilded wing talons, a swallow-like tail visible. He holds his shield forward in his left hand (our right) and his lance to the side in his right (our left), a single magenta eye leering at the viewer through the visor of his mask. A halo of heart spears floats and shines angelically behind his horns. Below him, M!GK hovers in the same pose but flipped horizontally and without the halo. Visually, M!GK has mostly the same features as GK, with his color palette being darker and less saturated (dusty purple body, dark gray armor, gray mask, maroon lance, rose-gold horns and weapons accents). His eyes are not visible in the shadow of his mask, but there are signs of erosion running down the metal surface in rusty orange lines, almost like tear tracks. Instead of feathery wings, M!GK has wings composed of jagged shards of pink crystal, glittering and lit from within by a luminous glow. A few pale feathers can still be seen peeking out from his back. END ID.)

Hey, so... what if... I went a little insane for a minute? What if I just... concepted a character... for the sequel... to an AU... I've told no one about... and haven't even finished writing yet? What if I then... pulled the salt shaker labeled "ANGST" out of the pantry and just... unscrewed the cap all over this poor lad? Oh, and Galacta Knight's here, too, I guess.

Sketch started 02/21/24, render started 03/01/24, finished 03/06/24, updated for color correction 11/02/24. | Kintsugi AU Masterpost

[wearysaer]

A little preview of the piece I did for @destinationunownzine!! I went a bit crazy rendering this one, but it was also incredibly rewarding.

If you'd like to get the zine you can find it on Big Cartel (for US shipping and digital bundles) or on Etsy (for international shipping).

I wonder what (or who) Ingo is looking at (and why) 👀

((a few notes and thumbnails under the cut))

The crossover I was going to work on for the zine was with Animal Crossing (of course) and I had a couple different ideas for the illustration.

I ended up making 5 thumbnails that explored those ideas (the page format ended up slightly taller than the one used here):

I had some options where the guys are in the DAL roles (like in the comics and sketches I made for my AU), and a couple where they are in their original uniform.

Option B in particular was more about applying the style of Animal Crossing to them as well as to some of their pokémon (chandelure was going to be referencing Wisp), while option E was very much just vibes and me trying out something a bit more dynamic (which ended up not showing the AC setting enough).

In the end C is what I ended up working on. It was really fun to work with the Animal Crossing proportions and style, and I even got to squeeze in my favorite AC character (that would normally be substituted with a pokémon character in my AU) and a little bit of humor.

[ravewing]

can you do a style tutorial?? dude there's geniunally nobody else who draws like you, your art is so poetic and divine, it's inspiring

WAAA THANK YOU ANON OH MY DAYS ??? genuinely this is one of the nicest compliments ive ever received on my art omga what .

im not very good at explaining things but eem ill try !!

i feel like one of the biggest things is the sort of sketchy/messy vibe .. i use a super tiny brush ('digital brush' on ibis (its a premade lol) on size 1-2) and kind of scribble scrabble sometimes .. i also dont do lineart, i cant be bothered to do allat so i just clean up my sketch using an eraser !

i also stay away from using curves and instead try to use as many straight edges as possible if that makes sense .. also arbitrary lines in the drawing are a must . i think thats one of my fav parts of drawing :)

when it comes to coloring and rendering, i start by adding a darker, slightly more saturated color for shading, then blend it out with a midtone, do thr same for lighting, and then i add details !!

ive also been told that my usage of warmer tones is recognizable, and i achieve that by playing around with the 'color balance' filter on ibis until im happy with the results

for shading, i use a dark color (anywhere between blue and red, depending on the character and environment) for shading and a light yellowy color for lighting on an overlay layer ! then (also on overlay) i use those colors to add more arbitrary lines and scribbles

here i kind of tried to break down my sketching process, idk if it makes sense or not tho😓

my current artstyle is the result of six or so years of constant drawing and growing and experimenting !! experimenting with your artstyle is a huge factor in allowing it to evolve as well as for you to find what works the best .

referencing/figuring out how specific artists that you like achieve their artstyles is super good for experimenting !! in 2021 i was a huge fan of bellasaurus and animatedwings, so i referenced their art a lot, picked out what i liked, and incorporated it into my own style :)

i didnt include humans in this because im not very confident when drawing them and still have to heavily reference things lol .. maybe another day

overall just have fun and go with whatever feels right ! below ill attach some of my art pieces broken down if you want to use them as a reference

[rainforestakiie]

Priest Adam x Devil/King of Hell Lucifer part 03

The Imp

hi everyone! i am back with the third instalment of @inubaki’s request! ahhh i really love this haha thank you for all the artwork you and your friend made inubaki! I truly hope you will like the new part!

‘A Priest observing that one of fathers in his charge seems to be heavily distracted by something no one else can see. Father Adam had come to them young, an unwanted fourth child to a Nobel family hoping to gain the church’s favor. Life is hard for Adam whim continues to wait for his family to return for him, growing into despair until one day he suddenly improves. He claims he’s spoken to an angel. And, to his credit, does give information far beyond what any child should know. But the older Adam gets, the more distracted he becomes. More happy, but conflicted. Till one day he disappears.'

The Imp (Priest Adam x Devil/King of Hell Lucifer) = Part 01. Part 02. Part 03.

Steve was so pretty.

At the age of fifthteen, Adam’s thoughts still swirled endlessly, drawing him deeper into an almost hypnotic trance. His apple-green eyes gleamed like rare gems, their light reflected in the dim room as he watched the older boy from his shadowed perch. He knew he shouldn’t be this close to the window—shouldn’t let the sun’s deadly rays creep too near—but he couldn’t help himself. Kneeling just beyond the reach of the light, shrouded by heavy, dark curtains, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Steve was... exquisite. The sun kissed his skin in a way that made him glow, the soft light rendering his freckles as constellations across his cheeks. Adam wanted so badly to trace them all, to memorise their patterns like secret codes only he could decipher.

A breathy, wistful sigh escaped Adam’s lips, his heart all but melting as he watched Steve helping a younger child to their feet after a clumsy tumble. The older boy’s kindness was as radiant as the sun that bathed him, bending to the child's level, his voice low and gentle, like a lullaby meant to soothe all fears. Adam’s chest fluttered, warm and tender.

"Steve would make a wonderful father," Adam murmured dreamily, his cheeks flushing as the thought wrapped itself around his mind like a delicate vine.

It was a bit childish, Adam thought, a flicker of embarrassment settling in his chest. After all, he was nearly sixteen—too old, perhaps, for such whims of fancy. And yet, here he was, allowing himself to drift into a world of impossible dreams. He let out a quiet sigh, tearing his gaze from the fogged window and curling himself tighter behind the heavy drapes, as if their shadowy folds could cloak him from the outside world.

In his lap, a few worn sheets of paper rested, supported by the weight of an old textbook. Though Adam had never been particularly skilled at drawing, he found comfort in it. Sister Emily had once taught him how, before her sight had been stolen by the creeping darkness that now clouded her eyes. It was one of the few things they had shared before the world dimmed for her.

His fingers brushed softly over the rough paper as he sketched, his strokes delicate, almost reverent. Tonight, his heart betrayed him, and he found himself sketching an image that lived only in the recesses of his mind—a portrait of him and Steve, their faces softened by affection, surrounded by the ghostly outlines of two, maybe three children.

Steve was beautiful in a way that made Adam’s heart ache. The way he smiled, so effortlessly sweet, like a secret whispered in the dead of night. Adam couldn’t help but give in to the tender pull of his imagination. He let it wrap around him like a blanket, warm and bittersweet.

Oh, how he would love for that dream to be real. To be a family. To belong somewhere, with Steve by his side, and the laughter of children filling the empty spaces around them.

He shifted slightly, leaning against the wall where it curved into the window, and returned his eyes to Steve. His thoughts began to wander, drawing up images and possibilities that made his body tense with a peculiar mix of yearning and nervous excitement. A dreamy smile tugged at his lips, a deep sigh spilling from his chest like a whisper meant only for the shadows.

Would Steve ever even consider...with him?

“To get married and have children…” he whispered shyly, a touch of a dreamer smile lighting up his lips. “With Ste-”

The sudden, jarring crash of a door slamming behind him made Adam jolt, his heart leaping into his throat. He whirled around, eyes narrowing as they tried to pierce through the dim room. Has someone crept in behind him? Was this another prank from the church kids, trying to frighten him with their mischievous tricks? His pulse raced, but the room appeared empty, still cloaked in its usual shadowy stillness.

Adam pouted, shrugging off the unease as he let the thick curtain slip from his fingers. He turned back to the window, his heart instantly skipping a beat as his gaze locked, wide-eyed, with Steve’s. Heat flooded his face, a small, startled sound—almost a squeak—escaping his lips as Steve grinned and waved at him. Adam’s first instinct was to return the gesture, to raise his hand in a shy, almost desperate wave. But when he tried, he couldn’t.

Something was holding his hand down.

His breath hitched as his brow furrowed in confusion. Slowly, he lowered his gaze to his hand. There was nothing there, no visible force pinning him in place, yet he could feel it—the unmistakable pressure of fingers intertwined with his own. Cold. Unseen. His pulse quickened as he bit down on his bottom lip, his skin crawling with a mixture of fear and something darker, something strangely sweet.

But the invisible hand did not let go.

Adam’s breath caught in his throat as his wide eyes darted back to Steve. He wanted to scream, to beg the older boy to come to his rescue, to tear him away from the unseen force that gripped him in its cold, spectral hold. But his voice refused to come. He could only watch as Steve smiled at him through the glass, so warm and gentle, blissfully unaware of the creeping dread filling the air. The older boy waved again, the gesture as sweet and kind as ever, a picture of innocence framed by the sun.

But then the window shuddered, an unnatural tremor that sent a chill racing down Adam’s spine. Before he could process it, a sharp, echoing crack erupted across the glass. The sound was so loud, so sudden, it tore a startled cry from Adam’s lips. He shot backward in a blind panic, his legs slipping out from under him as he scrambled away from the window, heart thudding wildly in his chest.

The cracks multiplied with terrifying speed, crawling outward like the limbs of a great spider, their jagged lines stretching not just across the window, but creeping up the walls around it, spreading like a dark web of shattered reality. The light from the outside seemed to warp, bending unnaturally as the fractures claimed more of the wall, pulling shadows into their depths.

Adam’s pulse raced, every fibre of his being screaming for him to run, to hide, to escape the sinister web that seemed to tighten around him. Yet, amidst the chaos, his gaze flickered back to Steve, still standing there, still smiling, still so impossibly unaware of the nightmare unravelling before them.

It was as if the world had splintered around Adam, yet Steve remained untouched, suspended in a moment of sunlit perfection while Adam was dragged himself deeper into the darkness.

Powerful rumbles coursed through the room, the sound reverberating like the growl of a hidden beast. The cracks clawed their way further, creeping up the walls and spreading like dark veins overhead. Adam’s body trembled, his muscles locking in place as dread settled deep in his gut. He hunched over, pulling his knees tightly to his chest, his arms folding protectively over his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable—the ceiling giving way, burying him beneath a rain of jagged debris.

But instead of the crushing weight of collapse, he felt something else—a hand. Solid. Firm. Resting on his shoulder.

Adam’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest as a sharp yelp escaped his lips. His mind spun with confusion, his stomach twisted into painful knots. He jerked around, expecting to see the worst. Yet, there crouched beside him was... Steve.

The older boy’s soft, warm gaze met Adam’s wide, frantic eyes, his concern palpable as his hand rested gently on Adam’s trembling shoulder. Steve’s voice was as soothing as a breeze in the summer sun.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, his tone filled with care, like he was coaxing a frightened animal out of hiding.

Adam’s breath came in shallow, wheezing gasps as he blinked away the confusion clouding his vision. His gaze darted around the room, expecting the cracks to still be there, the walls to be crumbling, the chaos to remain. But everything was as it had been before. The window was whole, the air calm, the floor solid beneath him. No cracks. No dust. No falling ceiling. Just the quiet, dimly lit room and Steve's comforting presence.

A soft whimper escaped Adam’s throat, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as his bottom lip trembled. It had all felt so real—so terrifyingly real. He could still feel the echo of the rumbling in his bones, still see the image of the fractured walls crawling across his mind.

“Adam?” Steve’s voice was more urgent now, filled with worry as he rubbed comforting circles on Adam’s back.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong? Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to... You looked so frightened. I got worried and came to find you."

Steve’s words washed over him like a balm, but Adam’s mind couldn’t fully grasp them, not yet. The confusion, the fear—it still lingered, lurking in the shadows of his mind. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, wasn’t sure if it had been a trick of his mind or something darker, something otherworldly that had toyed with him. All he knew was that Steve was here now, real and solid, grounding him in this strange and eerie moment.

Adam's eyes flickered nervously toward the window, the remnants of terror still coursing through him. His throat tightened as he swallowed, his whole body trembling as if it could collapse at any moment. The crack remained etched into the glass, jagged and unnatural, exactly where Steve had been standing just moments ago. It hadn’t vanished like the others. It was real.

"Come on, Adam," Steve’s voice was a gentle murmur in his ear, steady and warm. Adam felt Steve’s arms slip beneath his own, lifting him up with ease. Under any other circumstance, Adam might have grumbled, his pride wounded by needing to be held like this. But now, he didn’t resist. Not with the lingering fear still clutching at his chest. Steve held him close, his presence as comforting as it was grounding.

"I think you need to lay down," Steve continued softly, his voice a soft tether pulling Adam back from the edge of panic. "Sister Sera told me about your condition with the sun. You weren't standing in the sunlight too long, were you?"

Adam’s mind raced as Steve’s words cut through the haze. No... there were no burns. His skin wasn’t blistered, his flesh wasn’t melting under the relentless burn of the sun’s touch. But... had he been in the sun’s light longer than he thought? His condition made him sick, left his skin raw and ruined if he was exposed too long... but this wasn’t that. Or was it? The crack in the window... could he have caused it?

No. No, that wasn’t possible. His hand still tingled from something else, from the cold, inhuman touch that had bound him. The pressure, the weight of those unseen fingers—he hadn’t imagined that. Had he?

"It’ll be alright, Adam," Steve chirped, his tone almost too bright, a beacon in the darkness of Adam’s confusion. Steve led him out of the classroom, the halls of the old building feeling even darker now, colder. "It’ll be alright."

Adam continued to stare back over his shoulder as they left the room, his gaze fixed on the spot where the crack had shattered his world. Even when the window disappeared from sight, his eyes remained glued to the void behind him, waiting—hoping—to catch a glimpse of something. He always saw something, didn’t he? The strange, the inexplicable, the things that lurked just beyond the edges of reality.

But this time... there was nothing.

The silence in his mind was louder than any crackling glass, more oppressive than any shadow. He felt safer with Steve’s hand holding his…

His drawings had mysteriously disappeared…

~#~

“There,” Steve exhaled with satisfaction, stepping back from the wardrobe with his hands on his hips. “Now nothing can get out during the night.”

Adam’s lips twitched in the faintest of smiles as he lay curled on his side, tightly cocooned within his blankets. His gaze lingered on the old pink skipping rope Steve had used to tie the wardrobe doors shut, a flimsy but sweet attempt at protection.

“Don’t tell Eve I swiped her skipping rope,” Steve added with a playful grin, spinning on his toes with a lightness that made Adam’s heart flutter. He practically skipped to his bed, his clear blue eyes twinkling mischievously. “But seriously, if you can’t sleep or have another nightmare, just crawl into my bed. You don’t have to wake me up.”

Adam gave a meek nod, feeling a strange warmth bloom in his chest. His heart did a tiny, giddy dance at Steve’s words. The kindness made his face burn with embarrassment, and he quickly pulled the quilt up over his head, hiding from the older boy’s clear gaze. His cheeks were flaming, and he was sure his blush was as obvious as the daylight he dreaded.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Steve asked softly, his tone growing quieter, laced with concern. “You’ve been shaky ever since this morning.”

Adam hesitated before poking a hand out from beneath the covers, offering a weak thumbs up. He couldn’t help but smile when he heard Steve chuckle in response. That sound—so light and free—was like a balm for his anxious soul. He peeked out from his blanket fortress, watching Steve’s blue eyes sparkle with amusement. The grin that tugged at Steve’s cherry-red lips only deepened, his dimples carving into his cheeks in the most charming way.

Ah, Steve was just so... cute.

“Well, if you say so~” Steve whistled cheerfully, tossing himself onto his bed with a dramatic flop.

Adam bit his lip, holding back the laugh that bubbled up inside him. He wasn’t sure how to let it out, how to release that strange mix of joy and unease swirling inside him. Instead, his gaze drifted back to the wardrobe. His heart quickened as his eyes locked onto the pink skipping rope, tightly wrapped around the handles. Would it really hold? Could something as fragile as a skipping rope keep that... thing... inside?

His stomach twisted in fear as he recalled the black silhouette that always lurked within the wardrobe’s depths, emerging only at night. It was there every time the room fell into shadow, a dark figure that terrified him to his core. It growled and writhed behind the doors, furious when Adam would crawl into Steve’s bed for safety, as if it resented the comfort he found there. Steve had never seen it. Steve never heard the growling, never felt the cold presence hovering just beyond the threshold of that fragile pink rope.

Adam’s heart trembled with fear, even as he lay curled beneath the safety of his blankets. He hoped, desperately, that tonight would be different—that the rope would hold, that the silhouette would remain locked away, where it couldn’t reach him. But in the silence that followed Steve’s soft breathing, Adam’s gaze lingered on the wardrobe, waiting, fearing, knowing deep down that it was only a matter of time before the thing inside stirred once more.

Adam couldn’t recall when he drifted into sleep, but as swiftly as a rubber band snaps, his eyes jerked open. His vision was a foggy swirl of shadows, distorting reality and sending an aching pulse through the bridge of his nose. Slowly, cautiously, he sat up, pressing his palms hard into his eyes as if to wipe away the heaviness lingering in them.

Everything felt...off again. Uncanny. Wrong. An uneasy whine rose from his throat, and he forced his tired gaze to the cross above his bed. It was upside down, mocking him in its eerie defiance, because of course it was. He groaned softly as his sore legs protested when he stood, reaching up to set the cross right again.

His body sagged against the wall, feeling the coolness seeping into him like a whispered warning. His head lolled slightly as he glanced toward the wardrobe—it was still tied shut, securely bound, as if whatever lurked within hadn't stirred. Relief washed over him, and he let his forehead rest against the cold plaster, the contrast to his own feverish warmth almost comforting.

He stood there, unmoving, the chill of the wall seeping deeper into his skin. His eyelids began to grow heavy again, dragging him toward that perilous edge of sleep. But no, he wouldn’t let himself succumb. Not standing like this, not in this place. He was about to surrender to the blankets, retreat into their cocoon, when something caught his attention—a slight draft or perhaps just a shift in the darkness.

He blinked. The bedroom door was open.

Had Steve left it ajar? Adam turned his head, eyes searching for the older boy who slept soundly in the bed across the room, blissfully unaware of the creeping darkness that surrounded them. The church felt hollow, its silence heavier than it should be. Adam’s gaze returned to the doorway, his throat tightening as a sharp taste of fear swirled in his mouth. He bit his bottom lip until it stung.

There, directly in the centre of the threshold, sat a candle. A solitary, ominous candle that sent an icy tremor skittering down his spine. He inhaled sharply, his lips thinning as a shiver locked his muscles in place. He knew that candle. He had seen it before—years ago, in a memory that clawed at the corners of his mind like something too dark to fully remember.

A black candle with a flame that flickers white and purple. The sight of it tightened his chest, dredging up old, buried nightmares. His fingers curled into the blankets, knuckles white with tension, his nose twitching as fear gripped him. He could hardly tear his eyes from the flame, watching it dance inside its ancient silver holder. If he looked closer, he could make out delicate carvings—small apple-like shapes etched into the tarnished metal, winding around the base where the handle twisted upward in an elegant curve.

But Adam didn't dare step closer. The past was too close now, breathing down his neck, reminding him of that time...the time he was placed on that altar...

Adam’s breath hitched, a jagged edge catching in his throat. He pulled his knees tightly to his chest, curling inward as his eyes darted around the room. Everything seemed the same, yet an invisible tension lingered in the air, whispering of something unseen but waiting. Nothing appeared out of place... but that feeling of wrongness clung to him like a shadow, refusing to be shaken off.

Slowly, hesitantly, he pushed the heavy quilts away, their warmth slipping from his skin as he moved to stand. His knees buckled beneath him, nearly sending him to the floor. He steadied himself with a shaky hand, the tremors in his body growing more pronounced as he crept toward the candle. It sat there so innocently, yet the flickering of the white and purple flame was anything but comforting. It seemed to beckon him, to draw him closer with its strange and hypnotic glow.

Adam poked his head out into the hallway, his heart racing as his eyes scanned the shadows that stretched out on either side. There was nothing. Just the emptiness of the night and the eerie quiet of the old church. His lips pressed into a thin line, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he pulled his head back inside and returned his gaze to the candle.

Its flame flickered softly, casting strange, dancing shadows against the walls. Adam hesitated, a cold sweat gathering at the nape of his neck as he bent down toward the strange light. His hands shook violently, but he forced them forward, fingers curling around the handle of the silver holder. The metal was cool to the touch, the carvings beneath his fingertips smooth and strange. As he straightened up, lifting the candle from the floor, his eyes remained locked on the flame—unable to look away, as though something deeper than fear compelled him to keep watching it.

The flame danced as if it knew something he didn’t. Something dark and ancient.

Adam inhaled deeply, his breath shaky, his hand trembling as he gripped the cool handle of the candle holder. His eyes were locked on the flickering flame, its white and purple light swirling hypnotically, refusing to release him from its spell. It danced with an almost mischievous life of its own, teasing the edges of his thoughts.

What should he do? Where had this candle even come from? A cold unease twisted inside him. Maybe… maybe he should wake Steve. Steve would know what to do; Steve always knew what to do. Over the past year, Steve had been endlessly patient with him, a constant source of warmth in Adam’s otherwise haunted nights. That thought sent a flutter through his chest—sweet and soft, a rare comfort in this place of shadows. Steve had stayed by his side, soothing him through the long, sleepless nights, even allowing him to slip into his bed when the thing in the wardrobe refused to let Adam rest. Those moments meant more than Adam could ever express.

But then, out of nowhere, a sound—a faint, childish giggle—broke through the silence from somewhere to his left. Adam’s breath hitched sharply. His body stiffened, and he whipped around, just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of something small and fast darting past the end of the corridor. His eyes widened in alarm. The figure was too quick, too blurry to make out which child it was. But his heart raced at the thought—if Sister Sera caught them, they’d be sent to the Bobo Box.

Adam’s face scrunched in worry, torn between waking Steve and following the mysterious figure. He cast one last glance toward Steve’s sleeping form, then, with his heart pounding in his chest, cautiously started down the corridor.

The air inside the church clung with an unnatural chill, far colder than it should have been. Adam shivered violently, his lips tinged a deep blue. He hunched his small frame, clutching at the oversized sweater draped over him. It was Steve’s, a gift surrendered when Adam had been caught admiring it. Though it hung baggy and awkward on him, it offered a peculiar comfort. He slowed to a halt, lifting his gaze to the towering grandfather clock looming above. Its hands jittered and spun as though they were caught in some unseen frenzy, their movements unsettlingly erratic. Adam’s brow furrowed in confusion. He had never seen the clock behave like this before. Sister Sera had mentioned Father Michael had crafted it many years ago. It was a relic, ancient and cherished by the church.

A lump formed in Adam’s throat as he squinted at the clock's glass, straining to focus on the reflection staring back at him. A shadowy figure loomed there, silently watching from the doorway that led into the parlor. Adam’s heart thundered, freezing for a beat before surging into a frantic rhythm. He spun around, his breath catching as the dim light flickered unnervingly. A soft, eerie giggle echoed through the still air—a sound that sent a shiver racing down Adam’s spine.

The figure was small and childlike, but there was something wrong about it. Another eerie laugh escaped its lips before it turned abruptly and bolted deeper into the church, its form darting far too fast for Adam to truly make out its features. Despite the icy dread coiling in his chest, Adam’s feet betrayed him, propelling him forward in pursuit of the mysterious child.

His lips twitched as if trying to call out, but no sound came. His voice was trapped in his throat, silenced by fear. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat so strong it echoed in his ears. Adam gasped for breath, a stifled sob escaping him as he pressed on. His legs trembled, heavy with exhaustion, yet he couldn't stop running. He had never raced through the church like this before, knowing full well that such disobedience would earn him sharp strikes to the hands.

The ancient floorboards groaned beneath his feet as if whispering secrets long forgotten. Above him, the ceiling creaked with the sound of countless tiny footsteps, as though an army of unseen children scampered about. The flickering light bulbs overhead swayed back and forth, casting ominous shadows that danced mockingly around him.

Adam turned in a frantic circle, his eyes locked on the trembling ceiling above him, where the sound of countless small feet scurried in a maddening loop. It was as if unseen children were racing overhead, encircling him in an eerie dance. His breath caught in his throat, a sharp, panicked whimper escaping his lips as he twisted on his bare feet. He stumbled, nearly collapsing to the ground but managed to catch himself just in time.

He bolted into the dining room, the largest and most foreboding space in the church. The walls loomed with cold, grey stone bricks, their rough surfaces jagged and unkind. Adam hated the floor, sharp-edged stone that had cut more than one careless child’s foot. The arched windows, small and narrow, were lined with black, prison-like bars of iron. They cast dark shadows on the room’s interior, making the space feel more like a dungeon than a place for gathering.

The room was ancient, older than anything else in the church, and its age seemed to seep into the very air, thick and heavy with forgotten time. A single long, weathered wooden table stretched across the centre, rarely filled despite the church being crammed with orphans, nuns, and priests. When Adam stepped inside, his skin crawled with a sudden, visceral dread.

He froze, his bare feet pressing painfully into the unforgiving stone. A sharp sting radiated from his left foot, but he barely noticed. His wide, apple-green eyes stretched in shock as the breath caught in his chest, his heart squeezing so tightly it felt like his ribs might snap under the pressure.

The dining room had transformed into something out of a nightmare. Red candles covered every surface, their twisted wax forms flickering with strange black flames that burned coldly against the darkness. The table was draped in a deep crimson cloth, rich and velvety. But what made Adam's blood run cold were the children. Every stool at the table was occupied by pale, porcelain-faced children, their eyes impossibly large and glossy, black as endless voids. They weren’t human eyes. They gleamed with a soulless, alien shine. Their skin was smooth and polished like fine china, unnervingly perfect, and Adam felt a shiver skitter down his spine as he heard soft clicks and whirs when they tilted their heads in unison, just like fragile, wind-up dolls.

They were pristine, flawless in every detail. Their hair, ranging from golden blonde to deep brown, was meticulously groomed, and they wore clothing of finely tailored black, white, and red. Every movement was deliberate, too precise, as if they were posed, waiting for something. The air hung thick with tension as Adam took a hesitant step forward, and in that instant, the doors behind him slammed shut with a thunderous bang.

Adam let out a scream, spinning on his heel to face the doors. He lunged for the handles, yanking with all his strength, but they refused to budge, as though sealed by some invisible force. His heart hammered wildly in his chest as he turned back to the room, sweat beading on his forehead.

The sound of laughter—a chorus of eerie, high-pitched giggles—filled the air, but it was far from playful. It was ghostly, distorted, as if thousands of children were laughing in some dark, twisted harmony. Adam’s stomach churned violently. His eyes darted back to the children, their painted lips now curled into sweet, yet sinister smiles.

His gaze drifted to the chair at the head of the table, the one closest to him. It was newer than the rest, the wood a deep, blood-red hue with plush black cushions sewn into it. It didn’t belong here—certainly not where Sister Sera usually sat. As Adam stared at it, he felt an icy tingle creep across his skin, a dark shadow pooling in the farthest corner of the room where the light refused to reach.

The porcelain children never broke their gaze, their smiles never faltering. Suddenly, a little china girl sitting at the far end of the table rose to her feet with a soft clink of her joints, bowing deeply, her red-tinted cheeks gleaming like polished glass. Across from her, a china boy stood up with a sharp, mechanical movement, his bow so deep his head nearly brushed the floor. They moved with a strange fluidity, their limbs clicking like clockwork dolls, each motion accompanied by that unnerving sound.

Together, they tugged the chair out from the table, their eyes never leaving Adam as they gestured for him to sit. He hesitated, his gaze flicking between the two doll-like figures. Their painted smiles stretched wider as they gestured again, more insistent this time, urging him closer.

With a racing heart and no other choice, Adam inched toward the chair. His foot throbbed from the cut, but the pain felt distant, swallowed by the suffocating fear that gripped him. His wide eyes darted between the children, unable to comprehend how they moved so fluidly, as if alive. He lowered himself into the chair, the cushion soft beneath him.

The moment he sat, the two doll-children pressed their small hands to the back of the chair, pushing him in closer to the table before silently returning to their seats. Adam’s heart raced, his breath shallow and quick, as the room seemed to close in around him. And still, those wide, black eyes watched him, unblinking, waiting.

Nervously, Adam gnawed at his bottom lip until the sting of pain shot through him. His shoulders hunched in tight, a small tremor running through his fingers as he crossed them protectively over his stomach. His gaze flickered meekly over the children seated around the table. They appeared no older than four or five, but there was something deeply unsettling in the way their glassy eyes tracked his every movement.

Without warning, the silence shattered. The children erupted into joyful cheers, their voices shrill and almost too sweet. Party poppers exploded in their tiny hands, sending colourful streams of confetti spiralling through the air. Adam's eyes widened in shock, watching as the dining room was suddenly bathed in a warm, golden glow. It seemed almost festive now, but despite the change, Adam instinctively shrank back, his mind swirling with confusion and unease.

Across the table, a pair of red and golden eyes gleamed through the shifting light, pinning him in place. Adam gasped, his breath catching in his throat as he straightened, startled. There, seated casually at the far end of the table, was Luci, his sharp grin cutting through the room like a blade. Its arrow-tipped tail swished lazily behind it, the movement almost hypnotic. A crisp white top hat perched atop its head, casting shadows over its face, but leaving those unnaturally beautiful eyes to glow vividly in the dimness.

"Mama’s home!" the china children chorused in unison, their mechanical voices high-pitched and eerie as they bounced excitedly on their stools. Their arms flailed in a strange imitation of joy, and above the Imp, a banner unfurled with a soft flutter.

It was stained a deep, rusty red, the words scrawled across it reading, "Mummy’s come home!"

Adam’s breath hitched painfully in his chest, each inhale trembling as his lungs struggled to keep pace with his panic.

"M-Mummy?" he stammered, the word barely escaping his lips, as if his voice had been trapped somewhere deep inside.

The Imp’s grin widened—impossibly wide—its cheeks flushed a deep crimson that seemed to glow against the pale skin. Its gleaming eyes never left Adam, staring straight into him, through him, as if the creature could read every desperate thought racing through his mind. But Adam’s attention was abruptly diverted by movement at his side.

One of the china children had waddled up to him, its porcelain limbs clicking softly as it carried a large, rolled-up piece of paper. It released the scroll with a careful flick, allowing it to unfurl in front of Adam. His heart nearly stopped as the image was revealed. It was a sketch, eerily familiar, but larger and far more detailed than the one Adam had once drawn in secret. Only now, Steve was gone, completely erased, and in his place stood Luci, looming proudly. They were surrounded by children—each one smiling with wide, jagged grins that mirrored the Imp’s sinister expression.

Adam swallowed hard, his throat tightening painfully as his gaze lingered on the twisted smiles. They stared back at him from the paper, their sharp teeth gleaming like tiny, hungry blades. A sickening chill crawled up his spine, making his stomach churn. His pulse raced, pounding in his ears as he fought to tear his eyes away from the unnerving scene.

Luci’s voice echoed softly in the back of his mind, almost a whisper, but it carried a weight that made Adam’s blood run cold.

"Y-Y-You..." Adam stammered, licking his dry lips as his gaze flickered nervously to the Imp’s piercing eyes. He swallowed hard, barely able to form the words as they trembled on the edge of his tongue. "You... built... me a family?"

The Imp, Luci, responded with a slow, prideful nod, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. His lips curled into a sharp, knowing grin as Adam hesitantly pointed a trembling finger toward himself.

"And..." Adam’s voice shook, barely audible as he struggled to comprehend the nightmare unfolding around him. "...I’m the M-M... Mama?"

The room was suddenly filled with the sound of eerie giggles, the china children kicking their feet with uncontainable glee. Their glassy eyes never wavered from Adam, their joy unsettling in its falseness. Luci tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes gleaming brighter as he gave a deliberate, luring nod, his grin widening as if this revelation was a game he had long been waiting for Adam to understand.

Adam inhaled deeply, his lips twitching involuntarily as his mind wrestled with the horror before him. He looked back at Luci, his fingers twitching uncontrollably. A family. A make-believe family, created from some twisted fantasy. It was terrifying—every child seated around the table had an unsettling, doll-like quality that sent shivers down his spine. Yet... there was something else. A strange, warped sense of being touched. Luci, his Imp, had pieced together a family for him. A grotesque, chilling gesture, but a gesture nonetheless.

"And... and..." Adam struggled to find his voice, his thoughts spiralling as he grasped for clarity.

Before he could finish, Luci leaned forward, his movements fluid and predatory. He propped his elbows on the table, his long claws threading together like pieces of a delicate puzzle. His sharp teeth glittered in the dim light, and his eyes... they swirled with an enchanting, dangerous allure that made Adam’s pulse quicken. He couldn't tear his gaze away, as if Luci’s eyes had woven some dark spell around his mind.

"I’m the Mama... and you’re the Papa?" Adam finally whispered, the words barely escaping his lips, trembling with both fear and an unsettling sense of acceptance.

The china doll children erupted into another round of gleeful squeals, their delicate bodies shaking with excitement as they bounced on their stools. The sound was unnerving, yet Adam couldn't look away from Luci’s intense gaze, his heart pounding faster in his chest with each passing second.

Suddenly, Luci rose to his feet, his movements swift and effortless. He climbed onto the table with an unsettling grace, his clawed feet clicking against the wood as he revealed a lavish red and gold throne behind him. It had been there all along, hidden in plain sight, and Adam felt a chill run down his spine as he realised the throne had been the Imp’s rightful seat.

His eyes fell to Luci’s goat-like hooves as the Imp began to walk slowly down the centre of the table, the candles flickering in his wake. Luci's figure loomed larger and larger until he stood directly over Adam, casting a dark shadow that enveloped him entirely. Adam’s heart raced wildly, his breath coming in short, rapid bursts as Luci’s glowing eyes bore into his very soul.

This was no ordinary family. It was a nightmare wrapped in velvet, a macabre creation crafted from the darkest parts of his imagination. And yet, Luci stood before him, offering it all with a grin that promised so much more than Adam could ever understand.

….but…Adam smiled.

Luci held out a black claw and Adam took it.