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p-antomime · 3 years ago

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Henry Jekyll's clothing.

𖦹 minors don’t interact. | wc: 3,7K.

𖦹 content: faux sympathy dom!mitsuya, unprotected sex, nick names, praise kink + worship, mention of masturbation (m!), implied handjob, filming w/o consent, heavy breath play, panties stealing, squirting, clit play, creampie, manipulation, cum eating, overstimulation, mention of commercialization of non-consented photos, dark content.

𖦹 pairings: pervy!takashi mitsuya x f!reader.

ᥫ᭡. request. | tokyo rev. masterlist! | taglist!

— Don't look at me like that, you can almost make me feel guilty when you're the one paying for it, man! — A wicked sideways smile appeared on his lips and his lavender orbs were lit with a glint of malice that almost dripped with venom. — C’mon. Give it to me. — His hand gestured toward the boy in front of him as if to say "Gimme the money now" and seconds later several yen bills were placed on the 'salesman's' palm. — Great, it's always great to do business with you, you can take that. — His head swiveled to the developed photos stored in a pile about six centimeters long and held together by a thin satin ribbon. — And I don't need to repeat myself, do I? Just keep your mouth shut and my business is still going on, nobody likes a stool pigeon, y’know?

Mitsuya gave a small wink of amusement to the university student in front of him before turning around, checking hours for the last time and walking to the hallway that led to the room for the next class after lunch.

During his venture down the hallway, Takashi greeted a few college students he was chatting with and exchanging information and photos of other people with just a glance and a small smile that by anyone else would be seen as politeness or just kindness.

Yes, kindness. Takashi Mitsuya's middle surname. Polite, though confident. An exemplary student in college who usually helped other classmates or friends to get a good enough grade to get through the school semester without too much trouble. If one were to lean close enough to smell the perfume on Mitsuya's neck, one could see that he exuded courtesy and friendliness.

Perhaps he should be studying Performing Arts and not Fashion in college. If Florence Pugh's performance as Dani Ardor in Midsommar was impeccable, Mitsuya's one in college was much better. He would be able to found or revive Hårga, but Florence could not take pictures or record videos underneath the skirts of college students without alarming their sense of danger.

It was easy for Takashi and even advantageous, since he could wildly use the photos and videos as masturbation material then hand them over to guys willing to pay for them since he kept almost everything on a cloud storage system on his home computer.

Upon arriving at the room for the first class of the afternoon period, Mitsuya's eyes immediately went looking for who he had generally been most interested in for long weeks. And there Y/N was: scribbling something on a sketch in a distracted yet focused manner. Soon after, his attention went to her body covered by a bluish long-sleeved blouse and a skirt of a different shade of the same color as that piece that did not leave much of the skin of her thighs exposed. And what color panties would they be? He wanted to know.

— Uh-uh, how pretty! — That was the only thing Mitsuya said as a way of getting your attention before he pulled out his chair and sat down beside you. — Did you get better at shading and the jewelry arrangement? — He leaned over to get a better look at the sketch as he moved his attention to your blouse-covered breasts.

Honestly, you felt like a teenager in high school whenever Takashi spoke to you. His gentle smile made your heart beat faster than the adrenaline rush of going on several roller coasters in a row, and the way he looked at you every time you sat down in the vacant class chair? It was more than just a remnant of cordiality, it bordered almost between the fine line of affection and platonic crush. You didn't know that he was Edward Hyde in Henry Jekyll's clothing.

Mitsuya Takashi was too good to be true.

— Did you notice? — A broad smile appeared on your lips and he nodded before staring into your eyes gleaming with excitement.

— How could I not? You're always so hard working that it's kind of hard not to notice when you evolve quickly in what you're trying to do, you're too good to be just a college student. — Mitsuya drummed his fingers on the table you two shared and turned eyes to your sketch, and you looked away, not knowing how to react to his sudden compliment. — But may I ask what this new dress is for?

— Do you remember that paper that I think we have to turn in in the next few weeks? — Mitsuya asked: "That one could be done in pairs?” and you nodded before speaking again: — Yeah, I was kind... anyways... — Your voice died before you could continue the sentence because you thought he would think you were an idiot for martyring yourself over a lack of a pair for a college assignment and Mitsuya raised one eyebrows.

— And you didn't come to ask me? — He leaned toward you with the social excuse of analyzing the sketch in front of him and the mental truth and purpose of seeing a little more of your breasts below the cutout of the blouse's neckline. — I was intending to do it myself, but... — And then Takashi's mind started to think of an excuse to give to his current work partner because from the moment you said veiledly that you were without one, an idea was born in his twisted head. — I can do it with you, if you want me around, obvious.

If you tried to hide how embarrassed and flattered you were, it would be even more of a shame. Your mouth opened and closed a few times without knowing what or how to answer. You didn't want to just say "Okay!" or "Great!" and even less refuse to look like you hadn't completely melted at how much he was helping you. Mitsuya was too perfect. How could you even think of refusing his request?

And Takashi, on the other hand, noticed the way your legs were nervously clenching against each other and he knew that it wasn't because you were aroused, but rather, it was your body's way of trying to control the happiness inside you. Too easy. Too easy a prey. Around him, you were almost a bimbo princess. Takashi thought this was adorable, he could almost imagine how desolate you would be to know that your golden boy was nothing more or less than a perverted wolf in sanctified lamb's clothing.

You weren't even thinking straight when a breathless "'Tsuya" escaped your lips as your mind tried to function to respond not so enthusiastically nor so disinterestedly to his invitation. And a shiver ran down Mitsuya's back as he heard you call him by something that to you seemed shameful and to him seemed too perversely innocent not to be sexualized.

— What? — Mitsuya forced himself to blink a few times only to see you look away in embarrassment and frustration and snap your fingers nervously. — What did you call me? I don't think I heard you correctly, could you repeat that?

— I said that I'd love it if we could do the paper together. — You tried to deflect the situation and a small smile appeared on his lips.

— Oh, really? I thought you just said something like: 'Tsuya', I think I may be hearing too much today. — He shrugged, letting his hand drop to the underside of the table and apparently accidentally brushing his fingertips against your skirt-covered thigh, shortly after which the sound that escaped his mouth made you pay no attention to the dangerous movement of his hand. — But I’d like you to add a "My" in front of that.

You choked on saliva and it was almost the same second that the teacher walked into the room and Takashi pulled his hand away from your thigh.

It was after that fateful day that Mitsuya started helping you with that university paper, and he was almost always coming to your house to help with the manual labor of starting to sew the dresses that the two of you needed to deliver. But then, on one of those Fridays, he asked you about who was going to wear them at the presentation and you suddenly remembered how he almost never presented the custom pieces on hangers and, rather, on the bodies of other girls who probably liked him as much as you did.

"Oh... I hadn't thought of that yet, honestly... But, I can try to see someone in the Performing Arts part of the college is willing to help us with it, what d'you reckon about it?", and your partner's eyes sparkled in anticipation with another idea appearing in his mind.

"And why not you, hm?", you looked at him for a few seconds and shrugged your shoulders in shame, "I think you'd be a great model, honestly, but you don't have to accept... even if, ya know, it'd save us a lil' bit of time in having to look for someone else interested in this."

And then the feeling of not wanting to disappoint him blossomed inside you. Mitsuya was trusting you.

Or he was just embroidering the situation to get you into his house with the excuse of wanting to see you dressed in one of the final dresses in the atelier he owned.

But, he was such a nice guy, wasn't he? It was this same nice guy who was walking you, over the weekend, through the halls of his house and helping you carry the almost completely finished dresses into the atelier that had isolated cameras too small to be seen with the naked eye at specific points.

— Which one first? — Takashi asked, kneeling down and rummaging through one of the boxes filled with thread and pins before taking a few and placing them on the long, spacious table on which he usually placed the garments he made.

— I think the purple one with the bateau neckline and the boat neck! — He nodded and gestured to one of the hangers left beside the place that was really only used when girls were being carried there.

Then your eyes went from the dress to the folding screen and then to Mitsuya who seemed distracted opening the sketches, but in reality he was watching you through peripheral vision just to make sure you got in where he most needed you to be.

If Takashi couldn't abuse your body today, without clothes, at least the extremely small cameras placed on the inner joints of the folding screen would be recording your every careless movement, every deep breath you took trying to unzip the back of the dress he purposely tampered with only to have you call for help later, after you had already put it on.

That's exactly what you did, unaware of the real, disgusting, almost too sinful to be human persona of Mitsuya, as you stepped out with the dress pinned to your body by your timid hands on bust and turned your back to the boy.

— Can you help me, please? I can't... y'know, the zipper, I think it's stuck or the seam inside is getting caught in it. — Mitsuya ran his tongue over lips as he imagined the precious almost three minutes it took you to undress and dress on that taped screen while his eyes strolled down your exposed back.

— Mhm, c'mere. — He patted the table lightly and you walked over to it. — Lean against the table for me, please? — Mitsuya said, stepping aside and watching you obey him again. — Okay, leave it to me now.

His icy hands brushed against the zipper and then brushed against your exposed back, his breath hitching lightly against the curve of your neck and your mind wondering why you were enjoying having him dangerously close like this. It was the first time Takashi had leaned too far over your body and time seemed to be too slow. Or maybe your anxiety and nervousness were making you think that 10 seconds equals 100 years.

— Um, no, I can't fix the zipper if you're wearing it. — Takashi's hands caught on the sleeves of the dress and immediately started to slowly pull the garment down, as if he was measuring how much you could accept without feeling uncomfortable.

— Takashi, w-wait, I can take it off by myself. — You looked over the shoulder at him and only as you felt his calming breath against your cheeks did you realize how close he really was.

— I'm just helping you. — Mitsuya's tone dropped a few octaves, and as he saw you unconsciously slide eyes from his to his ajar mouth, he knew he had won that game of conditioning and words of dubious meaning.

And then his face tilted a little more and you didn't know if you wanted to actually walk away, the chance to kiss the guy you've liked since you could remember the feeling was right in front of you.

— Trust me, I won't do anything you won't lemme do. — He whispered, raising his eyebrows suggestively, and, ignoring your hands holding the dress over your body, continued to pull it down until he saw your naked silhouette the moment the garment reached your heels and Mitsuya turned you to face him.

His eyes met yours and as you felt fingers travel up your back to reach the clasp of your bra to loosen it until it was removed, you felt the breath catch in the middle of the throat as a shiver ran down your spine and made your walls clench around nothing.

— Oh, look at you, have you been hiding your body from me all this time? You're so cute, I was right when I said you'd make a great model. — His face tilted and, again, your lips were so close together that it hurt your heart not to have his on yours.

Your hands in a desperate act hooked themselves in his lilac hair with black highlights and legs instinctively let Mitsuya's body slip between them with your pussy beginning to wet the bottom of the panties rubbing against his boner becoming more and more evident.

— Kiss me, Mitsuya, please, I... — He took your face in one hand while the other traveled up your torso to reach your panties and began to tease your clit only to feel you wetting that fabric more.

Yes, yes, yes, Mitsuya wanted you to leave as much of your arousal as possible on that piece of clothing so that he could steal it later and smell it while he masturbated.

— But d'you deserve it? — And the only thing you could answer was a gasping "Yes", almost too humiliating to say because you were too busy trying to force hips against his hand between your legs. — Deserve? — Mitsuya leaned his face toward you and you tried to take his lips in a kiss only to see him, soon after, pull away slightly and apply more pressure to your clit before making circular motions that made you moan low before biting your bottom lip.

It even felt like your body was more sensitive than usual. Or maybe it was just the euphoria of finally having Takashi's fingers on a part of your body that you had craved more than once.

— Yes, I do, please, 'Tsuya, just... — He gestured for you to open your lips and you did just that, expecting his mouth to be on yours seconds later.

But, no.

Mitsuya could use and abuse you any way he wanted, and you would gladly accept just so you could cum and satisfy him.

What came between your lips was a trickle of his saliva and spit as his fingers rubbed your clit harder. Your walls clenching around nothing and your juices beginning to leak through the edges of the panties.

— Cum on my fingers and I'll give you as many kisses as you want, pretty. I want you to make a complete mess, got it? — He looked at you suggestively and you swallowed his saliva before began to push hips against his fingers.

Just a little more pressure from Mitsuya's digits. Just a little more, more, more.

Your head didn't seem to be able to think straight anymore, belly seemed to be floating and one of your hands was now squeezing Takashi's wrist as a way to keep the rest of his palm still, just his fingers abusing and rubbing your sensitive, swollen heap of nerves.

His mouth latched onto your neck leaving biting and sucking back and that was the last straw for you to be completely crumbling against the bottom of your panties. The fabric getting completely wet according to how much more your pussy squirted, your body trembling from head to toe and head falling back in pure pleasure.

Oh, what a salacious expression, better than the porn magazines and videos Mitsuya regularly consumed on the internet. The cameras scattered around his atelier were obviously filming absolutely everything.

Including the desperate and eager way in which that perverted boy kissed you and pressed the panties against your folds to get more of your juices. No drop was to be wasted.

His other hand latched onto the back of your neck as the kiss deepened even more and yours, on the other hand, fell on the belt and zipper of his pants to lower them along with his underwear and finally touch the slightly curved upward shaft of his cock. It felt too hot, almost soft in contact with your palm. And Mitsuya couldn't help but moan against your mouth and roll his eyes upwards, your hands were a hundred times better than the fleshlights he used to use when accessing hentai sites.

Between gasps, Takashi whispered a "Raw?" to you and you desperately nodded before getting rid of your own panties and hooking legs around his hips to have his dick rubbing against your sensitive folds.

He didn't have any kind of breeding kink or anything related to impregnation. Yet.

This absolute truth permeating his head seemed to dissolve as soon as the tip of his dick entered your pussy and he had to control the sound of his own moans.

— So fucking tight, fuck-mhm! — Mitsuya grinned widely before dropping his head back and staring directly into one of the hidden cameras in the atelier.

The way your walls squeezed his cock looking like they wanted to push it out immediately or swallow it desperately would definitely be stuck like burning coals in his memory.

And you, on the other hand, felt like you were about to cum again just by having him widen your walls and start fucking you like he had been waiting too long to do it.

Your expressions were different from the actresses in the pornography that Takashi watched. They were better, more vivid, more obscene, more tasting. He found himself wanting to fuck you deeper and deeper just so he could see more of your eyes rolling up and mouth opening in a slurred moan or a sly gasp as if you were being fucked into oblivion.

But, in fact, you were. Your brain could barely think, mouth couldn't project anything other than a nickname given to Mitsuya or sounds you thought you couldn't reproduce if you weren't a porn actress, inner walls looking like they were begging to be used until they were shaped like the large cock of the man in front of you.

Takashi's hand wrapped around your neck and applied a little pressure and, as soon as his cock felt you tighten even more, a mischievous smile appeared on his lips. How cute that you tried to pull in more air as his fingers squeezed even tighter.

— Mhm, that's how you like it, isn't it? Nice, harsh, deep, how cute. — Mitsuya whispered and bit his lips as he listened to you moan 'Tsuya for the hundredth time, you sounded like a slut in heat and he loved every second of it. — You can feel me deep in your tummy, can't you? Wanna feel my cum inside you too? I can fill you to overflowing and get you addicted to the sensation ‘til ya come crawling back to get some of my cum inside you, doesn't that sound good?

You didn't have to answer anything at all. Your body responded in the place by spasming and pushing you into another latent orgasm that hurt deep inside you. And while you squirmed and arched your back, Takashi never stopped fucking you and tightening fingers around your neck.

Maybe there were marks on your skin. Maybe you should start making excuses to your college friends about this.

But not now. Right now you were too busy feeling like you were about to pass out from lack of oxygen to your brain and lungs. Just watching you roll eyes dangerously, Mitsuya gave a quick thrust inside your pussy and finally spurted his hot, thick cum directly into your womb. You couldn't even tell if you moaned his name at the same time he did the same with yours because of the overstimulation or of the delicious feeling of having his white spurts pressing against your walls.

And then your body collapsed partially lying on Takashi's table, and his, eventually did the same sitting on the floor just as your legs came off his hips. Takashi's eyes glazed over at the way your tight little entrance was expelling his white cream, it was even better than watching creampie videos on PornHub.

Before he could stop himself, his hands moved your thighs a little further apart and his face slipped between your legs so his tongue could start licking between your folds and the somewhat salty taste of the gushing liquid inside your cunt entered his papillae.

It was not arousing to lick cum from a girl's pussy. At least, Mitsuya would not admit that it was. But you know what was? Watching you try to push him away because of overstimulation, but not being able to complete the action because of fatigue.

— Uh? What are you doing, pretty? — He asked against your folds before massaging your inner thighs and licking lips as he finished ingesting his own cum. — I'm just helping you.

ㅤ🏷 tagging: @festive @bontensucker @wakasa-wifey @dukina @manjiroscum @inu1gf @manjiken @rqnslut @manjirosdoll @satmitsuplanet @ravenina14 @saaraunicorn @eriskaitto .

#tokyo revengers smut #tw.dark content #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev smut #mitsuya takashi smut #mitsuya smut #mitsuya takashi #tokrev mitsuya #takashi mitsuya smut #tw.manipulation #tw.filming #tw.overstimulation

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saltminerising · 3 years ago

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Running An Art Shop With Minimal Crying 101

Hey y’all, not sure what compelled me to write this Now but I wanted to put together a list of helpful ‘good business practice’ tips for artists who want to start selling commissions on FR and want to build up a good reputation and make bank. I’m not sure if I’d feel comfortable throwing this on the forums personally so here you go, y’all have to look at my stupidly long possibly helpful brutally honest post cuz I don’t know where else to put this.

I’ve been doing art on FR since I was a young teenager in 2015 and through that time I’ve definitely learned some lessons the hard way. I’ve taken on more than I could handle, I’ve let commissions rot for months because I got overwhelmed… you know what I mean. Here’s some of what I’ve learned over the years that’s helped me run a consistently successful art shop for well over a year now.

I don’t have a tumblr and I don’t know how to add a ‘read more’ to a submission, so happy scrolling <3 I apologize for causing some people a very minor inconvenience

-Do not take prepayment for either more than three commissions at a time, or more than the number of commissions you think you can finish within a month or two, whichever is smaller. This is especially true if you’re like me and you have ADHD. Trust me, the more commissions people have already paid for you have piled up in your to-do list, even if they’d only take you 20 minutes each, you will get more overwhelmed and discouraged and people will wonder why it’s taking you so long. Even if you aren’t getting concerned PMs, a lot of people are just too anxious or polite to ask for updates. (On the flipside, if you commissioned someone and haven’t gotten any word/updates in a while, you’re not in the wrong to ask how things are going and when you can expect an update.)

-Full payment upfront is something I definitely recommend for smaller pieces (headshots, sketches, etc) you can finish in one sitting. However- if you’re doing a ref sheet, a rendered fullbody, etc, and you’ll be spending multiple sessions on the piece and getting feedback for it multiple times- split it up, take half upfront and half either after the sketch is approved, or before you send them the final unwatermarked version. I’ve done dozens of commissions like this and never had a problem, personally. There’s a low chance of a customer backing out on you if you’ve already started and sent WIPs because, y’know, sunk cost, and on the other hand it is reassuring to customers (especially if your shop is new) that if you drop off the map, they paid $20 upfront and got at least a sketch, instead of paying $40 upfront for an unfinished piece.

-In the same vein: if you’re doing a large piece like a rendered fullbody, ref sheet, etc, more communication is always better than less! I always stay on the safe side here. Some people will tell you they just want you to go apeshit and do whatever you think will look cool, other people might have much more specific ideas of what they want and how closely your artwork needs to match the image of their character in their head. Send them the sketch and ask them if they want any changes. Send them the lineart and ask if it looks good. If you’re working on a time-consuming painting that will take you weeks to finish, please please please, communicate! Send updates! Your customers will feel a lot less anxious about how long you’re taking if you keep them posted (plus this is just a personal thing but I love seeing peoples’ artistic process, it sparks joy!!)

-If, once again, you’re like me and stuff like painted fullbodies take you so much longer than other commission types- the worst thing you can do is underprice. Let’s say a detailed, shaded dragon fullbody takes you, for instance, 8 hours, maybe longer because you get burned out and can’t finish it in just one sitting, but you don’t think people will buy an $80/8kg fullbody. Do not lower the price you think your art is worth. If fullbodies take you really long compared to other art, or you get unmotivated, just… don’t offer painted fullbodies, or scenes with multiple characters, or whatever. If there’s a form of art you’re capable of creating but it’s faster, more fun, and gets you more money to do smaller things, just do more smaller commissions instead of taking the big ones. This one was a lifesaver for me.

-Once again in the same vein: It is okay to say no. Just because you are physically/artistically capable of drawing a detailed scene of multiple dragons with complex apparel, doesn’t mean you won’t get burnt out or bored. For me, larger pieces take exponentially longer because I just get bored and don’t want to work on them anymore. If someone asks if you can draw something that will require so much of your personal time and effort to go into a single piece, just say no. Sometimes I’ll say yes to some big commissions because I think the character is cool and inspiring and I want to draw them; otherwise, I will admit, I’ve said no to big commissions because I personally found the character boring as hell (though I wouldn’t phrase it that way). And that’s ok!

-If you are going to be really busy in the near future, stop taking commissions. You have finals? Don’t say “sorry if things take forever, I have finals”… just don’t take the commissions while you’re busy. If you have too much on your plate, commissions will just stress you out more, and nobody likes to draw motivated by stress. There’s nothing wrong with temporarily pausing your art shop. Put your mental health first. And if you aren’t able to get commissions done on a regular basis because of mental health, or because you don’t give enough of a shit about other peoples’ characters: don’t do commissions. I don’t mean this in a bad way; I’ve been in that spot before and it’ll just cause more stress and guilt than it’s worth.

-NO PARAGRAPHS. That sounds hypocritical of me writing this lol but do not put long paragraphs in your art shop, ever. I promise nobody will read it. Put your rules, and any other information, in bullet points that are one or two lines. Keep your rules clear, simple, unambiguous and short, or everyone will ignore it and I won’t blame them. Put titles and subtitles wherever you can. If you have a block of text longer than probably five lines, it will be ignored by most people. I have decided not to buy art from people because I didn’t want to have to dig through blocks of text for information.

….so yeah I think that’s about all I can think of at the moment. time to sit back and get yelled at for not being able to shut the fuck up and get to the point lol, hope you (yes you) have a great day c:

#submission #long post #art tag 🏷

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voiceless-terror · 4 years ago

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Ink (TMA Fanfic)

For TMA Gerry Week 2021 Day One

Pairings: Jonathan Sims/Gerry Keay/Martin Blackwood

Rating: T

Summary: Art’s how Gerry shows his love- a few snippets where he does exactly that. No powers-au, Gerry and Martin own a bookstore. Takes place in this universe but can be read alone!

He’s getting used to having people who want him around.

Gerry’s had friends, sure. Once he left the institute and began working odd jobs, he realized how much he genuinely enjoyed having company. He still isn’t the most social of creatures, but he does enjoy a night out with old coworkers who enjoy his stories and laugh at his jokes. But now, with Jon and Martin, they want him around all the time. Even after they started dating, even after he moved in, he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never does, though. And Gerry, in spite of himself, begins to relax. Begins to feel at home.

He’s laying on the couch, scribbling in his notebook when Martin surprises him with a peck to the top of his head. “Whatcha drawing this time?” He was very excited when he heard Gerry liked to draw, immediately asking to see his notebook or anything he’d done. He’d only recently shown him some of his work; he knows Martin would never make him feel embarrassed, but, well. It’s another part of himself no one’s ever been interested in. Until now.

“Jon,” Gerry responds, leaning into the touch. It’s an amateurish attempt in his opinion, just a rough sketch. But he’s got the proportions down and he never forgets a face. Couldn’t forget, in Jon’s case.

“That’s…” Martin trails off, peering closer at the page. “That’s really good. You’ve even got him smiling!” It’s not that Jon never smiles; he smirks and laughs and snarks. But he’s managed to capture that rare, bright grin that makes Gerry’s heart skip a beat.

“Mhm.” Gerry nods slightly, pen tapping against his sketchpad. He turns around, seeing the naked fondness in Martin’s eyes and has a particularly wicked thought. “Y’know, this is how he looks when he’s watching you.”

Martin sputters, turns a lovely shade of red. “W-What? Really?”

“No,” Gerry smirks. “It’s the way he looks at the Admiral.” A groan and a light smack to the shoulder prove his joke is unappreciated. “Sorry, sorry! I’m sure he also looks at you that way-”

“You’re an ass.” Martin rolls his eyes but oh-so-gently picks up his hand, pausing to inspect the ink-stained fingers. “A very talented ass.” His mind blanks as Martin kisses them one by one.

Thoroughly distracted, he never gets around to finishing that sketch.

_______

Painting, as it turns out, is a lot harder than it looks. Still quite fun, though.

They’ve just found the perfect space- a little out of their price range, but Gerry’s got savings and Jon was willing to part with a bit himself. Martin fretted over his ‘meager contribution,’ as his savings were depleted in the final months of his mother’s care. Ridiculous that he would ever think his contribution meager, considering he’s the one who scouted for locations and did all of the paperwork and stayed up late, agonizing over their finances. Some days, Martin’s the only one keeping them sane. Gerry and Jon are due to remind him of that.

Which is why they’re handling the decorating. Jon claims to have no artistic talent, but he does have a knack for making places seem like home. There are boxes filled with knick knacks and rugs and pictures, all waiting to be hung somewhere once Jon’s finally settled on a layout. Gerry’s left with painting the walls, labeling the different sections in whatever way he sees fit. He’s currently at work on the horror section, painting a stylized eye above the tarp-covered bookshelf when he hears the sound of the bell; Martin must be back from the store. They’d run out of appropriately-sized nails and after a minor freak out, he’d been on his way.

“Find what you were looking for?” he calls, listening as Martin’s footsteps grow closer, the crinkle of bags in his hand. “Here to save the day?”

“I wouldn’t call it saving,” Martin snorted, setting them down on the ground with a thump. “But it’ll certainly help. That looks nice.”

Gerry pauses, considering his work. He really needs a darker green for this. “Thanks. It’s a work in progress.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn out great,” he murmurs distractedly, and Gerry turns to look back at him. The lines of his face are more pronounced than usual, as are the shadows under his eyes. A sure sign that the stress is getting to him. Gerry understands, and he’s not much for being particularly sappy but he does what he can to help.

“Hey,” he calls down to him from his ladder. “C’mere. Need your opinion on something.”

Martin sighs, but heeds the call. “What is it? You know I’m rubbish with this art stuff-”

“It’ll only take a second. Come closer.”

“What am I supposed to be looking at-”

“Closer.”

As Martin huffs and leans towards him, Gerry darts his paintbrush out, drawing the quickest of hearts on Martin’s cheek before he can pull away.

“Gerry!” Martin startles and his hand reaches up to wipe at his cheek.

“Don’t smear it, it’s a heart.” He pauses, going for his gravest voice. “Because I love you so much. I’ll be devastated if you ruin it.”

“I don’t appreciate that.” Martin sighs but drops his hand, his face softening already. Exasperation has never been paired with fondness, not when it’s aimed at Gerry. Another thing he’s starting to get used to.

“Shame. It looks good.”

Martin goes home with a heart on his other cheek as well. He looks ridiculous. Gerry loves it.

_________

When Jon’s particularly stressed, Gerry leaves him post-it notes.

Often he leaves before Gerry even wakes, so he’s got to do them the night before. A little cat here, a little caricature of Bouchard there. He leaves a variety, depending on his mood. Jon always gives him a kiss when he gets home, a soft ‘thank you for the note,’ and that’s all he needs, really, to keep doing it. He likes making Jon smile.

Martin’s gone grocery shopping and Jon’s pulling a late night again, so Gerry’s alone in the flat looking for something to do. There’s nothing on Netflix worth watching (or at least, worth watching by himself) and he’s not in the mood for his latest novel, so he decides he’s going to be productive, make a list of all the things he has to do this week. Jon’s always going on about lists, though he leaves them everywhere and never seems to accomplish everything on them. Maybe it’s the act of making them that’s relaxing. It’s worth a try.

He makes his way over to the second bedroom they (mostly Jon) use as an office. He’s sure Jon’s got a little notepad here that he can use, and he wants it to look as official as possible. He opens the left hand drawer but only finds Martin’s receipts, and on the right he finds a plain-looking notebook, a little worn with use. Maybe that’s what he uses-

Gerry opens it. Pauses. Blinks. Feels something heavy and thick form in his throat.

It’s his notes- his stupid little sketches, his ‘have a good day at work’s, his smiley-faces and little hearts. Each carefully placed on page after page with an accompanying date, neat and tidy, like a little scrapbook. Mum used to throw out his ‘doodles,’ as she called them, told him his time was better spent on actual art, but Jon’s kept all of them. Like they mattered. Like they were important. He sets it back down on the desk and just stands there, heart beating hard in his chest.

Gerry’s tearing up like some sort of moron so he’s distracted and doesn’t hear Jon come home, doesn’t hear his usual grumblings and sighs. Doesn’t hear him until Jon’s right behind him, startling him with a hand on his arm. “Sorry, I was just- Gerry, are you alright?”

Alright. Alright. It’s a word that doesn’t encompass everything he’s feeling. Wanted, embarrassed, a little overwhelmed. And so, so happy.

He turns around and grabs Jon in a fierce hug, overcome with affection and eager to hide his stupid tears as he squeezes Jon to his chest. “You’re adorable, you know that?” he says, peppering kisses to the top of his head despite Jon’s weak protestations. “Real fuckin’ cute.”

Jon melts into his embrace, even as he complains. “I’ve got no idea what you’re on about, Gerry,” he says into his chest, the words muffled. “You’re being absurd.” Jon’s just about the only person he knows that uses ‘absurd’ on a daily basis. It’s insufferable. Gerry loves it.

“Just let me hug you, you little ogre.”

_________

Sometimes, Gerry’s the one who’s got to be up early. Doctors appointments are a bitch, and after a brief scare last year, it’s important that he keep up with them. Martin helps him schedule, marking the appointments on the calendar with a bold black marker that can’t be missed.

This morning’s particularly brutal, with an eight o’clock appointment an hour’s commute away. Jon went to sleep at a reasonable hour last night and he needs the rest; Gerry knows if he wakes Martin, he wakes them both. Jon’s never been good at sleeping alone.

He’s stumbling blearily around the kitchen, about to put the kettle on when he notices it. On the table is a post-it note; he doesn’t remember leaving one for Jon last night, but he’d been rather tired, so who knows? Gerry putters around, fixing his tea and nibbling at toast when he finally spares it a glance.

It’s not for Jon. It’s for him.

Good luck at your appointment! It reads in Martin’s familiar, neat script. Accompanying it is a small doodle that has to be Jon’s; it’s not particularly good, but it clearly shows a little Gerry, makeup and all, with a plaster on his cheek and a heart over his head. It looks like Jon spent time on it. Spent time on some stupid little post it note to make Gerry smile.

He puts it in his pocket. Takes it out a few times in the waiting room, stares at it. Everything looks fine, the doctor says at the end of the appointment. He’s so lucky.

He’s so lucky.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635833

#tma #the magnus archives #tmagerryweek2021 #gerry keay #gerard keay #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jongerrymartin #my writing

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ixalit · 4 years ago

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Song: The Paper Kites - 'Bloom'

Thank you so much for this one, Lauren 💜

Have 869 words (😏) of a soft stucky morning in wakanda

(what this ask is from)

***

If you asked Steve Rogers, he would not say he is a poetic man.

In fact, he would insist that he’s the furthest thing from “poetic.” He’ll take hard, tangible facts over metaphors, magniloquence, and heartache any day. Even growing up, Bucky was always the one who could put pen to paper and leave people choking on emotion. Steve has never had that, whatever it is.

What he does have, is his art. Ever since he picked up a pencil to while away the long hours sick in bed as a kid, it’s been his way of capturing the moments he never wants to lose. Over the years, he’s filled stacks of notebooks with those moments, mostly of Bucky. Bucky smiling. Bucky slicking back his hair in the mirror. Bucky in a ridiculous pose like they do in the magazines, grinning ear to ear while Steve laughs his way through a sketch.

And now lying in their bed in Wakanda, surrounded by the soft red and blue hues of lovingly woven blankets and the idyllic life he and Bucky have built for each other, Steve’s fingers itch for a pencil, some way to be able to fold this memory and keep is safe in his pocket forever.

It’s a quiet morning in their hut on the edge of the city, same as every other morning they’ve had here. Sunlight filters through the curtains to bathe both men in soft warmth, and the birds’ songs ride the breeze to whoever is listening.

Inside, Bucky lays beside Steve in their bed, stretched out on his stomach, head buried in the pillow in his arm and one knee bent toward Steve. Bucky’s still asleep, but he’s quietly shuffling around in the same way he has since they were kids, the way that Steve knows means Bucky’s just on the edge of consciousness.

On the surface this morning is no different than any other, but it’s the first time in too many years—too many decades—that Steve can remember actually feeling peaceful. In this moment, inside this small, round hut, is a sliver of suspended magic, where everything can be okay. Where Steve can finally breathe.

And more than that, Bucky looks happy. Or at least less burdened than usual. Sleep is a good look on him. It smooths the lines on his brow and relaxes the tension in his jaw. And in this light, if Steve squints a little, tilts his head just so, he can almost make out the carefree boy he knew in the thirties under that long hair and shaggy beard.

Steve props his head on his palm and sighs deep in his chest, watches the tips of Bucky’s bangs flutter with each breath. He traces his eyes over Bucky’s face, his body; maps the contours he’s memorized countless times over.

God, he’s beautiful. More so for all he’s been through, all the lifetimes he’s lived.

Bucky nuzzles into the pillow in a way remarkably like an overgrown cat and blearily blinks his eyes open. He yawns, stretches the sleep from his limbs, and fixes his eyes on Steve. Immediately, they narrow.

“Wha’sup?” Bucky grumbles, his sleep-slurred voice muffled against his arm.

“Mmm? Nothin’.”

Steve gets a disbelieving eyebrow cocked at him. After this many years, he should really know better than to try that shit with Bucky. It’s nearly impossible to hide any thought or feeling from his scrutinous gaze, especially now. And even back when they were kids, Bucky was able to read Steve’s mind from the lines and ticks of his face. The difference is Steve tried to hide something back then, Bucky’s mind would run wild reading into whatever he saw, building worlds from a clenched jaw or downcast eyes. Now he just stares Steve down until he breaks and tells Bucky every thought in his head.

“It’s nothin’, Buck, really,” Steve says with a laugh. “I just— This is really nice. You, us, this, here,” he gestures around the room, “it’s… nice.”

Bucky’s lips curl up into a small, teasing smile. “‘Nice,’ huh?”

“Hey, I don’t see you pullin’ out any’a your fancy words first thing in the morning, either. Besides,” Steve reaches out and tucks a stray strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear, his eyes softening, “you know what I meant. I’m… I’m happy.”

Bucky

“M’pretty happy too, y’know,” Bucky says as he scoots closer to Steve, pressing a kiss to his bare chest. Then he murmurs words into Steve’s skin that sound a lot like, “Be happier if you were kissin’ me, though.”

Steve just laughs and rolls Bucky over onto his back so they’re chest to chest, presses every inch of Bucky’s body into the mattress.

He starts with a kiss to each of Bucky’s cheeks, then his forehead, nose. Trails a line of kisses under his jaw, down his neck, and only when Bucky is breathing heavy, his hand gripping Steve’s shoulder and his eyes clouded with heat, does Steve press a chaste, teasing kiss to Bucky’s lips.

Bucky growls and flips them over before Steve can do much of anything else.

This life, how they got here, their future… It's nothing Steve ever would have dreamed for himself when he was younger, but it’s a life with the man he’s always loved, and at the end of the day, that’s all that matters.

***

thanks @trekchik for the pre-posting read through 😘

my masterlist

#first writing in almost a month woot woot #lil rusty but im getting back into it so that’s what counts #stucky #Wakanda #Steve/bucky #ficlet #steve rogers #bucky barnes #ixalitwrites

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onebizarrekai · 5 years ago

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Your simplified Danganronpa drawings are so cool, I wish I could make stuff like that! How do you do it?

hello! so the funny thing about that is that I don’t really divert that much from my normal style–I just add a few things to it to make it more danganronpa-y. I, coincidentally, am weirdly good at style imitation, but I can show you how I did it!

I’m using kokichi as my victim because I can’t stop drawing this bastard:

these are the lines for my normal style, more or less. they’re usually a lot more connected, but y’know, it’s a tutorial and I’ll probably just fix them as I go along. also I didn’t use a sketch so that’s something.

flat colors and a couple lineart adjustments. cool, cool. danganronpa colors are like really desaturated and all the characters kind of look like ghosts (ironically). to add to the authenticity, make the colors look as much like the in-game colors as possible. kokichi’s character art makes him look like he has highlights, so I gave him those rather than just solid purple hair.

ugh okay first you have to shade it before you do anything else give me a second

THERE it’s kind of sloppy but it’ll have to do

you’re probably going to want to use a shadow with a cold color to go with the desaturated colors. I used that color you can see in the color palette in the corner because that’s more or less my default. since this is a stylistic imitation tutorial and not a coloring tutorial I won’t go into detail about how I shaded it and how I use clipping masks to color. just have a time, man.

the most important thing, naturally, is the eyes. danganronpa’s just got this eye thing going on. now let’s actually get down to business.

first, color the outline of the eye with a color somewhat darker than your eye color like so:

oh god I have to move his pupils

okay take a lighter color that you probably also stole from a ref and saturated somewhat and THROW that circle in there

congrats. you have danganronpa eyes.

you’re going to want to make sure that the eyes are pretty even. like, the circle inside is in line with the outline, and the pupil is in the dead center of that circle. otherwise the eyes are probably gonna look pretty wonky. I had to move his pupils for a reason. you’re gonna have to pay close attention to what direction the iris is facing.

next order of business, the ‘hair shiny’. see, this was a weird thing for me to incorporate because I hadn’t done this since I was like 14 and I have a knee jerk reaction to it, but anime be like that.

fwoop

this color is actually very close to the one I used for the circles in the eyes, just more blue-shifted. you’re not just going to leave it like that, though.

set it to add (glow) at 20% opacity and you’re good to go. (I don’t remember what the photoshop/sai equivalents are). I erased lines in it because I’m extra, but you don’t have to do that if you don’t want. you can mess with the effects on this part because I’m pretty sure I made it much less visible than the danganronpa style does.

now, the BIGGEST thing you can do besides the eyes is probably the texture, since we’re imitating the character art style.

you’re going to need a small checkered texture. like, this blinding abomination.

ow. fortunately, we’re changing the opacity REALLY low so it’s not going to hurt to look at. if you’re using clip studio paint like me, it comes with textures built into it. color a whole area and click the button with the checkers on it that you see on the top right.

it should cover your canvas with blinding chaos and your eyes will start screaming. before you go blind, make sure it’s set to a checkered style and navigate to the ‘layer’ tab at the top and hit rasterize to turn it into a normal layer. now that it’s a normal layer, changing the opacity will only make the colors lighter, rather than change the texture itself (that’s a thing that happens).

anyway, turn your opacity ALL the way down to 10% and set it to soft light, and your canvas will go from looking like this monstrosity…

… to this!

okay you actually can barely see that at all with this crappy screenshot without leaning super close to your screen. look, it’s THERE, I promise.

next you’re gonna wanna find a rugged texture of some kind. like, gritty paper or something. I have this one texture that I use a LOT and have been using it since before I even played danganronpa. put it below the first texture layer, turn the opacity down a whole bunch and just mess around with it, honestly. in that picture that I drew the other day, I have it set to vivid light at 15% opacity, but honestly, you can just see what works for you.

now it looks like this! again, this probably isn’t super visible because of the image size, but you’ll see.

now give me a second to add the rest of my shading that has nothing to do with the danganronpa style.

yeah!!! if you’re wondering what I did, I threw on what could be described as “cloudy shading” because you basically just toss on a whole bunch of airbrushing in the color of the shadow in one layer and a bunch of airbrushed lighting in another. it smooths out the drawing a lot and gives the coloring a lot more variety! it’s pretty serotonin-producing, honestly. (thank you tobin for teaching me basic color theory so my shading/lighting looks better)

oh yeah, I also added just a bit of a purple hue to the lineart to go with kokichi’s whole purple aesthetic. changing lineart color doesn’t always work, especially when drawing characters with different color themes, but it did work this time around, probably because it’s just kokichi.

here’s the close-up!

#tutorial #danganronpa #kokichi ouma #drv3 #ndrv3 #art closet

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aifastic · 4 years ago

Text

Winning Lines

The @talesofteufort zine has been shipped, and the PDFs sent! Thank you very much to everyone who contributed. I’m very glad to have been able to participate in this project; it was a wonderful experience and it’s been great working with everyone aaaa ♥

I’m really happy to share my piece for the zine! I really hope you all like it ♥ (Read it below the cut)

Title: Winning Lines Words: 1845 Warnings: None Summary: BLU has a drawing contest. Demo just wants his magazine back.

-----

“ARE YOU MANN ENOUGH TO DRAW THIS BETTER THAN US?”

The header caught BLU’s Demoman’s attention. He’d been reading the latest issue of Hat-Wearing Man when he found the ad at the bottom of one of the pages. There was a somewhat simple drawing of a monkey in a spacesuit. “If you draw Poopy Joe better than our extremely talented artist, we’ll give him the boot—and kick his ass in the process! And your picture will be the new image of our project and you, our lucky friend, will win nothing less than $700 dollars!”

“Huh, it doesn’t look that hard…” he said, pensive. Suddenly, the magazine was snatched from his hands. “Hey!”

“Ohohoh, what’s this?” Scout said, grinning at the magazine. “Hey, I’d win this in the blink of an eye!”

“Oi! Get your own!” Demo took the magazine back. “I’m gonna try this. Mum will love the extra money,” he added to himself.

“Pffft, no way, it’s a waste of mail money, pally. If someone should participate, that’s someone who actually has a chance.”

“Heh.”

They turned around to see Sniper in a corner, grinning.

“What’s your deal, Long Legs?”

“Shut up, ya scoundrel. If anyone has a chance here, it’s me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Demo asked. “Where’s your credentials, mate?”

“Don’t need any,” he said. “Quiet kid, hours at the back of the classroom sketching the teacher being eaten by a croc.” He grinned. “It should be easy as cake.”

“Oi, do ya remember the magazine is mine?”

“I agree, though—the chance should be for whoever’s got the talent.”

Demo sighed. “Aye, alright. But I’m not gonna just give it away.” His face lit up, an idea coming to his mind. “You’ll have to beat me for it.”

“Huh?” Both mercenaries stared at him quizzically.

Demo grinned, eye glinting.

“Let’s have a drawing contest.”

-----

They emptied the kitchen table in order to make room for their sheets of paper, pencils and pens. In the meantime, they threw evaluative gazes at each other, competitive strike flaring up.

The rest of the team slowly wandered to the room to find out what was going on.

“What is noise?” asked Heavy, scratching his chest. Medic, who was right behind him, had just closed it, having found himself too distracted by the ruckus to continue his surgery.

“We’re about to find out who’s gonna win 700 dollars!”

Medic perked up. “I am in. What is the bet?”

“We’re not betting, mate.” Sniper showed him the magazine’s ad. “It’s a contest.”

Medic’s smile turned dangerous. “Even better.”

“Heavy is in, too.”

“Aw, come on, guys! It’s not as if you’re gonna beat me!”

Heavy threw Scout an unimpressed look. “It is fun. I want extra money. I am in.”

“Alright, alright, mate. Sure.” Demo handed them both some extra sheets of paper they'd brought just in case.

Medic excused himself to go search for a couple of pens. On his way out, he almost crashed onto Soldier.

“Ach, watch where you’re going!”

“I need sustenance, maggot! And you’re on my way!” He shoved Medic away, making him stumble on the way out. A couple of German swears could be heard from the corridor. “Hello, everyone!”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re gonna get in too,” Scout groaned.

“In what?” Soldier inquired, tilting his head. Demo showed him the magazine’s ad.

Engineer peeked over his shoulder.

“Oh, a drawing contest?” he said, looking at it with a fond smile. “Heh. It’s been a while since I tried my hand at one o’ those. But I thought they allowed only one entry per ad?”

“That is point,” Heavy said. “We are fighting to get chance to earn money.”

“Oh…” Soldier grinned. “I’m in, maggots! I actually studied art with Kickasso.”

Everyone stared at him.

“Sure, mate,” Demo said, patting his back and attempting to lead him into the kitchen.

“You don’t believe me!” Soldier looked at everyone. Engie shrugged. Scout picked at his nails, and Sniper scratched the table distractedly. Heavy’s eyes said it all. “I will prove it to all of you!” And he headed to the table, snatching a paper sheet from the pile.

Demo brushed a hand across his own face. “I hope Medic brings enough pens.”

“I’ll go for mine,” Engie said. He added, “And I’ll go look for Pyro; they’ll love this.”

Scout groaned. “Anyone else? Maybe Saxton Hale?”

Spy’s laughter can be heard from a corner of the room.

“Oh, this is priceless. I wasn’t going to butt in, but this looks like too much fun to pass on the opportunity.”

“The opportunity to what?” Scout said, miffed.

“You’ll see,” he said with a glint in his eyes. “Besides, you need a referee, don’t you?”

“Ugh,” Scout said, bonking his head on the table.

-----

Everyone looked at each other from their respective places. Scout’s leg bounced nonstop; Sniper picked unconsciously at his pencil. Heavy’s grip on his pen was strong enough for Medic to worry about it breaking.

“Alright,” said Spy. “You have to draw…” He squinted. “Poopy Joe, following the ad’s instructions; the best artist wins. The rules are: no interfering with anyone’s drawing. No kicking under the table. No destroying anyone’s drawing. No rising up from the table until all this is over. No showing your drawing until everyone is finished. Understood?”

Everyone nodded. Pyro hummed happily.

“Excellent. So, on the count of three: One, two… Three!”

Scout’s pen tore onto the paper. “Shit! Do you have a spare?” Spy handed him one. “Thanks,” he muttered.

The truth was, Scout wasn’t that confident of the fact he was going to win. When it was just him and Demo, he’d been sure he’d win to the unsteady hand of a drunk man. And Sniper was all bragging anyways. But Medic? He’d probably drawn lots of skeletons and stuff at college. And Engineer’s schematics always look exactly like the finished product. Shit. And—did Soldier really paint with Kickasso? Nah, he shook his head. He didn’t think so. Heavy was a wild card, though.

But he had to try anyway! He couldn’t back off now. So he put his all into it.

Engineer turned his sheet of paper down. Hell! That was fast. He tried to concentrate in the lines that formed Poopy Joe, and emulated them the best he could. Damn, his hand was sweaty… He hated drawing. His cousin had always been better at it, and it pissed him off even now, far from home.

He slapped his drawing on the table, face down. “Done!” He looked up to see everyone had finished. Crap.

“Alright, then,” said Spy. “Let’s see what you came up with.”

“Come up with?” That had many meanings, but the way Spy said it… “What do you mean?”

“The challenge was to improve on the design of Poopy Joe drawn by the artist, not to copy it.”

“Oh, darn,” Engineer said, showing a perfect copy of the Poopy Joe logo. Holy shit. “Guess I got a bit carried away. I’m more used to copying stuff, ya know.”

Soldier snickered.

“Let’s see what you did, Soldier boy.”

“Alright! Look at it and weep!”

He showed them all a mess of lines with dots in seemingly random places.

“Soldier, that’s…” Scout got elbowed by Demo. “That’s cool. What are… those?”

“Those are his eyes!” Oh, God.

“Let’s see Demo’s!” grinned Soldier, confidently.

“Ach, you know I’m no artist, mate,” he said, showing his drawing. It was… Actually, it was pretty decent. His drawing had a cartoonish style that drew everyone’s eyes in.

“Interesting,” said Spy, nodding approvingly.

“Demo did great job,” Heavy said, crossing his arms.

“Aw, thanks, mate.” Demo shrugged it off, somewhat flustered. “What about yours?”

Heavy showed his drawing. It was simple, a single line delineating the silhouette of the monkey astronaut. It was stylish, though it was difficult to guess what it was at times.

“Wonderful, mein freund!” Medic clapped, and revealed his. It was… Oh, my god. “I might have put a bit too much emphasis on his organs.”

“Next!” yelled Scout, tearing his eyes away from the gory drawing. Shit. Now he had to show his. Alright. You can do this, he told himself.

He turned the page face up.

“Mate,” Sniper said.

“Oh, buddy, we made the same mistake.”

“Y’know? I saw RED’s Scout draw once and I secretly thought we were doomed.”

“Oh, shut up!” Scout said, face beet red. It was true, he’d tried to copy the drawing, like Engineer did. And his lines weren’t as sure as Demo’s or Heavy’s. Shit. He screwed up big time.

“It’s good overall, mate,” Sniper said. “You just need more confidence.”

Scout flushed. “What about yours, Mister Expert?”

Sniper grunted, and showed his drawing. Oh, wow. It was really good! The monkey looked like it’d come out of the page and tear them apart. He felt as if he would be able to touch its fur.

“Wow, Slim! That’s one helluva good drawing!”

“Thanks,” he said, grinning. “I told ya: quiet kid.”

“Where is his spacesuit, though?”

His face dropped. “Aw, hell.”

“Hmmmph!” Pyro yelled, pointing at their sheet of paper.

“Alright,” Spy said, grinning along with Engineer. “The moment of truth has come.”

“What do you mean—?”

Holy shit.

The drawing was astounding. The monkey looked cartoonish enough not to look real, but in a way that made the drawing look alive. Everything was there, and in wonderful detail: The space-suit, the stars… Even an additional full moon in the background that was a perfect circle.

“Holy shit, Py!” Scout said. “How did you do that?”

“Hhmph?” Pyro asked, pointing at the moon. Everyone nodded. Pyro mumbled happily, grabbing another sheet of paper, and drew a classical Greek style face, then erased the rest of its features little by little until they got a perfect circle.

Oh, for the love of—

“Well, it seems we have our winner,” said Spy, handing Pyro the magazine. Pyro clapped with glee, running off with it.

“Aw, man. That was totally unfair. You knew this would happen!” Scout pointed to Spy accusingly.

“I had my suspicions,” he said, grinning.

“Hey, maggots,” Soldier said, sniffing. “Is that smoke?”

They all turned around to watch Pyro as they set the magazine on fire.

“Ach! My magazine!” Demo ran and stomped on it. However, many of the pages, including the drawing contest ad, didn’t make it. “Hell. Why, mate?”

“Hmmphmmphmmph!” they said, pointing at everyone in the room, then at their drawings. Then they clapped.

Everyone looked at each other, and found a common understanding. Who knew what Pyro said? But they had the feeling they meant they were all winners today.

“So it was a huge waste of everyone’s time. Fantastic,” Spy said. “Entertaining, though.”

“Shut up, Spy, we were having a moment,” Scout said.

And yes, indeed. Because even though Demo lost his magazine, he left the room with a good feeling inside. And he was sure that the rest felt the same way.

Poopy Joe’s artist could keep his job for another day.

#Team Fortress 2 #fanfiction #BLU Team #Tales of Teufort #Tales of Teufort zine #[♥]

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 5 years ago

Text

How Kurt Cobain

PART TWENTY-SEVEN OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: drinking, anxiety about future, plentiful pop culture references, this is the product of intense writer’s block so who knows its quality honestly

Word Count: 4.3K

Summary: Ella takes a morning walk through Philly. Then, she takes Jess to Lane’s wedding.

Tangled beneath the sheets, Ella awoke with the sunlight streaming through Jess’s window and into her closed eyes. She squinted as she cleared her throat and shifted to find Jess’s side of the bed empty. Furrowing her brows, she raked a hand through her messy hair and sat up against the green wall, Nietzche’s eyes looking over her almost comically. Still, she found no Jess in the room, though the door was slightly ajar. The smell of coffee drifted in from the kitchen. She worried frantically if she had missed her interview with the Dean.

“Jess?” she called.

After only a moment, he waltzed in with the paper in one hand and a mug in the other. He smirked when he saw the scowl on her face. Yet another thing he could count on never changing. Ella Stevens was not a morning person. “Yeah?”

“What the hell? Why didn’t you wake me?” she demanded, rubbing at her eyes with both hands.

Jess snickered. “Like it’s so easy. I tried. You told me to fuck off.”

“I did not.”

“Oh, but you did. Twice.”

Groaning slightly, she shook her head at herself. “Sorry.”

“No problem. I’m used to the colorful vocabulary by now,” he shrugged, taking a long sip of his black coffee.

She rushed over to her bag, convinced of her tardiness.

“Woah, where’s the fire?” Jess asked.

“What time is it?”

“Relax. It’s only nine. Your interview isn’t until eleven, right?’ he asked, smug smirk ever-present.

Blowing out a small breath, she nodded. “Yeah. Jesus. I thought it was noon.”

“Why?”

“That’s usually how late I sleep when I forget to set an alarm,” she said, running her fingers through her hair again.

He chuckled. “Well, you’ve got a while. I had to get up to let the poet guy in. There’s donuts in the kitchen. Campus is only a few blocks away. I can walk you there later, if you want.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she tried to fight the smile which threatened to cross her face. “I don’t need an escort, Mariano.”

“Oh, right. I forgot you know exactly how to get there from here,” he said, feigning understanding.

She rolled her eyes. “I brought a map.”

“That’s cute,” he teased.

“Fuck you.”

“It’s not the twentieth century anymore. Just let me walk you, Stevens.”

“Okay, fine,” she conceded, finally letting herself break into a little grin.

. . .

Cloudy light shone through the overcast sky in gray tones, but the air was light. Philadelphia was not due for rain. Ella breathed in the city as they strolled down the sidewalk. It was a little grimy, but so alive. The pulse of the noise and the people made her feel excited, inspired. She would have to draw something of it as soon as she got a moment. Jess had his hands shoved in his pockets, stealing occasional glances at Ella. He saw the same wonder in her eyes that he had when she’d come to visit him in New York all those years ago. A pleasant warmth radiated throughout him, and for just a little while he stopped wondering where they stood with each other, what would happen, about the words they still needed to speak.

She fiddled with the thin strap of her watch as she walked along. “Do you like Philly better than New York?”

He perked his head up as she suddenly broke the silence between them. “Oh yeah. Less people. Better art scene.”

“Really?”

“Definitely. And it also helps that my mom doesn’t live here.”

“Ah,” Ella replied knowingly, nodding slightly. “So, you guys haven’t talked much since the wedding, I take it?”

“Every now and again,” he shrugged.

They turned down a road lined with coffee shops and bookstores. Ella could tell it was a backwards way of getting to campus, but expected nothing less of Jess. It made her want to smile. The more she saw of the city, the more she could tell he belonged. Finally, he had a place where he fit.

“She did call me when April showed up, though,” Jess continued casually.

Ella uttered a small laugh. “Yeah. That was...straight outta left field. She’s a good kid, though. Can recite the whole periodic table in like sixty seconds. She kinda reminds me of my brother.”

“Adam?” Jess asked.

Ella nodded, the warm breeze blowing her bangs back from her face. Her hair was in a low bun, and she was dressed in the same clothes as the day before. Most of her wardrobe wasn’t the most professional. And straight-laced clothes, she thought, were an important balance for her visible tattoos.

“How’s he doin’?”

She shrugged, smiling lightly. “He’s good. Almost done with his junior year. He’s applying to all those big schools. MIT is his top choice, I think.”

“Jeez. Another valedictorian in the family?”

“Maybe. He might get a full ride, especially since…” she paused, biting at the inside of her cheek. Looking over at Jess, she saw his curious expression. He seemed more open than he ever had, comfortable in his own skin. When she continued, her tone was firmer, more direct. “Well, my dad left to live with my uncle in Baltimore a few months ago. It’s just Adam and Fiona back in the house. He’ll get lots of financial aid points for having a single step-parent.”

“Oh, that’s…”

“Yeah. But, I think everyone’s better off,” she said, averting her gaze from him. Again, Jess thought he saw her try and grab for a necklace, but instead she reached up to tug gently at one of her small earrings. “Once the baby thing didn’t work out with Fiona, my dad started drinking more and...I think he realized he’d never...losing my mom. He’s never gonna be the same. Adam’s doing well, though. And Fiona’s doing better. It’s better.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, appraising her with a careful eye. “I’m glad, then.”

“Me too.” She cast him a tiny, reassured smile. “Sorry. That’s heavy stuff and it’s not even afternoon.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry over,” he replied.

Rushing over a crowded crosswalk as the seconds blinked off the timer, Jess took her hand to lead her. She wouldn’t be late, but he could tell she was anxious to get where she needed to be. “We’re almost there.”

He thought for a moment about disentangling their fingers, but she gave his hand a squeeze instead. His heart glowed with nostalgia and hope. The noise around them seemed like music. Cherry trees, which dotted campus, were blooming and they stepped over the petals beneath their feet. Hardly thinking, Jess ran a thumb over the smooth skin of the back of her hand. Her smile grew.

They were approaching the brick building which held the dean of the art school’s office. Students whizzed past them with backpacks and frantic looks. A sense of surrealism dawned on Ella. She was going to end up at an Ivy League, after all. Just a little later than she had once hoped she would. The air smelled clean and damp with spring.

“So,” Jess began, coming to a stop a few feet from the walkway which led to the double doors, “after this, you’re all set?”

“Guess so,” she said, slightly breathless with the moment.

He hummed, looking around him. “Y’know, this morning, I was thinking-”

“That’s a bad sign,” Ella interjected.

Jess rolled his eyes. “Age has not helped your stand-up material, Stevens.”

“I disagree,” she said shortly. “Please, continue.”

He sighed heavily, separating their fingers and running a hand over his mouth. “Well, you don’t have a place to live here yet, right?”

“Not yet.”

“I was thinking maybe you’d want to come live with us. Above Truncheon,” he said, spitting out the words as fast as he could.

Ella’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really?”

Jess nodded shyly. “My bed’s big enough. And I don’t have that much stuff; there’s room for you. Chris already loves you. I’m sure Matthew wouldn’t mind either. And your sketches are down in the main room anyway. We could put a price on them and...only if you want to. I know it’s a lot to process, so you don’t need to answer right now or anything.”

Her eyes were calculating as she gathered her thoughts. “Just so I’m clear...you want us to get back together. And you want us to live together in your apartment. With Matthew and Chris. Above Truncheon.”

“Yes,” Jess confirmed, tone growing more confident, though his heart was beating painfully against his ribs.

“Are you sure? I mean...we haven’t seen each other in two years. Maybe time has corrupted me,” she said, voice serious despite her weak joke.

Again, he sighed. “I think we were both pretty corrupted to begin with-”

“How Kurt Cobain of you.”

“And I don’t care how long it’s been. We’ve got a lot to make up for. I feel like I’ve been waiting for you forever. And I’m tired of waiting. I’m ready to try again. Really try, this time. But only if you are. Only if you want this too,” he said.

A familiar nausea rose in his throat, and his hands began to shake. The only other time he’d taken such a leap of faith, it hadn’t gone over well. But everything was different. He was settled, with a steady income. She had graduated, and was finally embracing her dreams. His foolish hope persisted, even still. When he’d woken up next to her again, in a bed which he’d bought himself, and eaten breakfast with her, read morning papers with her, he could think of nothing he wanted more. Communication, he reminded himself. Open and honest communication. Even if he still wanted to roll his eyes at just the thought of Luke’s self-help nonsense.

“And,” he continued, when she hadn’t said a word, was only turning thoughts over in her head silently, “you don’t have to say anything now. I...dammit. I should’ve done this after your interview. I just got caught up after yesterday and this morning. I wasn’t sure if I’d see you later and...I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’m sorry. Really, you don’t have to say anything-”

“Jess,” she interrupted, finally locking eyes with him again. “Just shut up for a second.”

“Okay.”

After chewing on her thumb nail for a moment, she blew a breath out through her nose with finality. “Can I get cactuses again? There was no place for them at Lane’s. And, Jesus, you guys have got to organize your living room. I mean, the kitchen and your bedroom are okay. But I have no idea how you guys even find anything. The piles of paperwork on the table are, like, seven feet high.”

A slow grin formed on Jess’s face, and the worry began to clear from his brown eyes. “You can do whatever you want, Stevens.”

“Truer words never spoken,” she agreed earnestly. “You better make room for my fucking records then, too. They’ve been living in my car for way too long.”

Jess chuckled, nodding slightly. His eyes lingered on her lips. “I was thinking about kissing you, just now. Is that okay?”

Ella thought her heart would melt at his words. “Go for it, Mariano.”

Jess brought his hands to her waist and kissed her. For the first time in years. Ella smiled into it, pressed against him. It tasted sugary-sweet, from the donuts they’d eaten. Her fingers tangled into his hair, longer and less greasy than she remembered. But it felt much the same. A tingly joy began in her stomach and then spread throughout her body, new and old and welcome and perfect.

. . .

Of all the people not to be at Lane’s wedding, Ella did not expect Luke to miss it. For some reason, he was still out of town for April’s field trip. Not that it was any of her business, but she couldn’t help be slightly irritated at his absence. However, she wasn’t entirely alone. Though Lane and the other people in her life weren’t exactly sold on him, Ella had taken a shot in the dark and invited Jess. At Mrs. Kim’s millionth reference to her loneliness, her lack of a date, Ella had finally let it slip to Lane. She had seen Jess again. They were talking on the phone every single night. She was set to move in with him in a week. And, soon, she was calling him up. Hearing the surprised tone of his voice, his apprehension to come back to town. But, honestly, he’d caved a little quicker than she thought he would. All it had taken was her offering to try Hemingway again. And Kerouac. She knew she was going to absolutely loathe the latter, but it would be worth it.

As the ceremony ended, most of Lane’s family, including her mother, left the gathering in town square. None of them were eager to party with the townies. Kirk revealed the white food truck parked on the street opposite the gazebo to actually be the bar. He was exploring business ownership, and Yummy Bartenders was his most recent endeavor. Lorelai, without Luke and somehow having ended up with Rory’s father, Christopher, as her date, flocked straight to the alcohol. It made Ella snort a laugh, but inside, it made her heart ache. Luke and Lorelai had taken so long to get together. And now, things were headed nowhere good. A hot, dry sunlight shone down on them in yellow tones, and soon the sky would darken. Everyone’s mood had changed as soon as they left the church. Lorelai ripped off the bottom half of Lane’s dress, revealing her calves joyfully. Standing beside Ella, Rory let out a hoot of excitement and rushed over to the new bride. Snickering, Ella took the long pin from her low bun and let her blonde waves loose down her back.

Jess tucked her hair behind her ear gently as they both took a moment to breathe. The church had been stuffy and hot, filled to the brim with people. The air was no cooler, but at least there was a wide open space to mingle in. Grabbing his hand, Ella ventured a glance at Jess. As soon as his rusty Ambassador had rolled into town three hours earlier, she could sense how anxious he was. Maybe just being in Stars Hollow made him uncomfortable, or maybe it gave him too many flashbacks to his own mother’s wedding.

“You okay? I have the key to the diner, if you wanna go. I called Luke earlier and he said we could stay in the apartment. I’ll be up there later,” she said, tone apologetic.

Jess shook his head. “No. I’m fine. Just don’t know where we should sit.”

“Next to Miss Patty?” she asked. The dance teacher had noticed her across the way, and Ella waved back at her.

“She’ll eat me alive,” Jess sighed. “What about with Rory and Lorelai?”

Narrowing her eyes, Ella considered it. Then, she bit the inside of her cheek for a moment. “I don’t know. I haven’t been so close with them recently. And I don’t know if I wanna get in the middle of the happy family back together.”

“Fair enough,” Jess agreed. “Alright. Miss Patty and Babette, then. But I’m counting on your protection.”

Her grin grew wicked. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m your knight in shining polyester.”

. . .

Hep Alien was on fire, despite the wasted state of every single band member. Balmy breezes blew and Ella’s flushed skin was finally beginning to cool down. The night was dark and the sky clear. Every so often, her eyes flicked to Rory, Lorelai, and Christopher’s table. Sookie and Jackson had been sitting with them, but they had long since left. Without Ella to babysit the kids, they’d had to hire a new girl. Jackson could barely handle the nerves at a random high-schooler watching his babies. Ella twirled her rings nervously on her fingers, while Patty, Babette, and Maury chain-smoked across the centerpiece floral arrangement. Jess, at her side, had his arm around her shoulder. He stroked her upper arm absently.

He raised an eyebrow and followed her gaze to Rory. “What’s with you?”

“Hm?” she asked, blinking the reverie from her eyes. Facing him again, Ella was struck by how much more mature he looked. Back in Stars Hollow, but as a man with a publishing business and a decently neat bedroom of his own. Despite the uneasiness brewing in her stomach, she also felt pride appear. It didn’t shock her where he ended up. But it still made her feel such joy to see him successful and content.

Jess nodded in the direction of the Gilmores, three tables over. “Did something happen between you guys? Is it why you weren’t a bridesmaid?”

Ella shook her head. “No. I wasn’t a bridesmaid because Mrs. Kim hates me with the fire of a thousand suns. I mean, my outfit alone is probably enough for her to condemn me.”

Giving Ella a once-over, Jess smirked wider. Her camisole dress was black, with small pink flowers embroidered on it. It had thin spaghetti straps and fell above her knees. Of course, there were no heels on her shoes, black leather ballet flats. The ensemble was so very Ella, along with her dark eye makeup. And, it was true, Mrs. Kim was not a fan of anything which could be described as ‘so very Ella.’

“It does give off a certain Beetlejuice vibe,” Jess agreed.

“The best compliment you’ve ever given me,” she said lightly, then turned back to the crowd of wedding-goers. “But...I don’t know. Rory slept with Dean when he was married and then took a year off from Yale and stole a boat.”

“What?” Jess chirped, almost choking on the watery soda he sipped. He’d debated going to the bar, but decided against it. Best not to get drunk in the town where everyone hated you. Especially when your long lost girlfriend didn’t drink anyway.

A certain sadness came to Ella’s smile, shrinking slightly. She tugged at her earring. “Yeah. And she was fighting with Lorelai forever. They weren’t talking. I’m also pretty sure the guy Rory’s dating now is some trust fund kid from Yale with a porsche.”

“Ugh,” Jess grimaced, unable to hold back his distaste.

“We’re just...different. We grew up. Went in different directions. I mean...Lane and Rory are still best friends. I was friendly with her at a bachelorette party last night. But it’s weird now. I can’t...I don’t really know her anymore, I guess.”

Jess nodded.

She shrugged again, deflective. “I still love Lorelai. But I haven’t seen her much lately, since Luke didn’t want her to meet April, which is a whole different beast. Things...changed. But, hey, maybe I changed too.”

“You did,” Jess said. “But not in a bad way.”

She scoffed, gently plucking at the collar of his white button-up. He wore with it black pants, completing their gothic look when they stood together. Ella knew, though, that both of their outfits came cheap and basic. That’s why they had them. Of course, he still refused to wear a tie of any kind. “You too. Still a jackass, though.”

“Glad you see me in such a positive light.”

“But, in an arguing-with-me-about-Kerouac kind of way. Not in a gnome-stealing, running-off-to-California kind of way,” she explained, feeling goosebumps rise on her pale skin where his fingertips still brushed against her arm.

As much as Jess lived in his words, touch had always been such a major form of communication with him. Older and able to judge it more easily, Ella could see it. It calmed him down, made him feel safe. She could understand that. It was what happened when someone grew up in a place where they were often touched in anger.

“Well, the Kerouac defense will never change. He’s a genius,” Jess insisted mockingly.

Ella rolled her eyes, leaning back against him. “You’re impossible.”

“Right back at ya.”

The band began one of their familiar White Stripes covers. Ella couldn’t count how many times she’d heard it over the years, during nightly practice. It was so odd to see Lane in a wedding dress, all grown up. A nostalgic smile ghosted over her lips and she sighed. Neither she nor Jess said a word for a long while, comfortable in each other’s grasp. June crickets and cicadas sung, mixing with the sound of Zach’s vocals. Patty and Babette laughed heartily at something across the table. The air smelled of cigarettes and beer and summer-cut grass. Soon, the song faded away and Zach played the opening chords to something different, something Ella hadn’t heard him play in a long time. “Sweet Thing” by Van Morrison, a cover they’d attempted after Ella moved in, when she’d let Lane hear one of her Jeff Buckley live albums, on which he did his own cover of the song. She broke into a full grin. It was the perfect song for a late-night wedding reception, romantic and long and calm.

Jess seemed to notice her brightening up at the tune, as he sat up and faced her with a mysterious smile. “You wanna dance?”

She snorted a disbelieving chuckle. “Excuse me?”

“Do you wanna dance? I know you like this song.”

Ella raised her eyebrows. “Liking the song is one thing. Subjecting everyone to the horrifying visual of my dance moves is another.”

He rolled his eyes, standing up and extending a hand to her. “So dramatic. It’s a slow song. And we didn’t dance at Liz and TJ’s wedding. Making up for lost time.”

“Fine,” she sighed, taking his hand, and letting him pull her up. “But it’s your funeral.”

“I like to live dangerously,” Jess said, leading her to the dance floor.

“Whatever, James Dean.”

Before they were out of range, Miss Patty blew a stream of bluish smoke in their direction and gave a bark of haughty laughter. “I’d watch out for her, young man. Have you heard about the domino incident of 1992? Ella made the Gazette. Her talents run more towards the musical.”

His smirk grew. “I’ve been warned.”

They passed Lorelai on the way, lingering by the bar and sipping her Manhattan. Tumbler filled with cherries, sugar on the rim. The sight almost made Ella want to chuckle, almost grimace. The drink looked as sweet as cotton candy, but she would expect nothing less of a Gilmore woman. More than half of the sleepovers she’d had with Rory involved a midnight raid of the kitchen. S’mores pop tarts were one of Ella’s personal favorites. Lorelai reached out an arm to stop them, wavering drunkenly on her feet.

“Ugh, I can’t believe Sid Vicious is back,” she slurred to Ella, pointing at Jess angrily.

With Lorelai so close to her face, Ella could smell the tequila on her breath. “I told you before. He’s got more of a Richard Hell vibe, in my opinion.”

Jess blushed, but said nothing. He only tightened his grip on Ella’s hand.

“Your uncle is out of town,” Lorelai continued, facing Jess.

“That he is,” Jess said shortly. Time had passed, but it was clear Lorelai still wasn’t quite over her contempt for him. Though, he could definitely recognize what an asshole he’d been as a teenager.

Lorelai laughed bitterly. “He’s with his daughter. Who Ella’s met and you’ve met and Rory’s met. And I haven’t met!”

Searching her head for a careful response, Ella was utterly relieved when Rory came up from behind her mother.

“Hey, mom, let’s get some coffee for you, why don’t we?” Rory asked, voice bouncy and nervous.

“You got her?” Ella raised her eyebrows at Rory as she took her mother by the shoulders and began steering her away.

“Oh, I guess we’re going over here now,” Lorelai muttered in drunken surprise.

“Yeah, go have fun,” Rory answered with a little wink, disappearing into the crowd with her mother, headed for the table where her father and some steaming coffee sat.

Blowing out a long breath, Jess shook his head. “I take it that she and Luke aren’t seeing eye to eye.”

“Understatement of the year,” Ella scoffed. “No matter where she and Luke are though, I think you’ll always be a portrait of Sid Vicious to her.”

“Not even with the haircut?” he asked as they made it to the edge of the wooden dance floor.

“Not even with the haircut,” she replied with a smug smirk.

With a heavy breath, Ella placed her hands on the back of Jess’s neck as he brought his hands to her waist. She felt glad Hep Alien’s version of the song was nearly ten minutes long; it would have nearly been over after Patty’s warning and Lorelai’s ramblings if not.

“Don’t worry, Elle. Just follow my lead,” Jess said quietly, beginning to sway side to side, taking small steps.

“Shut up, I’m focusing,” she hissed, watching her feet.

He chuckled slightly. “Relax. Just look at me.”

Sighing again, Ella managed to drag her gaze away from her shoes and up to Jess’s big brown eyes.

“Hi,” he whispered, smiling fondly.

“Hi,” she replied, feeling the anxiety in her stomach lessen slightly. “Deja-vu, huh?”

“Maybe a little,” he said, shrugging. “But I’d say things are looking a little sunnier now.”

“Still finding those silver linings.” Ella gave him an affectionate peck on the lips.

Why was she nervous?, she asked herself. She didn’t need to be. Maybe it was the future creeping up on her, or her exit from the only place she had ever lived only a week away. But, as she looked at Jess, she felt her heartbeat slow. And her lips even turned up a touch at the corners. Where she was going, he’d be.

#jess mariano fanfiction #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano #jess #mariano #gilmore girls fanfiction #gilmore girls imagines #gilmore girls imagine #gilmore girls au #jess mariano au #lane kim #lorelai gilmore #rory gilmore #jess mariano x oc #jess mariano x original character #original character #original character stories #fanfiction

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duckwithachainsaw · 4 years ago

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My Curse of Strahd Party (and the absolute nightmare that was drawing them)

Holy shit!! This was a huge pain!!

We’re gunna go down the line of complications because wOW- NOTHIN’ WENT AS PLANNED!!

Hoshiko - I had two pieces of reference, one of them being fairly old and possibly out of date, but I couldn’t get ahold of the player to confirm (their schedule is wACK). One piece was black and white and only from the neck up, the other was a full body, full color piece. Shiko got the best initial sketch, though. I was really proud of theirs.

Ethryn - I struggled with everything related to Ethryn omg. I had a lot of good references, but I couldn’t get her shape, color, or ears right no matter what. I’m not happy with her and I’m going to draw her again before I start my next project with these characters. But seriously, her player is a fantastic human being and i appreciate her more than she knows.

Kelani - hOO BOY- so, Kelani’s player has been my best friend for more than eight years, so I sat on the phone with her for a couple hours discussing him, but the big problem was that she had no colored sketches of him. She made two amazing pencil sketches, but no color, so yeah- it’s hard to color a character with nothing set. Also his hair is a goddamn nightmare. It’s short on the sides but tall and curly and kinda messy on top. So hard to do justice to.

Star - I learned two things while drawing Star. Number one - my style is not suited for this particular character. Star’s player is an artist, but his style is way more compact than mine. I like drawing legs. They’re neat, but in the original art, Star’s legs are MUCH shorter, so his shorts look less weird. Number two - I didn’t go through an animal phase when I was into drawing as a kid, and now I don’t tend to draw animal characters, so I’m not super happy with this one. The Tarot card will be better, I hope.

Orion - Y’know how I just said I think legs are neat? Yeah. Orion is hard as hell to draw because halflings are smol. Orion was also a challenge because his pallet is so limited. It’s black and white all over with a gold locket. Oh! And he’s supposed to be wearing a cloak, but fuck trying to draw that. Savin’ that bullshit for the Tarot card. Also, Orion’s player is the only non-artist in the gang, so I had no references to draw from, but he did a very good job coaching me through this little project. I also don’t draw guys nearly enough. im so gay it comes off in my art too-

Hardest to draw - Star, Ethryn(‘s ears)

Hardest to color - Kelani

Most fun to work on - Hoshiko

Easiest to work on - Orion

#dungeons and dragons #curse of strahd #art #cos #digital art #end my suffering #drawing is fun

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mothpylon · 5 years ago

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Zone 5 Quarantine Fair!

@killjoynest

gangs | neutrals

yes i know the context i was supposed to take this in. fuck it. neutrals aren’t worth my time. yes ik this is late i’m sorry i just wanted to write poison bein a nerd

Yeah, Party Poison’s kinda the leader of the Fab Four. Unbelievable, undefeatable, trigger-happy (did they really shoot their ex once?), vicious, whatever you want to call them, the bottom line is, they got a reputation here, and it’s not quite the reputation Mama’d like. Of all the many, many things they are, good with kids isn’t really one of them.

They’re.. nice enough, though, ‘n even if they never really spend time with the Girl, like the rest of them do, they’d easily fight to the death for her. But that’s all they’re meant for, fighting and anger and rebellion. It’s better to leave the kindness to Jet and Kobra and Cherri. She’ll grow up soon enough, and they figure she’ll get tough soon enough without them helping. Not yet, though, maybe.

They’re hiding behind the diner, sitting on the ground in the morning sun and scratching out a rough plan for a raid on shitty paper, when they feel someone tap them on the head. It’s Jet, which is fairly normal, but the Girl’s standing behind him, shifting from foot to foot, like she’s scared or something. There’s a wide smile on Jet’s face as he motions to the Girl to sit down. “She wanted to learn about colors.” Poison looks at him suspiciously.

“Figured you’d know more about it than me.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal that he’s leaving them alone with a tiny child that they could potentially fuck up and expecting them to teach her things, and then he’s gone, leaving them alone with the Girl. She’s standing hesitantly, looking at the sand.

Well fuck.

Poison hesitantly motions for her to sit down, and she does, craning her head to look at their notebook. They smile a little.

“Just plans. Nothin’ cool.” They shift, pulling a beat-up tin of markers out of their jacket pocket. “Alright, kid. Whattyawannaknow?” She shrugs. “Everything.”

They sigh. This’ll be interesting, at best. “M’kay. First, see, this is called a color wheel. You know all the colors, yeah? We’re gonna fill this sucker up with all the colors, but in a specific pattern. Like a rainbow.” They sketch as they speak, drawing a rough circle with sloppy spokes through it, then carefully handing the Girl the markers. “So, see, these three, right here, they’re called the primary colors. Cause you can make any color you want outta them. Just gotta add them together,” they draw a yellow stripe, and then a blue stripe, “and they make anything you want.” She nods seriously, then points at the red.

“What if you add this one?”

Poison laughs. “If you add red to that, you’re gonna get brown, huh? Brown’s cool too. And if you blend red with blue, it’ll make purple. Like sunset.” They keep talking, their hands moving quickly over the paper as they demonstrate how shading works, the difference between complementary colors and supplementary colors. As they talk, half-buried memories, faded, like everything becomes after too long in the sun, rise to the back of their head. Memories of painting, constrained and limited and censored, black-and-white, but still as beautiful as they could make.

They show the Girl the difference between secondary colors and tertiary colors, and as they talk, they remember learning all this shit for themself. How that was their first act of rebellion, committed for art’s sake; stealing a color wheel, bartering with friends and teachers and shop-owners for half-used tubes of shitty gouache paint that smelled horrible but were bright, so full of life and energy that they felt alive in their hands, saving whatever ripped-out comic book pages and colored photographs they could, pinning them to their wall at night.

The Girl points to a scrubby bush in the distance, gray-brown against the desert sand. “How do those colors work? Why are they so boring?”

Poison follows her motion. “Y’mean the grayish ones? That aren’t bright?”

She nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, those ones!”

They hesitate. Part of them wants to brush the question away, say, ‘those are lame, forget about them,’ say that anything that’s not passionate and brilliant isn’t worth her time, but really, they can’t, as much as they want to.

“Those ones, they’re called neutral colors. Neutral tones. They’re not as bright as some of the other colors, but they’re still pretty.” They shift, digging through their pockets for a set of colored charcoal stubs, soft shades of brown and green and gray. “You get those by adding a tiny bit of black, or gray, maybe, to some bright color. They’re really good for making something look peaceful, or natural, kinda. Like the cacti, y’know that shade of green? How it’s all dusty? That’s a neutral color.” They point to her faded blue shirt. “So’s that one.”

The Girl looks down at their paper, draws an experimental line with the brown charcoal. “Dunno if I like those ones as much. ‘S’like they took all the color away.”

Poison laughs. “Yeah, they’re not as, I guess, as alive as the rest of ‘em, you know what I mean?”

She nods. “’S weird. But they’re still pretty! I bet they get lonely a lot. Cause none of the Killjoys like them, cause they’re not bright.” She shrugs. “I like them, though. They look like the desert. Hey, how do you make lighter colors?”

They grin and flip to a new page. “Well, they work like this, see?”

The Girl shifts closer, resting her chin on their shoulder.

*jet laughing smugly in the distance*

#fuck this is late sorry #also shitty #whatevs #jet-star #party poison #the girl #scribbles

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ericsonclan · 4 years ago

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Double the Bites, Double the Heroes

Summary: Sophie and Minnie go on a field trip to a spider exhibit that changes their lives forever...

Word Count: 2425

Read on AO3:

“Oh!” Sophie’s mouth fell open as she looked around the room with wide eyes. “I didn’t know there were so many different spiders!”

“It’s crazy,” Minnie pulled Sophie back to make sure she didn’t get sidetracked and fall behind their class. Minnie couldn’t blame her sister though; Sophie just wanted to explore all the different exhibits. For their twelve year old minds, this was just about the coolest thing. The twins’ eyes kept wandering all around the room while the tour guide continued to talk about the Jumping spider.

“The Jumping spiders are in the family Salticidae. They have some of the best vision out of all spiders,” The tour guide moved aside so the kids could gather around and check out the spider. Some of them oohed and aahhed, clearly impressed by the spiders while some were more uncomfortable by the spiders and their multiple eyes. “They use their jumps for hunting, navigation and even courtship.” Some of the boys laughed at the last part. The twins tried to push forward to get a better look at the spider. It was a cool spider: light brown, it looked super fuzzy while its beady black eyes looked around at the onlookers. The tour guide moved onward to continue to the next spiders. The teacher pushed forward some of the kids that lingered to ensure they wouldn’t get left behind. “Next we have the Cellar spider, but they are better known as Daddy Long Legs,”

Justin, a boy with dark brown hair let out a snort and whispered to the boy next to him, Steve, though he made it loud enough for the twins to hear.

“I bet Minerva and Sophie would be those spiders cause of their long legs... and they’re totally lame,”

Minnie and Sophie glared at him when he looked back at them with a smirk. Both of them stuck their tongues out. After a while the teacher stepped forward and let the class know that they could wander this one room and take a look around at the many different spiders. Sophie immediately grabbed Minnie’s hand and the pair went off to explore. There were so many different types of spiders. Large, hairy spiders like tarantulas seemed to be active in their habitats, scurrying around while some others like Wolf and Recluse spiders seemed perfectly content chilling and waiting for the people to leave.

“Whoa!” Sophie pressed her face close to the glass. “This one looks cool!”

Minnie walked over, curious what spider had piqued her sister’s interest.

The spider was not super big but not too tiny either. Its black and white legs moved around with a mesmerizing movement while it made a brand new web. It had a dark brown back with different shapes and sizes of white splotches on its back.

“It looks like a mushroom,” Sophie turned to look over at Minnie when suddenly her stomach gurgled. Sophie clutched it with embarrassment. “Man, I can’t wait for lunch. It’s pizza day!” Sophie’s mouth was practically drooling at the thought.

Minnie walked over to the plaque in front of the exhibit that gave a short explanation of the spider. “It says here that the Shamrock spider makes a new web each day and that sometimes it hides in leaves and waits for the web thread they made to move to signal if an insect is nearby. Sophie looked impressed by that. “That’s amazing!” Sophie turned back just in time to see the spider patter over to its leaf hideout.

“Come on Soph, I wanna see some more spiders,” Minnie pulled on Sophie’s arm who reluctantly left her new mushroom spider friend. After a few more exhibits where neither twin seemed intrigued, they stopped by the Lynx spider.

Minnie’s eyes danced with excitement for this particular arachnid. She liked the way its legs looked super prickly with defined black lines on the inner parts. Its eyes almost seemed to blend into its face. The tiny, dark beads stared at Minnie with the same curiosity that she did when she looked at it.

“You like this one, Minnie?” Sophie’s voice drew Minnie’s focus away for a second.

“Yeah, it looks cool. Also...” Minnie pointed to the spider, “It looks like it has little boxer gloves,” Sophie squinted to where her sister had pointed. Her eyes grew large when she saw them.“Whoa!”

Minnie moved over to read some more about it. “It uses silk to protect its eggs and it says it attacks like a cat and pounces on its prey and stalks them.” Each fact made Minnie like the spider even more. The twins were going to go back to the Shamrock Spider one more time before returning to the Lynx spider, but the teacher was calling for them to join the others. Reluctantly the twins started to walk over.

“Who knew spiders were this awesome?” Sophie looked over at Minnie with a huge smile that disappeared when she saw the scared look in Minnie’s eyes. “What?”

“Don’t freak out, but there’s a spider on your nose,” Minnie whispered, inching towards her sister.

“What? How-” Sophie was lifting her hand to check, freezing when she saw a spider on Minnie’s neck. “Minnie, there’s one on your neck too!”

Minnie’s eyes widened as she froze. “Ok, let’s hit the spiders on each other’s face on the count of three.”

“Yeah, to sneak attack them before they bite us,” Sophie slowly nodded.

“Exactly,” Minnie gave a shaky smile. “Ok, one….” she lifted up her hand, carefully positioning it to strike her twin’s nose.

“Two…” Sophie inched her hand towards the right spot.

“Three!” The twins shouted in unison and swung out their hands to hit the spiders. Their moves landed, squashing the spiders but not before each could let out one final bite in retaliation. Both twins swayed back, from the bite or hit they weren’t sure.

Justin snorted as he watched the scene play out. “Man, those twins are such freaks,” He motioned over to the sisters who were not reacting very well to their less than thorough plan.

“Owwww,” Sophie clutched her nose, flailing about with one of her arms. Her legs were failing her. Minnie let out a grunt while she held the side of her neck, rotating it to try and get the pain to stop.

“You two,” The teacher huffed while she made her way over. “Just what is going on?”

The twins looked up. Before they could respond they fell over unconscious, their bodies hitting the floor.

------

Minnie felt her head pounding. It felt like needles pricking the inside of her head. “Ugggh,” she slowly sat up when she remembered something. “Sophie!” The memories were starting to catch up with her. Sophie had looked like she was in a lot of pain when Minnie’s hand whacked her nose.

“Minnie!?!” Sophie looked up from her spot in the room. Where were they? It looked like a nurse’s office. Sophie let out a sigh of relief when she saw that Minnie was okay. “I thought my hit knocked you out or worse. Y’know there’s some point in the neck that can really hurt someone if you hit it, right?”

“I’m fine,” Minnie lifted her hand to feel her neck. The spider bite was now covered with a piece of white gauze. She looked over and saw a large piece of gauze over Sophie’s nose. Minnie started to chuckle, causing her twin to look confused before she picked up on why she was laughing.

“Hey, my nose doesn’t look that stupid,” Sophie crossed her arms but soon started to chuckle as well. “Your neck looks funny too,”

The twins continued to laugh until the door creaked open revealing their parents who had been called in. Matthew and Walter looked absolutely terrified for their daughters’ health, their hands intertwined as their eyes searched the room before they found Minnie and Sophie, safe and sound. Both of them let out deep sighs of relief before wrapping the twins in their arms.

“When I got the call I was worried, but it seems like the spiders that bit you weren’t poisonous,” Walter whispered, thankful for that fact.

“That sure was lucky. But we’re still gonna take you home for now. The field trip ended a while ago.” Matthew added, pulling back and giving Minnie and Sophie a warm smile.

Sophie and Minnie’s faces fell. They were really enjoying that field trip. Plus Sophie was excited for the cheesy deliciousness that was pizza. But there was nothing that they could do. So they went home for the day and immediately fell asleep, counting their blessings that tomorrow was a Saturday.

-----

As soon as Sophie woke up, her nose was super itchy. She tried to resist the urge to scratch it, but it was so overwhelming. It was only when she suddenly felt extremely twitchy that she was able to distract herself, but that wasn’t great either. It really messed with her art time. Her sketches were constantly getting messed up when her hands began to twitch. Letting out a frustrated groan, she closed her eyes and fell backwards onto the couch only for her senses to feel like they were overloading. Every sense felt like it was trying to dominate her body for control. Every sound became louder. Whenever her parents strolled in she would flinch and spin around. Why is this happening? Maybe the spider was poisonous!!! Sophie snuck onto the computer to look up the Shamrock spider since that was the one that they said they found splattered across her nose. After a few minutes of research it was obvious that they weren’t poisonous to humans. Sophie groaned and shook her hand angrily at the overwhelming sensation that was plaguing her body. Suddenly a white, sticky substance shot out of her wrist and onto the computer screen. Sophie held back a surprised yelp as she struggled to get the sticky web off. Why is this happening? Sophie tried to fling off the web from her hand, but it refused. I gotta find Minnie!

-----

Minnie felt like she was sore all over but it felt strongest in her neck. She tried to roll her head cause she heard that that sometimes helped her mom when she felt stressed. When she placed her hand on her neck though she flinched in pain. Pulling back her hand, she looked closely at it. There on her fingers were tiny, minuscule bristles. They looked like what was on that Lynx spider. Minnie felt herself shake; her body felt like it was overheating. Rubbing her fingers together, she felt the bristles scratch against each other. I have to find Sophie!

-----

Sophie found Minnie in their room on top of her bunk bed. Her eyes widened when she saw her twin.

“Soph,” Minnie tried to move her hands that were on the metal safety railing but whenever she tried they refused to budge. “I think that spider bite did something to me,” Minnie looked terrified; it was obvious that her nerves were overwhelming her.

“I think my spider bite did something too! I’ve been twitchy and not the math type of twitchy before a test!” Sophie rubbed her hands together to try and calm herself down. She let out a surprised gasp when her hands became filled with sticky white spider webs. They were practically oozing from her fingertips. “Aaaah!” Sophie shook her hands to try and get the substance off but only ended up shooting a web out and knocking over her superhero figurine. “No!” Sophie cried.

Minnie attempted to release her grip and grab the figurine but it was too late. With a crash the figurine’s head flew off. Hurried footsteps and a quick knock on the door drew the twins’ attention.

“Are you two alright in there?” Walter called out from behind the door.

“I was just overly excited and knocked over one of my toys,” Sophie hoped her voice didn’t sound as scared as she did.

Luckily it seemed to have calmed down Walter and after some more reassurance he left to finish the movie he was watching with Matthew. Sophie ran over to wipe her hands and help Minnie only for the weblike matter to stick to her pants. Her hands were firmly placed on her hips now.

The twins shared a concerned look.

“It’s okay, we just have to calm down,” Minnie started to take a slow, steady breath which her sister followed. Suddenly Minnie’s hands were free from the railing. She looked at her hands gleefully before jumping down with ease onto the floor.

Sophie was surprised by that. “How did that not hurt you?”

Minnie looked just as confused and surprised . “I don’t know, but for now let’s get you free,”

It took nearly an hour to get Sophie’s hands free from her hips. The twins sat on the floor, feeling absolutely exhausted and overwhelmed by what had just happened.

-----

A few days passed and the twins had been extremely cautious with whatever they did. But even with their caution it seemed they only partially tempered the mistakes from their newfound spider powers. Their bodies were still way too worn out from whatever had entered their bloodstreams so on Monday their parents had called the school to let them know that they wouldn’t make it to class.

Minnie stood by the wall, her hand stuck to the doorway. Sophie walked forward with a plate with a sandwich on it. Her hands were glued to the plate.

“This sucks,” Minnie grumbled. She knew she needed to calm down, but how was she supposed to when whatever had happened to them would change everything about their daily lives?

“Yeah, it does,” Sophie lifted up the plate and tried her best to bite down at the sandwich. “Maybe it could be good though,”

Minnie quirked an eyebrow “How?”

Sophie had spoken before she had even really come up with an answer. “Ummm, well….” Sophie’s eyes wandered the room until they landed on the cracked superhero figurine. In an instant Sophie was struck with inspiration. “Heroes! We’ll become superheroes!”

Minnie looked shocked but her eyes soon danced with excitement.

Sophie’s eyes matched hers. “We’ll be like the Spidertwins or something! We can use this for good!”

Minnie beamed. “Yeah, this is going to be so cool!” She threw her arms out with excitement only for silky webs to cover both doorways. The twins shared a concerned look. They still had a long way to go before they were going to anything close to heroes.

#twdg #twdg sophie #twdg minnie #twdg matthew #twdg walter #twdg malter #fanfic #spiderverse au

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littlemonstersau-blog · 5 years ago

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The Feels Awaken, Part 3: A New Hope (for Friendship)

Written by @jkl-fff, illustrated by me

PART I - PART II [Interlude] - PART III - PART IV [Interlude] - PART V [FINAL] (you are here)

——————————————————————————————–

A new day dawned then waxed then began to wane, but Ford and Bill hardly noticed. A manic, obsessive energy (plus an unhealthy amount of coffee and sugar) kept them focused throughout their self-appointed task. Such is often the case for the kind of people who feel the need to write to right a wrong in the world. Not all heroes wear capes, after all; some wear turtlenecks and trenchcoats, some wear paper-based clones of teenage boys produced through unholy abominations of SCIENCE!.

… For that matter, not all heroes are particularly heroic; some are morally ambiguous straddlers of the line between antihero and antivillain, some are demonic chaos gods who (quite frankly) still wonder how in the 79 Hells they found themselves in this position.

In the end, though it did take more than the one night, they still finished in just over 16 hours. The plot outline came in at just over 18 pages, which they tidily stacked together on the table and declared to be more than adequate … before passing out on the carpet. Facefirst.

When Bill next regained consciousness, he was in his attic bed and morning light was streaming through the window. His mouth tasted like an abandoned prison for criminally insane chalk and his head felt like the internal turmoil of a buzzsaw having an existential crisis. It was a pain that was anything but hilarious; it was the sugared caffeine hangover equivalent of nuclear fallout … Mouthwash fixed the first problem. The second took an adult dosage of aspirin, a lot of water, and deliberate manipulation of many of the clonesuit’s normally automatic processes for a full eight minutes. And even then, not completely.

“Guess I can’t pilot one of these things through 36+ hours of no sleep on a gallon of coffee … Not if I wanna be able to still maneuver it the next day without crashing every ten feet into a wall or the floor, at least,” he grumbled to himself. “Major design flaw … Can’t believe they got evolutionarily approved for mass production with such weak durability …”

Downstairs in the kitchen, Stan greeted him jovially enough. “Stancakes are up, and so are you, it seems. How you feelin’ today?”

“Honestly, confused,” Bill graveled, his clonesuit throat still raw. “I can get longterm possession of a meatbag leading to me—y’know, the real me—developing emotions and physical cravings and other … gross, brain-mush junk like that. Neurochemistry is basically just an addictive habit, like how people respond to hearing the question ‘What is love?’—”

“Baby, don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me no more,” Stan mumbled automatically.

“Exactly. But what I don’t get is why the real me is also feeling this coffee and sugar hangover. No joke: I tried leaving my clonesuit to get away from it, but it followed me. How is that fair? And, yeah, existence isn’t fair,” Bill interjected before Stan automatically could. “But still …”

Like the benevolent and experienced sage he was (more or less), Stan chuckled to himself. Then, laying a companionable arm around Bill’s shoulders, he leaned in and whispered the truth as grimly as Death itself, “You can outrun your sins, but you can never outrun a hangover.”

“W-wha?”

“Some say if you never stop drinkin’, it’ll never catch up with you. But they are fools. Sooner or later, all things must sleep—sooner or later, all who drink must suffer.”

“Uh … K-kinda freakin’ me out here.” Bill tried to lean away, but Stan’s hold was inescapable. “And, just sayin’, I’m kinda responsible for making most of the 79 Hells as freaky as they are.”

“Heed my warning, child.”

“I’m heeding! I’m heeding! Elder Gods, Stan, the only one who’s supposed to give people nightmares around here is me …”

Straightening up, Stan went back to the stove to continue what passed for cooking with him. “Once you’re done eatin’, by the way, I gotta plate for you to take down to Ford. He prob’ly needs some food and water more ‘n you do.”

Between mouthfuls of food, Bill said, “Yeah, sure … You seen what we wrote, by the way?”

“Yeah. It’s not bad at all. I’d def’nitely go see movies like that. Might even pay my own money for it, too. Heh … Even Soos admitted the storylines are better. Haven’t seen him that downcast ‘bout anything in a while, either. Looked as painful for him as cutting out his own kidney. Might have to do something nice for him soon just to make up for it,” Stan added to himself.

“Huh … Yeah, maybe …” Bill chewed on his breakfast, almost starting to maybe feel guilty. Then, when he finished, he put his dishes in the sink, picked up what was meant for Ford, and took it down to the lab.

Ford, as usual, was at his desk. He was hunched over with a pen, which was also fairly usual. However, and this was very unusual, all his notes and Journals had been pushed into a corner—neatly stacked, but well out of the way. Close to hand, as if for quick reference, was actually their Cosmos Conflicts storyline.

Bill cleared his throat. “Brought some breakfast for ya from Stan.” He set it on the desk, but away from any of the papers (just in case). “How you feeling? I woke up with a caffeine hangover I couldn’t escape even when I left my body. Er, clonsuit. Whatever. Same dif.”

“… I didn’t really sleep very deeply,” Ford eventually replied, his voice as hoarse as Bill’s. “Ergo, I can’t really say I woke up with such a hangover, but I’m suffering one all the same.”

“Yeesh, that sucks. Taken anything? Had some water and some food? That helped me.”

“Some water and aspirin, yes, though I’m not sure I could keep much food down … I suppose I ought to try, anyway.”

“If you feel more rotten than a two-week-old apple core, why are you working?” Bill asked, sliding the plate closer.

“I’m not really working, per se,” Ford answered guiltily. “Just … sketching. Some stuff. For what we came up with.”

Bill’s eyes lit up with interest. “Ooo! Really? Can I see? Please?”

For a moment, Ford’s jaw worked. As though trying to control himself.

“It’s okay,” Bill said hurriedly, though unable to fully contain his disappointment. “I get it. I’ll leave you al—”

A couple pages’ worth of images (some rough sketches, some little more than absent doodles, and some rather intricate and detailed) were thrust at the Demon. “Here. Can’t see any harm in you looking at them, anyway, so …” Ford mumbled. Without looking up, he cut in to his food. “Was just doing this since I’m too awake and restless to just not do anything, but too … wooly in the head, I suppose you could say, to do any productive work.”

Bill poured over them, delighting in the imaginative whimsy of them. Most were of characters from the prequels, though with distinctive touches—touches reflecting their own collaboration (such as Otherkin in a stained pilot’s attire, Imdolledupa aiming ruthlessly with a blaster, and Jelived Knights wearing a different style of clothing from Jelived Sentinels or Jelived Healers). But some were very different, especially among the doodles. “Ha! You made a Soos Wookie!”

Ford couldn’t resist smiling. “Soosbacca. Co-pilot to Stan Solo.”

“In their spaceship, the Mystery Falcon, right? Is Melody a Wookie, too?”

“Huh … That’s not a bad idea, actually. I was having a hard time seeing how to fit her in, since she isn’t really the Princess Leia type.”

“But Mabel and—pff!—Dipper are?” Bill snorted, pointing to where they were both sketched with the iconic braids wrapping around their ears. “Both of them together?”

“Well, they’re also both Luke, since I couldn’t really pick who fit which roll better.”

“Two sets of the twins running around, huh?” Bill murmured, though he was really thinking about two Dippers (and they weren’t running around, either—they were very much not running). “… And Wendy’s Lando, I see. Am I Yoda, since I’m the most triangular or everybody, and the right size?”

“Uh …” Ford hesitated.

“Pff, it’s alright, I can already see 3PO and R2 are both me.”

Lamely, the Weirdologist explained, “Because you’re shiny. That’s the extent of the logic.”

“You gonna do any more sketches?”

“Assuming I can keep breakfast down, probably,” Ford said around a mouthful. “It’s … distracting. And fun. And relaxing, too. Helps to pass the time on a down day like this.”

“Um … M-mind if I stay and watch? Please?” Bill almost begged. “Y’know how much I love watching you meatbags make art.”

“… Oh, fine,” Ford relented. Because what was the harm in being nice to the Demon? Ford didn’t have to trust him for that. “Just don’t make any noise. My head aches enough as it is.”

Bill mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key before pulling up a chair and settling himself comfortably beside Ford. The only time he broke his silence after that was to ask Ford if he wanted more water, and to assert that the others would get a kick out of seeing these sketches (“especially Soos … the Twins, too, though we’d have to text ‘em a photo of ‘em, or mail the whole project to ‘em to see …”).

All in all, it turned out to be a rather nice day for both of them together.

#little monsters au #the feels awaken #bipper #stanford #bill cipher #writing #fanfiction #please excuse the dopey ass looking star wars sketches #also omfg this is finished finallyyyy #submission

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suketchilt · 5 years ago

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19 Questions

tagged by @l-y-r-i-u-m-g-h-o-s-t

…:U!

Rules: Answer 19 questions and then tag 19 people who you want to get to know better.

Nickname: Sketch

Zodiac: Virgo (I blanked and was like ‘Year of the Snake…?’)

Height: Almost 4’11”

Last movie I saw: All the way through? ………….. I think it was Little Nemo on YouTube. But random clips I’ve seen more recently? Pieces of the BNHA movie with Spanish subtitles…

Last thing I googled: Zodiac. Because I forgot which things were the Zodiac. 8);;; Before that, I think it was the first line of a police station’s address ‘cause I needed the full address to Uber there for some paperwork. BY THE WAY…. Uber has NO IDEA where that address is and kept sending the poor Uber drivers in circles. I had to use Google Maps to direct them.

Favourite musician: WAIT, DO GROUPS COUNT? ………………………. I don’t have a favorite single person. :C

Song stuck in my head: Nothing. I’m listening to 10 Minute Power Hours and thus NO MUSIC CAN HURT ME… But a few days ago it was Pentagon’s song Humph! ‘cause y’know. YouTube told me it exists and there is orange eye shadow and I had to process that.

Other blogs: I only have one Tumblr. I get asked if I have an adult one for adult art and I’M SORRY TO SAY THAT I JUST DON’T MAKE ADULT ART… Are Twitters blogs? I have one, but I forget about it every other day ‘cause I don’t follow a lot of people and the way it chooses the posts I see and their order confuses me.

Do I get asks: Not normally since I haven’t been doing anything Dragon Age related, but some Lindrel stuff is going around again and someone told me Lindrel is sexy.

Following: Idon’tunderstandthequestion.

Amount of sleep: I usually get about six hours and then wake up feeling sick. I’m not good at sleeping. xD;;

Lucky number: Numbers don’t give me luck, but I like 4, 2, and their multiples. EXCEPT FOR 36. ‘Cause I don’t like 3 and I also don’t like 9. (36 is 9x4.) ‘CAUSE 9 IS 3 TIMES 3 AND YOU CAN’T DO THAT.

What I’m wearing: Long-sleeved, black shirt by Carhartt ‘cause it has a SHIRT POCKET. Also black pants that are probably for yoga. Spoilers: This is what I always wear at home. I literally have eight sets of the same clothes. Then for work it’s Armachillo shirts and Lee’s blue jeans (jeans I bought from SEARS). I’m simple and can’t handle thinking about fashion. If I like it, I buy a week’s worth and that’s that for two years and then I try to rebuy the same stuff as my wardrobe disintegrates around me. Next step is for my next set of Armachillo shirts to all be blue… Currently, Monday and Thursday are blue, Tuesday and Friday are red, and Wednesday is green. I can’t go to Publix on Wednesdays or else people think I work there ‘cause it’s almost the exact same green and looks like the manager attire.

Dream job: I just want to be comfortable. I haven’t figured out how to do that yet.

Dream trip: I don’t like traveling. Dream trip is to not take a trip. >->

Play any instruments: Not anymore. I used to play a little piano and I was good at French horn and eventually got a double horn (plays French horn and B flat horn- you use the thumb key to switch the set of pipes you’re using), but this was back in middle school. I’m turning 30 this year. xD;;;; OH. I learned a tiny bit of guitar in college, but it hurts my hands, so I have NOT pursued that.

Languages: English. I used to be okay with Spanish, I just had too low of a vocabulary in the topics I was interested in. I’ve also taken a TINY BIT of French and I’ve had a semester of Russian, German, Latin, Modern Greek, Chinese, and Japanese. I’ve derped with Norwegian Bokmål on Duolingo, but I stopped using Duolingo. I tested too high in its Spanish course, so I still didn’t know the darn vocab. xD;;;;;; I want to learn a little Korean and ASL. Haven’t practiced anything, though. I barely speak freakin’ English now. >8V

Favourite songs: I don’t know. I’m not sure I have any favorites, and it’d be weird to say them given that I pay more attention to the sound/feeling of a song than the words. Usually when I say I like something someone will either say they think it’s dumb or try to discuss the meaning and I’m there like, “I can’t even hear the words clearly and I don’t understand poetry and then half of what I listen to isn’t English so I don’t know what you want from me.”

Random fact: I’ve barely been drawing these past two years ‘cause of work and mental health, but I’m trying. >8I…!! I feel super guilty that people want to see more Lindrel, though, ‘cause I’ve been focusing on other characters who aren’t in the DA universe. I’m sorry. ;o;

Tagging: I haven’t been talking to anyone, but I’ll tag @smuttine and @hobovampire if you haven’t done this recently. >8U! Anyone else can feel free to consider yourself tagged and tag me back so I can read about you. Just ‘cause I rarely initiate doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about you. I’ve clicked through the first few pages of all of your blogs. B) KEEP MAKING ART (THAT INCLUDES WRITING) AND WORKING TO IMPROVE YOURSELVES AND THE WORLD WE LIVE IN. KEEP RESEARCHING AND LEARNING. DON’T BE AFRAID TO HELP OTHERS. DON’T BE AFRAID TO BE WRONG. LEARN AND GROW. >8U!!!

#Personal #Questionables.

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squiddybeifong · 6 years ago

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Table For Two Ch. 4

On Ao3 here!

Babs lazed on the couch as she warmed up, curiously taking in all that was Raven's tiny apartment. She didn’t know if the leftover shivers from the snow or her own curiosity was keeping her from sitting still, and to be frank she didn’t care. Not when the warmth that was Raven and the still unknown secrets of her domestic life was all around her. She shifted again and pulled her legs up under her, wrapping the fuzzy blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her toes wiggled and she smiled, resting a cheek on the couch’s back. All she really cared about was how cozy the scene she had found herself in was, with Raven softly humming as she fixed a kettle of tea and her own gaze skimming the spines of so many familiar novels on the waitress’ shelves.

“You hungry?”

The redhead looked up as Raven jerked a thumb over her shoulder, her smile nonchalant despite the way her voice raised half a pitch in nervousness. “I’ve got some sourdough, some fruit that’s about to overripe and like, eight sandwiches’ worth of cheddar.”

Babs bit her lip and figured she was already there, might as well indulge. She met Raven’s stare and let the suggestion spill out, “I’ve never cuddled while eating a grilled cheese before.”

Gray eyes widened a bit and Raven grinned, “Got it.”

At her smile Barbara’s attention was taken away from the obviously well-read books to her date. She couldn’t do more than stare as Raven slipped out of her undercoat and reached on her tiptoes to pull out what must have been homemade bread in one of the cabinets. A thin red brow arched at the sight of a tattoo, the dark sketchy lines poking out from under the bottom of Raven’s tank top. She pushed her glasses up to get a better look, “Can I ask what that is?”

Raven turned to her as Babs pointed at her midriff, the librarian’s face curious. “I think I know that art style.”

The waitress let out a breath as she unwrapped the bread, tilting her chin towards her bookcase, “Top shelf, should be… third? Maybe fourth from the right.” Olive eyes scanned the shelves at her directions, landing on the neat white writing a few seconds later. Babs grinned at the familiar book, giddy as she realized just how many authors they had in common.

Before her chilly feet could think better of it Babs was up and making her way to the wooden shelf, plucking the short story out of its place. The Pearl was one she had spent many hours rereading (especially when the middle schoolers had assignments due) and the bookworm padded her way back to the couch as she flipped through the worn pages.

She didn’t even notice how Raven tenderly looked her over, the baker’s hands nearly slipping into the pan as she put in some butter. Shaking her head, gray eyes went back to her food. “It’s one of my favorite of Steinbeck’s,” Raven drawled. Her hands and the knife disappeared under the counter’s view and suddenly the bread was sizzling in the pan.

A lazy chuckle escaped her, “That edition has a few sketches of his work. I got one tattooed on me.”

“Can I see?”

Raven’s brows jumped and she glanced into the redhead’s face, a smirk easily brightening her face, “Y’know, I usually wait until the third date to take off my shirt.” Babs flushed at the teasing grin and Raven chuckled, “But I’ll make the exception, just for you.”

Laughing, Barbara’s giggles morphed into a groan as she covered her face. It did nothing to hide her blush and she snickered out, “Really?”

Her laughs slowed as Raven didn’t knock down her idea. Babs was sure her cheeks were as bright as her hair as gray eyes flicked to her, light despite the coy look on the waitress’ face, “How about after I finish cooking?”

“Well, I guess I can wait,” The redhead rested her cheek in her palm as she casually watched Raven move about the kitchen, giddy as the full impact of their extended date hit her. The smell of the grilled cheeses filled the air and Babs felt her stomach rumble. Dried peaches didn’t do too much when it came to skipping lunch, but she could manage for now. Especially at the sight of the bin of fruits Raven pulled out of the fridge.

The waitress filled a strainer with a handful of something and called over her shoulder, “Blackberries okay?”

“Yeah,” Babs scooted to the end of the couch to pick up the remote, the controller cold in her hand. She turned on the TV and called over her shoulder, “Want some Netflix?”

Raven’s eyes shot from the sink to the back of her date’s head and her quiet laugh filled the room, “Only if you’re up for a third date.”

The redhead turned to her, not able to keep the smile from taking over her face. Barbara’s giggles morphed into an embarrassed snort as she realized what her suggestion sounded like, “I know I’m free this weekend, so how does a nature documentary sound?”

A soft wind hit the window, rattling the snow that frosted over the glass. Raven stuck her tongue at the snow that fell just beyond the balcony’s window and pulled out some plates. She put the berries in a bowl and checked if the sandwiches were crispy enough, “See one where it’s warm?”

“Uhh…” Quickly scrolling through the options, green eyes brightened at a wonderfully familiar narrator, “This one’s in Madagascar!”

“Yeah?” Barbara looked up as Raven easily strolled up beside her, her cheeks flushing as she took one of the offered triangles from the plate. “Tea’s just about done,” Gray eyes settled on her face, flicking down to the the librarian’s lips for a second, “Gimme a sec and we can start?”

Babs nodded and Raven kissed her temple as she padded back to the kitchen. Pulling the blanket up tighter around her waist, Barbara leaned forward to grab her grilled cheese and took a bite to keep from accidentally making a fool of herself. But cheddar and sourdough was a heavenly combination and her eyes closed as she bit back a groan.

Raven plopped down next to her on the couch, her amusement palpable as she slunk under the blanket with her maybe-girlfriend, “Someone’s a fan of cheddar.”

The redhead spoke in the half second between bites, “This is so good!”

Raven smiled down at herself at her words, grabbing a blackberry. She let out a sigh as she rested her shoulder against Babs, same as they had on the park bench. The librarian huddled closer and, after a second of indecision, wrapped an arm around her date. Gray eyes closed and Raven tucked her nose against Babs’ collar, not able to hold back her smile at the shiver her move produced.

Babs let out a squeak, “Comfy?”

“Yeah.” Raven let her lips press to a particularly dark patch of freckles that graced the top of the redhead’s neck. Babs’ chest heaved as a sigh shot through her, the sound morphing into an appreciative hum as the waitress softly asked, her words a murmur against blushing skin, “You?”

Not able to trust her voice, the bookworm could only fiddle with her glasses and nod. Using her free hand to pick up the rest of her grilled cheese, they laid out together on the couch as the Attenborough’s voice filled the room.

#babsrae #table for two #barbara gordon #raven #my writing #waitress au #librarian au #hhhh guess who just wrote like 2/3 of this this morning?#i haven't touched my laptop to write in a week y'all. i got the crochet bug and i finally finished the very first wip i ever started #it's a giant amigurumi squid. her name's muriel shes rainbow colored and shes 4'10"#so much fucking yarn my hands are cramping #granted i only had to finish the arms/tentacles and sew everything together but if i never have to do another sc stitch again i'll die happy #but in even better news guess what? we 1 chapter away from being ready for babsrae week.#everythings been mapped out since like ch 2 so ch 6 is gonna be a /doozy/ jsyk #but it's been planned since the beginning so it's all good #also i can't like?? find the sketch that im talking about??#like in the penguin classics edition theres a sketch of kino diving for the pearl and thats my *reach my personal goal reward* tat but like #i can't find it on google like??? weird #it's such a cute sketchy style just g o d i really wanna get it it's so 💕💕💕

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rattycattyfanfic · 5 years ago

Text

stroke by stroke

Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Regina/Emma, Alice/Robyn, Regina & Henry, Regina & Zelena Genre: Family/Fluff Rated: T Words: 2,255

Once upon a time, Regina paints.

5 times Regina struggles with her secret penchant for creativity + 1 time she finds her muse.

Read on AO3

this grew out of the plot in the regina rising book, where regina takes art classes for a bit. if you haven't read it, it's not crucial for this, just the inspiration. purely wrote this because art school has been kicking my butt recently and i must live everything through the cathartic distance of fictional characters. enjoy!

warnings: suggestions of childhood abuse, swearing, bit of brief alcohol use.

Once upon a time, Regina paints.

She’s not good, not by a long shot, but she loves it all the same. Loves to paint the horses, the tall, breathing trees and the horizon with its promise of freedom always just out of reach. The thick oils feel luxurious in an unfamiliar way, a far cry from the extravagance of corsets and jewels and feasts. They feel sumptuous, soulful, vibrant as she lays down rich colour, and she delights in it, escapes into the stables through her mind every time she picks up the paintbrush.

Her tutor, Jasper, is handsome and smiles when she masters a new technique or finishes a work, and Regina blushes all the way down to her toes. And therein lies the problem; because mother rarely allows her daughter the distraction of hobbies, let alone friends or boys not specifically approved by her, and she’s eagle-eyed looking for any excuse to put a stop to this. The excuse comes in the form of Jasper hovering at her shoulder, guiding her hand gently and his breath in her ear, and that’s that.

Jasper is ordered to leave, banned from the estate, and mother gets her digs in about Regina's poor painting skill, and the pressure to find an eligible prince to wed heats up. She no longer has time for frivolities between other lessons and dances and tea with suitors, so she gives it up.

When Henry is little, he’s a prolific little artist. He scribbles and scribbles as she works at her desk, and they’re the most beautiful thing Regina’s ever seen. She laughs and kisses his cheek as he proudly holds up his latest masterpiece, and gently takes it from him and puts it up on the fridge with the other favourites, cooing praise all the while.

She remembers, sometimes, well, we can’t all be good at everything, Regina, and feels her stomach twist in humiliation even years later, and promises herself this is another way she will never allow herself to be like her mother.

Seemingly chaotic spirals of waxy colour become slightly messy colouring book pages – delightfully disordered as Henry colours inside the lines as best he can but takes creative liberties: blue Spiderman, green sky, pink dog, all boldly unapologetic like happy children are. “Mommy, help,” he pipes up one day during one of their Saturday Granny's breakfasts, and spreads out his crayons across the table and Regina freezes for a half-second before picking up the red.

She puts the new art up on the fridge with alphabet magnets and puts the old ones carefully into a box. Later, she’s grateful she had the foresight to save everything, because during that awful year she returns to it on the worst nights. After he finds out about the adoption in the worst way possible and gets stuck on fairy tales, Henry demands she takes everything off the fridge in a fit of anger and pre-teen embarrassment, and so those go in the box too. Between snarling fights with his birth mother and shaking panic, Regina spends all too much time gazing over those pages of childish shapes until her vision is swimming and all she can see is a garish blur.

•

They never pick up their comfortable colouring sessions after everything gets better again. Henry gets too old, too preoccupied with being a hero or the author or college or adventures, and Regina mourns it.

She fills her house with expensive paintings, artisanal prints of mythology, illustrations of plants in an attempt to fill the hole, make it warmer on those nights he’s gone. Her favourite is a huge horse painting that hangs above her fireplace and Regina imagines maybe she would have painted something similar if she’d been allowed the time, the encouragement to learn.

And once, in the Underworld after trying and failing to sleep curled up on one of the couches, she tries. The injured horse from earlier had stuck in her mind, had looked so much like her Rocinante but wasn’t, and the loft is dim, silent but for soft snores of Snow and Charming close by. Beyond a few minutes in the bathroom here and there it’s the closest to privacy Regina has had since they got here.

Enough for her to pick up a scrap of paper and pencil and hunch over the coffee table to draw. Regina tries to remember the arc of her steed’s neck, the angles of his muzzle, the soft fuzz at his chin, and sketches until her hand aches and her eyes grow tired.

It’s bad, but it’s not awful. She feels calmer, in the dark where no one can see her failure, mother long gone. She stares at the dark shapes meant to be his eyes, the glint and it’s off but she feels sixteen again, bringing the outside inside with her. And she feels tired, at last. Slowly, Regina lays back down under the soft blanket and allows herself this small ounce of serenity.

•

In Seattle, she is Roni and owns a bar and dresses in leather and old denim. She has pain – a failed adoption, an uncaring mother, an absent father, streetwise beyond her years and more loneliness than she knows what to do with, oh yes, she has pain. But the curse has taken away specific old agonies of forced marriage and murdered lovers and a mother who abuses and shames, and she might be relieved if only she knew that she’d forgotten anything.

Roni doesn’t remember never being enough in any way at all, being groomed for marriage and marriage only, denied the simple pleasures of hobbies or friends, and she’s something of a fixer-upper – handy enough to maintain the pub, physical and creative in a way Mayor Mills hadn’t ever been. Not to mention financially fucked. She can’t spare the cash for Regina’s extensive designer wardrobe even if she could stomach the idea of fast fashion.

So she does the next best thing – cuts up her tees, alters the fit with simple stitching, and one day when she has a spare few hours after a relatively slow shift, she picks up a set of cheap paints and goes to town on a jacket sitting in the back of her closet. After hours hunched over the jacket, a couple of cold beers, and a few loud spins of the Ramones, her mind is clear and her body pleasantly tired. The paint dries, and she marvels at her newly personalised jacket, adorned with tasteful flowers, unique to her, and for once, there’s no insecurity.

•

When Roni remembers and becomes Regina again, she admires the jacket hanging on the back of her door, trails her fingertips over the paint before finally slipping it on. Her cursed self had surprisingly done quite a good job and it’s hers and she won’t waste a perfectly comfortable jacket. (Zelena comments, one day, nudges her gently when she gets a closer look and sees the slight imperfections of a hand-paint job. “Never knew you had an artistic side, ‘Gina,” and Regina rolls her eyes and snaps a towel playfully after her, says “I don’t,” but has to hide her flushed cheeks.)

Robyn arrives in Seattle, tall and grown now, if a little rougher around the edges – her fault and in hindsight maybe the ticket to Amsterdam she hadn’t even run past Zelena had been a bad idea, much like the spellbook she’d passed on because we all experimented, Zelena. Robyn is brave and kind and funny, though, had never succumbed to the darkness or to vices like they both had even given the chance. She’s doing well, besides being, y’know, cursed, and some evenings, that bright-eyed, wild-haired girl Tilly – Alice – comes to visit and they exchange soft touches and warm smiles. (It reminds Regina painfully of a different blonde lost to her, and she turns her face down and pours out a shot.)

While Robyn dries glasses or wipes down the counter, Alice splits her time gazing at her girlfriend and hunching over a notebook, writing and doodling. Regina had seen over her shoulder once by accident, the pages and pages of loopy handwriting and beautiful drawings of stormy seas and far-off dream-realms (real, if only Alice would make the connection she’s so close to). And when Robyn gets off shift, they sit side by side and Alice explains each drawing with glinting eyes. “What about you? What do you dream about?” Alice asks, and so Robyn picks up a pencil and tentatively tries to illustrate a dreamt childhood filled with magic and mythical beasts.

(The curse breaks and for a short time, they all sit in Roni’s bar aware of what they mean to one another. Robyn smiles softly and says, “I remember when you and mom would colour with me, Aunt Regina,” and slides two pages across the bar counter towards the two witches. Regina’s mouth closes around a silent protest and she smiles too, exchanges a soft look with her sister, and grabs a purple pencil.)

•

The realms are united, and everyone is back together. Everything is good.

Regina sucks in a breath as she stands in one of the castle towers, looking over the kingdom. She still has her mansion, but occasionally, she likes to come up here and allow the treetops and winding rivers to clear her mind.

She sits down on a wooden stool near the window, brought up here especially for today. Actually, all of this had been acquired very discretely, just for her today. She could have summoned it, but she’s really trying to not use magic lazily these days and the ritual of gathering everything had been strangely soothing.

In front of her is a wooden easel and a small table laden with paints – oils, like she’d used as a girl, and fluffy brushes and spirit for rinsing. The blank canvas is terribly intimidating, but Regina keeps her breathing steady and reminds herself no one has to see if it turns out bad, this is just for her. To see if she can still, if it’s still as fun as she remembers. She picks up a brush and dips the tip in the pale blue and begins to work.

The time passes easily, and as the hours slip by the sky begins to turn pink, the sun warm and red and all the colours changing too fast to keep working. That’s about the time that the door creaks, and in comes Emma, a small quirk of a smile on her lips and blonde hair tumbling down her back. “How’s it going?” she murmurs, and Regina nods.

“I missed this,” she admits and surveys her work with her bottom lip between her teeth.

The blonde grins, and steps forward, her head tilted – “Can I see?”

Emma is tentative, always careful and considerate in these quiet moments despite her naturally chaotic state, and so Regina nods again, and breathes steadily. Arms wrap around her waist and a cheek rests on her shoulder as the blonde gazes at the painting, and for a long moment Regina is half-expecting disappointment or a stilted falsity.

Emma just makes this dragged out ohh sound though and tightens her embrace. “That’s really good, Regina, you never said you were good,” and Regina flushes deeply and shushes her, would maybe chuck something small and light at her if she wasn’t enjoying this hug so much.

“It’s just – practice,” Regina excuses, and lightly pushes away to spin and take Emma into her own arms, their eyes meeting. “But thank you.” She cups Emma’s jaw and brings her down to kiss her lightly, sweetly, awing all the while at how they finally got here. Her other hand trails down Emma’s cheek, and the woman feels slight wetness and whines, “Reg-ina.”

Regina smirks as Emma rubs at the smudge of wet emerald green on her cheek, only spreading it even more. “I’m so gonna get you for that,” the sheriff says with a childish grin and flicks a brush still covered in purple paint at her lover.

The paint splatters over Regina’s browbone and she gasps and then laughs, “Emma,” as she grabs ineffectually for the brush that Emma holds high above her head. Emma jumps back, bright laughter ringing against the stone walls, and her eyes are bright. Regina’s chest feels light looking at her, lunging for the brush again until she gives up and picks up a brush of her own. Emerald eyes widen and Emma murmurs a warning, backing up and still grinning until she hits the stone wall.

Regina closes in on her, presses against her, and then her sly smirk drops. Her hand closes around Emma’s wrist, pinning it as she leans in and brings their lips together tenderly. The kiss heats up, Emma moaning into her open mouth and flicking her tongue teasingly against red lips, and the brushes drop to the floor with a clatter.

And maybe they’ll regret this little paint fight when it comes time to clean up, but Regina thinks, this is what creativity, art is supposed to be like – serene solace, laughing with her lover over spilt paint, colouring with her son, drawing dreams with her family. They part, their breath huffing warm and unsteady, and she is contemplative, meeting Emma’s eyes and trailing her thumb over the woman’s plump lower lip. She’s beautiful, glowing in the soft sunset. Regina feels good and breathes into the space between them, “I think I know what I want to paint next.”

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