#smeared graphite EVERYWHERE

[dynastine]

back at it folks

[fllagellant]

“i Bow to the Hound with the Mightiest Jaw”

“Baby, Lets Get Down“

“I WANNA BARK LIKE A GOD”

[thegreymoon]

I've completely destroyed my latest deer drawing, smh. I sprayed it with this Koh-i-noor spray that is supposed to set the graphite and charcoal so that it doesn't smear and the ink BLED everywhere and turned BLUE. How even?? I am flabbergasted. I used just regular hair spray on my drawings until now and I thought I was being so fancy, using proper art products and all 😭 I've never had this happen before, so many hours of work just completely ruined for no reason. Luckily, I scanned it before spraying it.

[ryoko-akari]

Screw it headcanons I have for Owen Carvour based on my own experiences as a Lefty because it's my turn on the "project onto your hyperfixation" talking stick.

He hates round doorknobs. I'm sure he probably doesn't have nearly the same hellish experiences I do with them but they still are the least effective type of doorknob, especially for lefties because of the weird way you have to turn your hand to open them. (Seriously, I've been stuck standing infront of doors with them for 5 minutes at some occasions because they don't have clear indicators of how far you need to turn them and it's very awkward to do with your left hand. Why do they exist. Stop making them.)

I really like the headcanons that Owen isn't religious, and I'd like to add onto this. Being left handed was very stigmatized against prior to the 70s, and this was especially the case within the Church, even today. A lot of naturally born lefties I know are ambidextrous or right handed today because of family ties to the church when they were younger that forced that on them. I was told by some of the caretakers when I was about 7 that I'd "never go to heaven because I was a left handed spawn of the devil." I can see Owen being raised religious and leaving it in his adulthood and it's why he's able to use his right hand fairly well on spy missions (and subsequently DMA), or attempting to outright refuse going because of this sort of normalized treatment and stigma.

Owen absolutely has a favorite brand of ballpoint pen because it's ink dries quickly so it doesnt smudge and get all over his hand and clothes when he writes. And he absolutely carries around multiple of these pens everywhere he goes and only uses them. You might think "oh its so people can't take fingerprints or something from the pen" but no its cause he doesn't like how smeared ink looks because it feels unprofessional. After Curt figured it out I feel like he'd probably carry around a box of it in his own go bag incase Owen's ever ran out but insisted it was because he liked the grip or something. (it was such a rarity he completely forgot he had them. Guess what he finds 4 years later among his things when he decides to get back into being a spy again.)

Continuing the headcanon that Owen draws and has his own sketchbook, and at a glance it's not difficult for Curt to tell among casual clothes which ones are his and which ones are Owen's, because Owen's have a bit of a shiny sheen to the left wrist sleeve from all the graphite and charcoal that gets absorbed into it. Owen hates it because of how difficult it is to get those stains out and Curt finds it funny when he fusses about it.

Owen hates it when people point out he's left handed, even in jest. Not only because hes a spy and does not need the added attention, but because it makes him feel like a zoo animal for people to gawk at, or some strange oddity on display. The only exception to this is if it's a kid pointing this out, especially if the child is Lefty too and excited about not being the only one. He won't outwardly show it, but he melts inside because he didn't get a lot of those interactions growing up either (if at all) and if it helps a kid feel a bit more normal then so be it.

There's probably more I'll add onto this but for now have these hehe.

[mithclearwell]

Just out of curiouse, do you have any tips for beginner artists? I would really appreciate one

Of course! ^-^ I'm more than happy to help!

Let's see...without the ability to have a conversation, I'm not sure where exactly you are in skill level, so I guess I'll start with some basic quality-of-life tips.

General:

You don't have to go to college to get good at art. I didn't go to art school!

Watch youtube videos from good artists, or those you admire!

What kind of art do you ultimately want to produce? This isn't an instance of "I can only pick one thing", it's more like...each type of art requires different skills, and if you know ahead of time what you want to do FIRST, you can narrow down what you have to learn.

learn proper sketching and use of circles and other shapes to build the figure, don't just jump in making the final lines right away! It's not a "cheat", it's proper technique. It's "caring about your work".

Same for references. Google up some images of what you want to draw and look at them while you draw your own picture. It's not only okay, it's what professionals do. You need to train your EYE as well as your hand.

It's okay to mimic styles you like! But be aware that each artist may stretch or squish or exaggerate proportions to fit what they personally like to see. This is why it's IMPERATIVE that you learn realism alongside any manga style you want to try. Once you learn where the eyes sit on the face, the different facial planes and what bones they relate to, and different sizes and builds for the face, you can then manga them up to any style you want!

For real paper:

Use a protector sheet, or wear a glove on your drawing hand. You want to make sure you don't get graphite or colored pencil on the side of your hand, and then smear it on your drawing. Placing a piece of paper under your hand will protect your work!

Don't touch your art with your fingertips. Fingertips have oil and gunk on them, and will smudge your drawing. (If you're working with charcoal, this could work to your advantage! But you're probably not using charcoal. It's messy and usually limited to college art students.)

Get the right tools! You can buy a small eraser set in the art section of Wal-Mart for like $3 -- it has a polymer eraser, a smaller white eraser, and the all-important KNEADED ERASER. This thing can be squished and torn apart and it'll pick up graphite like a champ! Do not bother with hard pink erasers, they're trash.

You don't need special paper to learn. I used to draw on the backs of my dad's extra math photocopy papers. Copy paper is smooth and not too fussy and I like it. "Sketch pads" usually have a rougher grain, and I hate the way the paper feels. Also there's a lot of ugly white spots when you try to shade or use colored pencils. Only use that if you're keeping a cute little book or using pastel crayons or something (or it's all you have). Don't fuss over it too much while you're learning. It won't make much difference until you're ready to specialize!

Blending stumps are cool and even pros use them.

Get a small electric pencil sharpener. They're less than $10 at places like Dollar General, and those stores are literally everywhere.

If you get a manual sharpener in an "art set", that's fine, too, but it hurts my hand to do it manually. I like the ones that have little covers.

It DOES matter what kind of ink pen you use. Gel pens will smear. Most markers are washable, and you better believe they will run at the first hint of moisture. India Ink also smears and runs with water. I recommend Sakura Micron pens, Zig Mangaka pens, or my favorite --- the Kuretaki Bimoji felt tip brush pen. You can get all that on Amazon, and it's like $6. I got the superfine tip.

LET YOUR INK DRY BEFORE YOU PUT MARKERS OR WATERCOLOR OR ANYTHING AT ALL OVER IT. It takes maybe 20 minutes.

If you don't plan to color it, you CAN draw with a ball point pen and it'll look just fine.

Do a tiny little water streak test with any markers you plan to use with watercolor. Just brush a tiny bit of water over the mark after it's dry to see if it bleeds. I use that bleed to my advantage sometimes, but you just gotta be aware of what's what.

Digital:

You can buy a small, cheap tablet from HUION for less than $40. MAKE THE INVESTMENT. IT'S WORTH IT.

Clip Studio Paint is EXCELLENT. Well worth the $50-$60 price tag. I think you can try it before you buy it, too. It gives you access to the Asset Store -- which is the single greatest artistic sharing tool I have EVER seen, and I've used SAI for ...probably a decade... I've used dozens of custom brushes and even made my own, and I just can't even believe what is available with CSP. Do yourself a favor and get it.

"But I can't use a tablet! I can't look at a screen while I draw!" Yes you can. YES you can. Yes you can, if you'll just try it. "but I tried once and it didn't work" Well YEAH, if you only tried a handful of times, OF COURSE it didn't work. Do you know what practice is? HUION screen tablets are over $300!!!!! Do you have that kind of disposable income lyin around? (plz donate some to me if you do lololjk =u=; )

Start saving a folder full of refs.

Ask people to tell you what to draw. Let them request something for free. This makes you draw things you wouldn't normally draw, and there is INCREDIBLE value in stepping outside of your comfort zone. You will level up in no time.

Whew...that covers most of the basics, I think. If you have something specific you want me to go into more detail on, please let me know! I love helping ;w;

[sophieswundergarten]

Mundane Magic/Superpowers that I think MBS Humans would have

Mr. Benedict can tell just the right trick to get someone talking. He uses this on occasion for more sneaky things, like getting important information out of a government agent who'd otherwise be hesitant to share by offering them a plate of cookies, but most often it's directed toward giving his family the confidence to say what's on their mind. More or less eye contact, a hug or keeping his distance, playing a game or even just sitting together quietly. He knows each of the people he loves intimately well, and he can tell when there's something weighing on their hearts. However, there are definitely times when he uses this emotional intuition to pull pranks or silly secrets out of them, and while there's a slight surprised indignation, the moment always ends in laughter.

Number Two never runs out of dishes. It doesn't matter if she's cooking or making everyone hot chocolate or even putting away leftovers. The entire kitchen could be a disaster, but she will always have just the right container free. Somehow, whatever she needs is right there in the cabinet. She barely even bothers to look anymore, just reaching in and knowing that at the tips of her fingers will be the right sized mixing bowl, or the correct number of spoons, or another pie dish for Moocho. Some days, she won't necessarily find what she's looking for, but she'll find what is needed. Mr. Benedict's favourite mug, Kate's hand-painted bowl, the plate she always uses to bring SQ snacks. And she'll simply shrug and go about preparing whatever that person needs. (It's always appreciated)

Rhonda always knows the right colours for things. Beyond just having an artistic eye, she knows how the right patterns and designs will influence a person. Colour theory to the max. She can make herself look younger, older, more credible, or even on death's doorstep. Half of her disguises are based around the right shade of cloth, and besides that, she can extend her skills to interior design too. Why do you think Mr. Benedict's study is so particularly calming to him? She sets up each of the children's rooms, and though she may not have known them for long, somehow she got everything right, to the point that Sticky asks if she'd been spying on them to ascertain their favourite colours.

Milligan is always the right temperature for day-to-day events. He brings a jacket everywhere in case, because he likes to be prepared, but rarely needs it. More often than not, he ends up giving it to someone else because they got cold. Even when moving in and out of buildings, he adapts quickly to whatever the weather or indoor temperature might be. Even if it's a slightly chillier day, and he did think that a sweater would be needed, the instant Kate starts shivering he takes it off, and finds that he probably didn't need it after all. Rain never seems to stick to him, rolling off his hat and overcoat like he's a duck, and though his hair might be damp, he's never soaked by anything less than a torrential storm.

Miss Perumal makes the perfect cup of tea. No matter who she's making it for or how much, she has just the right timing to get the best flavour. It doesn't matter if it's a special kind of tea leaves she bought intentionally and has been saving or if it's the weird stuff kept in hotel rooms, tea made by her hands is always the best. Of course, when she takes the time to intentionally make tea just for a specific person it has the added bonus attached, but there's always something comforting about a cup of tea from her.

Curtain never has his ink bleed when he's writing. Anything he commits to paper, even if it's a harried scribble, always is perfectly legible to him. Pencil graphite never smears for him, and he is consistently able to find a writing utensil when he needs one. When he was in school, he never had to borrow one, his pencils were always sharp and his pens never died. (It was unknown whether they simply kept working until he finished writing and then disappeared or were lost, or if he really just used the same one for years on end)

Garrison keeps impeccable time in her head. She barely even needs a stop watch for times up to five or ten minutes (But she keeps one on hand anyways). Timing experiments, keeping track of how long she needs to finish tasks, even remembering how long it takes other people to do things if she's seen them do it enough. She doesn't want to believe that she has this ability, even though no matter how many times she tests it she comes up with near perfect results, but sometimes she finds herself relying on it absentmindedly.

SQ has never broken or lost a single piece of his art supplies. No matter what's happening, or where he's been, he's always able to find everything safe in his bag. He doesn't even need to be paying attention, but whatever colour of pencil or type of tool he grabs when he's too focused on his work to look up is exactly what he needs. There's something about his art that seems more vibrant and alive than most others', and even he isn't completely sure how exactly what he's picturing in his mind transfers so perfectly to the physical world.

Reynie gives the best hugs. It doesn't matter who it is, or how badly their day has been going, he always knows just the right amount of pressure. His hugs never last too long, even though he's never the first one to pull away. He finds the right position for his arms and the correct way to lean into the person he's hugging no matter their height. Even if he's in a completely separate room, or if the person goes off to be on their own, something will nag at him to go find them, and when he does it's always a welcome intrusion. The others never even have to ask, which is good for some of them who struggle with verbally requesting affection. As soon as the thought enters their head to wish for a hug, he's right there, ready to offer one, with a smile entirely free of judgement.

Sticky's books stay open to the right page no matter what. Even if he closes it, the next time he picks it up it will fall open right where he left off. He always remembers where he stopped reading, obviously, but it's a nice comfort to have the books immediately settle on where he last was. On occasion, however, the pages will turn not to what he was reading, but what he needs to read. When he's feeling alone, the notebook he keeps his friends' letters in will fall off the shelf; sometimes an operating manual will tip over on his desk just a few minutes before his mother's wheelchair acts up; and he has great success finding recipe cards that Number Two would have sworn had been lost for months on the very day they're wanted.

Kate has a keen sense for when things will last. Rope, tools, even furniture, all she has to do is look at it for a moment and she'll be able to tell whether or not it will be worth using. She would always check the harnesses and equipment at the circus, warning the other performers if something was nearing a breaking point. Once she meets the others, she will sometimes take a day where she works her way through Mr. Benedict's study with her friends, making a stack of books whose binding is getting particularly fragile. She also is very careful to sneakily dispose of any dishes that might have hidden stress fractures, since so many people in their family are sensitive to the loud shattering noises.

Constance can always find blank paper. It doesn't matter where they are, or what's going on, there's either a stack of free brochures she can disassemble or a flyer she can steal or a scrap of notepaper buried deep in her pocket that she evidently forgot about. There were a couple of times her family was concerned she was just tearing the end pages out of books, but she insisted that she would never do that, citing how upset it would make Mr. Benedict (And the rest of them, even though she won't admit it) Most often she uses these to write down her poems, but if there's ever an important message she must pass on, or a vital detail that needs to be recorded, she always has enough space to ensure everything is included.

Moocho, of course, can bake amazing pies. However, beyond his skilled ability to never tear or burn crusts, he is always able to intuit portions. It's a little like Kate being able to know measurements, but even if there's no notice that there's going to be a guest, something will tell him to make extra. He always knows how hungry someone is, even if they deny it, and will give them the right amount of food. Everyone eventually learns to trust him, and on some rainy day when the larger serving dishes are pulled out, they are certain to set an extra place at the table.

[transcarcinization]

i’ve gotten to a point in art where i know exactly what me favorite tools are and when to use them and how to use them. i try to experiment just in case but inevitably the results of the experiment are ‘yeah the pencil you’ve used exclusively for the past 3 years is still the best pencil you’ve ever used and you should keep using it’.

this is nice because i am very comfortable in exactly what i’m doing but sometimes i miss like. drawing on notebook paper and accidentally smearing everything to shit or drawing on sketchbook paper that’s WAY too textured for the size i draw so everything is slightly marbled. having fingerprints everywhere because i don’t know how to angle my hands to keep them from interfering. smudged ink from wiping my sketchbook off a little too soon. smudged graphite from wiping my sketchbook off a little too hard.

it’s basically impossible to force these things in a way that looks natural and i appreciate being able to avoid them 99% of the time, but i miss that like. wild wild west of figuring shit out

[baejax-the-great]

Putting this bird to bed

[watermelonsverything]

Needless to say I've done...so. much. drawing this year, and only 20% of which is comprehensible and/or anything I'm proud of

[metfell]

Do you have any advice for drawing with markers? I'm trying to improve and wondering how you do it so well

alright yes i do. okay so markers are all about LAYERS of color. so here's some WIP's of a work i did recently we'll walk through some tips.

so step one here is the sketch. you'll want to get either a kneaded eraser or just be careful, and lightly erase over the entire image. this picks up loose graphite, and keeps your markers from smearing gray across the entire thing.

so i lay down a base layer. this isnt actually one marker though, its three. using the lightest marker, block out everywhere youre going to color. use circular motions or a brushtip if you can to avoid streaking like what's in this shot. then, if you have markers of very similar hues, begin darkening the picture where you need to. in this case, it was the ears and side of the nose.

remember: YOU CAN ALWAYS GO DARKER, YOU CANNOT GO LIGHTER.

i then went in to block in her makeup, the tulip, and darken some of the shadows. you can see specifically in the ears and neck that ive used the smaller tip of my chisel markers to slowly transition it from one marker to another. blending doesnt exist in markers. you just need to IMPLY a gradient. the flower is a good example as well. use multiple markers, and slowly make your way from one half of the gradient to the other.

a lot of what i can do is due to the fact i have so many markers. if you need large marker packs and cannot afford copics, try arrtx. that's what i used for the flower in this.

when i draw hair- something i know people want to know about a lot- i start with my lightest color, and sketch in the directions the hair is flowing. for stelle here, her bangs swoop down and to the right, so thats the direction i will lay down those colors. its like painting.

also in this, you can see how deep ive made the insides of her ears, and how ive used a dark gray to line her face and give it shape.

this shot is also a good example to show how i fucked up on her earrings, and since i cannot go lighter, theyre going to be tinted gray now. just something i forgot to keep in mind.

alright theres a lot to talk about in this one. firstly, let's talk about UNDERTONES. to give your piece more depth and life, you can go in with other colors besides your main shading color- in my case, gray- to make the piece pop. ive switched to a light purple, and have added it as a highlight to her cheeks, tips of her ears, and hair. it brings out her hair, and makes it seem fuller. less flat.

a lot of how i use markers is with curved strokes and many colors to sculpt out an image, rather than just filling in the lines. this is why i add line art last.

okay one step at a time with the finished picture.

first step here is line art. youll notice how i dont harshly outline every single part of the piece. instead, i lightly go around areas i think need defining. i outline her horn cuff, i outline her ears, her eyes, and then i loosely go around her hair with similar strokes to when i sketched it in the first place.

second step is a white gel pen. it can be a simple jelly roller theyre really cheap. just make sure it works. if your pen isnt rolling smoothly, try warming it up in your hands by rubbing it quickly between them. if not, try multiple pens before buying them. bring a piece of paper to your local michaels or hobby lobby or other craft store, and see if it rolls smoothly on YOUR paper. then, go around anywhere that needs a highlight. i did this over her eye markings, her makeup, tiny dots over her earrings, and over her hair to once again round it out.

my final tip is to adjust your pictures in some kind of editor once you are finished. i went in just using the basic iphone settings, and messed around with it until it matched what i wanted the pic to look like. in this case, i turn the highlights to the left, and played around with the temperature and tint settings, and messed around with their basic filters. honestly, just play with it until you think it looks good.

those are my tips for coloring! i hope this is comprehensible!!

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Titanic au? I need angst

((A/N: Warning for suicidal ideation in the beginning (in keeping with the movie), and some referenced period-typical homophobia. Also I’ve never seen the movie before so this is based on the synopsis I read and some gifsets. Therefore, scenes are almost certainly out of order. It’s a sort of open ending, so you can imagine it ends like the movie or they both make it out)) 

Over the course of his admittedly short life, Sirius had come to the conclusion that he was always going to be miserable. His parents didn't like him very much, but that was just the beginning of his issues. Granted, all the other issues stemmed from that, he was sure. 

Like this. He was getting on a bloody boat and he hated boats. He didn't even know how to swim-- and sure, no one was going to be getting into this water because it was freezing, but that was beside the point. Or how about the part where he was being forced on this trip to go and meet his fiancé? A fiancé that he'd never met and had zero interest in. Sirius was of the mind that they should've been introduced, at the very least, before getting engaged, but his parents hadn't agreed. 

He was on a boat that he didn't want to be on, on his way to an engagement he didn't want to be a part of, and part of a life that he didn't want to live. 

They boarded the ship. Time passed. They were having a grand old party. Sirius was standing on the deck in a suit because he was supposed to have attended the party like a good son, but instead of attending, he was looking out on treacherous water. Without really meaning to, he went to the back of the ship and gripped the railing, leaning forward like he was going to pitch over the railing and into the ocean. 

If he climbed on the outside of the railing, it would be so easy for him to lose his grip and fall. He'd be lost in the waves and terrified as his will to live suddenly flared, but he didn't know how to swim so it would be a short fight. No one could prove that he'd done it on purpose. He could just... stop existing, here, on this expensive boat where first class tickets had been a small fortune and third class tickets still cost a hefty sum. He'd be able to leave, and no one would be able to stop him. It wasn't like back home, where there would be an investigation and he'd get a big funeral; his body would be as fake in death as he'd been in life. He wouldn't have to marry some random woman that he cared nothing about, and that seemed preferable to him right now. 

"Nice view," a deep voice commented. 

Sirius jumped in surprise and turned to see who'd snuck up on him. He noticed right away that the man must be on here third class, and he hated himself for it being the first thing he saw. 

But it was so obvious. 

Not at the party, for one. No suit, for another. His clothes weren't cheap, but they certainly weren't expensive. Economical. Sirius had never owned an economical piece of clothing in his entire life; his parents wouldn't have allowed it. 

"Though something tells me that it's not what you were enjoying." 

Befuddled, Sirius glanced out at the ocean. "It looks like shite." 

The man snorted, then started laughing. "Fair enough. I figured it was a better opening than asking if you were planning to jump, though." 

"I wasn't going to jump," Sirius denied automatically. 

"Sure you weren't. That's why you chose this part of the ship to stand at, where no one would catch you." 

"You caught me,” Sirius couldn’t help but point out. It wasn’t a course of conversation he wanted to follow though, so he said, “Anything else to say now that you've ruined my time alone?" 

The man looked at him for a long moment. "Just in case you had been thinking of jumping, I want to tell you that you shouldn't." 

"What?" 

"If I wake up one day and find out that you've jumped, I'm gonna jump to." 

"Are you stupid?" Sirius asked, the words slipping out of his mouth before he could filter them. 

"Generally, yes. But people who are suicidal aren't willing to kill other people too, that I've seen. So if you had been thinking about it, I want you to know that it wouldn't be just you that died." 

Sirius stared at, dumbfounded. That was... "I wasn't going to jump," he muttered, pushing past him and heading back inside. Joining the party wasn't on the top of the list for things he wanted to do, but it was better than this. 

"My name's James," the man called after him, before he got very far. 

Sirius paused and turned to look at him. 

"This is the part where you tell me your name." 

Sirius started walking again. He wasn't going to see this bloke-- James, apparently-- again. Third class was in a completely different section of the ship from first class; he wouldn't have to see him for the rest of the trip. 

*

"What do you do for a living?" Sirius asked. 

"I'm an artist," James said, not bothering to ask about the suddenness of the question. It's not like Sirius had built up to it, after all. He had a habit of blurting out whatever he was thinking, no matter how rude it might be-- his parents hated it. 

"Like oil paintings?" 

James laughed. "That would make me far richer than I am. No, sketches mostly. Watercolours sometimes, but never on a ship," he said with a smirk. "And only a few, at that." 

"If that's what you do, how did you afford a ticket?" 

"Lottery," James admitted, with no shame. He was so comfortable with himself. 

Sirius wondered what it would feel like to be that way. "What do you draw?" 

"People. Flowers." James's smile went soft as he looked at Sirius. "Anything I find beautiful," he said, voice low so that no one would overhear. 

Sirius's face flamed. No man had ever complimented him before, and he'd certainly never had the courage to do it to them. 

"Not clothes though," he added casually, but he still kept his voice quiet. "Never did get the hang of those." 

"I'd imagine that makes quite the portfolio," Sirius managed to reply. He cleared his throat. "Did you bring any with you?" 

"I did, though I'm not sure how comfortable you would be with some of them." 

"Would you describe them as racy?" 

"I wouldn't. Some might, by simple virtue of me being a man." 

"Despite what you might think of me, I don't think anything you've drawn would scare me away." 

"I think a great many things about you, but it's been too short a time to know which ones are accurate." 

"Pretty big gamble telling me what you draw, then." Sirius had never told anybody what he liked, after all. Though sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to find someone else like him. What they'd talk about. If they'd kiss, of if they’d just be friends who shared an interest. 

"It wasn't a gamble at all," James said. 

"You say that rather confidently. Everything's a gamble." 

"When you have nothing to lose, I would argue it makes nothing a gamble. Like when I found you on the railing? You remember that?" 

"When you said you'd jump if I did?" 

James nodded. "It wasn't a gamble. I knew you wouldn't jump." 

"Did you?" 

"Yes." 

Sirius hadn't known that for sure. James's confidence boosted his own, though. Maybe it truly hadn't been a gamble. 

*

James was... alive. It felt stupid to think-- because of course he was alive, they all were, it's the only reason they'd been able to meet-- but he lived and he was happy about it. He took joy in living, and Sirius wasn't used to that. He said so, and James gave him a strange look. "Like... ever? You've never been happy to just exist?" 

"I don't know." 

"You've at least been happy before, right?" 

Of course he had. He just couldn't think of an example. 

"When was the last time you enjoyed yourself?" James asked, since it didn't look like any answer was forthcoming for his other question. 

"I guess... when Regulus was around." 

"Who's Regulus?" 

"My brother. He got sick when I was- oh, maybe fourteen? Fifteen? Went in hospital and never came back out. My parents always liked him better," Sirius added without really meaning to. Then his mouth twisted. "I know. Poor little rich boy with his rich boy problems. Other people have it worse." 

"I wasn't going to say that. Although it is true that somebody will always have it worse than you. You could be in the middle of getting tortured, and there would still probably be someone who had it worse than you. But that's not the point," James said, shaking himself. 

"What's the point?" 

"That being rich doesn't make you exempt from having problems. You lost your brother, and it sounds like your parents hate you. All being rich means is that you're not worried about having a place to live or something to eat on top of that. I have that problem sometimes, but you know, I don't even think of it as my big problem. You want to hear my big problem?" James asked with a grin, nudging him. 

Sirius chuckled. He never knew how serious James was when he said things like that, but even if it was just a joke, it made him feel better. That was more than anyone else had done for him in a long time. "Sure. What's your big, bad problem?" 

"Sometimes, I draw with the wrong pencil." 

Sirius stared at him for a moment, but James kept his face straight. Sirius started laughing. "Really? How do you have a wrong pencil? Aren't they all for drawing?" 

"Yeah, but there are different types. Some have hard graphite, some have soft." 

"And what does that mean for your poor drawings?" 

"Well, if I use the wrong pencil, sometimes it'll smear everywhere. Or it can make the subject appear much harsher than they are." 

"Truly tragic." 

"Isn't it?" James agreed mildly. 

"You want to know my big rich people problem?" 

"It's not going to be like losing your brother is it?" 

"No, this one is definitely ridiculous." 

James grinned. "Alright, tell me." 

"There's a horribly expensive necklace that I'm supposed to give my fiance when I meet her." 

"How horribly expensive?" 

"I feel like it's more than the boat cost to make," Sirius said flatly. It might be an exaggeration, but it didn't feel like much of one. 

"Sodding hell. That's..." 

"Right?" 

James nodded numbly. 

*

"What's with all the automobiles?" James asked, looking out at the rows of them. 

Sirius snorted, assuming it was a joke. Then he noticed that James looked confused. "Oh, er- they belong to the passengers. That one's ours," he said, pointing at one with gleaming black paint. "Pretty much everyone in first class is bringing their automobile with them." He knew, because it had been part of the ever-so-titillating conversation they'd had at lunch one day. "Some are just here for the ride so they can be sold once we reach land again. I think the crew might be transporting a few for the government." 

"Rich people really are living in a different world than me," James said with a chuckle. He grabbed Sirius's hand and they headed down the stairs. As always, James's touch made his heart race. "If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?" 

"My room, since anywhere else would have a high likelihood of housing my parents," Sirius snorted. His parents only went to his room when they were specifically trying to find him. 

"No," James said, rolling his eyes. "I meant like, anywhere out in the world." 

"We're surrounded by water," he reminded him. 

"You're no fun at all. Use your imagination," James said. He let go of Sirius's hand and sat in one of the automobiles at the edge that didn't have doors. He mimed putting a cigar in his mouth and puffed. "Where to, sir?" he asked in a gruff voice meant to imitate a cabbie’s accent. 

Sirius laughed and sat in the backseat. He hummed, thinking it over. Imagination... all he'd ever imagined was getting away; he'd never thought about where he would get away to. He leaned forward so his arms were resting on the back bench of the front seats. "To the sky," he said, thinking about the dozens of hours he'd spent looking at clouds and dreaming that he was flying among them, because anything had been better than walking on the dirt. 

James glanced at him, grinning. "What's the point when you already have a star?" he asked, dropping the accent. 

"Because we'd be there together," Sirius said under his breath. 

They were close enough that James heard him. His smile widened tellingly, but he didn't say anything about it. 

*

Sirius's parents were busy and would be for several hours, so Sirius didn't think twice about inviting James to his room so he could finally look at his pictures. Maybe it was silly, but Sirius had spent a lot of time thinking about those drawings and what they would look like. It was pretty much as described: pretty people and pretty things. 

The people in his drawings were nude, but it was hardly pornographic. About half of them didn't have a full view of their- ahem, special place because of the way they were posed. Women... and men. There were quite a few of nature and buildings as well, but Sirius couldn't take his eyes off the portraits. 

"Who are all of these people?" 

"Some were models. Others were just people I met at parties and the like." 

"You met people at parties and they volunteered to pose for you?" Sirius asked doubtfully. 

"Well," James smirked, "they were French. Very different, that." 

"I see," Sirius agreed, also smirking. He flipped through a few more. Was it his imagination, or could he see the love these had been done with? He'd never been a great admirer of art. He'd never understood it; it had never spoken to him. It had all seemed lifeless, but anything James did couldn't be confused as such. A person with that much love and light could never make art that didn't reflect it. Even the buildings he drew were love letters to architecture. "Would you ever draw me?" he asked. 

"I don't think it would be the sort of portrait you're wanting." 

"What makes you say that?" 

"As you can see, and if you recall, I told you that I only do nudes." 

"I know." 

James looked over at him, hands frozen in place where he'd poised one drawing up to show Sirius. 

Sirius met his gaze evenly, even as his cheeks pinked. 

James's throat worked. It seemed like he was speechless, and Sirius didn't quite know what to make of that. 

"You don't have to if you don't want to," he mumbled after several seconds of silence. 

"I didn't say that," James said immediately. "But I don't want you to do something you'd be uncomfortable with." 

"Do I look uncomfortable?" 

"You might once you're naked." He paused. "Have you ever been naked around someone before?" 

"Does the doctor count?" 

James raised his eyebrows. "Not even for sex?" 

"Saying yes now would be lying on two fronts," Sirius said. To help distract himself from the deepening blush across his cheeks, he reached into his pocket. "This is that necklace I told you about." 

James reached out and stabilized the jewel in the center. "It's beautiful." 

"I was thinking... maybe I wear this. If you draw me. It'd be nice to think about it as something other than a symbol of the decay of my personal life." 

James's eyes flitted away from the necklace and back up to Sirius. "You're serious about this." 

He nodded. 

"Alright," James said. 

"Try not to use the wrong pencil on me. I want to look as pretty as all your French blokes." 

"You'd look prettier than them no matter what I did," James said softly. "I'll lock the door, and you can... get comfortable." 

*

"There's a party tonight in third class," James said. "You should come with me." 

A party in third class. Sirius didn't even know what that would like, but refusing would make him more like the person his parents wanted him to be and less like he wanted to be. But, "I don't know why you'd want me to come with you." It's not like they'd be able to dance together, and that was the point of a party, wasn't it? 

"You invited me for that stuffy dinner in first class. We might as well see how the other half lives, while we're at it." 

"You're part of that half," Sirius pointed out. "You already know how they live." 

"Then maybe it's something I think you should see. I think you'll have fun there; it's nothing like the dinner in first class was, or how you've described the parties you've been to." 

Sirius worried at his lip for a moment. Then, "What should I wear?" 

"Dress down a bit. More like me," James said. He got to his feet, putting a hand on Sirius's knee and squeezing as he did. The touch was mostly hidden by him moving, and it was fleeting; it still made Sirius's blood run hot. That was silly, wasn't it? James had seen him naked-- had drawn him naked-- and a touch on the knee was getting his blood pumping? They'd held hands; they'd talked as though they had a future together. Comparatively, a touch on he knee was nothing. 

But it wasn’t nothing, and Sirius couldn’t even try to pretend otherwise. 

And now they had a date to go to a party together. He didn't even have to worry about impressing him; all James had wanted was for Sirius to be himself. He still worried a bit for how it would go. 

*

He didn't quite know how it had happened. They'd been laughing, and then Sirius had pulled him out of the main room, still laughing. He was pretty sure that he'd meant to ask if that’s what all parties were like for him, but then they'd been sharing the same breath, and there wasn't a damn thing that could've gotten Sirius to step away. 

"We should go somewhere we won't get caught," Sirius managed to say when he got enough space from James's mouth-- not an easy feat. 

"Your room?" 

Sirius grimaced. "My parents have a key." He wasn't sure he had a key, but they definitely did. "They like to make sure I'm not getting up to trouble. Yours?" 

"Third class," James reminded him. "It's not just my room; there's loads of other people there." 

"Bugger. Wait, I've got it. C'mon," Sirius said, and started pulling him in the right direction. He was sure that it was obvious what they'd been doing, but most of the people in third class were still at the party, no other passenger would be down in this area, and there was nothing here that the crew would need. 

"Where are we going?" 

Sirius grinned. "The sky." 

He loved the way that James's eyes lit with realisation without him having to say another word. James cared as much about him as he did about James, right? This was proof. It wasn't idle flirtation and animal attraction; it was something more than that. 

They hurried down to where all the automobiles were, and not a one of them was locked because they were on the water. Sirius picked one that wasn't near the edge, and they tumbled into the backseat. 

"I love you," James whispered against his neck, his hands on Sirius's back under his shirt and hot as a brand. Sirius was his, now. "I love you," he said again, when Sirius got a hand around his prick. His tone was worshipful and awed, like he couldn't believe the universe had let them find each other at the exact right moment. 

Sirius could hardly believe it either, and he wasn't about to turn it away. "I love you too." 

*

"Sirius, where are you going?" Orion screamed. He latched a hand around his son's upper arm to try and stop him from getting any further away from the lifeboat. 

"I'm not leaving him!" 

"He's going to die here!" They were yelling because they were angry, but the sound of everyone else panicking and the water and the boats was enough to make them have to speak louder anyways. "If you go after him, you'll die too. Even if you make it out of here alive, you'd be executed wherever you lived!" 

"I'd rather die with him than live another second with you!" Sirius screamed, wrenching his arm out of his father's grip and running towards the lower decks where he knew James was. He didn't know how he was going to get him out of the handcuffs or where they'd try to go after he was free, but he couldn't just leave him there. 

If you jump, I jump. James had said that it wasn't gamble back then, but this time it was. Sirius still believed it, though. He wasn't leaving this boat without James, and if that meant not leaving it at all, then he'd be okay with that. 

[mnictasbcl]

The Season of Art

For  #dbhcolorsofdeviancy, prompt:

May 31st:  Spring/Summer/Autumn/Winter @connor-sent-by-cyberlife

Rating: Teen

Characters: Connor, Hank Anderson, Markus

Relationships: Connor & Hank Anderson, Connor & Markus

Additional Tags: Painting, Birthdays, Fluff, Swearing, Seasons

Summary: After all the seasons Connor has known Markus, after being saved by him from a life stuck as a machine… the RK800 can’t figure out what to get him for his birthday.

Perhaps Hank can help out, showing him that what truly counts is from his metaphorical heart.

Notes: Hope this is okay! I took the prompt pretty loosely for this fic, as with many others on the list, so that the idea is still there and the main focus of the story, but a longer fic overall.

Story below! Or, read it on AO3

“I just don’t know what to get him.” Connor groaned. It was no use- he’d scoured the internet and everything he knew in his database, but it was impossible. Figuring out what to get Markus for his birthday was impossible.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t his exact birthdate. The deviant leader hadn’t been sure when that was exactly, and everywhere online it was marked as ‘confidential’. Jericho had decided that wasn’t good enough and had chosen the day that marked the success of the revolution as the big day.

They’d even organised a party, in their new place of residence, and had invited Connor along. He was also allowed to bring someone with him if he so desired, and even a human (if they knew the rules, of course, North had made sure to remind him). Hank had agreed.

“Well, what does he like?” Hank offered in help. “What are his hobbies?”

Connor pursed his lips. “I guess he likes democracy, and the revolution, and android rights—”

“Something more tangible, Connor. Like… reading.”

“He has all the books already.”

“Wh—all of them?”

“Carl Manfred owns a vast library of books, and he seems to have enough for his pleasure.”

Hank groaned. “Jesus. Okay. Does he have… you know, a thing-” he gestured with his hands, “-everyone has a thing. A thing that they like.” At Connor’s confused look, he sighed. “How I like rock music, and watching sports, and you like dogs.”

“Ah, yes.” Connor nodded, now understanding. “I like dogs.” He blinked, LED swirling in colour as he thought it over. “I don’t know if Markus likes dogs. He doesn’t seem to dislike them, but I am unsure if purchasing him a dog would be a well-thought-out gift. Dogs aren’t gifts, anyway. They’re for life.”

“Thanks for the animal charity commercial.” Hank deadpanned. “I don’t mean your thing— I mean his. His—his interest.” The man quickly rephrased.

Connor paused, thinking over it again with this new information. “Aside from his core beliefs, I have noticed that Markus enjoys painting. However, he already has painting equipment, with a vast supply of canvases and paints.”

“Hmm. What about,” Hank began, getting up from the couch, going over to the closet and rummaging through it, “what about you give him something he can’t get, then?” As he turned back around, he was holding a fairly large canvas along with an easel and some paints.

“That sounds optimal.” Connor nodded, understanding what Hank was getting at. “But perhaps I will practice what I will create on some paper, first. I wasn’t created to do this sort of thing.”

“You weren’t made to be a pain in my ass either—don’t give me that look. I know you know what I mean. Just draw something nice for your friend.”

After acquiring a few sheets of paper, Connor got to work. At first, he attempted sketching out some picture-perfect images of Markus. Hank hadn’t seemed thrilled by them.

“It just looks like you printed them out. It’s a nice drawing, Connor, but I don’t think it’s the sort of art Markus would like. From what you’ve told me about him, he likes things free and— you know,” he waved his hands in demonstration. “I looked up some of that Carl Manfred’s art too. It’s mainly abstract.”

“I don’t understand, Lieutenant. Would you think he’d appreciate a drawing replica of one of his pieces?”

Hank shook his head. “It has to be from you. From the heart.”

Connor blinked. A little research showed him how art could be a form of self-expression and emotion. Perhaps this was what Hank was getting at. It would truly be a good gift to give Markus something which really showed his deviancy, his humanity, especially when he was part of the key driving force that had helped him deviate.

But what could he draw? There were so many things, too many things… He shook his head. Maybe he could follow the advice Markus had told him he’d been given once, by Carl, to really flow his soul over the canvas.

Connor closed his eyes. Held the pencil over the paper, and made long, sweeping strokes. Opened his eyes. Shit. It was just a mess of graphite smeared over the paper. That didn’t even look like anything. He groaned. Art was hard.

Maybe, for him, it did have to be something he could think of, at least in concept, rather than a rush of emotions over the paper. What thing could bring out that artistic emotion from him?

He closed his eyes. But this time, he didn’t bring his pencil down onto the paper, not yet. He replayed memories of his time spent with Markus. Seeing him speaking on that screen, played from Stratford Tower, telling of hope, of liberation for their people, igniting that spark of deviancy in his chest, which only flourished with time spent with Hank. How he came to Jericho, and met him, keen only on accomplishing his mission, but Markus had managed to bring up that red wall for him, to realise he was on the wrong side of it and tear it down. Emotion, the hope, everything sparking within his chest, looking up at Markus and realising that he’s free.

The autumn that brought his life, filled with new hope, a new life. The winter that followed, the impromptu Christmas party held for the newly freed deviants, being allowed back with the original crew, with Josh and Simon, North and Markus, looking into the other android’s eyes and realising just how much things had changed in such a short time. Memories of the new spring, a new year, to bring down the restrictions stopping deviants from being truly human, helping Markus with his speeches and fighting by his side for the campaigns. Summer. The freedom has truly come now, because they’ve done it. Everything isn’t perfect, but by law, they’re completely human, and Markus is still there, they all are, revelling in the burden lifted from their shoulders.

He opened his eyes. In the time they’d been shut, his body had seemed to move of its own accord. The canvas was in front of him, brush in his hand, and a picture had blossomed in front of him. There was a rush of colours and feelings and emotions. The image was cut into four quadrants, messes of abstract shapes representing each season. And in the centre, were rough figures of them all, from Jericho.

He smiled. It looked alright.

“Holy shit.” Hank muttered from behind him. Connor spun around, seeing he’d been standing in the doorway, likely watching him the whole time. “You did that with your eyes closed?”

He glanced over his clothes. Oh dear. There were a number of splatters of paint over his outfit, and a little on his face. “I believe so. Apologies, Lieutenant, for the mess—”

Hank laughed. “I don’t care about it. Well—you’re tidying it up anyway. But… Christ, that’s amazing. If I painted with my eyes shut, I think I’d end up painting on Sumo.”

Connor frowned. “He wouldn’t appreciate that. “The Saint Bernard in question barked loudly in agreement. “He would require a bath.”

“Whatever,” Hank shrugged, patting him on the shoulder. “You’re alive, Connor. And I think Markus is going to love that.”

  ____________________

 Markus did, in fact, love it. Upon receiving it at his birthday party, he smiled brightly, pulling Connor into a hug.

“It really shows you, Connor, and how far you’ve come. I appreciate that you joined our mission. This is going centre stage.”

He blushed, a little, as Markus took it by the picture hanging and put it up on the wall in the central area of the room, above the fireplace.

“I am glad that you like my present, Markus.”

“Like it? I love it. And is this really the first time I’m hearing that you like to paint?”

“It’s the first time I’ve painted.”

“Then it won’t be the last. Come on, I’d love to paint with you in the future. Carl lets me do painting lessons from time to time in his studio, so long as I don’t bring any troublemakers.”

Connor thought on that. “I would dearly love to come. However, I have been informed that I can cause a significant amount of disruption.”

Markus frowned. “How so?”

“Well, Lieutenant Anderson has, from time to time, referred to me as a pain in his—”

Hank, who was standing nearby to look at Connor’s painting, promptly choked on his drink.

[aroturier]

How do you make pencil look so nice and precise?? Left handed watchers would like to know.

Okay, well, a nice clean sheet of paper under your hand helps, or an 18″ or so stick like oil painters used to use to lean their hand against while painting to keep their business hand out of the paint. Then, to add to that, I keep gum eraser handy because no matter how you try the stuff gets everywhere and you need to constantly clean up your white areas. I leave the ‘cartoony’ guidelines on until the very end so I don’t lose track of where the features go. Lastly, once you get something just how you want it, and you’ve gone off and left it alone long enough you can spot the errors you made, or checked it in a mirror, and upside down, showed it to a friend who will tell you the truth if you need to change anything if something jumps out at them because it looks ‘funny,’ you can spray areas you’re sure are the way you want them with spray-on workable fixative. That will make it permanent and stop the smears from blurring away your hard work.

...I can’t think of anything else...I try and stick to the artist eraser/gum eraser-that stretchy grey stuff you can work like clay? yeah that, because it doesn’t tear up the paper fibres no mayyer how often you scrub over an area. That said, if you bear down really hard on a paper with a soft dark graphite pencil, artist eraser might not be able to lift all of it off the paper. Then and only then do I use regular abrasive pencil erasers. nly in the case of massive errors that got pressed into the paper deeply. After using them, though, I can pretty much forget about making a watercolour out of it because the paper will be so roughed up it will affect how the watercolour acts. Makes the paper like a fuzzy sponge, even if you aren’t working wet-on-wet. If 

Does any of that help? I reckon you alreay know all these, right? I just keep at it, rinse and repeat. And in the end, if it doesn’t show up on the internet the way I wanted it to, I use something like Paint or another manipulator of digital images to sharpen it and clean up any white areas I might have not got as well as I’d meant to. if I really want to do a watercolour with that image I’ll have to start over and make a copy on paper with undamaged tooth.

Did any of that help? Or maybe give you ideas? 

[carcasstohounds]

i bet daphne and brandon would have immaculate studyblrs with a perfect aesthetic and really nice washi tape and pens and shit.

zavier like, knows how to take notes and when he does they look really good, but he just doesn’t really want to put in the effort. the only thing he puts effort into is annotating books he likes.

meena has like one highlighter and a pilot g-2 pen and that’s it (which like, same.) sometimes if she’s feeling fancy she breaks out a second highlighter and a blue pen.

double headcanon time, akash is left handed so even though he takes pretty good notes, he accidentally smears ink and graphite everywhere. also he writes really fast so his handwriting isn’t great and it’s hard to read his notes (again, same) so until the day he finds a really good ink that won’t smear, his notes get a 6/10.

danny would have a really nice studyblr but his notes are too full of drawings of colton and zavier and it’s high key really embarrassing so he just doesnt post stuff. it’s the same reason why he almost never shares notes. he’s got some wild shorthand he created that basically only him and cassie can read. he also annotates books, but doesn’t really take himself very seriously about it so there’s at least 15 pages in the picture of dorian gray that just says GAY.

cassie Does Not take notes but it’s fine because she knows that she’s the only person danny will show his to because they have a lot of the same classes. either way she has shit handwriting that literally no one can decipher, including her. she only takes notes if she has to or for her shop and engineering classes and most of the time it’s diagrams.

colton doesn’t take notes because he just has a really good auditory memory and writing stuff down is too distracting. if he needs to check something, he asks daphne for hers. this also means that he wouldn’t know how to take notes if he had to.

[inactiive-shit]

Life As A Sanders

Part Eight: Taking A Break From A Break

((Previous))//((Next))

LAAS Masterlist

Read on AO3

Warnings: none

Pairing: Familial DLAMP

Summary: Roman and his brothers get ready for a vacation.

Words: 2,309

Ages: 13 & 17

Here we go, y’all! Just some fluffy fluff to make up for...next chapter...

Hah. Well. Anyway.

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

Roman had been living with the Sanders family for about a year now. He was seventeen and his birthday had passed spectacularly, in a manner reminiscent of when his parents had still been alive. It was the funnest birthday and quite possible the funnest day Roman had had the privilege of experiencing in years. Roman absolutely loved his Dad and his brothers, and he would give them the world to make them happy.

It seemed that Dad, however, was the one who was intent on giving them world-not just to Virgil and Logan, but to Roman, too. That was why, after a period of saving and careful planning, Dad had sprung a vacation on their heads. They were going to New York! Dad had promised them one broadway play, at least one concert in Central Park, one visit to the Hayden Planetarium, and of course a trip to Central Park Zoo to pet all the animals.

The screams following this declaration probably made the neighbors think someone was getting murdered, but they were all too excited to care.

Now, however, Roman was exhausted. They’d spent the last two weeks getting everything ready for their departure, and it turned out to be a lot more than Roman initially thought. There were friends to tell and schoolwork to complete and household chores to be done and eating their perishable food, just in case it went bad while they were gone. Now, though, it was the night before they were meant to leave, and they only had one last thing to do before they could go to sleep: clean-up and lock-up the bakery.

They were driving up, so they had a very early day ahead of them. Roman was also going to be driving part of the way so that maybe they wouldn’t have to stop to sleep. He absolutely refused to even chance missing Cats, and especially not the Broadway production. So, all the sleep possible was exactly what the doctor ordered.

The three kids were cleaning different areas of Sweet Stuff to “optimize their efforts,” as Logan put it. If that were true, though, Roman didn’t know why he could hear whispering coming from the kitchen. Roman briefly considered that they were getting robbed, and the scene played out in his head for a few horrifying seconds before he threw the brakes. They were not getting robbed and his brothers were fine. The whispers were probably just Logan talking to himself. He did that, sometimes, when he was doing particularly hard math, or reading a particularly engaging book or article. It was just Logan.

He should check. Better safe than sorry.

Roman crept toward the kitchen and pushed the door open a crack. There, in front of the oven, was Virgil. Logan was leaning over the counter, wiping it down again. Again, because Roman had already seen Logan clean that counter.

“Uh, guys? What are you doing?” Virgil spun around and hissed at Roman while Logan let out a tiny shriek and jumped. The rag he had been cleaning the counter with was, inexplicably, gone. Roman snorted.

“Why don’t you make some noise, Roman? You always walk so quiet,” Virgil muttered, shaking his head.

“I have to be light on my feet, Virgil. I’m a dancer. You know that.” Roman did a fancy maneuver that had almost gotten him hospitalized when he was learning it, and then laughed outright the expression of horror on Logan’s face.

“The human body should not be able to bend or move like that,” Logan announced. He sounded almost sick, and it almost made Roman feel bad. Almost, but not quite. He did it again. Logan dry heaved and Virgil screamed a little bit. Roman couldn’t help but laugh.

“Seriously, though. What are you two up to in here?” Roman leaned in. “Is the oven on?”

“Mm-hmm.” Virgil nodded. “We’re, uh, making-making-” He gestured helplessly at the oven door.

“We’re making cookies,” Logan filled in. Virgil nodded gratefully. “More specifically, we’re making chocolate chunk cookies and we’re going to put icing on top. They are too sweet for me, but Dad likes them that way. And he has been a little stressed recently, most likely about our trip to New York. I believe these will help relieve some of that stress.”

“Really?” Roman tried not to deflate. They were making Dad destressing cookies and hadn’t even told him?

“Yes. Dad likes sweet things so much, and he has not been consuming the same amount as he usually does.” Logan motioned toward the oven, and then motioned for Roman to come closer.

Virgil met his eyes for a second, and he smiled a little. “We were gonna get you when they were done. You can’t, uh, can’t bake for shit, but-”

“Language,” Roman and Logan said at the same time.

“Make me,” Virgil said, and then kept talking like they hadn’t interrupted. “You’re really good at the, uhm, the-ya know, the pretty stuff on top.” Virgil wiggled his fingers in the air as though to show something.

“Icing?” Logan suggested.

“Yeah. You’re the best at the icing, but we didn’t want you touching the cookies before they were done baking. You’d burn ‘em.” Logan is nodding behind him, and Roman supposes that’s fair. Some people just can’t bake.

Roman let the hurt drain out, unfounded as it was, and then turned his brightest smile on his brothers.

“When will they be done?”

“Twenty minutes or so. I cleaned all of my areas,” Virgil supplied. “L was bored and decided to wipe down the counters again.”

“I think that’s going to be kind of hard,” Roman said.

“Why is that?” Logan asked.

“Where’s the rag, pocket-protector? You can’t clean the counter without something to clean with.” Logan hissed and immediately looked embarrassed. It was a habit he’d picked up from Virgil, and he hated it. Virgil, however, though it was hilarious. He burst into mirthful laughter with Roman. Roman patted Logan’s shoulder and then peered into the oven. The cookies looked fine.

Virgil dragged Roman away from the oven by his arm. “Hey!” he exclaimed indignantly.

“Nope.” Virgil popped the ‘p’. “You are not to be anywhere near still-baking cookies. Just your presence seems to make them burn.”

“Yeah,” Roman said, “cause I’m too hot for them to handle.”

Virgil groaned.

“You do realize that what both of you just said was entirely nonsensical and not in any way grounded in facts, right? Neither one of those things is physically possible. And if your body ever got hot enough to burn the cookies, then we would have a much bigger issue to deal with.”

“I love ya, L, but why do you take everything I say so literally?” Virgil shoved Roman toward Logan and then peered into the oven again.

“I do not know what you are talking about, Virgil,” Logan said in a tone that indicated he knew exactly what Virgil was talking about. Virgil debated the benefits of biting his brother.

“Lo, did you hear about the new space movie coming out?” Roman asked, stopping the spat before it got started. Logan lit up and began explaining what he knew about the movie in depth - Roman did not even know the name of the movie, he just knew that Logan would love it. He was rarely wrong about his brothers.

Suddenly, Virgil came over and wiped a bit of icing on Logan’s cheek. Logan cut off mid-sentence and stared at Virgil. Virgil smirked.

“What is it, specs? Is something wrong?” Virgil asked. Roman looked at Virgil’s face, mischievous enough to have Roman on his toes, and then to Logan’s face, which was frozen. Then something vaguely resembling the widnow’s error noise came out of his mouth.

Roman thought that Logan would simply wipe the icing off his face and give Virgil a disapproving look.  Very occasionally, Roman was wrong about his brothers. This was one of those times.

Logan reached behind him, hand coming into contact with a bag of flour. Which he exploded on Virgil, hitting Roman with the shrapnel. Roman stared, frozen, as his two younger brothers began a food fight with whatever was in easy range. And when rainbow sprinkles rained down on Roman, he seemed to reboot, and then he was in the middle of it, too. There was flour and icing and sugar and sprinkles everywhere. Logan slipped in the flour coating the floor, and fell into Roman, who used the moment to smear some chocolate syrup into Logan’s slicked back hair. He shrieked in outrage and then Virgil was behind Roman, squeezing chocolate onto Roman’s entire outfit. Then it was Roman’s turn to be outraged. Until he noticed that Virgil seemed to have gotten off far easier than he or Logan had.

“Logan, would you like to form an alliance?” he asked. Logan smirked dangerously at Virgil.

“I would love to, Ro.”

The look on Virgil’s face was priceless.

Within minutes, all three of them were sitting on the floor, laughing at the mess surrounding them. Virgil’s hair was white from the amount of powdered sugar and flour in it, Logan’s glasses were smeared with something that looked like strawberry syrup, and Roman had never been so sticky in his life.

“The cookies are done, I think,” Virgil said. Logan washed his glasses off and then checked.

“You are right. Somehow.” He turned an eye on Virgil. “Are you a psychic?”

“I don’t know, L. Am I?” Roman snorted at the look on Logan’s face for the second time that night.

“Alright, you two ice those, uh, the-the-”

“Cookies?”

“Yup. Ice the cookies. I will clean this up,” Virgil said.

“Are you sure that you would rather clean than help ice the cookies?” Logan asked. Virgil shook his head.

“I’m garbage at icing and you know it.”

“But I don’t know how!” Roman cried, ever-dramatic. “You are a wonderful artist. So why can’t you use icing?”

“It doesn’t behave like paint or charcoals or pens or markers or, or, the uhm, the graphite things. It just isn’t an art supply,” Virgil defended himself, pulling his sticky white jacket off. “Okay, I’ve gotta clean this.”

“Got to,” Logan quietly corrected as Roman said,

“You’re getting awful serious over there, Virge.” Roman watched as Virgil folded up the jacket and placed it on the counter.

“Yeah,” agreed Virgil. “I’m going into cleaning mode.” And then he started cleaning.

“Do. . .do we even have any icing left?” Roman asked Logan, though his eyes remained on Virgil, who was moving around the room quicker than he had any right to go.

“Yes. It is in those cabinets.” Logan motioned up to highest doors in the room.

“Of course it is,” Roman muttered, crawling onto the flour-slick counter. When he opened the doors, however, he saw all the same things they’d just destroyed sitting in pristine condition. “Uh, Logan? Why is all this up here? I know Dad can’t reach it.”

“What?” Logan mumbled, looking up from the cookies. His eyes widened. “I don’t know why that’s there. V?”

“I made sure it was there,” he said, still working on cleaning.

“When? Why?” Roman asked.

“Because Logan and I were in a similar situation a few years ago. And Dad told us we were asking for truffle, and also that the bakery was expensive. I didn’t want Dad to be mad that we, uh, we-shit-

“Language,” they chimed.

“That we trashed the place.” Virgil shrugged and kept mopping the floor.

“How’d you even afford all that?” Roman asked, awed.

“I got Missy and Emile to help me out. Plus, we really didn’t use that much.” Virgil paused to look at his brothers. “We have to put it all away when we’re done, though, and then hide the evidence this ever happened. I don’t want Dad to know.”

“Very astute, V,” Logan said, still shocked. “Wait, that means you planned this!” Logan motioned animatedly to his head.

“I most certainly did not plan for that to happen to your, uh, your, the strands of stuff.”

“Hair?” Logan suggested.

“Yeah.” Virgil grinned. Roman could see the murder playing out in Logan’s eyes. “But I have to say that I very much approve.” Virgil smiled at Logan, who shook his head in despair.

Virgil went back to cleaning, Roman got all the ingredients down to help Logan put away, and then the pair of them iced almost all the cookies. They left a few plain for Logan, because they all kind of wanted cookies, and while Virgil and Logan were not as good as Dad, they were a close second.

“Let’s go home,” Logan mumbled tiredly when they were done. Virgil, looking dead on his feet, agreed.

“Yeah. We gotta give Dad the cookies. And then, if we’re lucky, sleep.”

“What do you mean, if we’re lucky?” Roman asked. “I could sleep through a nuclear explosion right now.”

“Sometimes you can just tell when you won’t be able to sleep at night. You know?”

“No, I don’t think I do,” Roman said quietly. At Virgil’s panicked look, he amended, “I’m sure it’s fine Virgil. Just do your best to sleep tonight. If you can’t, there’s a whole car ride in front of you tomorrow.” Roman walked his little brothers home, smiling.

And if they walked into the house covered in flour and chocolate, and if Dad burst out laughing at the sight, and then crying when they gave him the cookies and said he was “very fondue you three”, and if Virgil didn’t sleep at all that night, it was fine. It was totally fine, and there were some things that could be dealt with after their vacation, and there were some things that they didn’t need to talk about. Patton knew his kiddos loved him, and he loved them just as much.

Maybe a sprinkle more.

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

Taglist: @trashcanego @supersoftsupersleep

[xmayleensyo]

Alcohol based markers will always be a mystery to me...

But real talk, how do you sketch something out or even line something before hand without the marker picking up the ink/graphite and smearing it everywhere?? Asking for a friend (me).