#then I could tweak the poses until it felt right and THEN I could draw

[rubberduckyrye]

Google how do you draw faster without losing quality--

[shaemeful-illustrations]

Week One Group Character Assignment

This next assignment was broken into two parts: creating a character brief; and then following another teams character brief.

This was the brief that Shayla, Peter and myself created for another team:

And the results of our brief:

We were then presented this brief:

Picking a different style each (mobile game, animated, childbook illustration) we then got together and decided how we envisioned this character looking.

I chose to draw our koala in a mobile game style, which is characterized by its simple yet considered form and use of geometric shapes. Because I wanted to make my koala out of shapes I knew I wanted to use Illustrator, which if you have seen my Fundies Tumblr you would know is a program I have previously struggled with. Before going into Illustrator I wanted to have a clear idea of what I was trying to create, so first used Photoshop to create a basic sketch and mood board of my references:

Once I knew how I wanted my koala to look I went into Illustrator and started blobbing him out in varying circles. The torso was made out of two separate circles that I used the pathfinder tool to combine, and the limbs were made using a similar process to what we did to make our Fundies Penguin.

The limbs were made by taking a circle, cutting and then pasting half of the circle and then using Command/Control + J to join the anchor points. I then used the handles on either side to taper this oval until I had the shapes I wanted to use.

Using the hat as my reference, I locked all my current shapes using Command/Control + 2 and started to draw the sections of the hat using the pen tool. I started with the wider brim of the hat to act as my base, and to allow me to use the pathfinder tool to cut out the other shapes that would form the shadow and lip of the hat.

I then created the crown of the hat, followed by the back shadow of the hat, using the path finder tool to carve that out from the brim.

Because I already battle with Illustrator so much I chose to colour as I went and tweak after so I could more easily visualize what I was trying to do. I used the gradient tool to colour in each section.

I followed same process to create the lift by his ear and also the very top of the hat, using a lighter gradient on top to the left so it would contrast the right of the crown.

To create the face I used circles to form the eyes, the pen tool to draw his eyebrow shapes, and the pen tool to create his nose and mouth - changing the line profile and weight to create the tapering.

I then went through and added different gradients to each body part, playing around with the gradient angle until I felt like the shadows looked right. It was also during this process I decided I wanted my character to be walking to make his pose feel more dynamic.

While having both legs behind the body is definitely a stylistic choice, it wasn't the look I was trying to achieve with this koala so I combined my front leg shape and the torso using the pathfinder tool and then readjusted my gradient.

I then went through and added in my ear circle, using the gradient tool again to colour it in. I also decided to outline all my different body parts as well as creating additional lines to outline the ear and underbelly to create more depth. We decided as a team that we wanted our Boris (the hat) to have a piece of straw in his mouth, so I went in with the pen tool to create this changing the line profile to create a tapered appearance.

Because a part of the brief was making the hat feel battered and old I knew I needed to add some wear and tear. I started by making a square and then deleting anchor points to create a triangle.

Once I had adjusted the triangle to my desired shape I placed it where I wanted the notch and used the pathfinder minus front button to take the notch out.

Probably my favourite use of the gradient tool on the koala was the gradient I created for his face. I focused it so it would create a subtle shadow underneath the hat while leaving the rest of the face nice and bright.

After some more finessing with gradients, including a subtle gradient on the nose, I was happy with my Frank the Koala and all that was left to do was collate all three of our koalas together to submit for feedback.

[kmackatie]

Intimacy+ 28/58/72/101?

I hope you have a good day!

Hello! I am thank you, hope you are too! Here we go with the first one of these. I'm sure I will get around to the others eventually I am sure!

Thank you to @mllekurtz for reading over this one prior to posting, it is a little longer than my 1k limit.

request a prompt from this list here

28 - brushing the other’s hair shadowgast, post canon, 1495 words, cw: non-sexual nudity

His fingers worked soap through the ends of Caleb’s hair, massaging gently and lathering up in the damp. Caleb sat in the large tub, water dripping down his back while Essek perched on the edge, feet submerged and tucked around to keep Caleb stable. A bit of dunamancy was helping him stay upright, with his pants rolled up to knee to protect them, tunic gone with his arms bare dressed in just his sleeveless undershirt.

“Tip your head back for me, sevgilim.” It was accompanied by his fingers gently guiding, carding through the damp strands.

Caleb did as he asked, eyes still closed and breathing deeply. Collecting the small bowl from the floor, Essek dipped it into the water before lifting it and tipping it slowly over Caleb’s hair. Working his hand through it, Essek methodically repeated the process, until all the soap had rinsed free.

“There we go.” Essek was talking to himself as much as he was Caleb, voice deliberately soft so as to not affect the calm peace Caleb had settled into. “First one done. Hmm, lavender, or your usual one with honey? Do you have a preference?” He leaned down, hands still in Caleb’s hair and placed a kiss against Caleb’s forehead. “It is more than fine if you don’t.”

He paused for a moment, to see if Caleb would respond, hands gently massaging through the strands.

“Lavender. Want to smell like you.”

Essek’s lips quirked into a brief smile, before he extracted one of his hands and tipped Caleb’s head forward.

“Lavender it is.”

This one was the closest Essek could find to his favourite conditioner from Rosohna, similar in scent though his was sure made with different plants. Lavender was a luxury, a symbol of status due to how difficult it was to grow. This one was sold for an exorbitant price in Nicodrans, reported to actually be from the Dynasty. It reminded him of home, a pang in his chest he couldn’t quite get rid of every time he opened it, and was the one indulgence he kept with, even now.

Scoping out some of the cream, Essek got to work, hands combing through and massaging into the roots. He moved methodically through it, making sure to capture each of the strands, before repeating the rise motion. There were little words between them, just the sound of Essek’s movements and water splashing, with the odd hum or subconscious muttering breaking it.

Before long, Essek was encouraging Caleb to rinse, and he took the moment to submerge fully while Essek rinsed his hands.

Breaking the surface with a gasp, Caleb leaned backwards and connected with where Essek’s knees were resting inside the tub. His head tipped back against them, and Essek smiled, shifting slightly on his seat to widen his legs to give Caleb more room to sit comfortably. He can’t help but return his hands to Caleb’s hair, enamoured as ever with the multitude of colours buried in there.

Even soaked and dripping, it was still stunning, the hues darkening to a deep russet and ochre that was found in some of the caves near Asarius. Some would call it muddy, and not a colour worth noting, but those people had not seen Caleb Widogast in a tub of water. It had gotten longer in the last few months, rivalling the length of Essek’s before he cut it off.

“Have you ever braided your hair?”

There was a huff of what Essek assumed was confusion or surprise as Caleb shifted under his hands, head twisting around slightly to look at Essek.

“Hmm?”

“Braiding. Have you ever let anyone braid your hair?”

Caleb blinked, processing the question before nodding.

“Jester, once. I never learned how.”

“May I?”

It was posed as a question, even as his hands started to divide the hair, designs and ideas in his mind. It would always be a question, the asking of permission to cross boundaries, to check in and make sure it was welcomed. It was something they had come to agree on, the need for consent and for it to be checked in on frequently.

Caleb nodded, eyes flicking closed as he sunk down a little further in the bath.

He lost himself in his task, hands that were a little out of practice finding their rhythm.

Section, weave, join. Pass over, pass under, join.

It was meditative in it’s own way, as his mind focused on getting the patterns right. He paused, one hand with sections of hair cradled between each finger as he carefully turned Caleb’s head, checking on the progress. This style, it was that screamed Dynasty, and was a modification on one he used to weave into Verin’s hair, before they fell out. More intricate than normal, it was difficult to achieve on your own. There were a few strands that he gathered, tucking back in before continuing.

Section, weave, join. Pass over, pass under, join.

The style when complete, included four separate braids: two in a lattice style from the front center of Caleb’s head with the ends weaving into the traditional Thelyss-waterfall style, before morphing into smaller intricate braids that joined in a knot at the back of Caleb’s head. He fussed with the ends, tweaking a few places to get it to sit just right, before he sighed, hands dropping down to Caleb’s shoulders and squeezing gently.

“It’s done?” asked Caleb, voice low and rumbling.

“Mmm, canım, it’s done.”

“You seem practised at that.”

“It has been a while, but it seems there are some skills you do not forget, no matter how long it has been since you used them,” said Essek, hands now rubbing small circles into Caleb’s shoulders. “I used to braid for Verin. Back… well. It’s been many years since I’ve done that.”

A hand raised and covered his, squeezing his fingers gently.

“You are welcome to use my hair at any time, Schatz.”

He chuckled, flipping his palm over and linking his fingers with Caleb’s.

“Thank you. It’s nice to know I still remember them.”

“Explain them to me?”

Lifting his free hand, Essek tapped lightly against the first braid, before drawing his finger down and back against it.

“This one, this style is called ışık, it’s one unique to Den Kryn, though I have cut it through with a general Dynasty style. Very traditional, used by high-ranking officials, generals, members of the nobility.” He felt Caleb nod under his hands, following the explanation. “It honours the Bright Queen, and you’ll find most of the Dens use this one day to day. These ones here though”—he drew Caleb’s attention to the lower two, tapping gently and drawing his finger across them—“these ones are Thelyss braids, unique to our Den. Each one has them. Mostly special occasions, formal dinners, religious ceremonies, weddings, that’s when you see these ones.”

Caleb was quiet for a moment, his thumb running circles into the back of Essek’s hand.

Essek tapped his hand on the delicate knot that draws the braids together, considering. He had been indulgent, when he wove this one in.

“This one, mmh. It’s, well. It is considered a kur yapmak, a gesture of courtship and intention. With a few adjustments, it is what I would have expected to be wearing—if I had the hair to do it with—when a marriage union would have been finalised.”

There was heat in his cheeks as he finished the explanation, and a sudden lurching of his heart. How would Caleb read this, the liberties he had taken?

Maybe Caleb felt something, his fingers still wrapped around Essek’s and brushing against his wrist, but he moved from between his legs. Water splashed over the sides, and Essek would have been annoyed if he hadn’t already sacrificed these pants to being drenched, but as it was he just leaned back and waited for Caleb to settle.

They were eye to eye now, Caleb kneeling with water running down his chest between Essek’s legs, hand still grasped in his hand. There was a look of quiet joy on his face, a light that danced between his eyes as he reached a hand out to cup Essek’s cheek. He can’t help but lean into it, Essek’s eyes dropping closed for a moment.

“That is an elaborate way to ask, Liebling.”

Essek chuckled, fondness colouring his tone as he smiled.

“You haven’t yet said no,” he pointed out, turning his head to kiss Caleb’s palm briefly. “But it is not a proposal. I… if that is something you are interested in, then we can talk about it.”

Caleb leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of Essek’s nose, his cheek, before leaning in and capturing his mouth. Essek raised a hand, covering Caleb’s where it still rested against his cheek. It was a slow kiss, gentle and patient, and Essek savoured it.

They drew back, foreheads pressed together, and Essek felt Caleb smile.

“We can talk about it.”

[angelatmidnight1]

Never Rouse The Beast

This is part two to my first Bloodhound and Octane fic. I had fun writing this one and hope you guys like it. It’s 11:42pm here and I hope there are no typos lol. xD

Summary:  After finding out how ticklish Bloodhound is, Octane finds an opportunity to remind them at every chance he gets. Little does Octane know, however, is that there’s a reason you never poke the beast and expect it to lie still…

“What’cha lookin’ at, amigo?” Octane smirked at his teammate from across the dropship and chuckled. Bloodhound turned their head away from the daredevil and cleared their throat, pinging the Sorting Factory below.

“...I think we should land here.” They murmured as they nodded towards the furthest L-shaped building towards the back of the area. Since the pair was among the last few squads in the ship, Octane moseyed on over to the hunter’s side and peered down where they pinged. He brought one of his hands up to his forehead as if he needed to shield his eyes from the glaring sun, his other hand finding their side and giving it a squeeze. Octane pretended as if he needed to balance himself but they both knew better. 

“Over there?” He asked innocently while kneading their side between his fingers. Bloodhound squirmed out of the daredevil’s touch and nearly fell out of the ship themselves, earning them strange looks from the few remaining squads and a giggle from their teammate.

“Yeh-hes..” Bloodhound stammered, bringing their arm down against their side protectively. Although they were the Jump Master, Octane could have easily decided to break off and jump before them and go wherever he wanted. In fact, that’s what he usually did, claiming that it took foooreeeever to land. But ever since their recent “training session”, Bloodhound was finding it difficult to put some space between themselves and the daredevil. And it was their luck that out of all the Legends that they could have gotten as a teammate, they were stuck with him. 

“Alright, then what are we waiting for? Let’s go!” Octane cheered before the pair finally jumped from the ship and descended at a rapid pace. As they were landing, Octane whipped out his selfie stick and held it above himself and Bloodhound, elbowing their ribs to get their attention. 

“Say cheese for all my followers~!” Octane yelled against the roaring wind, Bloodhound audibly gasping and recoiling out of his reach. Octane finally broke off and laughed all the way down, stashing his selfie stick and immediately stabbing himself with a stim to dash around for weapons. 

    The rest of the match followed a similar pattern: As the pair scrounged around for loot, Octane’s hand would “accidentally” brush against the hunter’s side as they’re picking up ammo, would tweak their ribs as they both launched themselves across the map with his jump pad. But then, after Bloodhound got their 7th kill, most likely fueled by Octavio’s mischief, the largest banner in the arena flashed to the hunter’s picture, much to Octane’s excitement. 

“Mira, check out mi amigo, the new Kill Leader!” Octane announced to any team within earshot of the two. He snaked his arm around Bloodhound’s shoulders and spun them around so that they could both face the camera, the daredevil wasting no time to strike a pose for his adoring fans. Bloodhound offered a polite nod towards the camera but, in one swift motion Octane snuck his hand down to the hunter’s hip and squeezed it hard enough through their armor to make them sink down laughing. 

    That was the last straw for Bloodhound. When Octane attacked them before in the firing range, they were the only two in the area. But in the arena, all eyes were on them, and if an enemy didn’t hear them, spectators definitely saw them. The last thing the hunter wanted was for their sensitivity to become public knowledge. So, after securing a win through Bloodhound’s accurate sniper shot and Octane being...well, a guns blazing lunatic, the pair went to the medical ward to be checked out for injuries. Bloodhound was cleared rather quickly but Octane, having a very mild cut on his right side, stayed behind to be patched up by Ajay Che. As she approached the two, she smiled and waved to the hunter before strolling up to Octane with a smirk.

“So how much trouble did ya put Bloodhound through, Silva?” Lifeline chuckled, leaning down to examine the injury. Octane scoffed and laid back on the table so that it was easier for her to patch him up.

“Pfft, me? Trouble? Never, hermana.” Octane smirked, lifting up his mask so that he could wink at her. Bloodhound turned to leave the medical ward but paused at the door upon hearing a sudden bout of snickering. They looked over their shoulder to see Octane fidgeting on the table with Lifeline’s hand still on his side, his laughter picking up as she lightly squeezed his side to get a better grip.

“Wahahtch it, Ajay!” Octane squeaked only to have Lifeline roll her eyes and playfully push his arm, standing back up.

“I woulda been done already had ya not moved! Ya just have a small abrasion, doesn’t really need a bandaid. I only need ya to hold still so I can clean it.” Lifeline answered before turning on her heel to retrieve the medical cleaning wipes. By that time, Bloodhound had left the room, but they had seen all they needed to get the vengeance they sought.

    The hunter found the daredevil out by the Gauntlet later that day and watched as he tinkered with one of his many jump pads. There was a large tool box with tools scattered all over the platform and Bloodhound, seeing their prey thoroughly engrossed in what he was doing, slowly approached the platform. Octane mumbled excitedly to himself as he carelessly tossed bolts he didn’t need anymore over the platform and, when he suddenly felt a hand on each of his shoulders, he screamed in surprise as he was pulled backwards and sat on. Bloodhound held both of the daredevil’s wrists in one hand and used their legs to keep him pinned at the waist; by the time Octane caught up to what happened, he struggled to pull his wrists free from their iron hold. 

“Bloodhound?! What are you doing, get off of me!” He yelled, cringing as his struggling only made the hunter hold on tighter. 

“I will not. You disgraced me on the battlefield today, and you are going to atone for your actions.” They growled, bringing their hand up to Octane’s neck and dragging one finger along the side. Octane flinched, expecting pain, but his eyes widened once the realization hit and he struggled more frantically under Bloodhound’s weight. Octane must have caught them on an off day before, because the hunter was strong and easily kept him in place. 

“W-Waahait amigo, wait, listen. We can talk about thihis! Y-Yohohu’re aahahlways s-so sehehrious anhnd I’m not even--pfft, Blohohoodhohohund wahahahit!” Octane sputtered and snickered, his shoulder shaking as he tried to lift it and block out their hand. However, when Octane rolled his head to one side and blocked one side of his neck, Bloodhound simply switched sides and wiggled their finger against the skin ever so slowly. 

“You may speak, Octavio. I will listen to anything you wish to say while I satiate my vengeance.” Bloodhound answered quietly before they moved their hand to Octane’s exposed sides and dragged their fingers at a slow, tortuous pace.

Octane yelled again before falling into a heavy giggling fit, already on the verge of laughter as the hunter carefully moved their fingers against his skin. If the slow pace wasn’t enough to drive him crazy, it was the deliberate, frightening accuracy that the hunter sought out and scraped at the most sensitive spots on his sides. Octane yelped and giggled harder the further up Bloodhound’s hands went and they settled their hands on the uppermost area of their sides, walking their fingers up and down more briskly.

“BLOHOHOHOOOHOHdohohohohund hahahahah PLEHEHEHehehehase DOOHOHOHhohohn’t t-tIIHIHIHIHihihihihcklle! POOHOHOHohohor fahahahahvoohohohr!” Octane squeaked and suddenly barked out a laugh when the hunter kneaded their fingers into his stomach. “AAHAHAHAHAH NOHOHOHAHAHAH!”

“I am not doing anything that was not previously done to me. However, it is unfortunate that your armor does not offer any protection to attacks of this nature.” Bloodhound smirked as they worked their thumb into each side of Octavio’s stomach, drawing out a harder bout of laughter. 

“I’M SOHOHOHOHRRY! IIIHIHIHIHIH WAHAHAS JUHUHST M-MEHEHESSING AHAHAHAROHOHUNDHAHAHA! STOHOHOHOHOHOHP!” Octane cackled and arched his back, his head rolling side to side as his legs fruitlessly kicked against the ground.

“Suppose I do not stop, Octavio. Suppose I keep you here, at my mercy, and torment you in the same manner you tormented me. The gods granted you unlimited stamina, and it would take a great deal of time before you grow tired..” Bloodhound mused as they took the tip of their finger and drew circles around the daredevil’s navel. Octane screamed and bucked harshly, his laughter taking on a desperate note as he kicked at the ground even more, kicking up a cloud of dust.

“NONONOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOH! PLEHEHEHEHEHEEHEHAHAHSE ‘HOHOHUNDHAHAHAH STAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”  Octane howled and convulsed beneath them in a wild fit of laughter that only grew higher in pitch the closer they got to his navel. The daredevil shook his head so much that his goggles became crooked on his face and Bloodhound, taking notice, brought the tickles back to that slow, agonizing pace. 

“This appears to be a sensitive area of yours.” Bloodhound noted calmly, poking just under the navel and making Octavio wheeze. Octane remained in stitches until the hunter slowed the tickling down even more though he still shook with laughter.

“SIHIHIHIHI-SIHIHIHI! Ihihihihit ihihihihihihs! I’m behehehehehehegging yohohohu, stahahahahahahp!” Octane pleaded, sucking in his already slim stomach. This did nothing to deter Bloodhound from delivering careful pokes to the daredevil’s abdomen though, all of a sudden, the hunter did stop. Octavio noisily gasped for air and let his head fall back, a thin layer of sweat lining his forehead. “Haha...hah...thahnk yoohou…” 

Bloodhound remained quiet as they brought their hand up to their helmet and ran their fingers along the upper part of the head piece, fishing out a sleek, black raven’s feather and holding it between their index finger and thumb. “I am owed no gratitude,” They started, watching Octane look up with a start and tense up at the sight of the feather. “For I am still not satisfied with your pleas for mercy..”

Octane, not taking too long to recover, began struggling with a renewed vigor as Bloodhound lowered the feather closer and closer to his navel. “WAIT! Bloodhound please! ¡Te lo ruego!¡Te lo ruego! (I’m begging you!) I won’t tickle you again! I wohOHOHOHOHOHOHN’T!” Octane’s pleading was cut off with a sharp scream as the feather stroked the inside of his navel and he started bucking with hysterical laughter. “NOHOHOHOHOHO POHOHOHR LAHAH AHAHAHMOR DE DIHOHOHOHS (For the love of God) NOOHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” 

Bloodhound grinned slightly beneath their mask as they twisted the feather between their fingers and drew circular patterns against Octavio’s navel. Octane shrieked with laughter and kicked the ground furiously, the cloud of dust he kicked up looking more like a tornado than a cloud. Then, maybe in an attempt to be a little merciful, the hunter swept up his torso and flicked the feather against his armpits, flinching in surprise when Octavio screamed again. The daredevil’s laughter momentarily became silent before it picked up again, though it was riddled with hiccups. 

“Oh? Is there a spot that is more sensitive than your navel?” Bloodhound asked with a tilt of their head as they held the feather at the junction where the armpit and upper arm meet. Octane snorted before falling back into a heavy giggling fit, his answer half in Spanish, half in English, and jumbled together at that. 

“NYAHAHAHAHNOAHAPLAHAHAHDIHAHA!”

Bloodhound tutted softly and lifted the feather, dusting it against his ribs during his trip back down to Octavio’s abdomen. “An unintelligible answer I’m afraid. Fret not, I will discern for myself.”

By the time Bloodhound finished tickling Octavio, where they promptly let his arms go and climbed off his waist, the daredevil was drenched with sweat and laying with his arms and legs splayed in random directions. He didn’t bother to fix his goggles, which were barely hanging on to the side of his face, and he was still grinning as the ticklish sensations racked his core. Bloodhound patiently waited for Octane to recuperate and eventually, the daredevil brought himself up to lay on his side and finally readjusted his goggles. “You...are evil…” He breathed out tiredly, groaning as the hunter carefully reached over and helped him lean against a wall within the Gauntlet. Bloodhound shrugged their shoulders and moved the miscellaneous bolts and other stray tools out of Octavio’s way to give him enough room to rest, propping themselves against a wall opposite the daredevil.

“I am only what the gods will me to be. However, should you choose to return to your previous actions, the only mercy you’ll find shall rest with the gods.”

[queenofcats17]

hell's studio prompt: bendy becomes smol and henry has to watch him until it can be fixed

The saga of smol continues

———————————————————

Bendy was having…an interesting week.

It had all started with Joey announcing that he wanted to try a new spell to help stabilize the forms of the toons. All of them had, of course, been a bit nervous about this. Joey’s spells didn’t usually end well, after all. But it was still worth a try. The toon’s bodies did have a tendency to distort when they felt strong emotions. Especially Bendy.

So, Bendy volunteered to be the guinea pig since his form tended to be the most unstable. He got in the circle and Joey did the ritual. And it was fine. For about an hour, at least. Then the disaster they’d all been expected had happened.

Bendy had been making the rounds when he’d suddenly begun to melt. There had, of course, been quite a bit of panic at that. The employees present had scrambled to help, some trying to keep Bendy from melting more while others went to get Henry and Joey. Bendy had been terrified, thinking that his body was about to completely disintegrate. But when he stopped melting, he was still present. Just….smaller.

Somehow, Joey’s little ritual had reduced him to six inches tall. Just like Joey, Henry, and Sammy before him. Joey was working on a way to reverse it, as usual, but Bendy was going to be stuck like that for a bit. Which was why he was now riding around in Henry’s pocket.

“Your pose’s still too stiff,” Bendy said, watching as Henry drew.

“Don’t backseat draw when you can’t even hold a pencil,” Henry chided him.

“I’m just tryin’ to help!” Bendy whined, wriggling out of Henry’s pocket and dropping to the desk.

Once on the desk, he regarded Henry’s drawing with his arms folded. He’d lost his clothes when he’d shrunk, so he was just in his classic bowtie and gloves.

“This looks too stiff,” he said, pointing to the way the Henry had drawn the arms. “No one holds their arms like that.”

“How do you suggest I draw it then?” Henry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Like this.” Bendy struck the pose.

“Mm.” Henry narrowed his eyes, picking up his pencil and trying to replicate the pose the way Bendy was demonstrating it.

.

Henry took Bendy everywhere during the whole week that he was tiny. Bendy went home with him every night and slept in a little doll bed that Ruth used for her dolls. It was…really nice. Bendy didn’t want to admit it, but he really enjoyed being taken everywhere by Henry.

Bendy had basically popped into this world as an adult. He’d never gone through the stage of being a child in this world. But being taken care of by Henry like this…it made him feel like a child. In the very best way. He felt safe and protected with Henry. And it was nice.

He almost didn’t want it to end.

But at the end of the week, Joey did manage to return him to normal. Bendy tried to hide his disappointment at losing that sense of safety. Joey, however, did notice.

“What’s wrong, Ben?” He asked as the demon returned to his original form.

“It’s nothin’.” Bendy shrugged, forcing himself to smile.

“Are you sure?” Joey looked concerned. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong, don’t worry,” Bendy said. “I just…” He hesitated. “I’m gonna miss bein’ able to curl up in Henry’s pocket. It was nice, y’know? I felt…safe.”

“I could tweak your ink so that you could change your size at will,” Joey suggested. “That way you can still do that.”

Bendy’s expression was immediately wary, especially after the ordeal he’d just gone through.

“…Fine,” he said slowly. “But not right now. I gotta recover from this.”

“Of course,” Joey agreed. “I need to figure out the spell first.”

Bendy left the office to return to his normal duties, leaving Joey to his spellbook. He had a smile on his face.

[ishgard]

Title: Gifts & Curses Chapter 1: Nothing if Not Consistent Words: 2,545 Rating: T/PG-13 AO3 Link A/N: I opened one of those RP prompts ages ago that said something like 'Gaius gets cursed and Ahru can heal him', and then at like 4am falling asleep it burst wide open. One day I might go back, tweak it up, and fit it in to the grander story at large, but for now it’s just a stand-alone, for fun, deal.

________

Curses were tricky things, suffice it to say. They didn’t work in the ways one expected, or in ways that were obvious. Other times the cursemaker may not have been practiced in the art of it, bringing forth spite-driven but clumsy results.

As it stood, it was difficult to say one way or the other what Gaius Baelsar’s particular case was, but the effects had been wearing on him for days.

“I’m not sure, it’s not like anything I’ve ever seen before…” Yulania frowned, leaning back and folding her arms over her chest. She was still reluctant to help the ex-legatus, but she’d come at Ahru’s behest just the same.

Moving almost in unison with her, Arsh instead leaned forward, tilting his head this and that as he looked Gaius over, scratching his chin.

“That’s because it scarcely resembles anything it ought to. A mess is what it is. Someone slapping together whatever bits of knowledge they could assemble…” He restrained a chuckle -barely- and shrugged. “I’d be surprised if they themselves didn’t suffer for the casting of such a foolish attempt.”

In a small, dim-lit storage room in Ala Mhigo, Gaius sat in silence, gaze cast low to the ground before him, head sunk between his shoulders. He’d always thought himself a decently sensible man - arguable to some, he could reason, when he’d been blinded by grand ideals and the promise of power.

Such was neither here nor there though; whatever this curse, it weighed on him. Hushed whispers and babbling played at the back of his mind, barely audible - only to be crashed by a sudden scream, or angry shouts. Countless voices, all in unison, sometimes dulling to silence, as if to offer him some mild hope of reprieve only, of course, to come barreling over his senses again in a rush.

Sleep was impossible, his performance in battle suffered, and though he held himself together best he could, he could no longer deny the threads were growing thin.

“Can’t say I’m too surprised, there’s no small few who would love to see the Black Wolf hang - or worse.” Yulania sighed and shook her head. While she wasn’t so comfortable with their new ‘ally’, capital punishment didn’t sit right with her either.

“Think you could… I dunno, trace the aetherial patterns or some shit?” Ahru waved a hand at the air. "Track down who might have done it?" She may have been better at the aetherial arts than she’d ever been in her life, but hells if she knew how to deal with any of this. At best she could muddle her way through more basic healing, and instinct had often guided her well, but it had been clear from the moment Gaius had come to her this was well beyond anything she could pull off.

Yulania scrunched up her nose. “You really think the Elementals are going to give me a hand with this?”

“Pff, of course not. I just figured you might have some handy witch-y tricks up your billowing sleeves.” She didn’t give a piss about the Elementals, Yul was one of the most gifted healers she knew, and that wasn’t because of them. Catching her meaning, Yulania’s cheeks gave a faint pink glow, though she hid it with a frown and shake of her head.

“Unfortunately, it’s such a mess, I’d be afraid to apply any of my usual remedies. Fixing one thing could cause something else to worsen.”

Together they both looked to Arshadaya, who was now crouched down in front of Gaius, waving his hand not five ilms from his face. Gaius, however, didn’t seem to notice, his eyes wide and glazed over, mouth agape. The lines of his face were writ in horror, as if he were seeing some fearsome, terrible thing beyond Arsh’s palm and wiggling digits.

Ahru reached over and smacked Arsh’s hand back - even that did not draw the man out of his stupor, however.

“Gaius.” Bodily shoving Arsh out of the way she instead clapped her hands on either of his shoulders, trying to bring his gaze to hers. She’d seen him go like this once before already, and nothing had worked to bring him out of it then, yet still she could not help but try. There was little use in trying to wrap her mind around whatever their relationship was at this point, but she didn’t enjoy the idea of any she counted among her allies suffering.

“Another part of another stitched-together hex,” Arsh shrugged dismissively. “I don’t think wiggling him around will snap him out of it.”

“Your pointless commentary is not why I asked you here,” she grumbled back. He knew that, he knew everything, and she was oh so certain he knew how to fix this, but it was ever his wont to play so frustratingly coy.

“Yet it’s all I’m capable of offering.” Feigning a crestfallen pout, he dramatically shrugged his hands out to either side of him. Now that she knew better, these little gestures of his at times reminded her of Emet-Selch. But she quickly shoved that thought away, as she was becoming accustomed to doing every time the dead Ascian surfaced from the deep to haunt her.

“Oh, come now, that can’t be true.” Yulania was the first to speak up, as exasperated with the Ascians usual antics as Ahru herself was. No matter how accustomed to it they may have been. “According to Ahru, Emet-Selch could snap his fingers and pluck souls from the lifestream. You’ve practically done the same with her. Surely a tangled up little curse can’t pose such a problem.”

“Ah, but it can. And I’d like to remind you I very nearly died saving our darling Ahru. Emet-Selch was nothing short of prodigious in his abilities to see and understand the movements of the lifestream, and I but a paltry babe suckling at the teet by compare.”

“Imagery I could do without,” Ahru muttered. Her hands remained on Gaius’s shoulders, her eyes on his - still swimming in mute, abject fear. What nightmare of his own making must he have been seeing this time? Unable to scream, same as the dead bodies in his wake. Such was as much as he’d conveyed to her the last time this had occurred. That he’d found himself trapped in the corpses of those who had suffered for his ego, watching with lifeless eyes as even greater atrocities ensued. Their fears and horrors became his, but their anger and resentment wrapped gnarled fists around his throat and strangled him.

“Unfortunately, messy as this curse is, it’s effective. Patchwork bits of one hex and another strewn into his very soul, all twisted and knotted together with one great thread of hatred and murderous spite. Removing one could cause upheaval of another, but worse still is the very potential to unravel his very being.”

It was, at times, difficult to grasp just what Arshadaya really felt on a matter. One sentence or word weighed with amusement and curiosity, another with pity. Such was the case now, but Ahru knew the truth to be simple enough. He was fascinated, but not without sympathy.

“So… it’ll keep going like this…”

“Until it kills him, yes. Perhaps he will go mad and take his own life. Perhaps he will act rashly, or from exhaustion, and get himself killed. Or perhaps the shock will soon grow too much for his withered old heart.”

“Arshadaya, please…” Yulania’s voice was soft and small, the barest rustle of leaves on a spring breeze. “There’s no need to elaborate on what we already know just because you relish the chance to talk more.”

Again, Arshadaya shrugged, but his flippant demeanor slowly began to slip away, like a mask discarded. Instead he watched Ahru’s face in profile, the way it furrowed and stared deep into the Garlean’s gazeless eyes. Her fingers were sunk deep into the folds of his coat, making the subtlest of movements as if she hoped to massage away the tension even while knowing it would do no good.

“It’s not really a problem, is it?” The moment the words were out of his mouth she was snapped back to the present, face an amusing blend somewhere between a ‘glower’ and aghast. This did not dissuade or give him pause. “By the laws of mortals, this is a just fate, is it not? To suffer all he has made others suffer, to bear every fear and scar upon his soul. In fact, I daresay it’s better than what any judicial system might be able to fathom up. Beheadings are much too quick.”

With each word her face scrunched up more and more, but so too did her obvious annoyance. Alas, it would seem he’d become much to predictable to his favorite little mortal.

“Can we please skip the part where I have to justify my desire to help people?”

“Even old enemies who’ve done so very, very, many terrible things?” He spoke as if he were talking to a puppy, the sarcasm dripping. What fool mortal could possibly have had more blood on his hands than an Ascian, after all?

Ahru turned partway to him now, drawing her hands back from Gaius’s shoulders to fold them across her chest. She was good at nailing this particular expression, half pleading pout, half stubborn glare. But then, it did precisely encapsulate two of her most prevalent emotions; long-suffering exhaustion and willful defiance. She was not so gifted in the Echo that they could share thoughts, but he could hear her loud and clear. ’Do not make me work more than is necessary for information you could just as easily provide me freely.’

“Fine, deprive me of my fun,” Arsh pouted right back at her, though his he would argue was far more heartfelt. “I could, possibly, fix him up if you are truly so adamant about it, but it will require ample payment. Sacrifice, you might even say.”

Had the current situation not already been sobering enough, Ahru and Yulania both tensed, listening with rapt attention. ‘Sacrifice’ was no small word to them, who had buried the bodies of countless comrades, and something neither of them took lightly. Arshadaya, however, simply grinned at them both, shaking his head.

“Ahru, my darling, you’ll have to take him home with you. To Hyr’asra, and your mother.”

Immediately Ahru blanched, eyes wide and mouth agape, not looking all too different now from Gaius.

“You… have to be joking.” There was no emotion to her words, she wasn’t processing much in the way of thoughts let alone emotions, and the thoughts that did get by simply came out like some automated recording on old Allag tech.

Yulania arched a brow. While she was well aware Ahru’s relation with her mother and birthplace were not particularly great, she didn’t realize it was quite so bad as to warrant such a flabbergasted response.

“Mm, as I recall, the Hiraeth don’t take too kindly to outsiders…” Instead Yul grappled for the easy, obvious answer - or question, rather, which she posed to Arshadaya. “So, wouldn’t it be difficult taking a Garlean there?”

“Oh, that’s not the problem.” Arsh moved over to Gaius now running a finger over the crease in the mans brow as if he were naught more than a statue to bear his intrigue. “Ahru can, technically get away with almost whatever she wants-” at that, Ahru nearly choked on a sudden, bitter laugh. “…The problem is she’s been avoiding it so long she hasn’t the faintest clue how to face going back.”

“Yeah, and marching in for the sole purpose of healing an ex-legatus isn’t exactly going to sit well with the uma’taja.” Ahru piped in, her words betraying her reluctance. But even as unwilling as she was, the greater reluctance was saying no to the suggestion if it might really help.

“I mean… will they punish you at all?” Yulania muddled over what they were telling her, unable to pick apart what from what. Arshadaya, conveniently, was more than willing now to be silent and pin any answers on Ahru, his golden gaze locked on her. Ahru simply shook her head.

“It… really doesn’t matter one way or the other.”

“Well that doesn’t sound promising.”

“The worst punishment she’ll endure is her mothers disappointment and dissatisfaction,” Arsh offered.

“No, I’m sure they could do a lot worse.” Ahru rolled her eyes, but she was already coming to her decision. Arsh joked of payment and sacrifices, but as far as she could see it was only her own stubborn pride at stake. “Will you really be able to help him if I take him there?” She frowned, squinting at Gaius. “You said… mother could?”

“Maybe. First I’d try the ruins. We may be able to fix him there, where the aether is strong and pure. But if nothing else,” he grinned - vicious and cruel. “They could always sing it out of him.”

Ahru shivered. The phrase, however, was perhaps comically lost on Yulania - and for the better.

“Are they… bad at singing?” She hazarded, voice small and uncertain like a mouse. To that, Arshadaya laughed.

“The worst,” he answered, clapping her on the shoulder in a way that did nothing to alleviate her unease. “But if we’re going to do this, I should go on ahead and prepare.”

This time he did not wait for assurances or firm glares. A dark portal opened for him, and he was gone, leaving the women and nigh-catatonic legatus behind. Yulania sighed, looking to her friend for some sort of assurance that there was not some worser fate awaiting her. As did, unfortunately, seem to often be the case.

Frustratingly, Ahru simply smiled back at her. That same, tired smile she’d seen countless times before when, inevitably, she rallied herself off to some great battle despite however much she needed the rest. The same one she used to ‘jokingly’ breath the words ‘No rest for the weary.’

“Ahru… You really don’t have to do this.”

“Hah, I do too. I’d do the same for you, or Regi. Any of you.”

Face scrunched up, she fixed her friend with a most ungrateful and quizzical look. “I do hope Regi and I place a little higher than Gaius, Ahru.”

She laughed outright at that, genuine and hearty, and it seemed to liven her up. “Without a doubt, but the sentiment remains the same. So I have a painfully awkward family reunion waiting for me? Not much of a price to pay if it means saving someone.”

Sighing, Yul was near to agreeing, but stopped herself short seeing the apologetic grin now unfolding across Ahru’s features. “…What?”

“Besides~” she sang, “you’ll have the much more arduous task here, letting the others know what’s going on. Should probably start with Valdeaulin.”

“Oh, he'll be pissed, don’t you dare saddle me with-”

“You’re a gem, Yul. I couldn’t do this without you!” Before she could utter another word of protest, Ahru had seized her by the shoulders and given her a kiss on the nose. “Look after him a moment while I grab my things!”

And then she was darting out the storeroom door, leaving her blinking and grumbling to herself.

“You’re as bad as the Ascian…”

[domestic-energy-vampires]

Pride Day 4: The Sun

---

Started writing a story yesterday cause I figured it'd take less time than drawing, but!! I'm still late. The picture I want to post tonight should actually be simpler! Unless I change my mind and do something more complicated. 🙃

---

Waking up to the thrum of a spaceship was going to take some getting used to.

Yellow light flickered into Darwin’s visor and he made a soft tone of activation, rolling over to bury his head in the pillows. He swept through his systems and ran the normal slew of morning diagnostics before curling deeper into the cool, crisp sheets. He felt a light touch against his neck, gentle fingers smoothing over the interlocking metal plates to rest at his shoulder. Darwin dragged his arm up to put it over Fletcher, but his hand landed on empty sheets, bringing a laugh from somewhere above him.

“Up here, gorgeous.”

Darwin turned his head out of the pillows to find Fletcher kneeling next to his head, his whole body slung over the headboard so he could see through the back starshield. Darwin pushed himself up on his elbows and Fletcher’s fingers trailed off his neck.

“Morning, angel,” Darwin smiled.

“Morning,” Fletcher whispered back, still looking out at the stars. Darwin’s smile faded.

Wait... stars?

“Hey Fletcher?”

“Yeah, beautiful?”

“Why aren’t we in hyperspace?”

Fletcher went quiet for so long that Darwin began to worry he hadn’t heard him. The white-plated android sat up on the bed, turning toward Fletcher and trying to lean into his field of vision.

“I, uh... well, we flew a pretty long way while we slept and... uh... I just wanted to see.”

Darwin mimicked his pose, kneeling next to Fletcher and looking out the window. It was an endless tapestry of twinkling lights, dusted through with garlands and globs of heavy clouds. Nothing in particular stood out. “...Anything you were trying to see specifically?”

Fletcher actually glanced at Darwin then, shifting to lean into his side. “I... wanted to see if I could still tell which one was the sun.”

“Oh,” Darwin murmured. He put his arm around Fletcher’s waist and pulled him in closer, relaxing down and around him. “Can you?”

The hybrid’s head sank. “Nope.”

“Well, do you know how long it’ll be until we reach our first satellite?”

“Nope.”

“Do you want to check the map while we’re still sub-lightspeed?”

“I guess.”

Darwin looked down, frowning at his reflection in the top of Fletcher’s head, then tilted the vampire’s chin up. “We could always go back, you know.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “Listen, thanks for worrying, but I think it’s reasonable to be a little homesick. We haven’t even been gone 24 hours yet. I just wanted to get one last look at the sun, but I checked too late.”

Darwin squinted, looking back out of the window again. “Um... I see it.”

Fletcher’s visor flashed and every trace of dolor evaporated from his being. “Where?!”

Darwin pulled Fletcher’s attention right back as he brought him into a soft, slow kiss. Fletcher’s eyeforms flickered, then he rolled them, letting them slide shut as he kissed Darwin back. When they pulled back, Darwin ran his thumb over the curve of Fletcher’s lower lip. “I’ve got my very own sunbeam right here.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” the hybrid’s voice tripped into deep, bubbly laughter. “You’re such a fucking cornball.”

Darwin smiled and bundled him closer, letting his hands wander Fletcher’s metal while he pressed more kisses all over his face. “What, and you’re not going to tell me I’m your sunshine?”

“Darwi ‒ Wih-hahaha, Win, quit! Quit it!” Fletcher lost control of his laugh, doubling over as the android tweaked the wires on his sides. “You win! You’re my sunshine!”

Darwin laughed and clamped his arms around Fletcher, falling back so Fletcher landed on top of him, holding him close. “Can we go back into hyperspace now?”

“Yeah, whatever. It’s not like I lost us that much time.”

“You’re telling me you haven’t been awake and staring out the window for hours?”

“Hours are microscopic in the grand scheme of things,” Fletcher sat up, crossing his arms.

“Sure. I’ll remind you of that when you start gnawing your own ankle off in boredom later.”

“Oh, I doubt that’ll be necessary when I have you to gnaw on, sunshine,” Fletcher grinned, then rested his elbows on Darwin’s chest, his expression melting to something warmer. “...Thanks.”

“Any time.”

[mysticsparklewings]

Behind the Screens

Oh, look, a reminder of why I don't do detailed backgrounds often! Okay, okay, this is actually an entry for projecteducate's All Mediums Contest: From Logos To Art. It sounded like a fun challenge, so I thought I'd take a stab at it. (Hopefully obviously) My primary logo choice/inspiration was the Instagram logo, largely because I had a strong visual idea for it in my mind right away. However, if you look closely there are logo inspirations hiding in there, too.  Some of them I think are more obvious, while others are more subtle. In case you'd rather try to find them on your own, I'll list them in small text so you can skip to the next paragraph and not be spoiled. Moving left to right, top to bottom: Outside the window is the Twitter bird, tweeting away; Then we have a literal FaceBook propped up against the window, and next to it a "Ko-Fi" Coffee cup; below the window we have a chair, the SnapChair, based off the SnapChat logo/ghost, which I am particularly proud of. On the right side of the art, we have a globe with some plastic bits that's inspired by the Google Chrome logo; then a PinBoard as a reference to Pinterest; and side-by-side on the table we have an Apple-apple and a Tumblr-tumbler. Fun fact: Because of that apple I now know there are in fact real apple species that have white skin, the most common among them seeming to be the "white transparent" variety. You'll notice all the logos have something to do with the internet/computers/social media, and though I did think about sneaking in a couple of other logos like Dominos or the NBC Peacock (since those logos have good visuals), I ultimately decided it was better to stick to a more cohesive theme. This is also where the title came from, as the idea is this is the reality behind the screens of a perfectly poised Instagram photo. And therein lies the further theme/message you can take away from this; Notice how the figure is holding the camera so that we can't see their face at all, like a mask. And how the other logos have crept into the rest of the scene, in a way that a lot of them you probably wouldn't notice as internet icons if it wasn't pointed out to you. Both of these are realities for a lot of people. On the internet, we put on a facade like a mask. We control the narrative of what people see of us. And our online presence and habits sneak into our lives in ways we might not notice right away. Both things happen for better or worse, and they can and do happen to anyone, regardless of who you are. To that end, I consciously tried to make the person holding the camera little androgynous, so that it could be a boy or girl, but since this is me we're talking about I'm pretty sure it leans more notably on the feminine side.  And it doesn't help that for the positioning of the hands I had to use reference photos of myself when I couldn't find quite what I was looking for online. Speaking of which; to make the art I started out with a traditional sketch of the figure and the background bits that were inspired by logos, except for the Pinboard and Kofi/coffee cup. And it's kinda funny because I wanted to base the camera design off of one of the newer instant Polaroid cameras (as that seemed the most fitting to transform into the Instagram Logo camera), and fortunately when I was taking the reference photos my phone is sized just so that I could use it as more or less a stand-in or base. This worked out even better because it meant I could just take the photos in front of a mirror instead of having to set a timer and hope I could pose correctly from a distance.   I scanned the sketches in, and then came the trickier part: That background. Especially since a lot of the concept here relies pretty heavily on it. I used a lot of reference photos I found online for this. I did have a basic, rudimentary sketch of my own that I made without any references, but I knew to get the lighting and perspective right I was going to need some actual photos to go off of, and I don't personally have a room that looks like what I had in mind for this. Based on these photos, I did end up putting the shelves over the pinboard, as opposed to putting the pinboard higher on the wall, but other than that and some slight adjusts to the perspective, my general idea for the room stayed the same. And, given my tablet situation, I gave myself a bit of break and decided not to do perfectly clean, solid linework for anything other than the human figure and the camera they're holding. The camera kinda had to have clean lines for this to work, and I thought the figure would stand out from the background better if they were done with clean lines. (And I'm pretty sure I was right about that.) For once in my life, I mostly started in the back and moved my way forward. The walls and ceilings, then the window, then the shelves and the stuff on them, then the banners over the window. And my process reminded largely the same throughout: Loosely line the object, give it a base layer of color, then go back and shade/lighten as necessary. And I was using semi-realistic colors, though I knew they were going to get largely disguised later on when I did the all-over overlay to really drive the Instagram logo inspiration home. Naturally, all the stuff on the shelves was a largely more annoying undertaking than I'd anticipated, but it wasn't quite as bad as the multitude of books I had to do for World in a Book. It's not even that drawing in a bunch of objects like that is hard, necessarily, it just takes a while to get through if you want it to look right. Anyway. Once all of that was done, I took a break to work on the figure and camera, getting the lines done and then moving on once again. Then it was the other logo bits' turn. Once I had them all lined and properly arranged/placed (as they were drawn as separate, individual items from the rest of the scene), I colored each one using the actual logo colors first, then went back to shade them, and then fiddled with some adjustments to bring the saturation down a little and make them blend a bit better with the overall tone. I would end up having to undo some of this after I added the overlay, and as otherwise with that in place some of the logo-inspired things would've either blended in too well or stood out way too much, depending on which one it was. (The camera is a bit of an exception here as instead of getting proper shading, I opted to line it only and just use my home-made gradient inside of it. Once those were taken care of, I back-tracked to color in the figure. Which went similarly to everything else, save for this time I'd use multiple layers for the shading/highlights until I was happy with it, then I merged all that onto a layer about the base color. And then, because I have one solid blue-gray base color for them, I then went back and separated the hair, skin, and shirt with their own unique colors. That was all the coloring done, so I moved on to filling all the blank "photo" spaces I'd left everywhere; the pinboard, the tumbler, even a little picture on one of the shelves. For this, I simply used my own artworks as that seemed like the fastest and easiest way. I just went through my gallery, found pieces I thought would fit properly, then copy & pasted them in and adjusted them to size. A few I did a little perspective warping on just to be thorough, but nothing too crazy. Finally, then I could move on to arguably the most important part: The overlay. Actually, aside from the overlay making the whole image look a little bit too dark, a little too saturated, that went a lot smoother than I thought it would. I just had to turn the saturation down a bit and bring the lightness up to fix that. Or, that's what I thought. I must've saved this thing 6 or 7 times thinking it was finished before spotting this, that, or the other thing (usually related to lighting or shading) that needed to be fixed. First, it was just fiddling with the overlay layer because it still seemed too dark overall, then it was tinkering with shading in various places, and then I decided to drop the ko-fi cup in there because it felt like that spot on the windowsill needed something else and I really wanted just one more logo reference. And then the bottom left corner I thought I fixed earlier now seemed too dark, so I had to un-fix/re-fix that. And of course, even after all that back-and-forth, I thought I was finally, finally done when I noticed the black checkerboard squares on the SnapChair were too dark of a black compared to the blacks/darks elsewhere in the photo, especially considering how light the area around the chair is. I'm sure I could've left it alone and it would've been okay, but my own brain wouldn't let me. So I fixed it! It's not even that noticeable of a difference, but it makes my brain feel so much better knowing it was indeed fixed. Fortunately, after that (at least for now) I stopped noticing things to tweak/fix. It's still not completely perfect, but the things I could continue playing with are at least to my satisfaction to the point I'm comfortable calling it finished. Though, honestly, it already feels like this description should be a lot longer when I think about the 3-4 days I spent working on this.    It was a lot of work, but just like I thought it would be, it was fun and I'm really happy with how it turned out. It was a real challenge as far as shading and perspective go, and obviously, for as strong of an image I had in my head when I started, it wasn't exactly a cakewalk to get it there. A lot of the lines are rough up-close, but they don't look so bad when there's so much else going on in the picture to distract from them.  Maybe I'll try the "softer" lines like this more often. I do know one thing, though, I'm going to be avoiding detailed backgrounds for a while. They always take a lot out of me. ____ Artwork (c) me, MysticSparkleWings I do not own any of the logos that inspired parts of this artwork ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[imhereforbvcky]

Make Me Believe - Part 6

Part 6 Senior Year: Spring Break Down to Recover

Masterlist - Series Masterlist - Part 5 - Part 7

Summary: You keep meeting Bucky Barnes in unexpected places around campus and he keeps acting like you know each other, like you’re dating. As your friendship grows, you find yourself wishing he’d do more than pretend. Warnings: swearing, drinking

Warnings: swearing, little bit o angst

Word Count: 1624

Author’s Note: I don’t know about this one guys. I keep tweaking it and it never feels quite right but here we are.

The mountain of pillows stacked in the corner of your bedroom had become a living thing; a veritable cocoon. Its warmth lulled you into a hibernating ooze, melting into the carefully crafted armor of isolation.

With some mindless sitcom streaming on your laptop just outside the protective shell, you’d absorbed your textbook into the blanket hiked high on your shoulders. The half-empty cup-o-noodles stood dangerously close, ready to spill at the next fallen pillow or carelessly stretched foot.

This shell-creature matched anyone’s expectations of a pre-med study session, but it did not match anyone’s expectations of you. Until this year, your studying had been surrounded by laughter and games. You’d remembered every second and had aced each test because it had all been time with Bucky. Up til now time with Bucky had been the currency of your life and you remembered every bit of it with painful clarity.

Now you cowered behind your fortress of cheap cotton and excuses. The poignant sting of your perceived rejections was too strong. It permeated too deep, metastasized to every area of your life. Your best friend had become too big in your life; a part of every piece you loved best about it.

Like a fool, you’d fallen in love with him. Now you had to extricate him from your life, find yourself again there at the center and try to heal the wounds you’d allowed yourself to make.

Life lesson learned the hard way: indulging in fantasies hurts like hell when the credits roll.

Deep into your distracted state, you didn’t hear the front door open, or your name echoing down the halls of your cramped apartment. Not until you heard the knock on your bedroom door.

“Nat, I already told you I’m not going with you to Steve’s. I’m studying tonight and I don’t want to s--” The words died on your lips when he peaked around the door with a beseeching look to those stormy blue eyes and that damn crooked grin.

And here you thought you’d been making progress.

“Not often I’m mistaken for a 130lb red-head.”

“Bucky,” you breathed. Finally. Painfully. Everything seemed noxious and wrong now when it came to Bucky Barnes. “How did you get in here?”

His eyebrows lifted and the warm familiar grin faltered for the briefest moment. His surprise at your coldness struck sharp and fast, but he masked it just as quickly. Casual as ever, he flopped onto your bed, making himself at home in your room, in your life, like it was nothing to him.

“Well hello to you, too.”

You shook the drowsy comfort of the last several weeks’ reprieve from your head. “Sorry. Hi.”

The smile that warmed his features ignited the coals in your chest that had just begun to cool. Something came alive again, something you had worked hard to quell.

He extended his hand, twirling his keyring around his finger once before catching it in his palm with a sharp clatter. “Spare key,” he explained.

“That was for emergencies,” you sighed, leaning further back into your wall of pillows. Apparently cotton walls were not a strong enough defense.

“This,” his eyes roved up and down your mound of cushions and your blanket cloak with criticism sharpening every feature, “is an emergency.”

“No, Bucky,” you rolled your eyes, unable to help the smile turning the corners of your lips under his attention. “This is studying for the MCAT.”

“Looks like you’re well overdue for a study break,” he jumped up, holding his hands out, waiting for you to take them so he could hoist you up and into his life again.

“Nu uh,” you pulled your blanket tighter around your shoulders and leaned further into the wall of pillows. “Your ‘study breaks’ never end with more studying, like they should. They end half-way across campus at a stranger’s house with a shitty beer and a headache.”

“It’s good for you,” he laughed, smirking proudly. “Look at you. You’re becoming Queen Troll of The Pillow Cave in here. You need some social interaction.” He opened his hands for you again.

“Excuse you!” you gasped in mock horror, drawing the blanket somehow higher. “This is a cotton cocoon. It is keeping me safe and warm while I metamorphose into a successful doctor free of your pestering!”

You said it with a smile in your eyes and a grin on your lips, but as they say, many a true word hath been spoken in jest.

“My mistake; I apologize,” he laughed through the words.

Some deep cavity that had been boring deeper and aching keener within him for weeks finally eased; soothed under the balm of your banter. He soared under the brightness of your smile and warmed in the glow of your affection once again.

He’d worried after your last night out; after the night at the bar, when he’d kissed you... You’d run and kept running and he feared he’d lost more than his chance. He thought he’d lost a friend.

When you let the blanket fall and finally took his hands, his relief was stronger than he’d expected. With the first genuine smile of the night clawing its way up from deep in his chest, he pulled you to your feet to stand just inches from him.

“Can’t let such a beautiful butterfly sit in her cocoon all her life.”

You knew he was teasing, that it was all part of the game when he spoke to you like this,flirted with you like this. It was just Bucky.

Typical Bucky to drag you from safety so close into his space that you could smell the sting of dollar store soap on his skin. So close his breath felt like your own, and the steady lift of his chest and the warmth of his air on your face when he said things like he did.

Resolved not to be an idiot, you glanced at your disheveled fortress of linens and reminded yourself that friends didn’t do this. You needed your ramparts. Boundaries.

“I’m decidedly a moth,” you argued, clearing your throat as you took a step back, trying desperately for any barrier. Even one of cotton. “Moths make cocoons. It’s a chrysalis for butterflies.”

“Only you would know that, hillbilly. I think you’re a butterfly.” His gaze lingered a little longer than it should, even with that stupid goofy grin it tugged at something deeper.

You rolled your eyes and watched as he finally turned with a lazy smile toward your closet.

“Well, you’re wrong,” you finally mumbled. “I made a cocoon because I’m a moth and I keep going right back to the flame that burns me.”

“Here put this on, there’s a dress code.” He ignored your grumbling and handed over your loudest pair of yoga pants and a pale grey top you would never wear together.

“What’s the code? Got dressed in the dark?” you teased, shoving the door shut behind him. You’d learned long ago it was useless to argue with him when he got these ideas.

After a final glance in the mirror, you felt about as ridiculous as you’d expected to and decided to lean into the absurdity. With a reptilian leap you sprang into the kitchen, hands on hips, striking a comically confident pose.

“The moth has emerged,” you announced, barely containing a giggle.

Bucky was less successful. A fit of hysteria struck him full in the chest. He’d missed this more than he had even realized, and he knew damn well that he’d missed you. Just not this much.

He sighed happily as you relaxed and strode toward him with a soft laugh. This could be okay again.

Turning back to the counter he took the two egg rolls from the leftovers he'd fished out of your fridge and lifted one toward you.

“Every moth loves a good fire,” he grinned as you took the roll with a deep breath, steeling yourself for the burn of more than just the hot chili sauce.

Sitting on the mismatched stools around your counter, Bucky squeezed your knee, lightly. “Hey I’m sorry if I made things… I don’t know, if I did something wrong last time,” Bucky forced out in an uneasy lilt.

You nearly sputtered on your mouthful. “S’nothing to be sorry for, Bucky.”

“You sure? Because it seems like you’ve been avoiding me since…” he paused, whether out of anticipation or regret you wish you could say. He hovered over the words, waiting for any signal; breathing slow, careful breaths while you made a great effort of dipping your egg roll again. Equally unsure; even more withdrawn.

Finally, you shook your head, still not moving your gaze from the idle work in your hands.

“I’m just sorry that I--” he stopped again, this time abrupt and intentional. Because he wasn’t sorry that he’d kissed you; not even a little. He was sorry he’d been drunk when he finally did it. And he was sorry for the way you reacted. He was damn sorry that you’d hidden behind books and a million reasons why not and that now everything just felt… off.

“I’m sorry things haven’t been the same,” he said finally, because it was true. He’d wished for better and gotten worse. Now he just needed you to help him put the pieces back, even if it hurt.

“Me too,” you breathed, because it was true. You hated not having your best friend by your side but you hated the pain of loving someone you shouldn’t even more.

One more night, you promised yourself while reaching for the tequila. Bucky tried to smile like it was any other Thursday night friend-date night, but every new word sank with the weight of closure rather than the levity of reconciliation.

Next Chapter >>

[twilight-adamo]

Author’s Notes: Brave New World, Chapter 1: The Parting of the Ways

In April 2018, the same day I posted the epilogue to As Dreams Are Made On, I wrote the first scene of Brave New World, and most of the second. And then I got stuck, for quite a long time. I lost myself in research, tried to build out my plans, tried to focus on other things for a time, particularly These Our Actors, which posed its own challenges - but I’ll cover that in my author’s notes on Rosalie’s installment. I had a difficult year for a number of reasons. For a time I wasn’t writing at all.

I see from the revision history that I only came back to Brave New World in February of this year, spent a couple days on it, and left it alone again until June. June was when I finally realized that there was one particular thing in my life that was destroying my mental health and my ability to create, and that I was carrying on with it out of a sense of obligation, but I’d help no one - least of all myself - if I wore myself down on it. So, reluctantly, I dropped the obligation that was dominating my mental landscape, I took a step back, and I allowed myself to breathe. I’m still not working at a hundred percent, but I am getting better. And over the last few days, I’ve been able to write again.

My original plan for this chapter had been to focus on the wedding of Charlie and Kate, and I threw myself into a ton of wedding research, wanting to get everything just right. I figured Carlisle would officiate, so I researched Anglican marriage services and drew heavily on what I found. I looked at venues and considered colors and organized the wedding party and stopped just short of actually planning an entire wedding. And I got through the ceremony, which felt shorter than it should be, and I was beginning to write what came after, and I was thinking about what I had planned for the reception (notably what probably would have been an even cheesier musical moment than the rendition of “The Best Is Yet To Come” from the epilogue of As Dreams Are Made On), and I realized...none of it was working from me. It was indulgent in a story which is already going to get indulgent in parts, but worse, it was dull. My protagonist didn’t have much to do aside from stand and watch and react.

I also wanted to have a family meeting scene where we got some sense of where everyone was going over the summer, what they were doing, and I had a choice between tacking it onto the end of an overstuffed and boring first chapter or onto the beginning of the second chapter, which I’d planned to set primarily in Jacksonville. So I finally looked at the ten or so pages of wedding stuff I’d already written, considered how much more I would need to get through and how little I would enjoy it, and decided it all had to go. The first chapter would focus entirely on the family meeting, a last goodbye to Forks before I started the grand road trip that would take up the first few chapters of the book. Once I’d figured that out, I finished the first chapter in a day or two. It’s still a little more talking than I’d like and a little less action, but I think it sets up the next chunk of story nicely, at least.

As for the stuff I didn’t cut: as I said, Bella’s nightmare was the very first thing I wrote. I’ve made some minor tweaks here and there, but it’s pretty close to what I originally wrote over a year ago. I wanted to show some of the psychological effect of Bella’s decision to start a fight with the Volturi, I wanted to show that Eleazar’s panicked reaction to whatever he saw had affected her, and I wanted to start things off with a sense of menace hanging over our heroes. The Cullens and their extended network of friends and family may not be in a state of outright war, but there is still danger lurking at the edges of their lives, and unresolved mysteries hiding just below the surface of things. I wanted to spin a vision of something that could yet be, and establish that “happily ever after” is still a long way away, down a dark and twisted road.

It was also just enormous fun to write.

And it was a nice segue into a domestic scene with Alice and Bella, a glimpse of their lives a few weeks on from our last visit with them. We already got such a glimpse in the epilogue of the last volume, but seeing as that chapter was focused largely on prom, I thought they deserved a little alone time.

I spent a great deal of time trying to work out the plan for the summer - where everyone would be going, what they would be doing. I actually nearly forgot to include Eleanor in those plans, up until the last minute. I’m sorry to say that, focused as Brave New World is on Bella’s perspective, we’re not going to see much of the others’ adventures in this text, but they’re certainly fodder for future installments of These Our Actors, and Bella will get updates here and there, particularly once everyone is reunited in Forks. Bella, Alice, Rosalie and Emmett will all have quite enough on their own plates, so hopefully none of you will be bored.

There will be much more of Renée - and Phil - in the next chapter, which will cover the gang’s time in Jacksonville. I confess I’ve never been to Jacksonville (I’ve really only visited Florida for the theme parks) so I’ve got a bit of research to do. “I’ve got a bit of research to do” is likely to be my recurring mantra on this story, as I’m trying to blow out the boundaries of this world, introduce vampires we never met in the Twilight novels from places that were never really touched on, and perhaps bring in stranger things besides. But that’s a way off. For now, I’m a little ways into Chapter 2 (and have even written a bit of Chapter 3), and having great fun writing Bella’s free-spirited mother. I hope you’ll love my take on her as much as I do.

And now, as a bonus, I present the raw text cut from Chapter 1 of Brave New World. I’ve held onto it for reference, in case I decide to draw on it for flashbacks or a future installment of These Our Actors, and it’s possible the details may change, but since I don’t have any plans for it now, I thought I’d share what I came up with before I changed directions. It’s under the cut. I’m afraid not all my formatting carried over into Tumblr’s interface, but you should get the gist.

(Picking up from the end of the scene with Bella and Alice in bed at the cottage.)

I’d been pretty scarce around Forks the last few weeks, since school let out - I’d completely missed late spring giving way to high summer. Officially, I had been busy helping my dad and his new bride with wedding preparations. In actuality, I’d spent most of that time dropping into comas, recovering from them, and moving on to the next. I’d had a limited window of opportunity to turn a few select vampires human, and no time to waste. Edward had been the first to volunteer - he’d told Angela the truth, and she’d eventually decided she wanted to be with him regardless, but he still wanted to lose his bloodlust for the time being, and needed a bit of a break from everyone else’s thoughts after the past few months. I had carefully packed his powers away for safekeeping, then taken his vampirism from him. At his request, we were leaving him human until he reached his long-delayed eighteenth birthday.

Rosalie, Eleanor and Emmett had decided to turn human, too, and I had requested that they stay that way until Carlisle had finished identifying effective birth control techniques for hybrids, or at least until the summer ended. Kate hadn’t become pregnant just yet - and I really didn’t want to consider just how miraculous that was - but I didn’t want to push our luck with another extremely sexual and potentially fertile couple. Or thruple, as the case seemed to be - they had become much more open in their mutual affections toward Eleanor since she and Jessamine had moved to Forks.

Jasper and his sister - now going by Mina to avoid confusion - had decided to stay vampires for the time being, as had Carlisle, Esme, Tanya and Irina, though I had made my tweaks to the new arrivals so they and the shifters would no longer find one another offensive, assuming the vampires all stuck to non-human blood. It was just as well. With a five day coma after each de-vamping exercise and a day for recovery, I’d been cutting things awfully close to the rehearsal and the wedding itself. And no matter what dad said, I still felt a little guilty about that, even if he and Kate had plenty of help from everyone else. Especially since I was in the wedding party, if not precisely in the role I’d expected. At least I wasn’t maid of honor or best man, so to speak - those particular honors had gone to Irina and to Harry Clearwater, respectively. But I was still expected to stand at the altar.

After a luxurious spell in bed, followed by a relaxed breakfast and a shower, Alice “helped” me dress in the tuxedo she’d made for me, complete with high-collared blouse, fitted waistcoat, and a navy blue bow tie and cummerbund, all of it tailored perfectly to my frame. In all honesty, it was a blatant excuse to get her hands all over me and take me in one last time before the ceremony, but I can’t say I minded. At last, she finished, tying my hair back with a navy ribbon and kissing me softly, leaving me to finish my makeup while she hurried to meet Kate, Irina and the other bridesmaids.

Once I’d finished preparing, there wasn’t much left to do but head for the Cullens’ house, where dad and the rest of his party would be waiting until the time came to head for the venue. A mixed crowd of humans, hybrids, werewolves and most importantly vampires meant we were taking no chances with an outdoor wedding, and we were probably one of the few wedding parties this summer hoping for rain, or at least overcast skies. Fortunately, we’d gotten the latter, at least long enough to get the vampires into the hall, and by the time the reception was over with, it would be well past sunset.

It didn’t take too long to walk to the main house from the love nest Alice and I had made of Pine Cottage, and I arrived to find the others gathered around a table in the den, in the middle of a game of poker. There were two other groomsmen after Harry and myself: Emmett, and dad’s Deputy Chief, Joe Miller. From the pile of chips in front of him and the enormous frat boy grin on his face, it looked like Emmett was taking the others for all they were worth.

“Hey Bella!” he called out, waving as I came in and gesturing at the empty seat beside my father. “Want us to deal you in?”

I chuckled, taking the seat but shaking my head. “Thanks, but Alice already warned me about you. Hey, dad. Please tell me you didn’t put your honeymoon fund on the line.”

I nudged him with my shoulder, and he slung his arm around me, giving me a brief hug. “Hi, kiddo. The honeymoon fund’s safe. Kate would kill me. You girls didn’t think to warn me?”

“Well, you know, I’ve been busy. Distracted. And I figured Emmett would be too much of a gentleman to take advantage of a man on his wedding day,” I added, shooting a mock glare at the ex-vampire in question.

“Your first mistake was assuming I’m any kind of gentleman,” Emmett returned, with a broad smirk. “Besides, I respect Charlie too much to just let him win.”

Dad gave him a deadpan look. “I’m touched. Really. You can respect me a little less, though.”

“Can’t do it, sir.” Emmett drew himself up, looking impossibly earnest, save for the twinkle in his eye. “Did I ever tell you you’re my hero? You’re everything I wish I could be.”

“He’s been like this for the last hour. I’m starting to think he’s just always on,” Deputy Chief Miller remarked, glancing my way. “How’s your summer been, Bella?”

“Trust me, this is just the tip of the iceberg with him,” I replied, gesturing at Emmett, who chuckled. “Oh, you know, good. Busy with wedding stuff, getting ready to leave town, all that. Alice and I are heading to Jacksonville with mom and Phil after the wedding, we’ll be back in August.”

“Your, uh, girlfriend’s going on vacation with you?” he said, his eyebrows rising.

“Don’t worry, Rose and me will be chaperoning,” Emmett interjected cheerfully.

Dad cleared his throat. “More importantly, Renée and her husband will be providing adult supervision. And separate guest rooms.”

I bit my lip to hide my smile. I still didn’t really have memories of my mom - or, rather, the mom I had here and now - and I’d only recently gotten to spend any time with her, since she and Phil had come to town for the wedding. It had all been e-mail and phone calls before that. But from my memory of the books, and based on my interactions with her so far, I would not really call Renée Dwyer a responsible adult, and Phil was friendly and level-headed but not really a parent to me. That suited me fine - I didn’t really feel like an actual teenager, even now, and I didn’t need active parenting - but it was apparently important to dad to keep up the convenient fiction.

What he wasn’t saying, of course, was that Jacksonville was only part of our trip. That just about everyone except Edward was leaving Forks for the summer, and that in fact he had no honeymoon fund to worry about, because Alice had arranged everything.

“Huh. Well, uh...have fun down in Florida. Is Jacksonville anywhere near the theme parks?” Miller asked, clearly ready to change the subject.

“It’s not - not any of the big ones, anyway - but Carlisle and Esme are going to join us down in Orlando for a few days before we head back,” I lied - another little fiction, this one mainly for my mom’s sake, but we were all keeping to a consistent narrative. “So we’ll be going to Disney World, anyway. The Cullens have never been, and they’ve been nice enough to invite me along.”

The deputy chief’s eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at Emmett, the lone Cullen in the room. “Seriously? What with this house and all, I sort of figured you’d be going every year.”

“Oh, we don’t travel much once we put down roots. It’s mainly just camping trips,” Emmett said. “Can’t wait to ride Space Mountain, though.”

“Gentlemen, I think we have a hand to finish?” Harry interjected at last, a little smirk on his face. “And then maybe we can find something to do that doesn’t give Emmett a chance to shake us down.”

“We have a pool table,” Emmett suggested innocently.

“We are not falling for that twice, kid,” dad said firmly. “Joe, I think it was your bet.”

“God help me,” Miller said, shaking his head as he pushed in his chips.

*****

After the game came to its merciful conclusion, we had just enough time for a movie before it was time to head for the venue. Neither dad nor Kate had been especially invested in the idea of a church wedding, so they’d picked out a lodge in the nearby woods, and asked Carlisle to officiate. I’d only seen the venue in photos. Seeing it in person, nestled among the towering pines, decorated in fairy lights and banners of blue and silver and lavender, the whole scene accompanied by the sounds of the wind in the trees and the river flowing nearby...I was simply awestruck by everything that lay before me.

“Well then. Guess this is our cue to go around back and get in position,” Harry said, clapping my dad on the shoulder. “You ready for this, Charlie?”

I looked over at dad. He, too, seemed briefly stunned and frozen. But when Harry spoke, he started to break into a grin. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You’ve got this, dad.” I turned to him and gave him a loose hug. “I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“I love you, too, Bells,” he said, hugging me back and kissing the top of my head. “Go on, then, I know you’re eager to see Alice.”

“God, you make it sound like we’re codependent,” I complained, lightly, pulling back. Not that he was entirely wrong: I could definitely feel a tingle of excitement running through me as I headed inside with Emmett and the deputy chief.

The rest of the wedding party was gathered in the lodge’s tiny lobby, preparing for their grand entrance to the great room. We didn’t have a ring bearer or a flower girl - Harry had the rings - but everyone else was prepared to play their role. I wasted no time making my way to Alice’s side, slipping my arm around her waist, while Emmett followed me at a more sedate pace, chuckling softly as he joined Rosalie.

“We were never that bad,” he remarked to Rose, looking at the two of us.

“Oh, you were worse,” she returned, smirking up at him. He made a scandalized noise in response.

“Is that how we’re going to play it, Rose? ‘Cause I seem to recall a particularly insatiable little -”

“How did the wedding prep go?” I asked Alice, tuning the two of them out as I turned to kiss her cheek. “You look gorgeous.”

“Mmm, I’d hope so, after all that. It was nice to be pampered. The makeup artist was a bit of a perfectionist, but Kate got the worst of it,” she replied, looking up at me through her lush, dark eyelashes, a smile curving her red lips. Her hair framed her face in messy waves, and of course she looked amazing in her bridesmaid’s dress - lavender, strapless, accented in silver, tailored to fit the individual figures of each woman in Kate’s wedding party. “It’s possible the poor woman suffered a static shock or two.”

“I told Kate to use her powers for good,” I joked, my eyes sweeping over the room. Eleanor and Deputy Chief Miller, who’d be escorting her up the aisle, had joined Emmett and Rose, and the deputy chief seemed a little lost and perhaps slightly scandalized by the increasingly shameless flirting among the trio. And Kate, as might be expected, was sandwiched between her maid of honor, Irina, and Tanya, who’d be giving Kate away in the place of their mother.

Kate, naturally, looked absolutely incredible. Her normally straight blonde hair had been curled and bound up in an elaborate updo, and dangling silver and sapphire earrings glittered at her earlobes. A brass pendant, formed in a sort of hammer shape and decorated with elaborate, curling lines, hung from a chain about her neck. Her wedding dress was also strapless, all white and silver, the bodice clinging tightly to her figure as it swept down to the full skirts that frothed about her legs, interrupted only by a lavender sash tied about her waist. She looked radiantly happy, her joy outshining her natural hybrid glow.

Alice and I made our way over to her, and I offered a slightly hesitant one-armed hug. “You look amazing, Kate. I just wanted to wish you and dad all the best, one more time, before we get started.”

“Thank you, Bella,” she replied, returning the hug, awkwardly at first, but we both relaxed into a genuine embrace after a moment. “I’m...well I’m glad you’ve accepted all this so easily. And that your mother has been so welcoming. I wasn’t sure…”

“Please, don’t worry about it,” I told her softly, though I could feel that slight, uneasy shift in the pit of my stomach, even now. I tried to quiet it: I’d seen how happy dad and Kate were, how good they were for each other. They were the same people they’d always been, or at least dad was, but happier. Still...the mating bond hadn’t given either of them much choice. I worried about that, as I still, sometimes, worried about Alice. As fast as I’d fallen for her, I’d still been able to do so on my own terms. That was something Alice never got to do, and a chance dad and Kate would never have.

I forced a smile nonetheless as I continued, practiced enough now to make it genuine - which it was, really, mostly, despite my doubts. “Both of us just want dad to be happy. And you make him so happy - I’ve seen it, and now mom’s seen it, and she’s already remarried. She loves my dad but...they didn’t work. You two do. You just...fit.”

Maybe Kate caught something in my body language or my tone, despite all my best efforts, because she looked at me with faintly troubled eyes. But just as she was opening her mouth to say something more, we all heard the music starting in the other room, and Irina clapped her hands.

“Positions, everyone! Bridesmaids and groomsmen, go,” she announced, loud and clear. There was no more time to chat.

Alice and I were last in the procession of groomsmen and bridesmaids, and she nudged me gently as we swept into the room, murmuring softly. “You all right? You just seem…”

“I’m fine,” I whispered, through my smile, as we walked down the aisle under Carlisle’s benevolent gaze, surrounded by our family, friends and loved ones, going to meet dad and Harry at the altar. “Just getting in my own head a little.”

“Mmmm. Stop it,” she said, squeezing my arm as our moment came to part. “We’ll talk later.”

I nodded, very slightly, and we took our positions on either side of the aisle, watching Irina walk up last of all. The music changed, shifting to a classic bridal march, and everyone’s eyes were on Kate as Tanya walked her slowly and gracefully up the aisle. She was smiling brightly enough to transform her face into something even more beautiful, and broadly enough that it seemed like her face might crack in two, and I knew without looking that dad’s gaze was locked on her, his smile just as bright. Love and passion just radiated off the two of them, a palpable force filling the room from wall to wall. The room fell to a reverent hush, and for a moment I would have sworn I could hear their two hearts beating as one.

At last, the moment was broken by Carlisle’s voice, deceptively soft and yet resonant enough to fill the room. “Cherished friends, we come together today to witness the joining of Charles Geoffrey Swan and Katrina Sashova in holy matrimony, to ask for God’s blessing upon their union, to share in their joy, and to celebrate their love. For of all the gifts bestowed upon us by our Creator, love is the most precious, the most fragile, and the most important. As it is written in First Corinthians, love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

“We are taught that marriage is a gift of love, for God is love. It is a gift of God in creation and a means of God’s grace, for through this holy mystery, two become as one. Marriage is given that each partner might help the other, living faithfully in need and in plenty, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy. It is given that with delight and with tenderness those so joined might know each other in love, and that through the joy of spiritual and of bodily union, they may strengthen the connection between their hearts and minds. Marriage is a grace visited not only upon those joined in matrimony but upon all their loved ones - not only upon any children that may arise from the union but also upon their beloved community.

“In marriage, those so joined belong to one another, and embark upon a new life within their community. It is not a gift to be taken lightly, carelessly, or selfishly, but reverently, responsibly, and after serious thought. This is the way of life that Charles and Katrina are now to begin. I have been privileged to know them, and privileged to witness their love for one another. I believe with all my heart that these two are meant to be one. And now I must ask: if anyone here knows of any reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Silence followed. I wasn’t expecting anything else, but even so, it felt like the world had let out a breath it didn’t know it had been holding. Dad and Kate beamed at one another once again.

“Very well,” Carlisle said, breaking into a warm smile of his own. “Charles and Katrina, I now invite you to join hands and to deliver your vows in the presence of God and of all assembled here. May you speak honestly and without reservation, from the bottom of your hearts.”

Dad and Kate stepped forward, closer to one another, joining hands, and for a moment dad seemed at a loss for words, until his perfect hybrid memory kicked in and he found his place once more. He cleared his throat and chuckled nervously under his breath. “I, Charles Swan, take you, Katrina Sashova, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward: for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. I swear to love, cherish, and honor you each day, from now until my last day on this Earth, in God’s name and by God’s grace.”

“I, Katrina Sashova, take you, Charles Swan, to be my lawfully wedded husband,” Kate returned, her eyes shining just slightly, her face aglow with more than the usual hybrid radiance. “To have and to hold from this day forward: for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. I swear to love, cherish, and honor you each day, from now until my last day on this Earth, in God’s name and by God’s grace.”

“I believe the best man has the rings?” Carlisle said, taking them gently as Harry offered them, and cradling one in each hand. “God, by your blessing, let these rings to be to Charles and Katrina be a symbol of unending love and faithfulness, to remind them of the vow and the covenant which they have made this day in your holy presence. Amen.”

With that, he handed the rings off, and I could see dad’s fingers tremble just a little, almost imperceptibly, as he slipped Kate’s ring on her finger. “With this ring, I pledge myself to you, giving you all that I am, and sharing with you all that I have.”

Kate echoed his words softly, slipping his ring onto his finger in turn, and Carlisle joined their hands together, covering them loosely with his own.

“What God has seen fit to join, let no man put asunder,” he pronounced solemnly. “And by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Charlie, you may kiss your bride.”

They were moving before he was done talking, and somehow mustered enough restraint to move slow enough for the human eye to follow, though I heard more than a little laughter at their eagerness nonetheless. Charlie swept Kate readily into his arms, tilting her back just a little as they kissed fiercely, her bouquet dropping to the ground as her hands reached up to cup his cheek.

The room broke into wild applause, with a few hoots and whistles mixed in, and my eyes caught Alice’s as we clapped. For one wild, breathless moment, I wanted to throw caution to the wind, speed to her side and take her in my arms as well, hell, maybe even tell Carlisle to marry us here and there. But just a split second later, I felt a sort of coolness rushing through me, like a cold shower inside my mind, and my gaze swept into the audience, where Jasper raised one eyebrow at me expressively and inclined his head. I gave him a sheepish grin, then looked back at Alice, who winked and blew me a kiss before turning her attention back to the matter at hand. A triumphant march played as the wedding party swept back outside for photos and drinks and all the rest while the lodge staff moved everything around again for the reception.

*****

“I’ll be honest, that was way more God than I was expecting,” Callie remarked to me, once I’d been excused from modeling duty and we had a moment alone.

I shrugged. “Dad and Kate believe in a vague something. It was enough to have a vaguely religious ceremony. Besides, Carlisle’s dad was an Anglican pastor.”

Callie downed some of her sparkling cider, her eyes narrowing at me. “Is that a ‘lingering obsession with Twilight factoid’ or an ‘I spend all my time around the Cullens’ factoid?”

“Column A, column B,” I said, with another slight shrug. “I already knew about it, but I mean, we do talk. Anyway, Carlisle’s not nearly as hardcore as his father was, but he’s religious enough and in the know, so…”

“Vaguely religious ceremony. Right. Gotta say it was probably also the shortest wedding I’ve ever been to,” Callie replied, before looking sadly at her half-full glass. “And it’s the most sober wedding I’ve been to in a while. For us, anyway.”

“Yeah, being legally underage definitely has its downside. And please, you saw that kiss - I don’t think we could’ve gotten those two to wait much longer.”

Callie snorted. “True. Hell, you and Alice probably won’t even make it past ‘dearly beloved’.”

Mom chose that moment to come up just behind Callie, her eyebrows rising at the remark, and I immediately started laughing just a little too loudly. “Ha ha! Like we’re about to get married - which we’re not - because I’m seventeen! I am still just...seventeen. And in high school. And not even thinking about getting married. Yep. Good one, Cal, mom, you remember Callie.”

Callie stared at me and shook her head slightly before turning to face my mother. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Dwyer. Did you enjoy the ceremony?”

“I did, thank you,” mom said, granting me a brief respite as she smiled warmly at Cal. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything over here.”

I shot Callie a pleading glance, and she looked in my direction just long enough to smirk at me before shaking her head. “No, not at all. I should probably go meet up with my parents. You two should catch up. See you later.”

“Of course. We’ll see you around,” mom agreed, and Callie gave a slight wave and moved off. I glared daggers at her retreating back, just for a moment, while mom watched her leave and shook her head. “I still have no idea how you get a nickname like ‘Callie’ out of a name like ‘Tara Chen’.”

“It just suits her,” I mumbled, sighing. “Long story.”

“If you say so. Now, let me look at you.” Mom turned back to me, putting her hands on my shoulders, taking me in. “I still can’t believe how big you’ve gotten, Bella. Or how...oh, what’s the word....dashing, maybe? How dashing you look in that suit.”

[keelywolfe]

Drabble: Discretion

Summary: This is precisely why Stretch never goes to the Embassy. 

Read on AO3

Read more from this series in the Masterlist:

 “knock knock.”

Edge glanced up as his office door opened and Stretch stepped inside. “You’re out and about early today, it’s not even lunchtime.”

The last time he’d seen Stretch this morning was right after his run. Or at least he’d seen the lump beneath the blanket that he’d assumed was Stretch, curled up and buried in warmth. His morning kiss had been bypassed by the puzzle the blankets presented because even Edge couldn’t figure out how to unwrap him without waking him.

“haha,” Stretch said dryly but his grin was warm. He jerked his head towards the outer office. “where’s your guard dog?”

“Janice? She’s probably doing work and you should be nicer, she likes you.”

“of course she does, everyone likes me,” Stretch said loftily. He held up a bag by the strap with two fingers. “when I went downstairs this morning, i found this on the counter. thought you might like it.”

Ah. In his rush out the door, he’d forgotten his lunch. “I didn’t even notice I left it. Did you bring something for yourself?”

“nah, i can’t stay,” Stretch shrugged, setting the bag on the corner of the desk. “i have something brewing in the lab.”

“So you came all the way down here just to give it to me? I could have ordered out,” Edge pointed out.

All Stretch offered was another shrug. “you wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much.”

It was true and the simple fact that Stretch not only knew that, but he was willing to bring him his homemade lunch to prevent it made warmth settle in Edge’s soul. He curled a finger in a ‘come hither’ gesture and Stretch did, warily. Deservedly so, Edge pulled him into his lap as soon as he was within reach.

“i can’t stay,” Stretch warned but he leaned into Edge, who was nuzzling against his cheekbone.

“Two minutes?” he coaxed, trying to steal a kiss, only to have Stretch twist stubbornly away. “I missed you.”

“you were asleep with me three hours ago,” Stretch was less convincing when he allowed himself to be persuaded into a soft kiss. “two minutes.”

In between kisses, Edge rubbed a thumb gently over Stretch’s fingers, his gloves rasping softly over the bone. He was wearing his silicon ring, a testament to the fact he’d already been in the lab this morning. It was getting a little worn already since Stretch tended to fidget with it whenever he wore it. Edge would have to replace it soon; easily done, he had a box of them stashed away that he’d ordered in a variety of colors. He’d do it now but Stretch could be very attached to the strangest things, hoodies and shoes for example. Better to wait until it verged on embarrassingly destroyed before he offered.

He caught Stretch’s mouth in a last kiss at the precise moment that Janice walked in. “I brought you those reports…oh!

Edge actually felt a brief wave of disorientation from the aborted shortcut as Stretch scrambled off his lap. His entire face was suffused with bright orange magic, nearly glowing.

Janice was probably blushing beneath her fur, an embarrassed hand over her mouth, “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Edge said smoothly, holding out a hand. “Our fault entirely. I do need those reports.”

“i was just leaving anyway!” Stretch blurted and started to scramble around the desk. Only to discover the fingers that Edge had discreetly hooked into the back pocket of his jeans, keeping him still. From the play of emotions across his face, he was trying to decide between struggling for escape or staying still. Not that Edge was going to allow him that choice.

Not yet.

Still flustered, Janice came forward to hand him the reports and the moment she was close, Edge subtly gave Stretch a tweak on his pelvis. As expected, he tried, and failed, to twitch away, a tiny squeak escaping, and hopefully Janice didn’t see the black look he sent Edge’s way. Or if she did, she wouldn’t ask why. 

Gossip was going to be flying in minutes, so Edge may as well enjoy the prelude.

“Thank you,” he told her politely and Janice nodded so quickly her neck might have been on ball bearings, quickly backing out the door and probably lunging for her phone.

He met Stretch’s dark glare with a bland look of his own, silently enjoying his brilliant blush. It was so bright his magic was rivaling Edge’s.

“you…!” he sputtered, struggling as Edge caught the front of his sweatshirt and hauled him down for a kiss. He winced as Stretch bit the tip of his tongue, not hard enough to draw magic but certainly enough to express his displeasure. Equal parts amused and disgruntled, Edge let him go and Stretch stumbled back.

Edge propped his chin on his hand. “I’m not sure why you’re so embarrassed. Two weeks ago, she saw you in a sheet.”

“you would bring that up!” Stretch huffed irritably. “she didn’t see me in your lap in a sheet!”

“She would have if I hadn’t locked the door,” Edge murmured, then added, louder, “Besides, she likes to see that we’re happy and I’m not about to pose for a picture for Instagram, while you’ve learned an important lesson in locking the door.” 

Whatever fractional soothing of his temper he’d started to earn was instantly lost with that little jibe. Stretch lifted his chin in defiance and his glare heated again. Enticingly.

“i’d be careful if i were you, about what pictures might end up on instagram,” Stretch warned, and he stormed out the door without another word. Edge immediately resigned himself to something embarrassing that would be whispered about soon, his face discreetly concealed but obviously him to any Monster who saw it.

It was fair price if Stretch could keep his temper warm until Edge was home to enjoy it. With that hope before him, Edge opened the reports Janice had brought, pausing occasionally to remember the warmth of Stretch’s lovely blush.

Something to get him through the day.

-finis-

[litriu]

Hi I'm stalking your art tag because you're SO GOOD and just?? How did you improve so much? My art looks the same from like. 10 years ago. How do you do what you do

First of all, thank you so much!! You’re such a sweetie!I am by no means an art teacher. I feel like you have to have a certain mindset to be a teacher, and I don’t have one of those mindset. I’m not good at it, so I don’t teach, but I will give you some really helpful stuff I wish I’d figured out earlier.

Second of all I’m going to give you a boring answer you don’t want to hear and I don’t want to say:

Practice.

Now, here’s the more fun answer that I’m hoping is more helpful:

Practice while you’re going. Every time I draw is a chance to practice. I’ll draw and redraw poses and edit them about a dozen times before I settle on it for lining! In one of my most recent drawings I have AT LEAST 29 layers of me drawing, redrawing, and tweaking the poses.

Practice can mean sitting down and doing 20 hand sketches, or practice can mean something different. Find out what method of practice works best for you. Sometimes drawing a thousand hands doesn’t help, and it’s okay if it doesn’t help you. Find another method!

Don’t settle on your first draft! Redrawing something is not only improving the drawing, but giving you experience for the future!

Draw from life, i know, that’s really basic. But still, it helps!

Make practice fun! Motivate yourself to practice by using things you enjoy drawing. Are you garbage at drawing hands, but you love drawing aliens? Draw aliens with a bunch of hands. This is a really basic example, but you get the jist!

My babe and I recently (before I came down with tendonitis and had to take a break) would watch a dance video where the dancers are wearing relatively snug clothing, pause it at a random place, set a timer for 5 minutes and draw whatever pose we got. (you can obviously do a shorter time if you want!) It helped a lot with foreshortening, movement, and making bodies look more 3d.

Speaking of which this won’t help your art any but it’ll help your health: S T R E T C H before, after, and while you draw, okay? You know that tendonitis I mentioned? Yeah, guess who didn’t stretch. Find stretches that work for you. Wrists, back, neck. Walk around a little every once in a while. Drink water. Eat. Take care of yourself.

Practice SMART, not just practice. Figure out what you want to strengthen in your art style. If you want to focus on improving the fluidity or readability of your poses, doing half hour studies of detailed landscapes or portraits isn’t going to help with that. Doing 1 minute speed-sketches of exaggerated poses might, though. Same goes for if you want to get better at drawing landscapes and detailed portraits.

You’ll get something out of it, so if you want to do these things do them! They’re fun! but don’t draw nothing but anime eyes and wonder why you can’t draw a skyscraper perfectly.

REFERENCE. U S E R E F E R E N C E

I’m gonna break this wall of text up with a doodle of a kitten because it’s a lot

Don’t be afraid of shitty anatomy! Sometimes to get the right perspective, it has to look weird. Making mistakes helps you learn what to improve. What works and what doesn’t. And, in my experience, the pieces I obsessed over were the pieces I felt like aged the worse, while pieces I had fun doing and relaxed drawing are still pieces I really love.

All in all, just don’t be afraid of mistakes. You’ll make them, just have fun making them.

EXPERIMENT, EXPERIMENT, EXPERIMENT! Experiment with colors. With more lineweight, with less lineweight, with weird anatomy and proportions, try out aspects of art styles you love, try out aspects of art styles you hate! Just have fun!

Step out of that comfort zone! Learn something new! You don’t have to curate an entire art exhibit on horses if you can’t draw horses, but sketch a couple at least.

Take bits and pieces from everywhere and adapt them to what works best for you. Does this method of sketching not work for you? Okay, change it. Find a new one. Find one that works better. That includes this list of tips! If something I’m saying doesn’t work for you? IGNORE IT! find something new. Don’t try to force yourself to work in a box that doesn’t work for you. It’ll just make you feel inadequate, and instead of spending time improving, you’re spending time trying to fit into the box.

I can’t give you too many super specific tips because I don’t know your art style or what you want to improve, but in general, just experiment and adapt to whatever works best for you.

This one is more of a catch all for developing your art, not nesecarilly improving it: Don’t treat things like color theory as sacred rules of the land that cannot be broken. Learn anatomy, learn color theory, learn about lineweight and how it works, learn about light and shadow! But keep in mind; they’re a guide for how things work, not an instruction manual. Do whatever you think looks cool, even if that isn’t what other people say looks good.

Learn at every opportunity! You think that lighting is cool? Try to replicate it. You watched a speedpaint and you liked their technique? try it out for yourself. Like that color palette? Analyze what you like about it and try to replicate that feeling.

Draw as often as you can! And “draw as often as you can” does not mean draw until your hands and arms hurt! It means draw a little when you have some time, if you have the energy. Don’t hurt yourself.

Time for another kitten break

Take a step back if you don’t like how something’s turning out. close it up, have something to eat, sleep on it, work on something else, whatever. If you’ve just been looking at it too long, that’ll fix it. And if there’s actually something off, you’ll come back to it less frustrated and with fresh eyes!

Draw fingernails on hands. This sounds really weird and dumb and random but it literally upped my hand game by at least 25%. It does WONDERS for portraying the angle of the hand.

A major chunk of my artistic development and improvement was done in a very unhealthy way. When I was younger, I would push myself to pain, I’d stay up until 3-6 am drawing something, I’d cry at least once every two weeks because I wasn’t good enough. I improved a lot very quickly, but I pushed myself way too hard because I was so desperate to improve…

Don’t do that. I mean it. I’m very thankful for the growth i achieved in that time, but if you can avoid that phase, do. It’s better to improve slowly and keep a healthy relationship with your art than to push yourself so hard that art becomes a chore and you lose your passion, or even hurt yourself.

Finished not Perfect

Your art has improved!! I promise it has, it may not seem like it but it has! You don’t see it right away, but every single drawing is a little better than the last as long as you keep striving to learn a little more with every drawing. Everything grows at a different pace, and you’re growing at the right pace for you.

You’re good enough right now! Have goals for what you want to do with your art, not standards for how “good” you need to be!

I’m sorry this post is long, I wish I could say “I sacrificed my soul to the art demons” but… I can’t say that. I didn’t do anything special.

Draw as much as you can, draw what makes you happy, draw new and exciting things, and surround yourself with art, artists, and people that inspire you!

BEND ART TO YOUR WILL AND MAKE IT YOUR PET

If you know an art demon that might help too idk?

aaaand here’s one more incredibly small, incredibly round kitten

[reprisedpiece]

Drop Your Pants

Pairing: Ben Platt x ArtMajor!Reader

Warning: swear words, sexual implications 

Request: “i would DIE if u did an art student reader x ben platt !!!!!!”

Word Count: 1815

Note: THIS STARTED OUT REAL FLUFFY ((and the entire thing is)) but the ending,,,, i just had to, im sorry. who knows i might even make part 2 ;---)  as always, feedbacks are appreciated!

MASTERLIST

Without a doubt, Ben found it absolutely beautiful when he found out you were an art student. He always had a knack for art, never really having the opportunities to talk about it as he didn’t have anyone to share the common interest with.

He admits that dating you entailed a lot of cheesy yet exquisite moments. Not that he was complaining. He always got the same giddy feeling whenever you mindlessly drew landscapes on his forearm, asking him to let you paint portraits on his back, and when he catches that glint in your eyes as you pull out your sketch journal whenever you see something worth drawing. 

Heck, there were even moments where he’d catch you staring at him for nearly an hour and you’d present him with a breathtaking sketch. Even if it was a loose drawing, he’d still find it stunning.

He just absolutely loved how you were able to catch every single beautiful thing in your line of vision and interpret them into something even more beautiful through your pieces.

Whenever the two of you hung out and decided to stay in, he’d always persist that it would be in your place.

Sure, your small apartment was a tad bit messy but it represented your personality quite well. It was colourful, abstract, original, vibrant. Just like you, he thought.

He never forgets to bring flowers to when he visits you. They’re not always in bouquets. Sometimes, he brings you a single flower with a small ribbon tied around its stem and it was enough to make you smile for the entire dy.

You’d put the flower/s in a vase near your other pieces as he looks around, marveling at its beauty. His gaze would switch from the easel, to the untouched canvases and sketch pads, to the paint-stained cloths near the stairwell, then eventually to you. 

He’d always see you either with charcoal markings on the side of your left hand or with a touch of paint across your cheek. You were a masterpiece in Ben’s eyes and he felt privileged to be able to even just watch you.

But of course, he also knew that your relationship would bring out of the ordinary moments.

There would be times where he’d be watching something and you’d suddenly ask him to hold his hand up near the light with a certain pose so you can sketch it. There were also time wherein you’d find him by a window, the light hitting his face just right, and you’d ask him to stay completely still.

Nonetheless, Ben didn’t mind all those things for you. He knew it was for your work. If anything, he found your dedication for your artistry simply fascinating.

Though today might be an exception. 

“Babe, I need you to drop your pants.” You said with no hesitation.

He slowly looked up from the book he was reading when he heard you say those words from across the bed.

“I need to what?”

You blew the piece of hair hanging in front of your face. You had charcoal marking over your hands so you couldn’t exactly move it away. “You heard me. Drop your pants.”

“Uhm,” He started, putting his book down. “ Look Y/N, we just ate. I think we should wait until-”

You quickly felt your cheeks heat up as you started to feel flustered. “Oh my fucking god, Ben! No, I’m not referring to that!” You said quickly, wiping your hands with a piece of cloth before smoothing out your sundress.

You were suppose to eat out that afternoon but the two of you got lazy and just decided to order in. Since then, you haven’t changed.

He simply cocked an eyebrow, smiling at you with amusement. “Okay, so why do you want me to drop my pants?”

“I need a nude model,” You started to explain. “I’m trying to sketch some poses and it would be easier for me to visualize it if someone actually did the poses.” 

Ben just stared at you, still determining if you were actually serious. This was definitely something new. Out of all the things you had him do for you, this had to be the most unconventional yet.

"We’re talking about full-on nude?”

Just like colors, you could be very bold. You simply nodded. “Yeah.”

Ben hesitated but started removing his clothes slowly nonetheless. He started with his shirt and his socks. His actions became slower when he started unbuttoning his jeans. You caught a glimpse of his face. You can tell from his expression that he felt nervous.  

“Oh, c’mon. I’ve seen it all, Ben.” You reassured him, kissing him on the cheek before walking to the sofa where you expected him to pose.

He reluctantly agreed as he began walking to the red sofa that was placed across your easel. He began laying on his, side facing you.

“Paint me like one of your french girls.” He tried lightening up the tension in the room, voice wavering ever-so slightly. He had a nervous grin on his face as you told him which pose to imitate.

You chuckled at his statement. He always said that, even when you asked him to do simple hand poses. You made him put the weight of his head against his hand, laying the other on his stomach. You placed a white sheet over his lower body, your hand accidentally brushing over his groin area.

He shifted, clearing his throat. You shot him a look. “Don’t even think about it.” He pouted at you.

“The things I do for you, I swear.” He mumbled. 

You gave him a smooch on the lips. “I know you love me.” You say with a cheeky smile, walking back to your easel.

“Unfortunately, I do.” He said back, biting his lip as he tried to keep himself from smiling.

“Just so you know, I’m sketching you.” You tell him, peaking your head from behind the easel.

“Yeah, can you make sure that my face is covered?” He asked nervously, trying to ignore the itch forming behind his leg. He knew the drill. When you asked him to pose, he had to stay completely still.

“Or just tweak it a bit so it doesn’t look exactly like me. It would feel weird if I had a nude portrait of me hanging somewhere.” 

You hummed in response. "Sure, babe. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

Ben observed you as you sketched, watching as your eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Nearly an hour into sketching, you unconsciously stuck out you tongue a bit as you focused on the shading. He couldn’t help but smile as he admired you.

It was when you couldn't find your eraser when things got, well, hard. So to speak.

Your eyes were still focused on the paper as you blindly fumbled around to your side. You continued patting around, looking for your eraser.

You groaned with annoyance when you still couldn’t find it. You were forced to tear your eyes away from your work.

You stared at the top tier of your organizer. 

“Why the fuck do my erasers keep on disappearing?” You muttered to yourself, scrambling the items in search for the damn eraser. It was the third time you lost it in two weeks.

“Damn it. I hope I still have some left,” You whispered to yourself as you dropped to your knees. You bent down, searching for a spare eraser in the bottom tier of your organizer.

Ben’s breathing hitched. Your dress was short so with you bending down, Ben couldn’t help but stare. His eyes shifted to your ass, catching a glimpse of the black lace underneath your dress.

His gaze lingered as you fidgeted around in search for the eraser. It was taking you an awful lot of time but Ben wasn’t complaining. He took in a sharp breath when the skirt of the dress rode higher.

“Aha! I got it!” You exclaim, sitting back on your calves. You scrambled to get up back on your feet as Ben cleared his throat, quickly straightening his body once more.

You went back to your piece, erasing and fixing the wavy line you accidentally made. When you finished with that area, you glanced at Ben as you started to draw his lower body. Doing so just made you laugh.

"Benjamin Platt!” You fake scolded, stifling a chuckle from slipping past your lips.

He stiffened his pose. “I’m sorry! My back started to ache so I just had to straighten my back.” He quickly defended himself as he though you were referring to his shift in pose.

You were giggling at this point. You couldn’t even form words so you shook your head at him, signalling that you weren’t talking about that.

He gave you a confused look. 

You cleared your throat, simply pointing a little bit to your right. Ben’s eyes followed your finger. He almost immediately realized that you were pointing to his groin area where a small tent was formed.

He felt his face red up a bit, trying to be still as possible. “You were wearing the black lace. You know I couldn’t help it.” He whines.

“So you got a boner in like ten seconds?” You questioned him as you looked at him with amusement.

“Just so you know, you were bent over for over five minutes.” He started defending himself again. “And besides, what can I do? You turn me on.”

You looked back at your sketch before looking back at him. “Though I am flattered, your boner changed the way the cloth falls. It doesn’t match the sketch anymore.” You say with a pout on your face.

Ben smirks. “I mean, there’s really only one way to bring it back to the way it was.” He said expectantly. “And you know, you’re the only one who can help with that.”

You rolled your eyes, giving him a cheeky grin. “Nice try, babe. Unfortunately, the answer is no.” You say, his smirk falling.

“Wait, wha-”

“I’m going to move to another area and I will just skip that part for now,” You say as you pointed to his groin area, giving him a wink. “I’ll let it limp down by itself.”

His jaw nearly hit the ground. “So you’re telling me you’re going to leave me here? With a boner? Flustered and all?” He said slowly.

You nodded with a smile on your face. “Exactly my point.” You reply, going back to your sketch.

“I-” He started, eventually closing his mouth as he didn’t know what to say.

You giggle at his expression. “My apologies but you know art comes first.”

He just nodded slowly, obviously upset as his eyes were set on the floor. 

“Hey,” You called out. He lifted his gaze to your face.

You gave him a smirk. “Rest assured, I’ll make it up to you later.”

| part 2 here |

[fanfic-rants]

What is Your Story`s Soul?

Without a soul, it doesn’t matter how interesting your story`s characters, settings, world(s), or situations are. Your story will fall flat.

So what do I mean when I say “a story`s soul?” Remove the setting, the names of the characters, and most of the details of the plot of a story. What is left? The story’s soul; what the story is truly about.

Peter Docter (a director who has been involved in many of Pixar’s famous movies) gives this example of a story`s soul when describing Monsters Inc.

“A man becoming a father for the first time.”

That single sentence is so simple, yet is also so powerful! The fact that that story is being told using a setting of monsters who make a living out of scaring children easily provides conflict to make the story interesting, and the characters themselves add even more to it (as well as providing the wonderful comedy).

This concept also applies to fanfiction. I’ll provide an example using a fanfiction I’m looking forward to seeing update:  Chipped Sapphire and Brewing Hellfire by lordofire.

As far as I (the reader) can tell, this story`s soul is, "A boy who seeks to become a hero to the world, and a fallen god who comes to discover the value and beauty of the world.”

That is a soul of a story that can really draw people in. We all enjoy a good story of an aspiring hero, and that of a former villain discovering the wonders we ourselves love and enjoy. How is that story told, though? That`s where the context, the setting, and world of the story come into play. Fanfiction just makes creating all of that so much easier because most of it is already there. All the author has to do is tweak or overhaul it.

So what`s the context of Chipped Sapphire and Brewing Hellfire? What tweaks has Lordoffire made to RWBY to tell his story? The one key tweak he has made is one that only fanfiction authors would make. Jaune Arc’s soul is merged with Sauron`s. Yes, the same Sauron from Lord of the Rings. Makes you pause, doesn`t it?.

Sure, the fanfic idea sounds interesting, but without the soul of the story in mind, where is it going to go after the author manages to set it up? Without that soul of the story driving it, the story would quickly flounder.

How many stories have you encountered that seem to have such great potential, but stops before it can even get started? Why did the author stop? The idea behind the story appears so interesting. I haven`t spoken to these authors myself, so I can`t give a certain answer. However, I would be willing to bet they stopped because they didn`t know what to do with their idea. It was so fantastic when they came up with it, but it wasn`t until they started writing it out and setting it up they realized that they didn`t know what kind of story they wanted to tell, what the soul of the story using that idea was.

One fanfiction that illustrates this very well is Bound to Crimson Wings by Hysterical Clerical Hijinks. Set in a fantasy setting, Weiss gets bonded to a dragon partner, appropriately referred to as bonded, named Ruby. Read this final passage of the first chapter and tell me (again ignoring the grammatical errors) that you wouldn`t be interested in reading more.

Meanwhile Weiss was staring down her own Dragon, but not nearly as calmly as Blake. Despite having gotten the attention of the smaller of the two, Weiss was not reassured.

The larger dragon was far less intimidating.

It glided toward her, each step startlingly silent. It was moving very quickly, deceptively swift and snakelike. Weiss felt her pulse pick as it approached, looking dark and dreadful. She fought to retreat, to simply flee in the other direction from the predator in front of her.

Eventually it was right next to her, and Weiss could feel the cold sweat dripping down her forehead. She was pretty sure that even if she did want to flee, her body wouldn`t follow her orders anymore. The Dragon`s face lowered to face Weiss, warm breath puffing over Weiss. She gulped, staring at the deadly looking teeth. She looked up, dread pooling her stomach, and stared into a pair of large, slitted silver eyes…

Then it licked her.

Right in the face.

Weiss was stunned into unfeeling silence, drool dripping down her face and her fringe stuck in the air, unable to comprehend that said Dragon had just breezed past her mental shields.

‘My name`s Ruby and we`re going to be the best Bonded ever~!’ She exclaimed cheerfully unto Weiss` mind. Her voice was young girl`s, mid teens at most if Weiss was to guess. It was incredibly chirpy. She was getting heavy sensations of pridejoypridefriendhappinessjoyteamfriendteam. Coupled with gleeful silver eyes, and a massive wagging tail.

This wasn`t a Dragon, it was the biggest puppy on Remnant.

Weiss could feel her headache coming back with a vengeance already.

And that was only a part of the whole chapter. The idea of Ruby being a puppy in the body of a lethal, terrifying dragon on top of being Weiss`s partner is such a wonderful idea full of potential, and Hysterical Clerical Hijinks writes this story very well. There`s just one major heartbreaker about this story.

That first chapter is currently [December 11th, 2017] the only chapter, and it was posted January 28th, 2015. At this point, it is in the unofficial hiatus hell.

How could Hysterical Clerical Hijinks do this? Why would he begin such a wonderful story, only to stop at the very beginning just as we`re all hooked? If we were to message him, I`d imagine his reply would be along the lines of “I didn`t know what to do with it.”

Yes, he had an amazing setting. Yes, his writing was good. he even did an excellent job of staying true to the RWBY characters he was recreating for his story. His problem came from lacking an actual story to tell with all of that. His stories lacked a driving soul.

Knowing the soul of a story greatly helps in giving the author direction; even if the creative juices have ceased to flow for a bit, and the possibilities offered by the setting have run out. Wondering what to do next in the story? Look at the soul of the story, throw a wrench of some sort at it, and write out experience the protagonists have, while maintaining the integrity of their setting, as they try to deal with the conflict and stay true to their soul.

For example, let's look at Bound to Crimson Wings again, give it a few different souls, and then throw some wrenches at them.

“A girl, isolated in her home for her whole life, seeks companionship.” Some wrenches to throw at this? Her teammate is an enemy of her family. Her bonded is so different from her. A situation arises that demands she returns home.

“Two girls, running from their own pasts and prisons of a home, seek to better the world.” Some wrenches to throw at this? One of their homes is in danger, and they have the option of returning to save/protect it. One or both of their pasts threaten their current life/lives unless they abandon it to return. One or both of their pasts pose a threat to the world, and they are capable of doing something to stop it/them.

These wrenches allow the author to create the conflicts that bring readers in. Even if encountering a writer’s block, or just simply not knowing where to go next with the story, the story’s soul can allow the author to figure out where to go next. Of course, the author should also realize when to simply allow the story to be done. If there are no more potential conflicts, no more viable wrenches to throw at the soul of the story, then the story needs to be brought to a close.

Luckily, if the story is well thought out, there may be multiple “souls” operating within a single story that can allow multiple wrenches to be thrown at it.

How can a story have more than one soul? Wouldn’t they conflict with each other? Not necessarily. A good story should be a lot like real life. Every character that shows up, from nameless background people to the main protagonist, has their own story, and those stories have their own soul.

When telling a story, however, the author should pick a “dominant” soul, and allow all the other souls involved to support it. If a particular soul does not support the “dominant” soul, then the author should not bother revealing it more than necessary.

For example, in the video game Mass Effect II, there is a mission you can perform for a crewmate of yours, Thane Krios, who wants to stop his son from walking the path of an assassin like he has. The story for the mission is a good one, but there is a soul that really shines out in it that is never explored: that of Captain Bailey, the Citadel Security officer who acts as a supporting role in the mission. It is never specifically spoken, but you can see and hear, in almost every word spoken by the captain, that he feels a personal connection to this mission. Perhaps the most notable can be found on TVTropes’ page of Mass Effect II quotes:

"You think he's [Thane] the only man who's ever messed up raising a son?"

Even for those who are not experienced at reading between the lines can tell that Captain Bailey bears a personal tragedy on his shoulders whenever he speaks about Thane trying to save his son.

So why is this soul not explored? Because the soul of the story for Captain Bailey and his son does not pertain to the dominant soul of Mass Effect II: Commander Shepard seeking to save the galaxy his (the player’s) way. As interesting as that story would be, it would be unnecessary baggage that would have bogged down the game. So, it had to be left out.

With that example of a soul that does not support the “dominant” soul of a story out of the way, how about an example of a soul that does support the “dominant” soul?

For the official RWBY anime by Roosterteeth, I believe the “dominant” soul can be identified as “four girls who seek to make the world a better place.” (Please correct me if you think that’s wrong or inaccurate).

Each of the souls for the members of the primary cast, the members of team RWBY, are able to support this soul. For Weiss Schnee and Blake Belladonna, they practically state the souls for their stories in Episode 25 of Season 2, Search and Destroy, and Episode 26 of Volume 2, Mountain Glenn; and Ruby Rose states hers in Episode 3 of Volume 1, The Shining Beacon, Pt 2. For Ruby’s soul, it is the most reflective of the show (which, I suspect, is why she is the first character to be introduced in it): “A girl who seeks to fight for what’s right and those who can’t protect themselves” (see transcript for episode 3, Volume 1: The Shining Beacon, Pt. 2) For Weiss, her’s is: “A girl who seeks to redeem her family name.” For Blake, its: “A girl who seeks to fight for equality and justice.”

Now, upon reading those souls, one might be inclined to think, “these all sound more like the character’s motives than their stories’ souls.” This is mostly because their motives help shape and create their souls. Because of that, they can be easily confused to the point where they can be used interchangeably. However, by examining the final member of team RWBY, Yang Xiao Long, we can identify the difference between a character’s motive and the soul for their story.

Yang’s surface motives, the ones that govern her personal and outside actions, are many. In Search and Destroy, Yang states that she wants to live a life of adventure “not knowing what tomorrow will bring.” However, in episode 21 of Season 2, Extracurricular, Yang reveals that she is still looking for her mother who left her shortly after she was born. While these motives do shape the soul of her story, the actual soul of her story is quite different. Thus far [December 11th, 2017] it can be identified as this: “A big sister who seeks to be present when those she loves are in need.”

All of those souls are not only compatible with the dominant soul of RWBY, they also support it. Thus, by exploring these souls, the author, Roosterteeth (following the death of Monty Oum), also explores the soul of RWBY. There are bound to be many more potential souls within the world of RWBY, but if they are to be explored, they must be done so outside of this anime series in order to prevent the bogging down of any of the souls involved.

So much more can be said about the soul of a story, and I’m certain that much has already been said about it (just in different words). However, I hope that upon reading this; you will at least be much more aware of this concept, and be able to fill the world with even greater stories than before.

Also, I have a separate post that links to a list of potential souls that I have collected. If you’re interested or are just looking for a few writing prompt ideas, follow this link to check it out. Please message me if you have any ideas for potential souls that I have not already included on my list as well as (if you can) the sources of inspiration you got the souls from.

If you liked this post, please hit the like button. If you have anything to add to this post, please reply to or repost it. If you know of anyone who you think would appreciate and/or benefit from this post, please share it with them. If you want to see more rants by me as I come up with them, please follow me. I hope to not disappoint.

[kappasquad]

I commissioned this drawing a long time ago to go along with the Graves’ post-spinal-injury midnight bath. I never shared it here, so I’d best remedy that. (There will be a few other unseen commissions coming up as well).

Artist: Lorna Ka

“You’re perfect, y’know that, don’t you?”

Misfit nuzzled his cheek against his partner’s hair, breathing in the subtle smell of lavender that was permeating the room around them; one of Tuca’s ideas, designed to calm Graves and promote a sleepy atmosphere for him to rest It was 3am…very much the middle of the night, but none of that really made much difference to Graves’ sleep schedule since he was still largely bed bound and had nothing to do all day but sleep. People would give him tasks as and when they came available, but nothing that kept him busy all day so he tended to drift off periodically, then be wide awake at night.

Misfit had filled the large portable tub with hot water and lavender oil, proposing a middle-of-the-night bath. The fire was crackling and warm, keeping the chill from their skin. Usually he just helped Graves in to the tub and let him wash himself as much as he could – letting him maintain his independence – but since nobody else was awake, he had taken the opportunity to climb in with him.

He had his partner’s back against his chest, safely reclining between his own spread legs. It gave Graves security and the comfort of some preciously important skin contact.

He had started the painful treatment prescribed by Nala Se which incorporated spinal injections of bacta at the site of his break. The injections themselves weren’t any bother because his feeling was still very poor, but as they took affect the pain was building.

The Kaminoan physician had given him an increase in his pain medication to match the issues he was uncovering, but it was also important to map the progress. In order to monitor the progress, he needed to feel these recovered feelings…even if they were uncomfortable. He was getting bouts of pins and needles that had been so disconcerting and uncomfortable that he’d wept but still refused to take the medication. It was a horrible feeling but it was immensely better than feeling nothing.

Any improvement was good, as far as he was concerned.

The pins and needles had morphed in to general aches around the base of his spine and through his hips, and that was why they chose to soak in the hot water. If Graves was going to refuse medication, Misfit just had to think outside of the box to ensure that he was as comfortable as possible.

Graves opened his eyes again upon hearing Misfit’s proclamation. His head was resting comfortably on his brother’s chest; enjoying the feeling of being wrapped within his strong arms, cradled by his body and the gentle support of the water. “You won’t be saying that when it comes to getting me out again without anyone’s help.” There was both humour and self-depreciation in his tone.

The whole experience had been difficult for him to adapt to; going from highly fit commando to cripple all due to some freak accident. He didn’t grudge anyone else for coming out relatively unscathed while he was left with life changing injuries but the injustice still gnawed at him if he let it. Had it been an injury sustained in combat, it wouldn’t have felt so bad, but this had been time off…a day out hunting. It was meant to be fun.

Brude’s arm was nearly ready to be removed from the cast, although the pins would stay in place. It had been a nasty compound fracture and had left a very impressive surgical scar behind, but Brude was wearing it like a medal. Few individuals had scars like that in a galaxy where bacta healed so thoroughly. Dita was the same; taking his painful lek wound completely in his stride. The young bounced back. That was just how life went.

He felt so old.

“We are old, cyar’vod.” Misfit kissed the side of his neck and held him a little bit tighter.

He must have said it out loud. Or Missy had turned in to a mind reader.

“Plenty grey anyway.” He humoured him, trying to force his mind away from the things that bothered him. It’d been three months now since he broke his back and he was around two months in to his treatment. Progress was slow – just like he’d been warned. He closed his eyes and purred as his husband ran gentle hands up his stomach, passing across the area with absent or altered sensation until they reached his chest. Any petting was much appreciated; he’d found a newly kindled need for touch since he lost feeling and control of half his body.

The sensations that remained were all the more precious when you couldn’t feel so much. He whimpered when Misfit tweaked his nipple and bit his neck simultaneously. The pleasure-pain line was one that Graves loved to teeter along, and his cyar’ika new just what he loved.

“So easy.” Misfit murmured, worrying at the bite mark with his tongue and teeth – intent to leave his mark. He had always been possessive, although it didn’t manifest in as strong a way as Graves’ own possessive actions.

“Only for you, bébé.” Graves dipped a hand in to his lap and gave himself a few half-hearted strokes out of habit more than expectation. He could achieve these semi-erections through erogenous stimulation because the messages from his brain were now making it far enough to bring about the start of an erection, but it wasn’t hard enough to do anything with and he couldn’t reach orgasm just through Misfit playing with his nipples and licking his neck. That didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy it though…

He gave up – completely unable to feel his efforts tonight. “Are you poking my back?” He couldn’t feel anything but the aching pain in his hips, but he could still make a pretty safe guess.

Misfit didn’t reply – choosing instead to bury his face in his partner’s hair to hide his laugh. He couldn’t deny it…he was enjoying this as much as he would always be, but he didn’t like to draw attention to it in case it put unnecessary pressure on Graves.

They still tried to have some fun, but really it always came around to Misfit having to carefully position himself so that Graves could finish him off. They couldn’t have a tumble…and his partner couldn’t just roll over to do the necessary. It was okay – and Graves never complained about not getting anything out of these moments – but Misfit still felt that he was somehow taking advantage.

He’d taken to doing a bit of essential maintenance in the shower if he had the privacy, which he often did now since his schedule revolved around caring for Graves’ needs. It was the first time he’d taken to doing this since the times they were sent out to work separately during the war.

Instead of letting his mind wander away to his own needs, he kicked himself back to the moment, feeling Graves tense a little against him in what he knew was a grimace of pain. The warm water was a good painkiller but it only went so far in treating the deep rooted nerve pain. But he was prepared for it, reaching over the edge of the bath to grab a little jar containing a cocktail of medication that he had prepared for this moment.

Graves took it with mild complaint but ultimately knowing that they were for the best. He didn’t like taking more than he had to but if he didn’t take them now he’d never be able to get to sleep. The water was a temporary reprieve from the pain. He couldn’t just take the painkiller alone because he had a weird reaction to medication. All through his life, the pre-measured sharps of painkiller that they carried in their medkit had made him sick, stims left him with a major ‘hang-over’ affect, he woke from anaesthetic wanting to kill everyone around him…

He’d just treated that as normality for him because every clone feared letting outsiders, Kaminoans, or trainers in on secrets that could be deemed as failures in any way. Misfit kept an eye on him and he was fortunate that he never had to have surgery until he was away from the Kaminoan gaze. He had flattened every medic, med-droid and technician who were unfortunate enough to be in the recovery room with him, until Misfit and E’li rushed in to calm him down. After that, a note had been made in his medical records so that his medic vode knew to keep him restrained when he was regaining consciousness after meds.

And now, he was fortunate enough to have the medical expertise and love of the community, and they had devised a cocktail that would provide adequate pain relief while incorporating an anti-emetic and something to make him drowsy. It was potent, and it only took a few minute for the effects to wash over him, leaving him sleepy and limp in Misfit’s arms.

This did pose something of an issue when it came to getting him out and dried – and to be honest, Misfit hadn’t thought this far ahead in his plan. Fortunately, Tryss chose that moment to make an appearance, startling Misfit and making Graves rumble sleepily.

The Hapan looked half asleep himself; his hair sleep tousled and his one concession to nightwear – some worn, comfortable pants – hanging dangerously from his hips. Nobody needed to ask why he was up…two youngsters, one with lingering traumatic memories and the other a mere baby, would do terrible things to your sleep schedule. There wasn’t many nights that went by without either Tryss or Varik stumbling through to make a comfort bottle for Bess, or to get a mug of warm milk for Haar’ika. He took one look at the pair in the tub, not even questioning the logic of a bath at this time of night. “Need a hand?” He helped Graves to sit up enough for Misfit to slip out from under him, then together they could lift the Alpha captain out of the tub.

Tryss waited until Misfit had hastily dried himself and thrown on some clothing, then he squatted down, threading his left hand under Graves’ thighs and his right arm around his back; a position that Misfit mirrored on the other side.

Before they could lift him, Graves let his head come to against Tryss’ shoulder, squinting at his exposed, lean body. He giggled and pulled what he probably thought was an alluring grin. “Come here often, handsome?” He couldn’t stop himself from dissolving in to more giggles, struggling to keep his eyes open. Tryss merely rolled his eyes, lifting on the count of three and following Misfit’s lead to transfer him to the towels that were laid out on the bed to dry him. He raised his eyebrows at the second Alpha, noting his adoring smile firmly in place at Graves’ antics. “Is he on the loopy drugs again?”

“Yeah…” Misfit pointed to the shelf that held a vast array of meds, and Needles’ meticulous notes on dosages. “The bed time cocktail is always the worst – he needs lots to take the pain away enough for him to sleep but the more pain relief he gets, the more he needs to balance the side-affects. It’s enough to put a bantha on its shebs.”

Tryss turned his gaze back towards Graves to help wrap him up in the blankets. The Alpha was already fast asleep, mouth slightly open and a deceptively innocent expression on his face. Give it ten minutes and he would bet money that he’d be drooling too.

“One bantha…or one stubborn Alpha ARC!”

[mushingames]

September 2017 - Update

September was a huge month for us, and we made TONS of progress, especially in the art department. Mainly, we’ve done the following things:

Add a new attack move to both the Skilled Swordsman (aka Light Enemy) and the Giant Swordsman (aka Large Enemy)

Polish/Tweak existing animations

Add particle effects to some actions

Start on the second level’s environment sprites

Add a new attack move to both the Skilled Swordsman and the Giant Swordsman

We actually wanted to do this for quite a while, but it wasn’t part of the original plan. With just one type of attack for each enemy type, the enemies were predictable and easy to beat, and combat was super boring. Changes to the move set of 2 characters mean a whole lot of work that would involve creating new animations, adding them to the state machine, making changes to the enemy scripts, and an countless hours of balancing. But we had to do it, to turn the game into something that’s actually fun.

Here are the animations we’ve created for the new moves:

Skilled Swordsman’s Close-Range Attack:

Giant Swordsman’s Spin Attack

These animations took about 9 hours to draw altogether. We actually experimented with two different approaches.

Approach #1 (https://youtu.be/9XWDvIkb_PM)

Speed-sketch all frames

Polish them one by one

Pros:

Suitable for creating a smooth and flowy animation

You get to see the whole animation in action at a very early stage in the process, and it helps you to make it even smoother

Cons:

Too many in-between frames added without much thought make the animation sluggish and uninteresting

You need to polish all the frames from scratch

Approach #2 (https://youtu.be/axwKr2yCXEg)

Draw just the key frames right at the beginning, with all the details

Create in-between frames by copying the key frames, twisting ‘n turning the limbs, and cleaning up jagged lines

Pros:

Suitable for an animation that’s based on a small number of well-defined poses with snappy transitions

It allows you to focus on cleaning the lines and making each frame look good, because the in-betweens are fully-coloured and half-polished to begin with

It’s relatively easy to add in a key frame in the middle of the process because each key frame tends to be completely separate, and the in-betweens are similar to it

Cons:

It simply doesn’t work well for a move without well-defined poses, or a move that requires too many key frames (but I guess it really depends on how well you can figure out the key frames of a move)

The new moves have already been put into the game, and they are looking really great. Here’s a clip of the Skilled Swordsman showing off his new attack:

These Skilled Swordsmen can side-slash you if you stand too close to them. Previously they could only jump up and stab you from above no matter how close they were to you. It felt weird then, but it feels right now.

Polish/Tweak existing animations

Along with the two new animations we did this month, we also spent quite a bit of time polishing, and tweaking some of the existing animations in the game. Although it’s very easy to miss, some animations that you might’ve already seen were done very, very roughly, and they had jagged lines, no outlines, the wrong colours and all sorts of other flaws.

Add particle effects to some animations

A lot of the effects were previously just done with a single animated sprite. But, we’ve added particles to amp up some of the effects. We didn’t spend too much time on it but we’re pretty happy with the outcome.

Start on the second level’s environment sprites

We’ve been working on the second level for quite a while now. We were focused solely on the level design until recently but since that’s starting to take shape, we decided that it’s time we start designing the environment. We won’t reveal the theme of it yet, but here’s part of a new spritesheet we’re creating for the level. The tile indices are shown because we don’t wanna show too much of a wok-in-progress.

And that’s a wrap!

This is it for Semptember 2017. There’s actually a whole lot of stuff that’s currently in the works. Hopefully we can share it soon.

Thank you for following the development of The Legend of Tobimaru!