#this is from last year - i still want to redraw it with more intention and with more attention to lighting

[thecrenellations]

"You are good at keeping yourself inconspicuous," she said. "But your veins run with the blood of kings, and your mind is filled with the secrets of an empire. You are like a lamp burning quietly by itself in a dark room. Sooner or later someone is going to exploit your radiance ..."

Her words trailed off.

"... again," she finished softly.

Goewin and Telemakos in that scene at the end of chapter eight of The Lion Hunter. The composition is based on The Penitent Magdalene by Georges de la Tour, and I don't think I would have drawn it without @fishmaid's beautiful Attolia Irene study of a similar painting living in my brain.

soundtrack for Goewin: "The Tower" by Vienna Teng ("she carries the act so convincingly the fact is/ sometimes she believes it/ that she can be happy the way things are/ be happy with the things she's done")

[aubadeatelier]

Happy 20th Anniversary D. Gray-man!

On 31 May 2004, an amazing journey began with Allen Walker making his way to the European Branch of the Black Order as a new exorcist.

And now, it is 31 May 2024, 20 years of a still on-going journey. A lot has happened and changed and yet, he keeps walking.

Happy Birthday, D. Gray-man! And thank you for everything you've brought to me and so many others!

This post contains the pieces I did for the D. Gray-man 20th Anniversary Zine. 1 Party Doodle and 2 Redraw Project pages. Please enjoy! To see the whole zine, please access the zine through the link below to the project tumblr!

✦ D. Gray-man 20th Anniversary Zine ✦

Please make sure to take a look at the whole zine! I had the greatest honor to work with more than 100+ amazing artists across the world. It would mean a lot to me and all those who worked on this zine to have our work seen together as one!

(PS. I asked a funny little question in the Party Doodle section of the zine!)

[Beyond this point are my pieces and some fun facts!]

Party Doodle || A Celebration from 35 Years Ago featuring from bottom left, Mana D. Campbell, Nea D. Campbell, ???, Cross Marian, and Timcampy. ✦ I originally made this celebration doodle with the intention of just drawing Nea, ???, and Timcampy. But upon popular demand and the power of friendship (shoutout to Hana Hazel, Kanin, and Sabhamun), I ended up adding Cross Marian and Mana! And honestly, the additions were a great idea and really make the piece feel more lively and fun! (Also we need more Campbell brothers content damn it. I wanna see them happy!) ✦ Also, if any of your are up-to-date at this point, you know Chapter 251 coming out shook so many things including this piece that was already done when it released. But! I think it's fun to keep it as is as a relic of the pre-251 era. (Who knows? Maybe I'll make a fixed version!)

Redraw Project Page 01 || Chapter 04. Page 119. ✦ The first redraw page I received for assignment! I ended up liking the page, because it felt to me an integral establishing page for the series' themes. I may have gotten a little overboard with how I wanted to interpret the page, but I thought originally I would not be doing a second page and thus, wanted to put a lot of effort. In D. Gray-man, Akuma are created when a person makes a deal with the Millennium Earl. More often than not, the person has no idea what this deal entails, only that they can bring their loved one back from the dead if they agree to it. But what happens when the person is aware or knows not to accept the Earl's deal? And we receive a heart-wrenching, but understandable answer. To have the knowledge of the Earl's tricks does not automatically save a person. The Earl preys on the vulnerable. He appears and makes his offer to those in the deepest pits of despair and grief. That is how he got Leo. He was just a kid who lost his mother. He may have known more about the Earl and Akuma, because of his friendship with Jean, but when you are grieving kid-- what do you do when someone promises you they'll bring back your mother who was taken from you so suddenly? It is difficult to say no. ✦ The books that frame the piece are meant to convey this emphasis of knowledge and study-- the days Jean and Leo spent reading through Jean's father's books and notes about the Earl and Akuma with intention to patrol their town and keep people safe. Ultimately, a book page is the last panel, showing a representation of Leo and the Earl at a grave as Leo becomes an example of a person who takes the Earl's deal and whose body is taken by an Akuma. ✦ The blue tones of Jean and the Akuma were on purpose made to contrast the warmer tones of Jean and Leo's days together. ✦ It was crazy getting to draw an Akuma's face. It was a challenge to try and draw kids, but I ended getting through it pretty well. ✦ There are a few silly easter eggs in the open books. I put a small anniversary message in one. And in the other, I tried to sketch Cornelia and the Campbell Estate with the lyrics of the 14th's song. A nod to some content in the later parts of the series.

Redraw Project Page 02 || Chapter 01. Page 38. ✦ Originally, the plan was I only would do 1 redraw page and 1 doodle, but we needed fill-ins and I took a shot at it! ✦ When I found out it was a page from Chapter 1, I was ecstatic! I had originally wanted to do one from the chapter, but they were high in demand which was more than understandable. ✦ Unlike my first redraw page, I decided to be a little more simplistic with the layout. This layout is not too far off from that of the Katsura Hoshino's, but I made a few changes such as certain angles, drawing characters closer to emphasize faces. ✦ I am not the strongest with backgrounds and drawing buildings, but I ended up enjoying the challenge of it all. Thankfully, a lot of other artists in the project tackled the building and referenced the original page, the pages and sketches of the building or interior by other project artists, and the anime to ready myself to tackle it! ✦ The spirals of the Akuma bullet gave me trouble at first, but then I ended up enjoying it as I figured it out. ✦ This page was overall a big joy to play with as it challenged me with backgrounds, certain effects, and word bubbles.

And with that, this concludes the tour of my work on the D. Gray-man 20th Anniversary Zine. I have so much to say about this series and what it means to me, but I will try not to make this post horridly longer.

D. Gray-man is the series that made me fall in love with storytelling and art. It showed me something that filled an emptiness I felt. It gave me joy and company at a time where I felt unsure who I was and felt like an outcast. My resolution after this project is to continuously grow better at my stories and art. I hope to make something as meaningful to myself and others as D. Gray-man is.

Happy 20th Anniversary D. Gray-man! I hope and pray for more wonderful chapters and for there to be a lovely conclusion someday. For now, let us keep walking together!

[yaboylevi]

Shingeki no Kyojin's Ending Interview (May 2021)

Translation commissioned by @goldsword07​, DO NOT REPOST in full, always include credits and a link to this post if you use or share any parts of it.

Question: Congratulations on completing Shingeki no Kyojin’s serialization! How do you feel now that you have finished writing the final chapter?

Isayama: There’s still some work left to do when it comes to putting together the final manga volume*, so I don’t actually know how a “life without deadlines" feels like yet (laughs), but by publishing the final chapter, I feel like I can finally breathe again. However, there are still several things that need to be done.

(*Translator’s note: usually, putting together a volume includes: fixing drawing mistakes, sometimes even redrawing certain scenes if the author wasn’t satisfied with how they looked/their composition, fixing text (both wording or simply changing the Japanese characters used), drawing omake/extra pages, like the High School Caste fake previews, which usually take up 2 pages, and so on. So, of the 8 extra pages he mentions below, probably only 6 at max will be used to add new original story content.)

Q: What?! What else is there to be done?

Isayama: At first, the draft for the last page of the chapter was neatly divided into 5 panels, but I was feeling quite indecisive about it. At the time, that last page was a scene of 3 people running towards a tree on a hill. After having a meeting about that with Bakku-san and my other editors, I decided on a last-minute change, and I turned it into the one that is now published in Bessatsu Shonen Magazine. The limit for each printed chapter in Bessatsu Magazine was 51 pages, but since up to 8 extra pages can be added in manga volumes, I want to finish up everything that I couldn’t draw in the printed magazine and add it in the final manga volume.

Q: As for the serialization, which spanned 11 years and a half, have there been any changes about the way you think about mangas?

Isayama: Up until recently, I had drawn as if sexism wasn’t a thing, but when drawing the Marleyan military, which was comparatively more modern, if I had added, with no explanation whatsoever, female soldiers like I did for Paradis Island, it could’ve given the impression that Marley was quite a developed nation. It would’ve felt out of place. That’s why, as long as I was drawing a story set in an era of the past, I couldn’t draw female characters as part of the top brass of the military, because it would’ve meant acting as if there was no actual history of gender discrimination at the time.

It might be a story set in a fictitious world, but if you don’t connect it in some ways to the real world, it could end up becoming a story people cannot relate to.

Q: The unraveling of events that led to the final chapter has been quite shocking. Especially when it comes to Eren…

Isayama: I have been frenetically checking any and all reactions to that. There are as many honest opinions as there are people, and they’re all correct. With how I portrayed that part, it’s not so strange that it was interpreted as if Armin accepted the massacre. My portrayal was lacking. Armin didn’t approve of the despicable measures taken by Eren, but he ended up benefiting from the mass slaughter, regardless of his intentions. Armin, who couldn’t possibly understand Eren, faced their last farewell with a firm “Thank you for becoming a mass murderer for us”, essentially conveying how he himself was also an accomplice. He wanted to feel closer to Eren, even if just a little. I realized the final stage in particular had too difficult themes, and my portrayal was inadequate. I deeply regret that I wasn’t able to fully express them in the manga proper.

I’ve been drawing this manga for 11 years and a half, and when I completed the manuscript I truly believed that “everyone will be happy with this”. I was conceited. I apologize to those who have supported me until the end but have felt let down by the ending.

Q: During these 11 years and a half of serialization, have there been any memorable events?

Isayama: I’m happy that I could deepen the relationship with my assistants, as “manga friends”. When the serialization started, everyone was in their twenties, but now some of them are married and have even become parents, and we have become close family friends.

Q: Was the manga becoming an anime a memorable moment, too?

Isayama: The anime adaptation can certainly be considered another part of Shingeki no Kyojin. Lots of people got to know this story through watching the anime. Personally, it was refreshing for me too, as I could experience the story anew. In addition to that, the characters were taken out of my hands - in a good way - by the directors and voice actors, they began moving as independent “existences”. It was a first and interesting experience.

Q: Do you have a favorite scene?

Isayama: As far as drawings go, the scene I like the most is the one in chapter 104, “Victors”, when the Jaw Titan claws at the Attack Titan. Besides the fact that I feel like I can’t draw anything better than that, there also haven’t been that many action scenes with titans after chapter 104.

Q: Well then, what about your best chapter?

Isayama: One of them is chapter 71, “Bystander”. I feel like that chapter exceeded my abilities at the time. I like the way it doesn’t feel like “Shingeki no Kyojin”, as the spotlight was on the life of a single character who isn’t involved with the original story.

Q: Chapter 69, “Friends”, also depicts some characters’ personal life.

Isayama: I like that chapter, too! At the time of drawing its draft, I flattered myself with words such as “Uh? Aren’t I so mature?!”. Normally, I would draw the main story’s continuation, but in chapters 69 and 71’s case, it felt like I was drawing stories that were complete on their own.

Q: With the start of the Marley arc in chapter 91, “The other side of the ocean”, both titans and modern times’ weapons made an appearance in battle.

Isayama: That battle scene was the time I had the most fun while drawing mangas, I was in a state of total concentration and full energy.

Q: How has Shingeki no Kyojin been for you?

Isayama: It’s as if youth has come a bit late, a third of my life has been packed into this work. …Of course, there have been hard times, too, but it’s been a chapter of my life that normally you wouldn’t be able to experience and even now I struggle to think it was real. Although I’ve been spoiled by my readers, I had planned to draw all the while accepting even harsh opinions.

Q: Finally, a message to the readers, please!

Isayama: Through Shingeki no Kyojin, I could connect with an unfathomable number of people. I’ve been happy to share this time of my life with my readers, which is something that, if I had had a normal life, I would have never experienced.

Also, now that the serialization is over, I have been freed, so I want to stroll around a small city with a can of One Cup sake in one hand. That’s what I would call freedom.

[nostalgiachan]

Aw ye, time for more OC redraws, this time featuring: Pretty Keyboard Lady Accidental Alcoholic My First D&D Character (aka WHY DID NO ONE ROLL A HEALER OH GOD) and The Angriest Boy

Character lore below the cut! 

#21: Selene Lumiere Coueri/Selene Amour Idea: The elegant goth keyboardist Story: D.A.R.K.

Oh my God with that name though, especially with a character whose hometown's in West Virginia. Yet another member with a HIM reference name, this one to bassist Mikko Paananen aka Mige Amour.

Selene is the keyboardist of the band, and as elegant and composed as they come. Both she and the band refer to her as the designated hot chick, though I was careful to point out she's an intellectual and spends most of her non-music time reading. She also only apparently needs glasses when she's performing.

#22: Mige Enkeli Idea: Hard-partying, laid-back drummer Story: D.A.R.K.

Oh, hey, one of the people I named after Finnish men is actually a Finnish man. I don't know if he's the most flattering portrayal of a Finnish man, but I knew fuck-all about Finland at the time. Like Selene, Mige's name comes from, well, Mige the bassist; meanwhile his last name's the Finnish word for angel.

Mige had attended a private school in West Virginia for a few years (which was based on the college prep school I'd attended which was a horrible, shitty place, but it attracted some international students so it gave me an excuse to have a Finnish dude in WV...because I guess I didn't think of exchange programs) and had kept in touch with the friends he'd made there after he returned to Finland. One of them mentioned that his younger sister, Selene, was putting together a band, and Mige was compelled to return to the States and join as their drummer. And it worked out pretty well for him.

Except for the fact that apparently I wrote the man as a chainsmoker and a constant drinker. He's still a nice, chill sort of guy, but Adult Nost is like, "Oh no, I think I wanted 'guy with some vices' but I overshot the mark into 'alcoholic' instead."

I do have one intentional alcoholic, but we'll get to him later probably

#23: Sydan (II) Idea: WHY DID NO ONE ROLL A HEALER? Story: Gamers' Club D&D 3.5e game

Ah, my first tabletop character. For the last two-and-a-half years of high school, I was in the Gamers' Club, a tabletop/TCG/LARP club. We started a D&D 3.5e game and I specifically rolled a character based on what we needed in the party - for some godforsaken reason, nobody rolled a healer, so I made an elven Cleric of Pelor the sun god. That game fuckin' ballooned to, like, 10 characters and our club pres made the terrible decision to split the party about a year in, which took forever to resolve, and some weeks we wouldn't even play because people wanted to play Magic: The Gathering instead, and then one of the players started a villain campaign for the freshmen, so yeah, that shit never concluded before most of us graduated. We tried to set up play-by-post over AIM in the days before Roll20, but we got through one game before it fell apart.

But to tell the story in as much of a nutshell as I can: Sydan was a 106-year old elf who had been adopted by a cleric in a small village, wherein lived Lewar the halfling rogue, Twinkles McGee the half-elf druid, Fred the half-orc barbarian, Monk the Monk (human, I think), and Chaos the human mage. One day, the village was obliterated by a lich and his undead army; our intrepid heroes managed to get some villagers to the undercroft of the church, but everyone else was killed and zombified, including Sydan's adopted father. So, when the coast was clear, the squad led the survivors to the nearest town, Sydan wrangled some shelter and employment for the villagers because she was the only one capable of speaking, I guess (more specifically, I was one of the four players who actually roleplayed), and they set out to figure out just how the hell to take the lich down.

This is about the clearest part of the story I remember beyond brief moments like a dwarven bard managing to castrate a hydra with a spear; Sydan giving the later half-elf ranger a phobia of celestial summons because he failed a perception check as they were falling out of the sky and she summoned a celestial griffin to save them both; asking if Sydan could use Monk's ability to turn his skin to diamonds as a catalyst for resurrection spells (No); and our DM having to deus ex me a bunch of diamonds because a squad of party members managed to get themselves killed almost to a man during a fight.

As for Sydan herself, I'd intended for her main goal to be putting her undead father to rest and avenging the village, but as I said, we never managed to get there. I played her as a nice, polite, helpful young woman who was a dutiful cleric, but had her little quirks like being obsessed with rapiers and having an occasional spiteful streak. But BOY OH BOY, it's hard to roleplay with that many goddamn people at once, only four of whom tended to pay attention.

#24: Enosin "Sin" Alexander Idea: Former loyal soldier of the dictatorship turned rebel, secretly a living weapon, SECRETLY secretly a DOOMSDAY weapon Story: Year Zero (based on the Nine Inch Nails album of the same name)

Ah, yes, my first attempt at mature storytelling. Good gravy. Like "Experimentals", this story actually has seven chapters posted on my dA. If you really want to read it, go for it. Most of it is cliché and dull, but boy oh boy does Act VI get uncomfortably misogynistic. Full disclosure.

The story flips POVs in a few chapters, but our main character is Enosin "Sin" Alexander, a captain of Lord Gerardis (aka G) of the dystopian city of Lacryma and colleague of captains Hime and Luris. While overall, he's loyal, he questions his lord's plans for the impoverished Outer City, wondering why he won't share the wealth of the affluent, yet tightly controlled, Inner City. But that becomes the least of his concerns when G is informed of a strange find at a planned city expansion site; a mysterious glowing tree with a human figure embedded in it. As soon as G retrieves the tree man, he tells Sin to wait in his quarters in the White Tower, the seat of the government, until he calls for him.

A week passes, and Sin doesn't hear from G, so he takes matters into his own hands and goes to G's lodgings; there, he finds that not only has the room been trashed, but there's some documents he hasn't seen before lying around detailing both the tree man, now named Absolution, who apparently has the power to create life from nothing, and a project to build a weapon in the shape of a man that G had started 27 years ago. Said weapon was then raised as a normal human and had joined the Lacryma Army: it was Sin.

G was intending to use Sin as a weapon to obliterate other cities, people and all, then have Absolution rebuild those cities however G saw fit, thereby conquering the world. Well, Sin didn't take kindly to this. He took to this so unkindly, in fact, that he made straight for the White Tower labs with the intent of killing Absolution and G, hacking up every guard that stopped him along the way (because why wouldn't he use a sword instead of a gun?).

While he managed to stab Absolution in the chest, G found him before he could finish the job and proceeded to beat the absolute Christ out of him before leaving him for dead on the lab floor and sweeping Absolution away to who-knows where.

Meanwhile, two young Outer City rebels who had broken into the White Tower to steal intel and parts for a superweapon of their own, Alucard and Rez, found the dying Sin and brought him back to their hideout. They believed that if he could be persuaded to join them, he'd be a great asset to their cause of overthrowing G; of course, their leader, Taris, made sure to inform him that if he didn't accept, they'd kill him. Sin, convalescing in their base and boiling with rage, accepted...and as soon as he was left alone, he started to have a freakout because he could now hear the voice of the weapon speaking to him and it wouldn't shut up until he carved a capital G into his hand.

Chronologically, Act VI was the last completed work to happen, wherein his former compatriot Luris happened to have found him at the base (which was a problem because if she knew, then G almost certainly knew). Sin had never liked Luris because her specialty was seduction and assassination, and because she'd apparently started to even murderfuck Inner City citizens just to keep her skills sharp. Luris tried to convince him that she'd abandoned G, and that she'd always been in love with Sin, but he knew better. He played along until the clothes started coming off, got her on his bed, and then whipped out the knife he apparently kept under his pillow and stabbed her to death.

Our hero, ladies and gentlemen.

I know Teen Nost was going for "The weapon was making him slowly lose his mind and become this angry, monstrous thing," but much like accidentally making Mige an alcoholic, I accidentally made Sin a misogynist.

As for what was supposed to be the rest of the story, since Sin now knew G was definitely coming for the rebels, they'd need to get their superweapon up and mobile immediately. The rebels would fight their way to the Inner City,  and return to the White Tower, where G and Absolution were waiting. Absolution would pull a little coup of his own against G, because Absolution had no interest in G's world domination plan. Instead, he was much more interested in Sin's inner weapon, the Great Destroyer. He wanted to activate Sin to kill absolutely everything so he could create a world for just the two of them.

They have a fight, Enosin wins, Enosin Man~

More specifically, the Great Destroyer would be activated, but Sin would manage to contain the damage to the Inner City, he'd fight and destroy Absolution, and then he'd probably fuck off to wander the Earth while the survivors picked up the pieces.

This is one of those stories that I come back to from time to time just because I feel like there is still a worthy outline here, and Adult Nost might have the chops to make something a little more interesting with it.

[south-park-meta]

Brontide – The low rumbling of distant thunder. stanman

Kind of one-sided Stanman (or at least Stan being nervous about Cartman's intentions) and Style.

General psych horror warning I guess in that I find Cartman to be physically/psychologically/sexually abusive and it causes fear but he doesn't do anything he hasn't done in canon.

[Stan saw once on those court shows, like Judge Judy or something, that a guy ended up winning possession of part of his neighbor's property because he put in a new fence three feet left of the old one, and the neighbor let it go for too many years before complaining that it was on his land. He's letting Cartman redraw his property lines, giving himself up three feet at a time. "Just go to sleep," he says to Cartman in the dark. They're sharing a blanket and he thinks of ripping it off of Cartman and rolling up in it, just to stake a claim in what's his.

He doesn't.]

Cartman does this thing, pushing boundaries. He pokes and prods at them. He figures out which ones are fences made of steel and which are those paper ropes; ceremonial and easily snipped with scissors. He started inviting himself over at ten when things started going sideways in their group. He invited himself over to Kyle's, too. Cartman kept them apart, enjoyed their time all to himself, all while saying how important it was to keep the group together. How terrible it is that the broship is splitting up, Cartman would lament, shoving Cheesy Poofs into his mouth, before telling Stan how much fun he and Kyle had playing a game on their new X-Boxes.

Divide and conquer.

After the four of them tied themselves back together, Cartman started doing it again. He got better at it, cornering them each alone. He's good at it now at sixteen years old. It's strange, knowing so well what Cartman's doing this time around, but it's still somehow hard to stop it. Cartman forced a place for himself in their lives once and it's easier for him to find that place now because of it; he walked the path so many times that his feet can find it even in the dark.

It's just lucky that Stan and Kyle have gotten better at navigating, too. They aren't tripped up so often anymore.

Cartman realized when the Jeffersons were their neighbors for a couple weeks that sleepiness is a weakness to be exploited. He crawls in through Stan's bedroom window in the middle of the night and right in bed beside him. Stan wakes up and startles.

"Dude, get the fuck out of my bed," Stan says. "You're wet."

That's the reason he gives. Not that Cartman came in without asking, that he broke into the house in the middle of the night, that Stan doesn't want him there at all. The thunder rolls outside. He's making the bed cold, uncomfortable.

They look at each other in the dark. Lightning cracks close outside the window and brights the room, and Stan's breath catches. He gets the idea, that half-second of being able to see Cartman's eyes clear as day, that Cartman will suggest taking his clothes off and laying together, dry.

"Forget it," Stan says quickly, before Cartman can say anything. Just in case, so he knows Cartman will be keeping the clothes even if he's giving up the bed. He turns over, turns away. He knows he shouldn't. Not because the actual act of turning his back on Cartman is letting himself be weak, though it is; being stabbed in the back is more of a betrayal because you can't see it coming. He's aware of the vulnerability but not exactly afraid to give it. Cartman's never hurt him before. He sort of thinks Cartman won't ever try to because he's him and Cartman's Cartman and something about those two facts prevents it, and he sort of thinks he just hasn't ever given Cartman a good enough opening to take.

It's because turning over, letting this stand, is saying it's allowable. Still allowable. He let Cartman get away with sneaking into his house as kids plenty of times despite never wanting him there.

Stan saw once on those court shows, like Judge Judy or something, that a guy ended up winning possession of part of his neighbor's property because he put in a new fence three feet left of the old one, and the neighbor let it go for too many years before complaining that it was on his land. He's letting Cartman redraw his property lines, giving himself up three feet at a time. "Just go to sleep," he says to Cartman in the dark. They're sharing a blanket and he thinks of ripping it off of Cartman and rolling up in it, just to stake a claim in what's his.

He doesn't.

He doesn't shut his eyes right away. He stares at the wall and listens to the thunder. He feels the house quiver with it. He's waiting for something, but he's not sure what that something is. There's a creeping fear, but he's not sure what he has to be afraid of. Other people have reason to be scared of Cartman, because he's actually done something to them somehow. From other people, Cartman has fed off of their humiliation, over dominating them or belittling them. All Cartman's ever taken from Stan before, really, is a physical presence.

Closer and closer.

Here's the lion, knocking at your legs, trying to cut you off from your herd. Better keep up.

Don't be divided, don't be conquered.

Stan rolls back over. He has to because Cartman's in the way of his night stand. Cartman hasn't closed his eyes, either, and they stare at each other up close and personal. Stan lifts himself onto his elbow and leans over Cartman to grab his phone.

Cartman grabs his wrist and says, "Using your phone in bed is bad for your eyes," with a funny kind of smirk. Stan got his first pair of glasses this month. They look at each other for a moment longer, and then Cartman lets him go.

Can I come over? he texts Kyle, I miss you

If they were still neighbors he wouldn't have asked, but it's not a two-minute walk anymore. It's something he needs to drive to now, in the cold and rain and dark. He holds his breath. They've changed notifications and turn them on high at night, so they can wake each other if they need to. But it's no guarantee.

A few beats.

You saw me all day.

He can read the tone. It's not putting him off; it's teasing him, and he makes himself not-smile so Cartman can't catch this weakness. He and Kyle have been shifting their boundaries, too. It's nothing yet, undefinable but different than it had been before.

So? I miss you anyway

Yeah. Come over.

He has to swing over Cartman to get up. Cartman doesn't do anything with that fact besides quirk his eyebrows. No funny comment, no stopping him, no....whatever. He doesn't try anything in those last moments where he could, at the time that would be the worst. It's not that Stan wishes he would, but it's easier to draw hard boundaries with Cartman when he does something really awful. those moments that are 'Enough is Enough' moments, the ones that could do him real harm. There's been a few of those moments through the years, where he can see that what Cartman's going to do might really, irrecoverably hurt him and he clamps down on it hard to stop it. He ends their friendship clean and fast.

And then he lets it creep back up on him, because he's never been hurt by Cartman, not really. Maybe it'd be better if Cartman does hurt him, for real, just once. So he has the pain for reference and knows why he doesn't want to do it all again. So he has the reality instead of the possibility.

But maybe that's why Cartman's never really hurt him, and maybe he never really will.

He walks out, leaving Cartman alone in his room. It feels like a loss, because he's not sure at all what Cartman wanted, and he let Cartman have free rein over all of his things. But he wakes up with Kyle's arms around his waist and face pressed between his shoulder blades, and that feels like a victory.

[mbrinnon35]

I learned to rock climb this year

Ethereum Pools was my most nerve enducing post and made me laugh the most

synthetic a priori took the longest and didn’t work out. I will likely return in a long time

I enjoyed drawing dragons 🐉

Many unfinished projects I can only bet

I would like to redraw Pokémon and Link because they bring with them nostalgic feelings and I haven’t yet perfected by heart

The process behind some posts are to write anything that feels right fast enough to not forget what’s next. Remember all the letters that are autocorrected and incorporate them into the next phase of thought. Use numbers and make the meaning cryptic and abstract. If it all flows i’m satisfied.

Art goal - paint and learn a new technique

I tried to just write and add connections then organize

My first paper was criticized heavily then the rest passed academic standards with flying colors

I listened to the girl in red and laroi and hxliday

The lovely haikkun commented on how much she wanted to see our type of deep thoughts in word form

Lots of tutorials on electronic functioning

Found lots of resources at IU - couches, food, condoms, ziplock bags

Redrew many mazes

New inspo came from rapper friends, tumblr friends, online triathletes, and characters in books

Sharing is based on a feel or how if fits within other goals/moral laws at the time

I returned to zombies and selling shoes this year

Biggest art project was printing pictures and showing them one by day

Exchanged a lot of money this year

My style became more layerous and more bloody

Am conscious of this often

Haven’t painted much

Many mediums less hard drugs

Let Siri do more talking and learned to code

Went silent and communicated through telepathy

Became familiar drawing from darkness

And holding breath

I learned through falling into pain without reaching out

No OC designs but I was really intrigued by them this year especially

Salvador Dali and Spider-Man No Way Home had some great ones

I have some twisted song ideas like screamo jingle bells and sinister twinkle little star

Also book ideas somewhere forgotten along my scroll of posts this year

I most wanted to improve creativity

I still get stuck on patterns but have made vast progress

My art has many more strokes typically and lest blocks

Also many breaks

It’s difficult to edit because I never see imperfection and regret it might change the original meaning and story

I most enjoy the surprising enigmas and looking back when i’m down and seeing my masterpiece

I did technical studies on computer history

All my works are cursed

The disturbing ones are rare including sorry child and frozen wasteland (with picture)

I sent my art to my professor he said “please do not email me anymore”

I also gave it to friends/family who were ecstatic

I notice entendres quickly and look into how the strokes were made

I also sound out words and have been very stupended by the allusions/ironies

Lazy lazers and sex among species was best received

Slightly unexpected

“All these words around me keep narrating my life - what the hell is watching” - most personal

And the red gem conglomeration

I had fun making them all

My google search history has been corrupted by canvas and “how to kill your Roomate”

My family see these and I don’t know which I’d prefer

Because the audience would alter intent forever

I look at it and sometimes am ashamed but mostly am proud

Alternate fandoms preferred except romantic relationships. When those are tinkered with I am repulsed. I feel like it corrupts the entire character and identity so it’s just using the imagery and stealing nostalgia for something recognizably unrecognizable. Like click bait. Not a bad thing just not my forte.

The art I make can’t help but adopt and merge with the stuff I look at

The patterns and voice pervading

Similar workflow though this last month I have done more reading in between lines of writing

Biggest motivation was distraction from money

My art wasn’t so important but others have been my escape from hell

[yanderecandystore]

The bullies with an S/O that’s just completely off the board? Like no matter how much they look the bullies can’t find /anything/ on them, all their school papers are forged and their home just isn’t able to be found no matter how hard they look? Maybe due to the S/O changing their identity after doing something bad?

That's hella specific and I love it?? XD

Sure thing boo, let me see what I can do.

Also, I'll change the ocs profiles to be paper drawings with digital coloring because believe me boo, I'm tired of redrawing them (and I believe y'all are tired of always seeing these new drawings).

I noticed that my paper art is a lot better than my digital art, and although I'm kinda proud of them I still feel a little petty because I wish to do cool stuff on the computer ;-;.

Anyway, just a heads-up if you see something off with the oc's bios.

TW/Tags: I have no idea what to tag this lmao // identity theft // illegal/unauthorized inscription // not an accurate representation of university/how universities work lol // abusive household/abusive parents // I may or may not have changed your concept a little, I'm sorry for it 😔

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Suspicion (fuck yeah, I don't know what to title this) [Yandere!Bully OC x Reader - Headcanon]:

→Adrien Coldwell:

For a person that prides themselves as the "know it all" when it comes to people's social media and reputation, he doesn't know anything about you.

This is a first for him, which is both annoying and honestly so intriguing. You didn't strike him as a person who would hide any secrets, and he had a hunch this was about to be good.

He searched for social media first, not finding anything about Avery Remington. Well, at least nothing with your face on it.

However, he did find something very, very interesting while looking at the school's documents, specifically the archives of all the students that have already studied here. He honestly didn't think he would find anything about you in these old papers, he was probably doing all this stupid work for nothing.

However, he was half right and half wrong. He didn't find anything about you, but this whole search wasn't completely lost, as he did find "you", Avery.

"- Student name Avery Remington, average grades and apparently no history of wrong doings or any bad behavior in general. Their registration to the Academy dates to 1980."

Oh. Ooooh, this was rich.

"- Huh." He said closing the documents and letting it where he found it. He was at least kind enough to let the palace a little organize after going through each paper trying to find your name.

Well, "your name". The only things that he kept for himself was photos of both the old documents about Avery Remington, and the earlier documents about Avery Remington. It was clear that you did something probably really, really bad, and you know he'll take advantage of it.

He had built his own theory about this, as in: you somehow found the paperwork of Avery's registration and their previous school's records so you could somehow impersonate them and get a free entrance to this institution.

He knew that you had something to hide, no one can be so perfect. But knowing the action itself wasn't enough for him, he needed to know the motive behind it.

For someone that is lazy and doesn't bother to care about important things, he sure spent a lot of time trying to scoop some dirt on you. When he finds the perfect opportunity, without any witness around, he'll take the chance to use this information against you.

"- Well, hello "Avery"." His tone was already suspicious, his voice not hiding anything from you. He came here to belittle you for his own entertainment.

"- H-Hi Adrien." You said shyly, hoping that your anxious mind was wrong and that this was all just a misunderstanding. You were hoping that the growing feeling of him possibly knowing about your fraud, was wrong.

"- Ya know, I'm kinda jealous of whatever plastic surgery you went through to look so young, maybe you should ask the faculty to correct your age tho." He said while showing the pictures he took of the documents.

"- Wait! I-I can-"

"- Honestly, I didn't think you were over 60 years old! Could have fooled me." His smug face was the selling point. You knew that you wouldn't find any form to convince him that what was on his phone was false.

He had a victorious smile on his face. Ever since you entered this school you always acted a little too paranoid and almost too friendly for his liking, and to confess to himself that he has fallen for you would be the bottom of the pit to him.

Still, he wanted to know why you did it. Why didn't you pay to get in if you wanted the scholarship so badly? What, you were too poor for it?

And what about a talent, or the test? Obviously, the university hasn't gone out of their way to pick a loser like you and insert you inside their classes on a whim, as they thought you were Avery Remington, a student that is already registered in school's documents (yet, of course, their system haven't verified the date of the registration, either by incompetence or by a "small mistake"). So you didn't do the test too, simply pathetic honestly.

Your sad dramatic story explaining how you managed to get into the academy. You did your best to get into the academy by legal means, but they always rejected you. Apparently you thought it would be a good idea to use your grandparent's documents to squeeze yourself into the institution.

"- But why in hell would you do such a thing? Are you that pathetic dearest?"

"- I… I wanted somewhere to go. Somewhere I could grow into a better person, a-away from-" You cut yourself short when the memories of your old home started to come into view.

For some reason, your parents couldn't stand the idea of you getting into a decent university, if anything, they thought you weren't capable of even washing some dishes at the local pizzeria. In their eyes, you were worthless.

When you found out your grandparent used to frequent this institution, and that they managed to disattached themselves from their familial routes and thrive as a musician you got instantly inspired! Determined to follow their steps and prove your family that you're just as worth ass-

"- Urghhhh- Boring! I don't care about all of that. Are you serious? You committed a crime just so you could stick it up to your shitty parents?"

"- …. Yes?"

"- Huh. Geez you're cooler than I thought. Listen, how about we make a deal?"

The deal was simple, he would not tell anyone about your little secret, and he would even help you keep your scholarship and help you reach your ambitions as long as you started spending more time with him. Which, at first you thought it sounded absurd, this man is holding your whole life by a thin thread as long as you give him attention?? What?!

And although that sounded extremely suspicious, you accepted it, not knowing that for the next few years you would have to endure a harsh training to discover your talents and to improve them before you two graduated. However, you started to think Adrien was starting to see your deal in a different light-

"- Come on now, after this we can go eat something okay? Where would you like to go this time? Our last date I chose the best restaurant I know, so you better choose something of equal value."

…. Date?

→Alexandra Coldwell:

You were suspicious from the very start. Overly friendly and too- Ugh! Too cute?!

You were always skittish whenever someone called you. What, you had a problem with your name or something?

And the worst part was how no one seemed to know where you lived. Every group project with you was considered annoying by most of your classmates, as you never called people in your house or never let anyone have your address, not even your phone number??

You didn't have any social media, what are you, a weirdo? What the hell??!

She is not even pissed about you being a loser, she is pissed that she has fallen for someone like you! A complete weirdo that was always panicking over nothing.

She started stalking you with the intention of finding at least one thing that she could hate on you so she wouldn't feel so- Lovey dovey towards you!

But what she really found was something worth an entire gold mine.

A private phone call between you and someone who was losing their shit. She couldn't understand too much of the conversation as she didn't have any context, yet she could hear a lot of things that you and the person were discussing.

The person yelled [Y/N] multiple times while in the phone call, saying how you were absolutely the worst mistake of their lives (which by the way, rude much? Who is this asshole?), that you were a selfish brat that needed to learn to appreciate their hard work.

Oh… Oh. She now knows who you're talking with. She decided to record the entire thing the moment she saw you taking your cellphone to have a private call.

She was planning on recording your voice for her own hearing pleasure, but this? This was so… Interesting.

"- [Y/N]?" She called your attention after the conversation ended, and because you haven't been accustomed to people calling you "Avery", you turned around saying "what" instinctively.

And when you noticed Alexandra smirk for a split second, you regretted answering your parents call. Not that you needed anymore reason to regret it, but this was certainly the last nail in the coffin.

You begged for her to understand that you couldn't go back, you simply can't go back to them, ever again! You told her the whole sob story about how your grandparent had decided to run away from home and fulfil their own dreams as a musician, even if people didn't really hear their music all that much, and now that you think about it, that's probably the reason why no one have recognized their name at all.

Your grandparent had a really small fanbase, and you knew that because you were part of them. They weren't popular at all compared to Amaryllis Academy standards, yet they were happy singing their songs to the world.

You kinda wish your family hasn't broken the old recorder that belonged to your grandparent. Their first album was in there, it was cheesy and filled with errors, yet they sounded so happy when doing what they loved, and you wanted something like that for yourself!

You needed to live that hell hole and so you did. You rented a small apartment that was falling apart, the reason why you never gave people your address was because you knew they would bully the hell out of you because of how poor you are.

After finishing your story you noticed Alexandra snoring beside you. You thought she was only exaggerating, but then you saw her drooling and acting really dizzy after you woke her up.

"- Oh my God, so… That was it? You ran away to follow your dreams and stuff?" She asked, still kinda sleepy.

"- What? Of course it was-" You were fuming with anger, how dare she-

"- And I thought you only looked cool because I liked you! You're pretty strong for sticking up for yourself." She interrupted you, looking at you with admiration in her eyes.

She proposed to you a deal. How about you two keep this secret together, and, if anything does happen she'll still help you stay inside the institution. However, you'll need to work your ass out to become the best you can be, and you'll let her guide you through, because you're too much of a dummy to do it all by yourself. You'll have to spend time with her and let her help you out.

At first, you thought it sounded absurd, this woman is holding your whole life by a thin thread as long as you give her attention?? What?!

And although that sounded extremely suspicious, you accepted it, not knowing that for the next few years you would have to endure a harsh training to discover your talents and to improve them before you two graduated. However, you started to think Alexandra was starting to see your deal in a different light-

"- Why you never hold my hand? Come on, "Avery", won't you hold the hand of your dearest girlfriend?" She asked playfully while taking your hand anyway.

…. Girlfriend?

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[scripts4dreamers]

Not Your Hero. chapter 5.

Prologue, Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, 

AN: Let The Games Begin.

Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Mags Flanagan

Pairings: Finnick x reader

Spoiler(s): None

Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation, sexual harassment 

Prompt/Inspiration: Cringe - Matt Maeson

------------------------

--------------

By the time you made it back to the tribute center, you’d stopped crying and had instead gone numb. You’d taken your shoes off at some point. Your feet were cold. You sniffed, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand and remembered, too late, the make up you’d been wearing.

“Fuck,” you said, without any real emotion as you took in the black smudge-marks on your hand, “that’s annoying.”

You weren’t surprised to find Finnick in your living room when you opened the door to your suite. When your client had first started to pull you away, you’d panicked and searched for Finnick with your eyes, but you never found him. Now, some part of you was grateful for that.

He looked a mess. His blazer was flung haphazardly over one end of the couch, his bowtie was loose, the sleeves of his shirt were dirty and rolled up past his elbows and his auburn locks were sticking up in all directions, like he’d been carding his fingers through his hair. He was watching a recap of the tribute parade on television but, when the door clicked into place, he whipped around. His eyes met yours and, as soon as they did, as soon as you saw the care there, the fear and tenderness all swirling together in the eyes of someone you trusted so much, you broke.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, tears spilling over your cheeks in a rush as sobs threatened to tear themselves free from your throat. In a second Finnick had leapt over the back of the couch and was in front of you, his arms half outstretched, like he wasn’t sure whether or not he could-

You launched yourself into his arms, collapsing against his body and letting him engulf you in a firm embrace. He smelled like vanilla and bourbon, and something cool and wild, like the ocean and you clung to that like a life raft, letting it flood your senses and block out everything else. Finnick held you like you were something precious, letting you cry into his shoulder while he stroked your hair and whispered comforting words into your ear. It was so gentle, so loving and tender that it made you feel painfully fragile, like you might shatter into a million little pieces at any second. Part of you wanted to pull away and hide, to push Finnick out and never let anyone touch you ever again. The other part thought that, if Finnick ever stopped touching you, you might die.

“I’m okay,” you eventually sniffed, your voice thick with tears and muffled by Finnick’s shirt.

“No you’re not,” he replied, squeezing you tighter, “I know you’re not.”

“I am,” you insisted, pulling away slightly to look Finnick in the eye, “I mean, I’m not but, the worst is over now, right? It’s done, I don’t have to be afraid of it happening anymore because it’s already happened.”

Finnick looked concerned, like he was fighting the urge to argue, but eventually he nodded.

He reached out and brushed your hair out of your face, making you shiver, “Come on, you should get cleaned up.”

For a moment you panicked. The thought of being alone with your thoughts suddenly so overwhelming that your heart froze but, as Finnick gently took your hand and led you down the hall, you realised what he’d meant. Finnick Odair had no intention of leaving you on your own, he wanted to take care of you. Without so much as a word, he washed your face, combed out your hair and put your shoes back in your closet. He waited outside while you showered, scrubbing yourself clean more times than you needed to because you couldn’t escape the feeling that you’d missed a spot. When you were clean and wrapped in a bathrobe, he helped you pick some pyjamas, three sizes too big with long sleeves and long pants and, while you changed, picked up the dress you’d stepped out of and took it away, putting it somewhere where you’d never have to look at it again.

By the time he got back, you felt almost like yourself again, or more accurately, like someone who could be you, given time. You’d slipped into bed and were sitting up against the headboard, staring into space and trying to convince yourself that it was time to sleep. Finnick, still without speaking, clambered in on the other side and shifted so that his side was pressed against yours. You snuggled into him, resting your head on his shoulder and letting him wrap an arm around your waist. It was comforting and warm and safe with Finnick, the kind of safe you couldn’t remember feeling since the games and you thanked your lucky stars that you’d met him when you did.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Finnick asked.

You shook your head, “Not really. I think you can probably imagine what happened.”

“Thadius?”

“No, some banker’s son named Proculos. He said he liked my hair.” you explained.

Finnick nodded, “I’ve met him. He’s a prat.”

“He is a bit,” you agreed, “but at least he’s too stupid to be mean.”

Finnick chuckled, even though nothing about the situation was funny, and gave you a gentle squeeze as you lapsed into comfortable silence.

“Thank you, by the way,” you eventually said, “for being here.”

Finnick smiled to himself, “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

------------------------

From there, life took on a strange kind of normalcy. Most of your time was spent coming up with strategies for your tributes or watching past games and taking notes. You hung out with the other victors in the sponsor rooms, made connections, charmed people, did interviews. You never talked about what happened with your clients and Finnick never asked you to, but he did watch you a little more intently than before, searching for any signs of distress. On his part, Finnick felt like he was being ripped in half. Every second spent worrying about you was a second he wasn’t spending on Annie and, every second he spent with Annie was a second not looking out for you.

How had this happened? How had Finnick Odair, king of the capitol, known bachelor and playboy, become so deeply entangled in the lives of the people around him?

“Hey, you,” you greeted, breathing heavily as you took a seat next to Finnick, “why the long face?”

You looked incredible, Finnick noticed with his usual pang of annoyance, with your hair pulled off your face and tight fitting training gear on. You’d taken Gloss up on his offer to train you in your free time, building up your strength and endurance with the fiery determination that Finnick had always admired in you so much. It was working too. In the few days it’d been happening, Finnick could already see the beginnings of real improvement. It made him absurdly proud.

“Annie.” He explained, “She’s not getting the buzz she needs from sponsors.”

“There’s still time,” you assured him, “and maybe when the training scores come out-”

Finnick cut you off, shaking his head sadly, “She won’t get higher than an eight.”

“An eight is good!”

“An eight is standard,” Finnick corrected, “at least for us it is.”

“I’d pay someone to give Adam an eight,” you sighed, “right now I’m expecting a five or six.”

Finnick cursed his own insensitivity, “Sorry, Y/N. No one really cares about the training score anyway, unless it’s super high or unreasonably low. They’re not really an indication of how well he’ll do.”

You shrugged, drinking deep from the water bottle you were holding, “I know,” you replied, “I only got a five on my year and look at me now.”

“Exactly,” Finnick smiled, “but for careers…”

“You’ve got to be better than good to stand out,” you commiserated.

“Yup.”

You opened your mouth to say something but, before you could, Gloss called you over. You shot Finnick one last sympathetic look and stood to leave.

“I’ll see you tonight, yeah?” you called.

Finnick nodded, pushing down his disappointment, “Yeah, of course.”

“Good,” you smiled.

And, just like that, you were gone, leaving Finnick with his thoughts. He knew he was moping, that there were surely better ways for him to be spending his time than sitting around feeling sorry for himself but, as he watched you and Gloss training in the distance, he couldn’t muster up the energy to do any of it. Without meaning to, he let his mind drift back to that first, horrible night when you’d broken down in his arms.

Never in his life had Finnick been so filled with rage. Not when he was reaped, not when his parents had died, never. That night, for the first time, Finnick had understood the desire to cause pain and fear in another human being. He hadn’t wanted to kill the person who’d touched you, he’d wanted to destroy them, to slowly cut away little pieces of them, one by one, until nothing was left but the raw, ugly, corrupted heart of them. He wanted to make them so afraid, wanted them to feel the pain they’d caused so acutely that they begged for death. Only then did he want to kill them.

It was a terrifying feeling, knowing that that monster lay inside of him somewhere, that it could come out at any time and do something terrible to the people he loved. How could a man be capable of such thoughts, such passionate hatred and such tender care? How could a man be both, without the two sides tearing one another apart?

Despite popular belief, Finnick wasn’t actually an idiot, he knew it was because of you. He knew he cared about you more than he should and his feelings were just a reflection of that but, nevertheless, it made him deeply uncomfortable. That’s why he’d decided to keep his distance a little, put some space between the two of you, redraw those lines separating friendship from more that had become so blurry. It was harder than he’d thought it would be. You were just so...you all the time, and he wanted to be around that every single day. But he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. For both of your sakes, it would be better if he wasn’t. He had other obligations after all, other responsibilities. Annie needed him focussed.

He remembered the look on her face when she stepped on the train like it was yesterday, all wide eyes and abject terror.

“This is insane,” she muttered, “Fin, what’s going on? How is this happening?”

He shook his head, still reeling from the shock himself, and pulled her into a rough hug. His ears were ringing, his fingers were numb, everything around him felt like it was happening in slow motion. Annie? Why Annie? She’d never taken out tesserae, she wasn’t a star pupil at the academy... It didn’t make sense. Why had no one volunteered? Why had she ended up alone on that stage?

It’s because of you, the voice in his head whispered, it’s because of you. You did this, you doomed her. Because of course it had been rigged. There was no way that, in all of district four, Annie Cresta, known associate of Finnick Odair, could be picked randomly for the Hunger Games. It couldn’t happen. This had to be some sort of message from Snow.

Which meant, Finnick realised with growing horror and dread, that it was his fault. She was here, sentenced to die, because of him. Shame wasn’t a strong enough word for what he felt.

He pushed himself up and made his way back to the elevator, determined to get some work done before the event that evening. Finnick could hear your voice echoing against the walls and, for a second, he considered just staying for a little longer. He’d almost decided that he would stay when the elevator door closed behind him and Finnick was reminded, once again, that he was alone. With a sigh, he pressed the button for the fourth floor. He felt like he was making the right decision, but why did it have to be so hard?

---------------------

When the big day came you felt woefully unprepared. Ever since the victory tour you’d spent every free second trying to make sense of this moment. The start of the games. The first day. Everyone told you that the first one was the worst that, as the years went by, it would get easier. It was meant to be comforting but, to you, it had always sounded more like a threat.

You took a deep breath in, exhaling slowly through your mouth as the hands of the clock ticked on, bringing you closer and closer to the moment of truth. You were vaguely aware of the other mentors flitting around the large viewing room but they were like flies or little birds; pretty, but ultimately distant and unimportant when compared to the screen in front of you. You cracked your knuckles. It should be starting soon. Where was Adam right now? You wondered. Was he in the loading bay? Did he have his tracker in? Had his stylist helped him into his clothes already? Surely she must have. Your eyes flicked to the clock. Yes, by now he would be dressed and ready, maybe even already in the tube. What did they have in store for him?

Your heart was pounding in your ears as you swallowed hard past the lump in your throat. Arketia was explaining what to expect and you were trying to listen, you really were, but your eyes kept being pulled towards the glass ascension tube in the corner of the room. It was like a magnet, pulling you closer and closer to death with every passing second and there was nothing you could do but stare.

A rough hand under your chin pulled you back to the present.

“Focus!” Arketia insisted forcefully, “I’m trying to save your life here you silly girl.”

You winced as her grip dug into your chin, but nodded, recognising the sincerity in your stylist’s eyes.

“Sorry.”

Her gaze softened and she let go, gesturing to the outfit in front of you again, “Like I was saying; this is all cotton or some other lightweight fabric designed to breathe,” she explained, “except for the jacket. That means hot days and cold nights, you understand?”

“Yes,” you answered, looking over the beige and khaki outfit with a growing sense of dread.

“I would bet on it being some sort of desert,” she continued, “like a savannah or veld land.”

Your bottom lip trembled with the effort to stop yourself from crying, and you could feel the tube pulling your gaze, but you resisted. Arketia was trying to help. And, some part of you pointed out, this might be the last friendly interaction you would ever have.

“If it is, you have to find water, and soon,” she told you, a sort of desperation in her eyes, like she was trying to burn the information into your brain with only her gaze, “you’ll lose a lot in those high temperatures, more than you expect. And it’ll get extremely cold as soon as the sun goes down, so try to find somewhere sheltered to sleep, alright?”

You nodded, biting back a comment about how that was fairly general advice and letting her help you strip out of your fancy capitol clothes. All too soon you were dressed, and all you could do was wait together, sipping on bottles of water like they were a lifeline and letting your anxiety creep up and up and up and up.

“Jesus Christ, you’re really not listening to me, are you?” A voice questioned, snapping you out of your reverie with a jump.

Finnick collapsed onto the couch next to you, his perfectly sculpted face the picture of calm. You could see the tension he was holding in his body though, in the way he held his shoulders and fists. As you examined him further you could see the signs of sleepless nights in his face too. You smiled weakly.

“You look wrecked,” you teased, “your stylist didn’t have something to cover up those designer eye bags?” You asked, poking his cheek with your finger.

He laughed, moving his head away from your prodding, “Hey! Who asked you, kid? It’s rude to pick on me in these trying times.”

You scrunched up your nose, “Oh come on, you know you look perfect as usual. I pick on you purely out of jealousy.”

The banter was light hearted and joking but you both knew that it was nothing more than a smokescreen, a comforting exchange that kept you both from spiralling into uncontrollable panic and fear.

“Aww, Y/N/N,” he replied, the smile not quite reaching his eyes, “you’ve got nothing to be jealous of, kid.”

You flushed but, before you could answer, the anthem rang through the crowded room, silencing everyone and drawing their eyes towards the screens. You felt Finnick tense up beside you but you were frozen in place. Your heart was pounding in your ears as the cold hand of dread gripped your heart. For a moment, as the screens came to life, all you saw was the savannah, the miles and miles of brush and sand and the blistering sun, and the cornucopia; blindingly bright in the sun. And you were right back in it. Only the faint brushing of Finnick’s knee against yours pulled you back. You took another deep breath.

“I can do this,” you promised yourself, “I can do this.”

And with that, you pushed your panic deep down into the recesses of your mind and focused on the scene before you. You heard Finnick sigh with relief, and a few quiet sounds of celebration from the other mentors and you couldn’t help but agree, feeling the knot of worry in your chest loosen slightly. The arena was green, with sloping hills creating a sort of river basin and a towering wall of concrete and cement in the distance that looked like a dam. That fact, in particular, made you smile. Your district was full of dams, they were how you generated power and, even if the dam in the arena was unhelpful, you knew the sight of it would give your tributes some comfort the same way the river would for the tributes of district four. James caught your eye and gave you a brisk nod.

You heard the booming voice of Claudius Templesmith as he announced the start of the games, and the roaring cheer and excitement of the crowds of thousands of Capitol citizens who had gathered in the outside viewing areas. It made a rush of bile rise up in your throat.

The countdown began and, instinctively, you reached out and grabbed Finnick’s hand, squeezing tight as your eyes finally found Adam.

“3….2….1,” the robotic voice called.

“And so it begins,” Finnick said softly.

You nodded, “And so it begins.”

-------------------------- 

@i-love-you-green​ , @heatherhollowayst

[characternerdocs]

Super old OC meme for Vincent! 👀

Super Old OC Meme|||@icybreaths

More Bio:

I was obsessed with Corspe Bride in 2014 and a lot of Tim Burton movies (Still am ngl) so yeah make an evil twin brother of Victor van Dort as a henchman for my friends' Harry Potter AU made sense (heavy sarcasm) and bare in mind he was supposed to be my main villain. he was supposed to be detestable as he was a serial killer and he preferred method of killing was to cut an artery and have his victim bleed out as he tortured them. He liked to see how long it took for them to die as their heart rate exeletrated.

He was also a vampire, which I remember came in later, though I never established how he was turned but it was probably self-arranged to make him more powerful and evil. His brother (who no longer exists but I basically I transplanted his personality into Heath, so there's your base for who Victor was) Vincent turned him into a half-vampire because he knew it would make his little brother's life a living hell having to consume blood and kill living things in order to survive. But only half a vampire, cause god forbid his brother was equally as strong as him.

He also had a weird infatuation with Victor's wife (which I think I forget they were 19... but maybe they were actually older than that now that I'm really thinking about it.) But Vincent basically went from simply wanting to kill his brother's love to wanting to make her his.But through manipulation, torture, and the unconscentual use of dark magic, to mke make her evil and murderous lie him. and of course this was cause he actually liked her or something or was lonely and wanted companionship. No just another step in his torment of his brother.

Heather was introduced in the last summer of 2014 as a foil to him and to be the reason his oh so brilliant evil schemes failed. She was completely and obsessively in love with him and it was also my intent to have her kill him in anger and heartbreak when Vincent chews her out for her incompetence and ultimately rebuffs her affections.

However, before that event could happen Heather got arrested and sent back to the asylum for her lobotomy. Despite finally be rid of his stalker, Vincent has a crisis of confidence when he realizes 'oh sh*t I actually do care about this pint-size nitwit.' And this blossoming ship started Vincent down the road to ant-heroism. or something like that, not sure if he's an anti-hero per se.

More Bio:

When I started the RP that I refer to as Sandbox AU I completely retconned Vincent, no more vampires, no more wizard stuff. He was a shadow demon, obviously until it wasn't

as of now, Vincent is a Fallen, meaning he was kicked out of home plane cause he broke their rules, which admittedly yes, he did, but after years of being ostracized by the other members of his kind for what seemed like no discernable reason. So he peeked at a book he shouldn't have to find out why he was so different and yeah turns out he's the last heir to the root of all evil. And in his haste to escape he may have stolen the book.

And so he came to earth, 1860's England specifically, and was found and raised by Annette Martingale, daughter of a stablemaster. But after nearly twenty years of living amongst humanity and Annette as an apprentice to Annette's father. Vincent's mundane but blissful life was shattered when his mentor from his old plane came back to mutilate and murder him.

And his bloodline would have ended if not for plane Izolirn, which gave Vincent new life in order to have an earthly vessel for its rage and hatred it had festering within due to the plane's own demonization throughout the eras.

When Vincent finally regained consciousness, not old what his heart turning to stone, the inside burning with Izolirn's anger and spite, but Annette was also dead. Arrested and convicted for murdering his dear friend, Vincent was sentenced to hang for this crime he fearfully hoped he hadn't truly committed. However, when his sentence was carried out, the hangman's noose couldn't kill him. And that's when Beeyel started to take interest in young Vincent.

It was during his time in Beeyel's employment, that Vincent learned to master his new shadowy abilities granted to him by Izolirn. And the more he learned about his new powers the more he began to despise Beeyel. (this isn't actually a cause and effect deal, Vincent just realized Beeyel was a dick the more time he was around him) Eventually, tried and disguised at being Beeyel's earning boy, Vincent left and began his own freelance work when one night he was approached to do under the table work for a secret organization that wanted to try and restore the peace that was more rumored to exist between the supernatural and mundane back at the very beginning. The founder of the orgination knew that this vision, unfortunately, could not be reached without criminal activity, so he asked Vincent if he would do bad for the sake of the overall good. Vincent agreed, not cause he believed in the cause but because of the payment the founder would pay him.

Then in the early 2010's, he met Heather O'Dare, a rival theft who was after many of the same artifacts his employer asked him to get. When it came to theiving, this urchin was a lot better than he was and it started to piss him off, especially when one night she stole something of his (no, not his heart, that comes later) and Vincent was so enraged by this slight that he was planning on cutting her to ribbons the next time their paths crossed. However that next time Heather was wounded, being hunted figures in lab coats, and desperate for anybody to help.

Thanks for that ask @icybreaths, sorry this is a uber long post. I can't believe that I've had Vincent for seven years now. that's crazy, and he has thankfully changed so much.

Original Meme by @myfirstoc

Bonus redraw of 2014 Vincent

A stinky scoundrel man.

[sigilscriber]

Origin and Casting of my Sigils.

Origins of the Sigils I create and cast:

  The Sigils you see here are created from a magick runic alphabet that I created myself many MANY years back in my childhood. At first they started off as just a simple alphabet I created for my own story series I was making. However I quickly discovered as I was drawing them, events in my life were changing in tune with the story. I realized then I had created something much more powerful than just some silly runes and symbols. I was already pagan as well as practicing magick so I adapted them to my faith and working, and well, that’s was that. After a couple of more years of mastery, I converted my whole holy book and BOS into the sigils: All hand drawn and written. Over the last 5 years I have had my sigils displayed and sole in local metaphysical shops and the Tea house where I work. I have also had two art expositions with them.

 The runes that I use here are used not just for sigil work and writing but also divination practice as well. Being that my practice is all done its own language, there are more and less letters that you typical A-Z English/Latin alphabet. For instance, there is NO letter “C”. In total there are 32 letters.  Each letter also represents an aspect of magick all its own. All much like as a Norse Rune.

 The often asked question at this point is “Do I need to learn the alphabet you follow to work with the sigils?” The answer to which is “No.”

 How to Cast/Manifest the Sigils that I post:

 To this question there are many options. But of course you first should indeed be a student of the arts of magick and witchcraft. Or at the very least, and open mind, the understanding of manifestation and the strong will of desire, belief and release.

 “Do I need to believe in a pagan pantheon” You ask? No. The sigils manifest no matter what your belief and if you are willing to work to make then be.

 There are many ways to cast/release sigils depending who you ask. Some techniques will work better for others. I find there is 2 major popular ways if releasing a sigil. Burning it, Burying it or Tending to it. I personally opt for Tending to it. Meaning it is not destroy or discarded. Instead it is carried and/or left in a special place to be constantly fed more energy. HOWEVER you may find a few in my list that I WILL suggest burning or Burying. By in large I will not burn, bury or release a sigil unless the sigil is used in either a spell to release someone or something or curse someone.

 “Hold it! You perform curses??” Yes my friend, I do. It is part of my faith. However I do not do it blindly and I take many precautions prior. Normally when I curse someone it is because the person or action is hurting/hurt someone or something so badly that I ask the Gods to assist me in making sure what comes around goes around.  I also see cursing someone like healing an illness or disposing old food from your fridge. Left Unattended, such elements are not healthy. I do believe in Karma does come back around but I always watch my words carefully as I cast a spell or sigil.  

 “Do you have curse sigils in your list?” Yes I do. BUT I do not suggest you use them UNLESS you are willing to be completely accountable of your actions and know exactly what you are working with. And I highly encourage you to ask for my help over attempting to do it hap-hazzardly on your own. One does not just grab rancid food from the fridge and toss it into the kitchen bin. It must be disposed of cautiously and properly, so it does not come back to make you sick or stink up the house. And then you should still cleanse the place and self after.

 So let’s start with first taking a sigil from my board that you need to use. PERSONALLY I would prefer you to redraw the sigil yourself. I use a slight cursive digital brush but you do not need to. As long as you get the basic shape. You can draw in a color that works with the spell you are wanting to manifest (if you know anything about color magick) or just in pencil or pen. Color is NOT vital. Of course not everyone is an artist. You can trace it over if you have something like tracing paper or a light box. But you certainly can just use a print out. However you choose, the next step is to charge it. Again depending how you ask there are many ways of doing this.  The following technique is mine and the one I suggest:

 Using a pencil, pen, wand or your finger, slowly trace over the sigil. As you do concentrate on your goal and the person who you are casting it for. There is no order that you need to follow in the drawing: Top to bottom or vice verse. At the same time take slow deep breaths. As you exhale, envision energy coming from your core center, down your arm, into your hand and out your finger or implement, setting the sigil ablaze in a great light. If it helps, imagine yourself like a superhero or Wizard on a movie that casts energy from their hands. (This part may sound silly for some, but I find it works well for many that have a hard time envisioning and focusing.)

 Sigils can also be carved into objects such as candles, wood, clay and other soft materials. They can also be draw into sand or dirt, even traced on water or drawn in the air with a stick of incense.  

 Okay your sigil is traced/etched. Now, hold it in your hand for a good while. Close your eyes and with all your will, want and heart (and help from whatever gods you believe in) empower the sigil or the object the sigil is etched into, empower it with your goal. Take time with this. See in your mind your goal clearly and coming true. You can chant any prayer, wish, words or oral spell you want. By the time you are done, the sigil/object should almost physically feel like it has a small pulse of energy all its own.

 At this point what you do with the sigil depends on the sigils intent. For desires of money, wealth or anything to come into your life, I would place it somewhere special, such as a home altar or stored somewhere safe. Every time you pass by it, take a moment to say a incantation or prayer over it. At the very least once a day. If the sigil is to release something away (a bad person, ill health, a bad habit, dangerous influence) You may wish to either burn it or tear it up and let the wind carry it away. Some people that carve such intents into a candle, will just want to have the candle burn all that way down, or if carved into clay or wood, will want to bury it.

 If your goal is true, your intent honorable with no lie attached and you are willing to help it manifest, Gods willing-the intent will come to be. Always remember “Even a Miracle Needs a Hand.” So if you are asking for money, get out there and see what you can do to make it so. Spells do not work like they do in movies and TV. If your goal is for heath, make sure you are eating healthy, taking whatever meds are needed and listen to your doctor.

 There is so much more I can go on with this but for now this is the skinny. PLEASE I encourage you to ask questions. You can ask me here or send me a private message. 

[marvelandimagine]

In My Home

Series summary: After Wakanda opens its borders, you begin working in Shuri’s lab as part of an all-women STEM program, and you meet a certain White Wolf. What starts out as mutual bonding over science turns into much more than you ever could have anticipated.

Pairing: Bucky x scientist reader

Word Count: 3,400

Warnings: Language, PTSD

A/N: I think this is the longest first chapter I’ve written in my life oops guess that’s what happens when you’re gone for two years!! I regret nothing. Bucky POV coming in part 2! Loosely inspired by “In My Home” by Young the Giant.

“Please, you powerful little receptor, I am BEGGING you to bind with this epinephrine, BEGGING YOU.”

You cross your fingers and peer into the microscope, only to be met with what feels like the 100th disappointment this week. No positive binding. No responsiveness. Nothing.

Your foot connects with the side of your lab table, increasingly faster with every syllable you yell, causing Francesca, the new program recruit from Spain, to quickly inch her chair away from your adjacent work station.

“GOD DAMMIT YOU MOTHERFU—“

“Good results?”

You halt mid kick and turn to face Shuri, her eyes lit up in amusement as she surveys you over the rim of her Starbucks frappucino with a loud slurp––they’ve been her new obsession ever since Wakanda opened the borders and built one two blocks from her lab. As much as you’ve grown to bond with her in the time since she invited you to work in Wakanda as part of her new all-women biotech research program, in this moment, you have to truly fight back the urge to slap the drink out of her hand.

You collapse into a desk chair, trying your best to joke as usual with your new friend but find your words coming out gritted anyways:

“What, no coffee for me?”

As if on cue, three handmaidens appear holding recyclable trays of various caffeinated beverages for the team, who cheer and abandon their current projects for a moment to collect their drinks in a flurry of movement.

One of the handmaiden approaches and you sheepishly accept your cold brew, grimacing at Shuri in a way that you hope reads, “Sorry, I’m an asshole.”

Shuri snorts and rolls her eyes, but her tone is light:

“Colonizers. Always so impatient.”

She nods over to your desk.

“And not just with Starbucks orders.”

You let out a frustrated exhale.

“Shuri, I’ve been here for two months. I have the most advanced resources and tech on the planet at my fingertips, and yet I still have nothing concrete to show for it––nothing to show you for it.”

Your tone gets quieter but maintains its intensity.

“Look, you brought me here because I know you know that, if I can get this, we can change lives everywhere––and not just soldiers, but anyone trying to work through PTSD or severe trauma. Being able to de-intensify the physiological response to triggers to shorten dissociative periods or even get rid of them so we can get a stronger sense of normalcy back, to lessen that fear and strain even a little -- that’s worth the long haul, I know it’s a long haul, one that’s worth the setbacks and sleep deprivation and madness because that’s science and I love it, but, I don’t know.”

You sigh before taking a sip of your coffee.

“I just thought I’d be farther along, that’s all.”

Shuri grabs a chair and wheels it to face you.

“Do you know how many trials it took before I got the nanotech working seamlessly in brother’s suit?”

“Knowing you, probably three.”

“Four, actually.”

You groan and cover your eyes but Shuri drags your hands away from your face, clasping them in her own.

“Let me finish! Do you know how many trials it took for me to get the remote access functioning in the Kimoyo Beads?”

“More than four?”

“759 to be exact, and they still have much room to improve. My point, Y/N is to not be discouraged.”

She looks at you seriously.

“I would not have brought you here if your body of work was not excellent. The work we’re all doing” — she turns and gestures around the room of women who have all returned to their respective stations, coffees in hand and intently focused on various glowing blue projections of statistics and diagrams hanging in the air, the sound of rapid keystrokes and odd hisses and bangs echoing around the room. “we can only know so much until we know more, yes?”

As if on cue, you feel a rush of heat move past you as Francesca hurls the flaming, mangled remains of what looks like a helmet into the sink, flinging on the spray faucet and wiping her brow as her ruined demo piece hisses with smoking finality.

You turn back to face Shuri.

“Point taken.”

You rest your chin on one hand, shaking your head slightly.

“Why are you so wise?? You’re 13 years younger than I am and dropping some real life truths.”

“The real life truth is that I think you need a break.”

You laugh and take another sip of your coffee.

“I can’t say I disagree with you.”

Shuri grins, her eyes lighting up with mischief.

“You know who else needs some fun in their life?”

“Who?”

“Bucky!”

You swear internally as your heartbeat immediately quickens at the sound of his name, averting your eyes as you spin your chair away from Shuri, but she scoots herself closer.

“I’m sure he would loooove to spend a whole day with his favorite scientist.” Her grin widens. “And I’m sure you would loooove to spend a whole day with your White Wolf.”

You roll your eyes, trying to stop yourself from smiling and failing miserably, which only seems to delight Shuri more as you shake your head with a half-assed:

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. We’re friends.”

“More than friends!” Shuri yells, poking your shoulder in quick succession. “You do not look at friends the way you look at each other! I took that broken white boy all over the city, show him my lab, and he says maybe three sentences—to me, the girl who saved his brain —but for some reason, he has no problem asking the American a million questions about science and tech and how her work is coming.”

You feign as much nonchalance as you can in your response, but you can’t help how light your chest feels at her acknowledging Bucky’s supposed eagerness to talk to you.

“You said it, we’re both American, maybe he just feels more comfortable--”

“Comfortable enough to spend hours sitting with you while you work, hmm? And you, letting him, you, the same woman whose shouting made W’Kapi look like an antelope in headlights when he came for my tech upgrade and got too close to your samples!

“Hey, I apologized, but I was not about to redraw 10 vials of my blood that got contaminated all because some border security chief decided -”

Shuri presses on.

“The first time I saw Bucky smile was when he was with you, and you two go on walks and eat lunch together,” Shuri crosses her arms with a broad grin as she delivers her final piece of what she evidently deems as damning evidence, “and I know you are the only person besides me and brother who has gone out to see him.”

You open your mouth and close it, your brain firing on all cylinders to come up with some kind of argument, any kind of argument, to deflect away from your relationship with Bucky. Because thinking about it, talking about it, made the way you felt whenever you were together that much harder to try to ignore.

But you’ve got nothing because, while you can’t speak for him, you know Shuri’s right. You don’t just like him as a friend. You like him way more than that, want him way more than that. But you aren’t sure you’re ready to deal with all of that.

You didn’t anticipate catching feelings -- you didn’t even anticipate meeting this quiet, attractive stranger. It was a few months earlier, only a few weeks into your stay in Wakanda. The combination of excitement and anxiety and the time change had meant you weren’t sleeping much, so you went into the lab early to get some work done. You were in the zone — with the lab all to yourself, you were able to comfortably spread out your work across tables and even onto the floor, blaring your “productive playlist” at full volume as you ran through your latest brain scan videos and blood samples.

Your phone pinged and you checked it to find a message from Shuri:

“Gonna be in late -- Bucky is supposed to be in at 6:30 for his scan, so just tell him I’m behind.”

Shuri had briefly explained the situation with Bucky to you last week, and while you found yourself being fascinated by the logistics of how Shuri deprogrammed decades worth of conditioning, you also felt an overwhelming sense of sadness and empathy for what he had been through. When Shuri suggested bringing him as a data sample and to see if he’d consent to participate when your clinical trial took off, your head instinctively agreed, but your heart won out, telling her that you still weren’t close to a full-fledged medication, and, besides, you thought the guy had been treated as an experiment for so long—you didn’t want to add to that, not when, based on what Shuri said, he was finally in a semi-stable place to heal.

You were still definitely curious to meet him, though, so you texted back an “ok” but found it odd that she didn’t just tell him herself. The thought faded, though, as you quickly became absorbed back into your work.

You didn’t even realize the time that had passed until you heard the gentle woosh of the lab doors sliding open, barely audible over the growling, fast-riffed Rise Against track that was currently playing:

“Do you still believe in all the things that you stood by before?

Are you out there on the front lines or at home keeping score?”

Would you care to be the layer of the bricks that seal your fate,

or would you rather be the architect of what we might create?”

Bucky didn’t see you at first, but you saw him. Even just from his side profile — his hair, his beard, the muscle clearly prominent even underneath his dark clothes — you thought he was gorgeous.

You did your best to keep your cool, though, as you walked out from behind your lab table in the back corner, turning off the music with two taps of your fingers in the air.

“Hi, Bucky?”

He whips around to face you, and your initial impression attraction to him was only heightened as you were met with a pair of brilliant blue eyes, but you were also thrown by the panic you see in them, how fast his posture shifts to defensive.

You held up your hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you — I work here.” You gestured to the back corner of the lab, his eyes following.

“I’m Y/N, Shuri’s latest recruit. She told me to tell you she’s gonna be late for your scan.” You smiled, hoping it would ease his tension, and it seemed to work because he unclenched his fist. “You can hang out wherever, and don’t worry about bothering me— as you can tell by the sound from when you walked in, I thrive in chaos.”

He just stared blankly at you, seemingly uncertain of how to respond.

Uncomfortable in the silence, you turned away to go back to your corner, but stopped as he asked quietly, but with genuine curiosity:

“What are you working on?”

You looked back and he actually gave you a small smile, and you were surprised to find your cheeks warming up.

Your panic about feeling all kinds of things over a solitary smile must have read on your face, but Bucky misinterpreted it as reluctance, and so he quickly backtracked:

“You probably get asked that all the time, I’m sorry, I don’t want to distract you.” He averted his eyes and your brain finally caught back up to speed.

“What? No, it’s totally fine!” You sat down at your desk, wheeling over another chair. “C’mere. I’ll show you.”

And that’s how it started. For whatever reason, as you went on and on in excitement about your project, about how you collected 500 data samples back home, about how you were now working with binary augmented retro framing, Bucky got more and more relaxed around you, asking questions and laughing at some of your jokes. And you felt more and more relaxed with him, falling into a rhythm that felt both comfortable and utterly exhilarating. You were pleasantly surprised by his sense of dry humor that matched his own, and any man who openly admired your work got an automatic extra few points in your book.

And when Bucky paused and asked why you were doing all this work on PTSD, you still felt somehow just as comfortable as you were joking around with him as you were then candidly sharing about some of the things that happened to you. You were normally pretty open about the trauma in your story, but you were usually pretty brief, even in the support group you went to. But here, with him, captivated by this newfound connection you felt, it was easy to not just share, but to truly open up, and not just about what happened, but what you had been doing to try to heal and move forward. And you were floored when he reciprocated—Shuri told you he was pretty shy, but here he was, telling you some of things that kept him up at night, about how he felt like, even with Shuri’s work, what he had been through still felt like it was always pressing on him, like it would always be engraved into his bones.

You hadn’t even realized that an hour had passed by the time Shuri came into the lab, apologizing for being late but saying she was glad you two had finally been introduced.

“So am I,” Bucky had murmured quietly to you, and you smiled in a daze and nodded in agreement, trying to still maintain your composure because what in the fuck was happening here between you two already, this felt like it could be something, even though you had no intention of looking for something when he walked into the lab. It was dizzying and overwhelming but it lit you up from the inside out, beaming back at him as he asked if he could come back to see you—see your work, as he adjusted quickly, and so you gave him your number and said he was welcome to come up anytime.

And he did. And you weren’t an idiot, you had a pretty good sense of when a man was interested in you, and it certainly felt like that as you kept spending more and more time together -- the way he looked at you sometimes made you feel like passing out and grabbing his face to make out at the same time. But still, there was that hesitation, the uncertainty and anxiety -- what if you were wrong? What if he genuinely just appreciated your company, liked having someone who had been through similar shit to talk to? What if that was it and nothing more?

All of this runs through your head as you sit there, and you realize there’s it’s pointless to try to refute a fact backed by evidence. You liked him. You really, really liked him. And if there was a chance he felt the same, if an objective third party like Shuri even sensed something romantic between you two—maybe it was time to stop hiding behind your fear.

“I --” You run your hands down your face, knowing you’re going to feel both defeated and liberated by your admission, “fuck it, yeah, ok you win. I like Bucky.” You sigh, the words rolling off your tongue seeming to solidify how you felt inside, making it even more irrefutable. “Goddammit.”

Shuri throws her fist in the air.

“HA! You admit it, more than friends!”

“Shhh, Jesus, I can’t speak for him, but yeah, maybe, I don’t know, just keep your voice down!” you hiss, pushing your palms toward the floor as you crane your neck to see if anyone is paying attention, but they’re all too absorbed in their own work.

“Not maybe, definitely!” Shuri grins, resting her chin on her hands. “So, take the day off, go spend it with him. I’m sure one of you will crack and finally break the sexual tension.”

You groan and cover your eyes, shaking your head. “Oh my god, we’re not having this conversation.”

You look up, your anxiety getting the best of you.

“But I don’t even know what we should do for the rest of the day.”

“Ah, but I do! You should go to echibi elikhulu -- the great lake. Baba used to take mother all the time when they were younger.”

You frown, confused.

“Where is there a lake in Wakanda?”

Shuri chuckles.

“Well, technically, there isn’t one -- not on any map, anyways. Just because we opened the borders doesn’t mean we gave away all of our hidden treasures to the rest of the world.” She smiles, clasping your hands, “But I will certainly tell you about it in the name of true love! Only if, and I mean, if, you tell me EVERYTHING that happens.”

You laugh and shake her hands emphatically, touched by her willingness to share this piece of her home with you, with Bucky.

“Deal.”

You still feel nervous, but it’s mostly excitement now as you think about not only getting to enjoy the beach, but to be able to stop dancing around your feelings for Bucky -- if you had the courage to finally admit it to him, and he reciprocated, it would absolutely be worth the time away in the lab.

Shuri jumps up from her chair. “Then no time to waste! You can take my Jeep, I’ll program the GPS to get you there and back.” Her tone changes suddenly to businesslike. “You go home, shower, change, and get your things ready, and I’ll meet you outside in 45 minutes.”

You tilt your head to the side slightly, trying to work out the final aspectt hat’s puzzling you.

“Why do you care so much about us getting together?” You pause, quickly adding,” And I don’t mean that to sound shitty, I’m just curious.”

“Y/N, when I know something can be improved, I want to help. You both have suffered, and you each seem to find peace in each other -- you’re good for each other. I think you’d be happier together and could even heal better together then just as ‘friends.’” She smiles, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “And, also, then I could say I set up the cutest colonizer couple in the country.”

You smile back. “I appreciate it.” Your tone softens. “Really, I do. Thanks for the push.”

“You’re most welcome. Now go! I’ll see you in a bit.”

You quickly grab your backpack from your lab table, shoving in notebooks and folders before you swipe your coffee of the counter, give Shuri a wave, and power walk out the door.

You laugh out loud at the absurdity of it, how agitated you were this morning compared to how you were nearly bouncing down the street in anticipation now, the prospect of exploring a new and beautiful place with Bucky and finally telling him how you felt buoying in your chest.

You felt determined, you felt like you might throw up, but above every emotion and thought racing around inside you, you felt hope.

[vegeta897]

I have finally completed the animation I started 9 months ago. It’s about my friend being stranded in the woods. It’s almost based on a true story and the audio comes from actual videos of his ordeal.

Notice I said “started 9 months ago ” and not “worked on for 9 months.” There were long periods of inactivity. But I did know the whole time that I would finish it eventually. Unlike many projects of mine! I am very excited to premier this to my friends (and some family!) tonight and feeling very fulfilled.

It started with my friend Milly (Mills) posting several short videos he recorded while waiting for a towtruck to pick him up when he got his motorcycle stuck in the mud.

Something about the videos and his monologue made me want to create an animation based on them. So I cut and stitched various parts together in Renoise, and came up with the whole audio track.

The principle of my workflow is to get the entire audio track, including music, finalized before ever picking up my pen. Timing and pacing scenes by audio only is a good way to get it right, I think. If I can make something that flows just by listening to it, it’s a good bet the final animation will flow too.

With the audio track exported, my first step was storyboarding. A quick sketch for every scene or cut, sometimes with arrows or rudimentary animation to illustrate the intent. It’s during this storyboarding that most of the ideas were established. I really enjoy how I have to be creative to come up with visuals to match an audio track that was created without much regard for what it would all look like.

Here’s a rendering of the animation with the storyboards overlaid on top:

Holy heck are there a lot of cuts in this animation. It feels like a shot is rarely held for more than 5 seconds. I could go and count exactly how many shots there are but I’m lazy.

So I had the storyboard and audio track for an animation that weighed in at about 4.5 minutes, spanning almost 4000 frames. My New Years animation was longer, but that was barely animated. This was definitely going to be up there in terms of work required.

My next step was drawing in very angular outlines for the backgrounds. The triangular/polygonal style in the final product didn’t come until much later. I really didn’t know what I wanted the backgrounds to look like, and this loomed over me for almost the entire time I spent doing everything else.

I was itching to get down to the raw animation work, so I began taking on scene after scene of character animation.

The flat-color-with-no-outlines style was a choice I made quickly when I considered how much extra work it would be to give it my usual treatment. It was also refreshing to try something new.

The animation is 15 frames per second, but many parts were done at 1/2 or 1/3 rate (twos and threes, in animation lingo). Sometimes the decision came down to how "in the mood” I was to animate at the time.

Guides are important. A lot of scenes were free-handed though. When you draw a character enough times you get pretty good at it.

When I crack open a Rockstar, you know it’s time for some serious animating. 

With most of the character art done, I moved on to the motorcycle. Oh, that friggin’ bike. A Benelli TnT135. Even after studying literally dozens of photos and videos of it, it’s still a tricky 3D shape to grasp at some angles, particularly the tail end of the seat.

And then I had to animate it in that penultimate shot of our hero driving away. I shamelessly took as many shortcuts as I could to avoid as much redrawing as possible. The end result is okay. I hope the significance of what the bike is doing means the viewer isn’t focused on how realistic it looks.

At last I had to face the backgrounds. My first attempts failed miserably.

So, Adobe Animate does not really have great tools for coloring (by hand, anyway). Trying and failing to come up with a workable style was discouraging. Forests have a lot of variety in texture, all around. There’s all kinds of colors and shapes. How could I convey all that?

Go abstract. 

No, Adobe Animate does not have some cool 3D mesh feature or fractal generator. These triangles were drawn line by line, fill by fill. That includes the animated water.

I managed to re-use some backgrounds in many of the simpler shots, but some locations, like the bike and road, had angles too varied to copy and paste.

I had determination, though, because working on these backgrounds was part of the final stretch of getting this thing done. I could see the finish line.

When the backgrounds were done, I made pretty quick work of drawing and animating the various props. Basically anything that wasn’t the character or bike, like the log, the can, the foil cup, and so on.

The last few days were spent creating the title and credits, as well as polishing stuff like the color correction used to illustrate times of day. Yesterday I sent a preview of the whole video to my good friend Viper, whose critical yet supportive feedback I value the most. I must say, his generally positive response helped me sleep that night. The night before, I was tossing and turning, stuck in a mind loop of drawing triangles in my imagination. That is not a joke.

Thanks for reading! After keeping this mostly-secret for so long, it’s nice to get it all out there.

[sally-mun]

Episode 4: Decisions, Decisions

As time passes, things gradually normalize again. Sally prepares to marry Sonic, and is relieved to find support in her kingdom about her pregnancy regardless of whether she was married first. (I mean honestly given that these are people that CHOSE to live on her side of the border BECAUSE they wanted her leadership this should be no surprise, but still.) Elias, despite his wonky depth perception, flourishes with his new prosthetic and more or less gets back to the life he made for himself in Feral Forest. And sadly, back in West Acorn, life for Queen Alicia gets back to “normal” as well.

Although she’s ventured out to see Sally and Elias on a few occasions (always on her own), over time her visits have started becoming less frequent. This isn’t for lack of desire, as there’s nothing she wants more than to see her children after spending so many years in a coma, but rather that she just doesn’t have the energy or stamina to travel. Alicia spends the bulk of her time trying to take care of Max; unfortunately, he doesn’t make it easy for even his own wife to be around him. He continually criticizes her and snaps at her over minor mistakes, fails to take her input even when he actually listens to it, and will frequently just leave the living area of the castle without notice because he wants to throw his two cents in on the Acorn Council.

Queen Alicia’s health – which is a bit sensitive anyway, as a lasting effect of having been suspended in that tube by the Brotherhood – gradually goes on the decline. As the days, weeks, and months go by, Alicia ultimately finds that it’s difficult to even get out of bed. There’s nothing exactly wrong with her (no illnesses or lingering conditions flaring up), but rather, her body is more or less losing its will to go on. Sometimes she ends up staying in bed for as long as a week at a time, only getting by because attendants are showing her more care and devotion than her husband. For what it’s worth, Max isn’t completely cold-hearted toward her and will keep tabs on how she’s doing, and even bark at the staff if he doesn’t believe they’re taking the best care of her, but that said he shows no interest in helping her himself.

For all of his misgivings about the implementation of the Acorn Council, Max seems to become more and more comfortable participating in it over time; after all, there’s not a lot he can really accomplish on his own at this point, so if he wants things done his way, he’d better get on board with these meetings. This ends up being a very natural fit for him, as he tends to get his preferred legislation passed the same way he accomplishes anything: By verbally abusing those around him until they either bend to his will or leave. Max doesn’t attend every single council meeting, but he does turn up any time there’s a proposal he has an opinion on – and he definitely makes sure they know what that opinion is.

Things take a turn within the Acorn Council when Rotor, one of the original members, abruptly resigns and leaves without much explanation. When pressed for a reason, he gives a non-descript answer about an old back injury that’s been flaring up and a need to take it easy on himself. This is dire news to Amy Rose and Amadeus Prower, who also hold council seats. Generally speaking, when the council would deadlock over a proposal, the split tended to be Amy-Amadeus-Rotor on one side and Hamlin-Dylan-Penelope on the other. If they weren’t able to come to an agreement, the proposal would either die or King Max would cast the deciding vote. The departure of Rotor from the council meant that the entire balance could be thrown off, as the next member elected to his seat could be someone that routinely favors Hamlin’s side of the council.

However, this never manages to be a problem because a different problem takes its place: Rather than finding a replacement for Rotor, the council instead redraws the district lines to simply eliminate his seat all together. Hamlin makes many assurances that this is in the interest of fairness; the argument is that King Max is, for all intents and purposes, incredibly predictable. If the council is deadlocked and needs to rely on him to cast a vote, they all pretty much know where that vote is going to land before he even gets there. Hamlin suggests that this makes Max’s vote almost irrelevant, as there have been times when one member of the soon-to-be-losing side would change their vote when they realized Max would be needed, if just to spare them all the unpleasant appearance. With Rotor’s chair eliminated, he argues, there’s no underlying incentive for anyone to change their vote toward something they don’t agree with, and while Max’s input is still “welcome,” it won’t be necessary.

Of course, Amy and Amadeus have a HUGE problem with this, because what was once a level playing field now necessarily puts them in the minority. Hamlin argues that it’s the same dynamic they had before, but now with one less step. Amadeus searches high and low for something – anything – that suggests they can’t make a change like this with an empty council seat; after all, if they were able to fill the seat long enough to get a deadlock, then Max would have to make the final decision, and there’s no way he’d vote for something that essentially strips him of the one method he still has of ruling what’s left of his kingdom. Unfortunately, Amadeus doesn’t find anything to stop the motion before it comes to a vote, and predictably, it’s passed 3-2. Rotor’s district is absorbed by its neighbors, and Amadeus and Amy find themselves with an even steeper uphill battle than ever.

There were hopes that Max could turn this decision on its head in some way, especially when he realized that his deciding vote would no longer “decide” anything. In the best case scenario, perhaps he could essentially act as Rotor’s missing sixth seat and still create a deadlock – one that wouldn’t simply have an extra vote to resolve it, meaning that they would HAVE to work things out as a team. Max does indeed continue to show up to council meetings from time to time, but somehow, he never really seems to take notice that he isn’t casting any final, decision-making votes anymore. It almost became a social engagement for him: He’d show up, holler about things he wanted, berate anyone that disagreed with him, and then leave.

As a result, with Amy and Amadeus’ voices drowned out by Hamlin (who routinely uses his past history with Dylan and Penelope to sway them toward his side), the government’s power continues to increase at the expense of civil liberties. Max seems pleased with these developments and takes no action to mitigate the increasing fascism.

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[thetourguidebarbie]

What about Klaroline with Klaus being jealous of Caroline's close friendship with Enzo. it doesn't have to end in smut but im fine if it your choice.

Emergency fluff for one of my favorite people. @chica-cherry-lola has been reminding me for months that I promised her a mini-sequel to A Guilty Pleasure, my tattoo artist/florist au I wrote for @lalainajanes a bajillion years ago for a v-day exchange. Thank you to @garglyswoof for looking over this quickly.

This has smut in the beginning and is teeth-rottingly fluffy, so if that’s not your thing, I’d skip it. Bookshop AU will be posted once I get the edits in (sorry you’re getting a false alarm, Laine).

His chest was pressed against her back as his tongue traced a trail along her collarbone, the combination of it with his fingers curling against her walls bringing her just to the edge, but unable to tip over. Her eyes closed as he pressed soft kisses to the back of her neck, legs shaking as he brushed his fingers over her clit. “You’re so lovely,” he whispered, nipping her shoulder. “I do enjoy the sounds you make for me.”

She moaned softly in response as he pinched her clit lightly with his thumb and forefinger, her moan turning into a muttered string of expletives as she came, and she felt his stubble scratch against her skin as he smiled. She was breathing hard as she turned on her back to look at him, her lips parting slightly as she realized he was sucking her arousal off his fingers. He bent to kiss her once he was done, his palm steady on her hip, his tongue brushing across the seam of her lips. She moaned softly as he dragged his teeth across her shoulder and moved down to press kisses down to the valley between her breasts, flicking his tongue against her nipple before moving down her ribcage.

“I have a question, sweetheart,” he said, his voice muffled as his lips moved across her skin, and she arched her back as his tongue traced the flowered vine inked on her ribs.

“What?”

“What’s this tattoo from?”

She laughed. “It’s me and Enzo’s twinsies tattoo.”

Klaus froze mid-lick, pushing himself up so that he was looming over her. “Beg pardon, sweetheart?”

“A twinsies tattoo? You know, like when you and your best friend get matching tattoos to indicate that you will, in fact, be ‘best friends forever’?” Caroline said teasingly, making air quotes.

He stared at her with a look of what she considered completely unwarranted revulsion. “You and Enzo have matching tattoos?” he asked slowly, starting to withdraw his hand, clearly intent on getting an explanation. She grabbed his wrist, her eyebrows raised before groaning when she realized that he wanted the whole story before she’d get her next orgasm.

“Yeah. We were in our second year of college and Enzo and I were taking this really boring history class. It was basically impossible to study because the Professor’s study guides didn’t actually match what was on the tests or quizzes, which should totally be illegal. Anyway, the point is that it was finals week and we both knew that what ended up on the test was completely random, so we made a dumb bet that whoever scored higher could pick a tattoo for the other one. Just so you know, talking about my basically-brother-best-friend is not keeping me turned on.”

“And he won?”

“Nope, I did! I just got the same one in solidarity. I tried to talk Bonnie into it too but she said that couples tattoos were always a mistake no matter what. I thought it was kind of romantic, but she’s annoyingly practical.”

“Romantic, hmm?” he asked, and she narrowed her eyes as she watched the gears turn in his mind.

“Klaus...” she groaned, half out of exasperation and half because she wanted him to start moving again.

He bent and ran his nose along the curve of her neck. “I did tell you that I liked the idea of leaving a mark on someone’s body with my art. You even more.”

“I don’t know,” she said, the last word turning into a breathless ‘oh’ as he slipped two fingers back inside of her, her back arching. “I think you just don’t like that another guy and I have matching tattoos.”

“Perhaps,” he allowed, his fingertip tracing her hipbone before he bent to kiss her again.

“You’re such a jealous weirdo,” Caroline muttered between kisses, though there was no bite to her tone.

“You like it,” he whispered, nipping her ear and curling his fingers against her g-spot, making her gasp.

“In small doses,” she managed to pant out.

“You can’t tell me you don’t enjoy it, love. I feel that shiver run down your body when I press my hand against the small of your back as we walk, hear the way your breath catches when I tell you that you belong to me.”

“Klaus...”

“Try to deny it then,” he murmured. “Tell me you’re not mine, Caroline. Try.”

“Klaus,” she said, a tinge of warning coloring her tone.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“You’re a smug jerk,” she muttered, her face half buried in his chest. She could feel his chest rumble against her cheek as he chuckled, curling his fingers against her walls, his other hand slipping between the cheeks of her ass, making her squeak in surprise.

“All right?”

“Fuck,” she hissed, unable to decide between riding his fingers or pressing against where he was touching her back entrance, her breathing growing shallow. “It’s good,” she managed.

“I’d like to take your pretty arse with my cock later,” he said quietly, pinching her ass before letting his hand travel down the back of her thigh, the drag of nails against her skin deep enough that he’d most likely leave a mark.

“After we unpack,” she said, taking a deep stuttering breath when Klaus pushed the tip of his finger into her back entrance as he nibbled at her neck and stroked her clit, the sensations almost too much for her to handle. She heard him hum against her skin when she came, clearly pleased, pulling back to look at her and brushing a damp curl from her face with his nose to press a kiss to her temple.

“I like you here.”

“Well, that’s good since I’ll be here every night for the foreseeable future,” she teased, sliding her arms around his shoulders to rub a curl between her fingers, the other hand tracing the lines of the triangle inked on his back. “But as comfortable as our bed is, I still have a lot of closet-invading and counterspace-stealing to do.”

“It’s not invading or stealing if it’s yours,” he pointed out, letting her go reluctantly as she wriggled out from under him and slid out of bed, reaching for the jeans she’d managed to half pull on before Klaus had coaxed her out of them earlier that morning. She looked over her shoulder to see him eyeing her hungrily and grinned.

“How am I supposed to concentrate knowing that you’re wearing nothing under those?”

“Like you always do,” she said unsympathetically. “I have full faith in your ability to get up and walk the ten feet to the shower without jumping me.”

He huffed grumpily in a way that probably shouldn’t have been endearing. “Later, I promise,” she repeated. “Seriously though. Get in the shower now so I can send you on a coffee mission when you get out.”

“So bossy,” he murmured, sitting up and stretching. She found herself tempted to throw out her unpacking plans and crawl back into bed to run her tongue down his abs, but at this point she’d committed to her non-sex Sunday agenda and she was too stubborn to admit defeat.

“Is that a problem?” she asked with a raised eyebrow, adjusting her bra and reaching for her blouse.

“Hot in small doses, as you’d say,” he teased, pushing the covers off and running his hand through his hair. She drank him in shamelessly, smiling when he pressed a light kiss to her temple as he walked past her to their master bathroom, his hand lingering on the vine on her ribs for a moment too long, thumb brushing along one of the leaves.

She took a shaky breath, glancing at the door as it closed behind him. Her skin was still burning from his touch, her heart pounding in her chest. They’d been together for almost a year now, counting the time she’d spent in denial pretending they were friends with benefits, and he still made her pulse race on a daily basis, made her feel wanted and beautiful and powerful.

She’d spent way too much time at the beginning worrying that his feelings for her would fade and the only thing to linger would be physical chemistry. She’d been embarrassingly obvious and he’d noticed, but instead of brushing her insecurities off with pretty words, he’d reassured her with every affectionate touch and warm smile that he wanted a connection with her that was more than physical.

Honestly, she couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.

She traced the swallow on her wrist that she’d gotten the week of her eighteenth birthday absently as she considered his words from earlier.

I like the idea of leaving my mark on someone’s body with my art. You even more.

She wondered if she should be scared that she liked the idea too.

“What do you want to do next week?” Caroline asked, sinking down on the couch and pressing her cheek against his shoulder, glancing at his sketchpad. He inhaled her scent, the subtle floral shampoo that now clung to his pillows on nights when he wasn’t even dreaming. It had been two months since she’d moved in and he hadn’t yet been able to get out of the habit of pulling her closer in the mornings before she woke just to savor the feel of her against him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever shake away the constant wonder that she’d chosen to stay.

“Ooh, that’s pretty,” she said, shifting so that she could get a better look without impeding his drawing hand.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, twirling the pencil between his fingers before adding more shading to the dragon’s wing.

“For a client,” he said, frowning as he inspected his work. “I think it needs something else. Been redrawing it for a few hours now, but it never looks quite right.”

“Do you need a few minutes then? For your muse to visit, or whatever?”

“Don’t be silly, love. My muse happens to be sitting right beside me.”

“You are a cheeseball,” she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “But seriously. Next week?’

“For our anniversary? I have plenty of ideas for all the things I’ll do to you,” he said, giving her a wicked smirk and taking a bit too much satisfaction in the flush that crept up her cheeks.

“Klaus!”

He could tell that she wasn’t actually annoyed with him, her exasperation more fond than anything else, though from the way she was shifting against him he could tell that she had something she was holding back.

“Do you have any preferences?” he asked, studying her face for any hint of her feelings, and he recognized the tilt of her chin as her mentally prepping herself to say something she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to spit out.

“I was thinking we could go to the shop.”

“For a private romantic dinner?” he asked, already planning at least ten different things they could do with her stockroom table.

She swallowed. “Yours, actually.”

“Mine?” he asked, not quite daring to believe what she was implying.

“I want you to give me a tattoo,” she said. “If you want to.”

“What do you want?” he asked immediately, reaching for his sketchbook and eagerly flipping to a new page. “Anything specific?”

“I want something symbolic.”

“The flower?” he offered, only half-joking, already trying to remember the exact slant of its petals.

“No. I want...I mean, I wanted to do something about the second I realized that I actually had feelings-feelings for you as opposed to sex-only-feelings, but that moment didn’t really have any symbolic objects that I’d feel comfortable having on my body permanently.”

“When was it?” he asked, unable to restrain his curiosity.

She blushed, unable to meet his eyes. “It was the night when we had the fight before we got together.”

“When you walked out on me?” he asked, not particularly wanting to open old wounds but needing to clarify.

She winced. “It wasn’t my proudest moment, okay? It just kind of hit me all at once, you know? I was like, in hardcore denial, and you put your arms around me and told me to stay and...” she trailed off, tangling her fingers with his and giving him a small smile. “I wanted to, and I was worried that you were just like, being polite—“

She glared at him when he was unable to restrain a laugh, setting down his pencil. “Caroline, when have I ever been polite to anyone out of obligation?”

“Well I didn’t know that then,” she said grumpily. “I mean, I did, but again, denial.”

“Right.”

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“What was your moment?”

He didn’t even have to think about it, his lips curling into a smile as he told her how beautiful she’d looked bent over her terrarium diagram in the coffee shop. How he’d watched her hands as she shaded the sketch carefully, admired the way her teeth sank into her lower lip as she concentrated. “I knew I’d enjoyed talking to you,” he explained, smiling at Caroline’s raised eyebrow. “But that moment...I was curious about you. Your story, your hopes and goals. I wanted to get to know you. I couldn’t resist.”

“That’s so cute,” she said, grinning at the face he pulled at the word. “Sorry. You’re just much more romantic than me.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” he said, tugging one of her curls between his fingers. “In any case, perhaps you don’t want a tattoo of the experimental flower Bonnie gave you, but there are other options. Chrysanthemums?”

She groaned. “My least favorite flowers that I refused to sell you so that you wouldn’t poison your sister’s boyfriend? I’d rather have the sex plant.”

“Do you still have the sketch?”

She frowned. “From the coffee shop?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah. I’m sure I still have it,” Caroline said, moving off the couch and walking to the section of the bookshelf where she kept all her original sketches for her terrarium and bouquet ideas. She pulled out the one labeled ‘succulents’ and flipped through it, sliding a piece of heavy paper out of a page protector and scanning it thoughtfully before handing it to him.

“This one?”

He nodded, taking it and running the tip of his finger along the outline. “I want this here, I think,” he said, gesturing to the left side of his ribcage. “And I’ll get it in color, but I can make it subtler for you if you like. Just the outline or shadow...”

“Matching tattoos?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.

“You said they were romantic,” he pointed out, and she nodded, leaning against his side and inspecting the sketch.

“I like it,” she said. “Even if it feels a little weird to have a tattoo of something I drew.”

“I can always sketch you something, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

“I think I want the orchid,” she said after thinking it over for a few seconds. “But in a purple or a blue. The real-life pink was really loud.”

“That can be arranged,” he murmured, already sketching the outline. “Where do you want it?”

“Same place as yours.”

“Doing it over bones is the most painful area,” he warned slowly, glancing at her, and she smiled, pecking him on the lips.

“It’ll heal, and I totally look forward to your inevitable weird obsession with licking it.”

“Is that another thing you’ll only tolerate in small doses?”

“No. Tattoo-licking is highly encouraged,” she said, her tone and expression so serious that if he hadn’t known her well he would have missed that she was trying desperately not to laugh.

“Noted, sweetheart.”

“Good,” she said, curling with her feet underneath her to peek over his shoulder at the orchid he was carefully outlining. “I love you, you know. A lot.”

“And I, you,” he said quietly

He didn’t need to look at her to know she was giving him the bright smile that she seemed to reserve for moments like this, when they were close and comfortable. He could see it in his mind’s eye, could have easily sketched it from memory.

He couldn’t resist looking anyway.

[tulipau]

title: Colour Me Free

word count: 1494

tags: established relationship, sexuality, interactive introverts - moscow, tattoos, queer themes

summary: Over the next few days Dan draws and redraws a tiny triangle on his bicep every morning with a sharpie, because he’s never been one to take decisions lightly, because he’s still afraid of commitment but the need to have those three lines on his skin is stronger.

or: queer signaling, a triangle, an earring and Russia.

a/n: written for @phandomficfests tour fic fest. huge thanks to @drycerealthief for beta reading. 

READ ON AO3

It comes as a shock to Phil the first time Dan mentions it. Phil’s sitting on the sofa, mindlessly adding the last finishing touches to a gaming video that will go up that same night. It comes easy to him, after all these years. Some comic sans here, a funny effect there, the little things that make their videos theirs. That’s why he doesn’t wear headphones for this last process. Headphones mean serious business, don’t talk to me unless the building is burning and I’m going to die in 30 seconds. No headphones means he’s editing for the sake of it, so Dan doesn’t have to do it later, because he’s bored and he needs a distraction that will make him feel productive. It is because of this that he hears Dan, loud and clear, from where he’s being sitting for the past 20 minutes in his little corner, clickity-clacking away on his mechanical keyboard.

“I think I want to get a tattoo.”

It isn’t a conversational comment, no. He says it like a statement, like it means something. And it does, because they’ve had plenty of conversations regarding tattoos. Phil’s scared of needles and Dan’s scared of commitment.

Dan is looking intently at Phil now, who turned around in shock as soon as he heard his words. His look is meaningful and Phil starts to understand what this is all about, because there are little things that Dan is somewhat reluctant to openly talk about and, after all these years, after all those therapy sessions, his sexuality is still one of them. It isn’t a matter of shame or prudishness, Dan’s unapologetically loud and proud with his closer social circles and also practically out on the internet. The thing is, though, he prefers to show, not tell. He would rather kiss Phil in front of a family friend–if they were into that kind of PDA– than have to explain, come out for the upteenth time.

Phil’s been through it all next to him and, what he hasn’t been, he’s been told. He’s been told about the first crush Dan had on a boy, about the first time he wanked to the thought of a boy touching him and about the first time he watched gay porn and didn’t turn his laptop on for a week after that, as if it had been tainted.

And he had been there for the first time Dan had kissed a boy, him, and then touched his lips, amazed that he could feel so much. Phil had been many of Dan’s firsts, but there were other firsts. Labels, coming outs, accepting himself, that was all parallel to their story, sometimes intertwined, sometimes separate. And it had been a long process for Dan, not always because of him, but because of the circumstances they found themselves in.

Lately, he had been trying to signal his sexuality, his queerness. There hadn’t been any conversation about it. One day he just started doing research, bought a bunch of earrings a week later and that was it. So, yes, Phil understands what the tattoo is about, yet he wants to be sure.

“Of what?” he asks.

“A little triangle or an equal sign. Right here.” He lifts his arm and points to where he wants it, nestled between the well-defined muscles underneath his arm. No one would see it there, no one but him, Phil, and maybe their friends when they’re on summer holidays in some Mediterranean island. People he trusts.

Phil gets up and joins him in the corner, sitting on the bench behind him.

“Do you think you will regret it?” He asks, because he has to. Because he worries and because Dan needs someone to ask the right questions.

Dan stops to think about the answer. He takes a few seconds before he replies and eases Phil’s mind.

“I don’t think I will. I would if it was a silly tattoo, but this is who I am. Me being queer isn’t going to change, I’m not going to change.”

“Okay, then,” Phil smiles the brightest he’s possibly ever smiled, all kinds of pride filling his heart. “Do you have any ideas of what you want the design to look like?”

Dan beams excitedly and turns around, presumably to show Phil the few designs he’d saved. Phil stands up and moves to Dan’s side, leaning on the table. It appears Dan was on Pinterest looking up different ideas, but he has over ten different tabs open, some of them from popular queer media. Phil feels the wave of pride again, and leans over to kiss Dan’s cheek. He keeps his hand on Dan’s back, because he needs to touch. He needs the connection.

Half an hour later, they’ve reviewed over fifteen designs. Most of them look the same to Phil because there’s really not many ways you can draw a triangle or an equal sign, but he doesn’t tell Dan this. He gives his opinions and Dan agrees with most of them. Together, they narrow it down to two very minimalistic tattoos. Sharp, fine lines. In the end, Dan goes for the triangle.

*

Over the next few days Dan draws and redraws a tiny triangle on his bicep every morning with a sharpie, because he’s never been one to take decisions lightly, because he’s still afraid of commitment but the need to have those three lines on his skin is stronger.

It looks good on him, so good, surrounded by the defined muscles that drive Phil crazy. Phil is a bit obsessed with the triangle and Dan has noticed, not like Phil is hiding it. When they fuck, he grabs Dan’s arm and mouths around it. When they cuddle, he traces the lines with his fingertips and just watches how goosebumps appear on Dan’s skin. Neither of them comment on it, because as much as it turns Phil on, as much as he loves it, that’s not what it is about. It’s for Dan, and for Dan only.

*

He never gets it. Weeks pass, months pass and they’re in the midst of tour planning and then tour prepping and Phil doesn’t know if Dan has put the tattoo aside for now or if it was one of those ideas that Dan has but never actually get carried out. He could ask, of course he could, but this is something Dan needs to do at his own pace. If he ever does.

The earring however, that’s a staple now. Sometimes Dan even wears it around the house when they’re not doing anything, no videos to be filmed, no pictures to be posted. He says it makes him feel more like himself when Phil asks about it, a mix of curiosity and admiration bubbling inside him.

He always wears it. Until Russia.

*

“I feel like I want to scream it,” Dan says when they’re cuddled up in bed their first night in Moscow. They’re planning to sleep in their respective rooms but neither wants to leave the other just yet.

“What, that you like cock?” Phil looks over at him, his eyes unconsciously drifting to Dan’s naked right ear. The earring has been in Dan’s pocket all day and it will probably stay there until they get to Berlin.

“It’s weird, right? I never felt this need to be so... open about it.”

Phil hums in understanding. His hand trails up Dan’s arm until it reaches the inside of his bicep. He draws a triangle there.

They sleep separately that night, as they intended. It feels like submitting.

*

Phil goes over to Dan’s room early the next day. Dan is still in his boxers when he opens the door, hair wet and dripping.

Phil settles on the bed as he watches Dan get dressed, pulling on the checkered shorts that remind Phil of home, of snuggling on the sofa watching whatever show they’re into that week, of taking them off of Dan hours later.

“Can you fetch me a pen?” Dan asks as he buttons up the bottoms.

Phil nods, even though Dan is not watching him. He grabs the complimentary hotel pen that’s sitting on the bedside table to his right and gets up to hand it to Dan.

“Can you draw it for me?” Dan asks instead of taking the pen. He lifts up his arm and looks at Phil sheepishly. There’s no confusion about what he means. “The lines end up wonky if I do it myself.”

“‘Course.” He pecks Dan’s lips before getting to work.

His lines end up even wonkier than if Dan had drawn them himself. He’s all shaky hands by the time he’s done and steps back to look at it properly. It feels momentous and yet so natural, comforting even. It feels like the power of those lines extends for the both of them.

*

Dan gets the tattoo when they get back home before the US tour. Phil holds his hand through it.

[shatteredxglass]

shipgambles​:

Asu listened intently, nodding as his new acquaintance rambled on. It was always a joy to hear anyone talk about something they’re passionate about, and the man sitting across from him sure seemed to know his stuff.

It was odd, though, imagining himself depicted so heroically, clashing so much with his own vision of himself. He still saw himself as a drunk despite being sober for over a year…

Thinking for a moment, Asu points to the sketch that would depict his tattoos. He had always been proud of them, although his late grandmother had despised them (she was especially upset at the fact he got his first one when he was only 16). The side profile was unfortunate, considering how messed up his nose was. He should’ve sucked it up and let his uncle set it after it was broken years ago.

He pulled out his pen and notebook, a small leather-bound thing that had clearly been through plenty of wear and tear. Untying the straps that held it shut, he laid it out flat and quickly scrawled something down.

He turned it so Elias could read the writing. “You seem to view me as far more heroic than I am. I captain a merchant ship, nothing special Just those sketches are incredible though. I would love to see a finished piece of yours.”

“A merchant ship huh? Still I’m sure you’ve braved your fair share of nasty storms and the like on the seas. Its quite easy to see folks who are willing to go out on the ocean as brave,” Elias hummed. “Especially a ship’s captain, given the responsibilities.”

He pulls the sketch book back, eyeing the sketches he has created for a moment. His nose scrunches a bit, already starting to pick out minor flaws, imperfections in such a quickly rushed process. It was fine, he would redraw it later, slower. Refine the details where it was needed.

He glanced at the writing on the notebook again, a small smile twitching at his lips at the last part.

“Well if you’d wish to see the portraits themselves, fraid that would only be done if we were at my home,” he said. “Its the only place I really tend to have them on display, and I do not have an at home camera so I’ve no photos on me. A photo would not do my work justice, though.”

“Though I might have something finished in my sketchbook somewhere,” he said. “It is not the same but there is quite a bit that goes into stained glass portraits. A single one can take me months of planning and labor to complete.”

He flips through the sketch book, before settling on one he still likes enough to show off. He pushes the sketch book back towards Asu, to a painted and inked image of a single lotus flower, crimson with a splotchy orange and red background.

“I tend to only use things that have left impressions on me in my mediums,” he hummed. “The finished piece of this at home as a cleaner background, but at the time when I was first finalizing this, I still had no idea what I wanted for the background.”