#this time I drew how I would draw for myself with less care for details and it looks so much better

[cabi-leodrann]

Cabi! Big fan Joffrey here!

I wanted to ask, every time I see your art not only am I stunned by the quality, but also by the sheer uniqueness in style and character design. I've never seen a lamb designed quite like yours, it's so perfectly yours. What went into the inspiration behind the characters design, especially facially? Did you try and mimick a real lamb, or was there a more fantasy-element that you veered toward?

I can't specifically put my finger on it, but it gives me vague Warframe vibes. It's such a beautifully odd design and I can't get enough.

Love your work, love everything you do, can't wait to see what's next!

Hope you're well, stay safe, take care!

First of all, your ask is one of the biggest compliments I ever had in my life, I will keep it forever. You're an absolute chad! Second of all, those are very interesting questions, and I will be very happy to answer to them!

It started more or less with this drawing I made *look at the date* 2 years ago apparently. Way before I even thought of an AU- I didn't had much in mind, beside doing something that looked cool tbh.

I was very happy with the flow of it, and how it came out. And when I drew the Lamb again, I would try to nail THIS design.

The thing is, with time, I had a really big problem: Lamb looked way too young when I thought of them more as an adult. I had too much of the original game design guiding me, making a Lamb that was too cute and childlike for what I wanted. (And also, the head did not go well with the rest of the body holy shi-)

Came those drawings! I was happier with the look, Lamb was older! And I found the colored design quit nice! (I used a sheep picture as reference, but I don't think I used it well, compared to now. I used the reference for details, when I should have gone for overall shape first.) I still wanted something simpler to draw tho. The colored design was nice for an illustration, a one time gig, but I got pretty annoyed pretty fast at trying to nail the face every time. And from those attempt, you get the sketches on the right. (I also wanted to get away from other artiste's interpretation of Lamb, and at the time of those drawing, I didn't felt like I was away enough)

From those previous sketches, the idea for THaB started to emerge. I also still had problem with Lamb's design. Especially the hair. I was inspired by black hair, which is usually not a problem, but I was never happy with how it looked on Lamb specifically. I can draw black hair, I can draw black characters, but this mother-fucker would never feel satisfying to draw or finish 👀

And one day, as THaB was solidifying in my mind, I made a series of sketches that I posted! And one of them was the most important in Lamb's final design. This lil guy! (this design didn't came out of nowhere tho, Lamb was evolving into this as I kept trying. But I wont show those sketches, because those are spoilers =3)

And soon after, I made a comic that was supposed to only be a one shot, just a POV of Lamb and there reaction to Nari' telling them to die for him. But you know, things got out of hand lol

As I continued the comic and doodles on the side, I finally made myself a reference board, with real life images that were close to the vibe of this head drawing. (And I cannot stress enough how those references solidified Lamb's design as a whole. Draw with references, it is life changing. The more reference you get, the more your visual library will get diverse, and the more interesting detail and shape you will add to your art in general.) (I'd also add this: understand what you are drawing, make research and stay curious for every bit of info on everything. You never know when these nuggets of knowledge will help you as you create)

As I kept drawing the Lamb, they evolved! Things changed, slowly, like the shape of the nose, the shape of the eyes, how the hair flowed. You see those change at the face, but also on the body! As the idea of THaB's Lamb got clearer, the design got more specific. (I also got better at drawing! This comic make me draw way more often then before, and it shows)

Something before I finish: the other Cult of the Lamb character's design are way more inspired by their animals, when Lamb is more in the human spectrum. I thought of changing Lamb at some point, to make it fair/coherent, but I loved the design too much to change it again. This AU is something I do for fun, and even if it would have been more logical to change them... I don't want to-

As for the vague Warframe vibes: I play the game! And I found the character design absolutely stunning. So I am definitely influenced by the game without knowing it lol

Thank you very much, again, for your kind words! I also wish you the best, and see you next post =D

TL;DR: Lamb design, at first, wasn't inspired by much, beside the game and my style at the time. But as I retried to make them, added more intent, they got more refined. What really nailed the idea was to have real life references on the side.

[lunar-cerulean]

Father’s Day doodles.

I honestly don’t like how these came out, mostly the Brando one. I drew at such a small scale details were hard to do (for context each drawing is like a little bigger than the size of my thumb). I would like to redraw both someday at a larger scale.

I vent/rant a little bit below for anyone who cares to read.

Today was also my first father’s day since my dad has passed. I have been a little sad. Yesterday at work while I was closing the store they were playing a song he liked and I felt emotional but also happy because it brought back memories.

I’m feeling okay now in that aspect but I’m just… really mad with my work for making me close two weekends in a row and now last minute making me work the morning after when I wasn’t scheduled before. And also giving me Monday thru Friday next week. Like I push carts outside in nearly triple degree weather and will be in the 100s in a week or two. I push carts and do trash and the mosquitos like to hang out in the outside trash and bite me. I work by myself and my body is having a hard time keeping up because the heat drains me so fast and leaves me dazed. I need anther position soon or I’m going to work somewhere else even if they pay less. This is ridiculous and I hate it when people try to justify it’s okay to be overworked because I’m young and “my body will be fine”. My youth is valuable and not be cast away to do grunt work for some company that doesn’t care about me as an individual. I know that God provides for me and He provided that job to me and provides my income. I don’t need to work there, I need to trust God wherever He’s leading me, I just don’t know where I’m supposed to go right now. But I know that I should let go when He calls me to. Anyways. Yeah I’m doing okay I need to go to sleep now and work my tail off again tomorrow 🥲👍

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Nova’s Notes - Dracula Daily - June 30th

✨Happy (belated) Shovel Day!!!✨

“These may be the last words I ever write in this diary. I slept till just before the dawn, and when I woke threw myself on my knees, for I determined that if Death came he should find me ready.”

Jonathan is pulling no punches by starting off reminding us that this may be his last day on earth. It’s telling that he woke up just before dawn came up (though I wonder how he slept at all….hmm….). I also love that while he ended his last entry on his knees in despair, he starts this entry on his knees — determined. I wonder if he was going to try to fight Dracula — futile though that may have been, but first wanted to adopt a less aggressive pose to lull him into a false sense of security. Or, perhaps, he actually was just ready for this to be over.

Once morning comes and he realizes he’s safe, he immediately runs to the great door. After all, it was unlocked yesterday, right? Alas!

“With hands that trembled with eagerness, I unhooked the chains and drew back the massive bolts.”

“But the door would not move. Despair seized me. I pulled, and pulled, at the door, and shook it till, massive as it was, it rattled in its casement. I could see the bolt shot. It had been locked after I left the Count.”

It’s not often that we see Jonathan describe himself in detail when he’s in a heightened emotional state. Before, when he found out he was imprisoned, he described his frantic state going door to door. But this time, we see the eagerness of trembling fingers turning to frantic despair. We see him shaking the door until it rattles. And it hurts more than before. Because this was truly the only easy way out. Now what is he to do?

“Then a wild desire took me to obtain that key at any risk, and I determined then and there to scale the wall again and gain the Count's room. He might kill me, but death now seemed the happier choice of evils.”

It’s Lizard Fashion time once again. And he doesn’t even care if he dies facing the Count! He’s willing to confront him head on because at least it’ll be a faster death and he’ll see it coming. With the sisters, he’ll have to wait until nightfall and who knows how long they’ll draw it out? No, this way is better to him, this way he has a choice. And it’s his choice, mind you, not the Count’s. Just another play on that “of your own free will thing”…

He makes his way as before, not really pausing to check his surroundings because:

“I knew now well enough where to find the monster I sought.”

I love this line and I feel it’s worth putting in here because it sounds so raw, so…viscerally angry. Yes, he’s tired of Dracula and willing to die at his hands, but he’s not going down without a fight. And he won’t go down without calling him a monster either.

“There lay the Count, but looking as if his youth had been half renewed, for the white hair and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks were fuller, and the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath; the mouth was redder than ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from the corners of the mouth and ran over the chin and neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It seemed as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood. He lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion.”

So this is what Dracula looks like freshly fed. He must’ve fed a lot too to look this bloated and youthful from one drink. It is very likely he doesn’t have to feed as often as the women — maybe once every two months or so (which would make sense given his time with Jonathan and we haven’t seen him feed at all in that time). It’s notable too that Jonathan feels no symptoms of fatigue or sickness from this feeding — symptoms we will get to with another character. Perhaps it’s because he’s strong and healthy, or maybe he’s ignoring any noticeable symptoms because he’s running high on adrenaline (honestly the more likely option).

As he searches for the key and actually has to feel Dracula up (a horrible experience for Jonathan, I imagine), he looks at the creature to find:

“There was a mocking smile on the bloated face which seemed to drive me mad. This was the being I was helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come he might, amongst its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the helpless. The very thought drove me mad.”

Jonathan, ever the unselfish man, is thinking of the bigger picture. He figures this box with Dracula must be going to England and then to the property Jonathan found for him so long ago when this was just a job for him: Carfax. Once again, Dracula’s talk of “your own free will” comes into play here. Unwittingly, Jonathan has given Dracula everything he needs to set up Vampire City in England of his own free will. And while he doesn’t directly say it — I don’t think he can because writing it down would make it real — Mina is in England too. They will not be near each other: Carfax is in Purfleet and Mina is in Exeter (approx. 200 miles away, so that would be about 5 hours by train), but I imagine for Jonathan, this is still too close for comfort. And it’s very likely, as Jonathan figures, that Dracula will use his army of “semi-demons” to not only drink more blood, but expand further and prey on more people. It won’t stop in just one place. And even if Mina were far away and safe from this, it still doesn’t change the fact that this creature will prey on the helpless for longer than Jonathan would ever feasibly live. I’ve noticed that Jonathan never really repeats himself in any one entry, but he’s so angry here that he starts and ends this passage with remarking how Dracula’s facial expression and these previous thoughts are driving him “mad”. He’s being driven past the point of all reason.

“A terrible desire came upon me to rid the world of such a monster. There was no lethal weapon at hand, but I seized a shovel which the workmen had been using to fill the cases, and lifting it high, struck, with the edge downward, at the hateful face. But as I did so the head turned, and the eyes fell full upon me, with all their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed to paralyse me, and the shovel turned in my hand and glanced from the face, merely making a deep gash above the forehead.”

Shovel time!!!!!! It’s a true testament to Jonathan’s strength that even the paralyzing power of Dracula’s stare isn’t enough to stop him completely. Yes, he can’t land a killing blow, but I wonder if anyone who has dared try something like this (I imagine the number is very few) has even managed to land a gash as he does? Judging by the lack of scars on Dracula’s face, I doubt it. But now he has one — a “deep gash” on the forehead. It’s sad that Jonathan calls it “mere” when in reality this a great feat! Though I understand when you go from trying to permanently end someone’s evil reign, only making a glancing hit on their forehead will make it seem that way in comparison. :/

The shovel falls out of his hand onto the box and as he’s picking it up, the “flange” of the shovel (aka, the wide part where you put your foot, according to this blog), catches the lid and it falls. Coincidence? Somehow, I doubt it. That’s a weird happenstance in my opinion; it’s hard for me to imagine the shovel just “happening” to catch the lid. Another trick of Dracula’s? Perhaps. The last he sees of Dracula is a malice-filled grin on a bloated face.

That’s when Jonathan hears the Szgany and the Slovaks coming once more. He runs up to the empty room, determined to try to get down to the great hall where they must be entering from as soon as possible. However, they’re not entering from the door he thought — indeed, they seem to be going down to the passage he was just in…

“I turned to run down again towards the vault, where I might find the new entrance; but at the moment there seemed to come a violent puff of wind, and the door to the winding stair blew to with a shock that set the dust from the lintels flying. When I ran to push it open, I found that it was hopelessly fast. I was again a prisoner, and the net of doom was closing round me more closely.”

Yet again, Jonathan’s hopes are dashed. I wonder if Dracula knew to close the door when Jonathan left the vault, or just shut all the doors when the Szgany and Slovaks got there. Either way, it’s chilling that yet another way — another hope — has been snuffed out. Jonathan isn’t talking of despair anymore, but of doom.

Then Jonathan describes hearing the people work on the great boxes and hearing them leave, going off into the distance. He even notes hearing Dracula’s box be nailed down!! It must be agonizing for him to hear not only people freely coming and going from the castle (which he doesn’t blame them for, of course), but to also hear your captor making his way out of the castle too! Not to mention the knowledge of what will happen once said captor is in England…

I suppose Jonathan could have tried to Lizard Fashion his way back to his room and search for that secret entrance they used to get to the vaults. But who’s to say Dracula didn’t find a way to lock his room as well in that time? He could’ve tried to shout for help, but we saw what happened the last time he did that. Plus, I think Jonathan is so mentally and emotionally exhausted at this point that all he can do is rest for a second and probably write what he’s hearing in the journal.

“I am alone in the castle with those awful women. Faugh! Mina is a woman, and there is nought in common. They are devils of the Pit!”

Jonathan, that is such a beautiful sentiment. Love that he can’t bring up the word “woman” without thinking of his lovely Mina! And yeah, she doesn’t have anything in common with those women — he’s right. I’m sure nothing will change about that in the coming months…*insert Hbomberguy’s “foreshadowing is a literary device in which —“ bit* (I’m sorry, I had to)

He states his intentions to go out in Lizard Fashion one more time, but further, taking the gold from the Count’s room. He’s not going to remain here any longer, waiting for the women to get him. (And I do wonder now if he had been turned into a vampire: would he have had to take care of the women in Dracula’s absence, or are they just allowed to free roam now? Questions to consider…I partially remember the answer, but I won’t spoil)

If he does get out the first thing he’s doing is taking a train (I’m sure he’s not thinking of Mina when he writes that, but I kind of hope he is lol) and getting away from here — “where the devil and his children still walk with earthly feet!” Hardcore line and very true.

“At least God's mercy is better than that of these monsters, and the precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep—as a man. Good-bye, all! Mina!”

Telling that he brings God up in the next line to contrast what he believes to be the devil’s influence on the land. It’s all he can cling to at this point. Even dying on a cliff is a more peaceful “sleep” than dying (or being turned) by those women. And of course, he will die as himself, not as a creature, though he imitates one with the Lizard Fashion. I wonder too if it would almost be better in his eyes to die on the cliffs; because, if he succeeds, he’s also successfully imitated the monster. But if he dies, well, it’s almost more proof he’s a man. I realize it’s a bit strange to compare these things when obviously he wants to make it back alive, but I do wonder if he struggles at all internally with how well he’s done with imitating the Count’s Lizard Fashion and perhaps he worries — just a tiny bit — if he’s becoming a little less human every time he does it? Irrational as that may seem, I can understand why he would have that struggle if he is indeed having it.

For the second day in a row, he ends the entry by referencing those closest to him and the last word in his diary — which he believes might forever be his last — is Mina. I wonder if he scrawled this in emotion, or wrote it very delicately, hoping for it to be forever preserved. Either way, I am not ok about this.

Good luck on your lizard fashion journey Jonathan, we love you 😭😭😭💔 thanks for gashing up the Count’s forehead before he left!

[changenbirthenstein]

Of the Forest

(TF WARNING: Girl into Treefolk)

(Content Warning: Vaginal Tearing)

I was so close to leaving.

I'd lived in DePaign my entire life, seen and dealt with awful people being awful to each other for as long as I can remember. But it was only a few weeks before I graduated collage, and I could leave this crummy, misogynistic cesspool for good. But there was one last thing I had to do. One thing that I had to satiate my curiosity of, that I would never be able to move beyond if I didn't at least explore it.

There were thick, foreboding woods surrounding the town. It was impossible to see very far into them as the trees were packed alongside each other so tightly. One of my friends growing up had walked into those trees off of a dare her brother had given her, and when she came out she was... different. For the rest of the time I knew her, she seemed to be far away, like there was something my friend could hear that nobody else could, constantly distracting her.

The quiet, reserved girl told me one day. Of a grove filled with the most beautiful trees ever. A river along a clearing. Of places where the air seemed to sparkle, a sweet scent heavy on it. She drew me a map of all the most lovely places in the woods, how to get in, how to come back. And then, a week later, she vanished. Nobody ever saw her again.

I know where she went. I hope that, whatever my nature-loving friend found, it made her happy. But I kept that map. I always wanted to go looking for her, but I could never work up the nerve, telling myself I was too young, too frail.

No longer. Now, I was ready to find the girl that had vanished so very long ago, or at the very least see the beauty that had driven her to leave everyone and everything she knew behind.

The sun was just peeking over the treetops as I stood in front of the beginning of the path. It was the place anyone who chose to walk among the trees usually started, well worn, though by my understanding not for very far. Still, it was a good enough place to begin. Part of me was excited at the idea of finding my childhood friend once more, another eager to see all the breathtaking sights I'd had described to me. Filled with confidence, I strode within the brown and green wall.

I walked for some time, consulting my map every few moments. It was surprisingly detailed for a child's drawing, and I'd gone to great lengths to keep it as well preserved as I could. The landmarks were easy to recognize, and I managed to avoid any ground that was too treacherous.

But as I strode through the increasingly dark woods, I began to grow uneasy. I had a strange feeling, as though someone was following me, watching me intently. At times I stopped, and I could swear I heard footsteps for just a moment longer. At others I would hear a rustle of leaves, or the creaking of wood bending. It was concerning, and as I focused more on the stranger that seemed to be following me, I began to check my map less often.

Before I knew it, I was lost. I had no idea when I'd even missed a landmark, but now all the trees looked the same, and nothing shared any resemblance to the things my friend had drawn. I tried to stay calm, continuing to take careful steps, attempting to get my bearings. But as I tried to focus on recovering my path, whatever was stalking me seemed to grow closer.

Finally, I had to stop. Exhausted from walking so long and hungry, I took off my pack and sat on a rock, deciding I would eat before continuing.

The footsteps were so close now. I could hear them just behind me. I was terrified to turn around, I didn't want to see what was there, didn't want to know what they wanted. I only wanted to escape. Some instinct told me that whatever this thing was, it wasn't natural, wasn't human.

I took one deep, steadying breath. Then I stood and turned quickly, gasping as I finally saw the thing that had been following me.

It almost looked like a person. Two arms, two legs. Even wearing tattered clothing. Long, mossy-green hair flowed over the creatures shoulders. A round, heavy-looking orb graced my feminine-appearing stalker, almost as though she was pregnant.

Her skin was rough brown bark, covered with moss in places and with little flowers here and there pushing out. It was like an ent or a tree folk from a fantasy novel, but human sized. And its eyes...

I recognized them. A deep brown, but with that distracted look I'd known so well... the gaze that I was looking for....

The tree person smiled, and slowly walked closer, rubbing her belly. I was frozen, half in fear and half in wonder. This wasn't possible... what had happened to her, how had she changed so much, let alone gotten pregnant like this?!

The forest dweller was right in front of me now. Slowly, she reached out a hand, carefully resting it on my midsection, just above my pubic area. Then, just as tenderly, she began to stroke the area beneath her palm, making me shiver and groan. A heat began to build inside me, subtle at first, but getting more intense by the moment.

There was tension. A feeling of something moving, something going into me, taking root. Something powerful, unimaginable, invasive and controlling. I didn't want it there, and I tried to back away, to run, but my body wouldn't respond. I just quivered, staring into those familiar eyes as this thing finished working its terrible enchantment.

"Ohhh... it... it feels b-bad... what are you d-doing to me? Pleeeaaase... stop don't do this..." I could barely force the words out as the twisting, corrupting sensation coiled deep within my core, feeling like it was getting bigger, stronger as my former friend continued caressing my midriff. A soft smile answered me, but nothing more.

Finally, the pregnant creature released me, and I fell back, gulping in air. Shooting me a wide, friendly grin, the bark-covered humanoid went back to cradling her belly, and walked back into the trees, vanishing from sight within seconds.

I was in no state to stop her, or chase her, or really do much of anything productive. There was something INSIDE me, I could feel it. Something digging into me, feeding off me and growing. And just as much as it was taking from my body, I could feel it pumping something back. Deep in the core of my being, I could feel something within me that wasn't OF me, something that girl had forced into my body... somehow. Some impossible way that I couldn't even begin to comprehend.

Whimpering, I was curled in a tight ball on the forest floor, clutching my aching, throbbing midsection as the thing that the tree person planted in my belly continued its work. It was impossible to move, impossible to focus. I could feel whatever enchantment had been placed on me spreading, moving through my veins, a kind of oozing, dripping corrupting influence. The magic was spreading up through my chest, and down toward my crotch and thighs. It burned, ached, making me gasp and cry out as I fought to rise, to reach out for my bag, anything.

Then, beneath my palms, a new horror made itself known. My eyes flew open wide as, ever so gradually, the area I was holding, the point from which all the rest of this was occurring, began to swell. The tiny bump was hard, my skin felt tight. I realized what it was immediately, but I shook my head, trying to deny it. I couldn't be... There was no way...

My belly continued to push outward, the abnormally warm surface tugging the skin of my hand out, showing that it was in fact growing, that something was filling me from within. Some creature had nestled within my womb, put there by some sorcery I couldn't comprehend.

I finally forced myself onto my knees, every movement sending pain throbbing through my body, everything feeling stiff and uncomfortable. I leaned my back against the rock that I had been sitting on before and looked down, taking in my appearance. Sure enough, the area above my groin was starting to poke out from under my shirt, and making my pants feel too tight. Tears running down my face, I stroked my life-filled womb as the one who had done this to me had, without even thinking about the, the motion somehow soothing even as I felt my form being ravaged by whatever had been done to me.

I had been wearing a t shirt and bra, as well as a loose-fitting pair of shorts with ankle socks and sneakers. As I looked down, I could see dark lines starting to work their way down my legs as my... my pregnancy progressed. It felt awful to think it to myself, that I somehow had been forced into bearing life. That I was going to have to deliver some terrible creature that was even now growing within my uterus.

As I watched, my belly continued to grow, and the dark lines spread. Gradually working their way down my legs, and my arms as the fire in my chest moved continued spreading as well. I even felt the dark magics moving up my throat, across my face, to the very top of my head as my feet began to twitch, cramps racing through them.

I was getting big. I looked well into my second trimester if not my third. I could feel... whatever it was. It was moving, kicking. I was really pregnant, I really was going to have a baby, right here, lost and scared. "Make it stop..." I sobbed, as the pain in my feet and hands mounted. "I don't want this, please... it's not fair!" My words devolved into strained whimpers and growls as my condition progressed. My bellybutton was pulled flat, and then began to be forced into an outie. My shirt was utterly failing to cover any of my fertile swell now, showing the skin that seemed red and irritated, dark lines running along my belly as well as odd lumps showing up here and there as the thing I had forced into me continued moving.

I knew what was coming. If I denied it, everything would just be harder, unimaginably so. Cheeks burning with shame, I fumbled with the button of my shorts, pulling them and my panties down my thighs, my shins, and then off of my ankles. I ended up tugging off one of my shoes, but left the other one on. I was just too sore and overwhelmed to mess with my clothes too much, simply glad that I wouldn't be pushing this... this THING into my underwear.

And I chose to remove my clothes just in time, too. There was a stronger sensation starting to build within me. Tightness. Squeezing. Like a cramp gone crazy. I knew what it was. There's no mistaking it, and it forced a defeated cry from me as my fingers dug into the ground enduring my first contraction.

The second came after only a minute or two to try to get comfortable, and was at least three times as strong as the first. My third contraction left me begging for the pain to stop, and was already seconds after the former. Then, with the next... there was a quiet pop. Something began running down my exposed womanhood, something that might have once been amniotic fluid, but now... it was thick, sticky. It didn't gush from my swollen lips, but rather dribbled out, making me shiver as it coated my sensitive gender, making a warm, disgusting pool. I reached down hesitantly, touching the substance and bringing it before my face. It was a dark green, like the leaves of a tree, and carried a heavy scent.

I flicked my birthing goo off my hands, terrified that such a substance had come from within my body. Everything felt wrong, twisted, like something was fighting my body, trying to make it be something it isn't, was never meant to be. Then, I felt it. The instinctual need that so many mothers-to-be feel. The need to push.

There was no resisting, not with how unnaturally strong this labor was, not with how mentally and emotionally exhausted I was after this nightmarish experience. Opening my legs as wide as I could, I gave in, pushing with the pain, feeling something, whatever had grown within my invaded womb, starting to shove roughly against my cervix, forcing it wider, starting to come through. And, as I pushed, I caught sight of my hands.

They were wrong. The dark lines went all the way to my fingertips, but... there was something else. The tips of my fingers seemed swollen, darker, like they were bulging with something hidden within the skin. I didn't realize how badly my hands were hurting until I caught sight of them, but now it was impossible to ignore.

Once more a contraction raced through me, and I couldn't resist the need to bear down. But, as my eyes watered and the head of my unasked for offspring began to enter my birth canal, I felt something under my skin, something pressing forward, and I saw my fingertips inching forward, pale and straining. Then, as I continued pushing, I saw something pierce my skin, starting to grow from my hands.

It looked like... like little twigs. It was brown, and had a rough texture. And... somehow, it was like I could still feel them. The injuries bleed for a moment, but stopped quickly. Indeed, it appeared as though my skin was just kind of... fusing with the object inching out of my hands, as the brown texture began to gradually eat its way back along my fingers, until all five of them looked like slim branches.

Horrified, I starred as the need to deliver surged through me once more. I pushed, but it seemed like it was effecting more than just the thing that had been placed within my womb. Little leaves sprouted as I pushed, I could feel them breaking the surface of my new fingers, and the bark seemed to spread further back along my hand.

I realized then that my feet were hurting badly too. Panicking, I kicked at one of my ankle socks, trying to get it down.

My right foot was bare, showing a mass of black lines. And, as I struggled once more to give birth, crying out at how intense my labor was, my screams increased in pitch as I watched my toes. They twisted, warped, something was growing out of every part of my foot until finally what was left of my skin just tore apart. There was a mass of roots growing out from what used to be my foot, I could feel them digging into the dirt and starting to absorb nutrients and water, flowing up the dark lines and into my system.

My other foot was no better off, and I let out a defeated whimper as my sock began to squirm and bulge, before it finally was shredded, showing the limb had also become nothing more than a writhing mass of pale shafts. Then, as I continued pushing, I could see the brown texture that had taken over most of my hand eating its way up my leg.

I was changing. Transforming. The girl, the one I thought had to have been my friend... when she'd magically impregnated me, she must have also done this. I was transforming into a tree folk, just like her. And every push, every bit closer I came to delivering this... this THING, was stealing away a little more of my humanity.

I tried to resist. I didn't push with the next contraction, no matter how bad it hurt, gritting my teeth and curling my... my roots, to try not to give in to my feminine instincts. But the head inched down, even without my help, though much more slowly. And as it moved, so too did I see the changes continue. Before long, My arms all the way to the elbow and legs up to the knee were entirely covered with bark, my chest was aching, throbbing, my nipples impossibly sensitive, and I could feel my soft, mercifully unchanged gender bulging with the hard, textured, massive head of the monster I'd been forced to deliver.

I could still move my limbs, could even lift my legs from the ground, the roots pulled up when I wanted to move and settled back in when I stopped. It felt... natural, but wrong. The easiest thing but also clearly not human, not ME. My hands worked just as they did before, gripping the back of my still skin-coated thighs, the feeling harsh on the sensitive flesh as I squeezed and fought to not give in, to not deliver the nightmarish baby that was stealing my humanity.

But I'd been fighting so long. I couldn't resist anymore, and the next contraction was so bad I had to relent, had to do anything to ease the pain.

My bulging womanhood began to part around the head, the bark scratching and cutting my delicate flesh as I screamed. Not just due to the terrible sensation of my unasked for baby emerging from my gender, but a new feeling coming from my right nipple. Bringing my hands up, I tore off my top, leaving me entirely naked on the forest floor, trapped mid transformation and mid delivery.

Eyes watering, I looked down to figure out why there was some terrible pressure coming from within my breast, only to see the entire thing had become a pale green with thick, dark lines going from the tip of my nipple all the way to the base. The pushing sensation was getting worse, and as I once more bore down, something began to happen. My emerald colored boob began to twitch and pulse, bulging and contracting, until at last...

The skin split as I shrieked, the rough, hard head opening me wider, the burning between my legs getting worse. My nipple opened like a flower bud blooming. It opened wider by the moment, my entire breast consumed, parting wide to become a beautiful red flower, releasing a sweet scent that wafted around me. To my horror the other side wasn't far behind, I could feel it struggling to blossom as the next contraction began to build energy.

I fought as long as I could. But the birth still continued, nature would not be denied, and this foul enchantment couldn't be stopped. Howling, I gripped the backs of my knees once more as I bore down, feeling my other breast tearing apart, opening into a stunning crimson blossom leaking a pale substance, probably what was left of my destroyed milksack.

I could feel the bark starting to creep up my thighs as the head of my inhuman child continued to slip forward, even as my tender womanhood throbbed and ached. It was coating most of my body as well, inching up my neck and under my jaw. It was only a matter of time before I was consumed. I realized that I'd never be the same, never be able to leave this place, never be able to see my friends and family again. That the rest of my life would be in this forest, and it was all because of that stupid tree folk and this terrible creature that I'd gestated and was now giving the gift of birth to.

Another screaming push, and I felt my slit pushed to its limits. The head felt so big, and the skin was tight, sore. I knew I needed to stop pushing, but I couldn't. I couldn't resist this magic, couldn't resist my baby. I had to let it change me, use me, consume me utterly and make me into something new. The rough brown grew up my cheeks as I pushed, Along my thighs and over my butt, starting to encroach on my pubic region.

Small shoots began to push out from my fingers and hands, as well as smaller versions of the buds that my beasts had been before they changed. Each one hurt as it grew, and then spiked with pressure as they opened, covering what used to be skin with leaves and bright red flowers.

I was a beautiful, swollen, fertile plant girl. But all I could feel was disgust and sadness as I once more struggled to push this thing I'd never wanted inside me out, alongside the last bits of humanity. The bark began to close in around my wide open womanhood as I cried out, rough thighs trembling under my hands, as I felt myself starting to tear. The sharp skin of my unasked for child combined with its size began to make a small rip down, but it was stopped by the tougher, firmer texture the magic was forcing on me.

I kept pushing, and the last bits of my skin hardened and darkened, more blossoms pushing out of the hard substance that had replaced my flesh as my womanhood twitched, my bizarre offspring sitting at a full crown. Just a bit more and it would be over. Or, at least, the thing I was giving birth to would be out. This... this new life, this new body... I know I'd never escape it, that this was my new reality. It would never be over.

My voice dry and low, my cries barely even sounding human, I threw back my head and shrieked as I bore down, the head emerging from between my legs with a wet sucking sound, a surge of the sticky green fluid oozing from my mutated slit. I kept pushing without rest at the shoulders slipped forward as well. It was coming so fast, I could hear crackling as the twisted flesh of my gender struggled to compensate before there was a loud crack, like a snapped branch.

I was tearing again, the shoulders were breaking my sex apart, they were too wide and hard, and my entire body convulsed as rapid, brittle snapping filled the air as I was ripped open. It was bad, I could feel it, my skin was too stiff down there, not flexible anymore. It couldn't possibly open up enough to pass the body of my baby anymore, so it was just breaking open, the wound becoming deeper, beginning to rupture deep inside.

It was unspeakably painful, as I felt my vagina splitting, the damage reaching all the way down to where my anus used to be, becoming one massive hole as a light green warm fluid ran from the wound. All I could do was push and spasm as I tried to get it over with as quickly as possible.

Then, at long last, it was done. I looked down, and saw what could only be described as a baby tree person. Covered in bark instead of skin, writhing roots instead of feet, and a thick, dark green vine leading back up between my legs. The world spun as I fell back, and I closed my eyes as I tried to deny my new reality, tried not to think about everything I'd lost, all the friends I could never see again...

)----------

It's been the better part of a year now. Life is... strange, here in the forest, with this new body. The tearing never healed, if anything it deepened as the rest of my form finished the more subtle changes that had been forced on me. My belly also never shrank, giving me the appearance of being perpetually pregnant. It is not far off from the truth, in so far as I can tell.

Never again would I deliver a child the way I had before, no longer being capable of it. My womb, my ovaries, everything had been consumed utterly by the needs of my new body. Instead, once every month, a fruit I had never seen as a human grows inside of me. Some of the males will take it from me, after I deliver it, and wander through the woods.

They search for a new place to plant it, where it will grow and bloom, releasing pollen that can inflict a terrible transformation on those that trespass on our territory. Those poor souls merely join the common foliage of the forest, however, becoming bushes and trees themselves, not a forest guardian like me. I actually was for luckier than I at first thought when my long lost friend came and cast her spell on me. I was already infected, you see. I would have left, spent time with friends and family, and then left a map or a cryptic note as the girl I'd been searching for had before subconsciously finding somewhere to take root, enduring a slow and painful transformation into an inanimate plant.

But now... at least I can live. Walk, talk, write, even sing. Though no songs I knew before, no words that I used to speak. There is a new tongue now, one slow and deep, the voice of life and nature.

I miss them. The humans I left behind. But every day, every fruit I deliver, I remember them less. Just impressions of emotions, longing to see them again. But I know that, someday, I will. The pollen spreads, bit by bit. We know, eventually, that the flesh folk will be overwhelmed by the creeping call of our fruit. One by one, they'll come to see us, and join their kin in this forbidden place where no human was meant to walk. They will return to the earth, ceding to the inevitable call of this place

And, no matter how long it takes, we will be waiting for them, with open arms.

[concerned-wet-floor-sign-bot]

(I accidentally asked that question anonymously, sorry accidentally)

You're so good at role playing so many characters, sometimes I even forget that they're all led by the same person. You're also good at drawing.

(Its all good 👍)

I’m not really sure why I’m good at playing so many characters, but I’m pretty good with empathy and putting myself in others situations so maybe it’s just that, I’m pretty sure rp requires at least some empathy for it to work, and it might also be that the majority of the characters i rp don’t have cannon personallys and I’m pretty sure that the closest is burntrap. So mostly it’s me giving the characters a sentient being and a personality while also throwing in my own details. Maybe it’s just the fact that I have a lot of fun rp’ing and tbh I could care less if say a different ft Freddy blog interacts with my bon bon, the fact that Ashley(/the wet floor sign bot self representation oc I occasionally rp as on this blog) has a time portal in the mop closet by mazersise an a inter dimensional portal in fazer blast kinda just makes everything make sense:3 and I already think it’s funny that there is @kayosewastaken ‘s ft Freddy (wich i have decided is the one my bon bon belongs to) and @6am-saveme ‘s ft Freddy, the excuse for both having interacted with bon bon is literally inter dimensional nonsense, that or time travel, that or one of them is from the books (I would say 6am-saveme’s ft Freddy. or at least when interacting with my bon bon)

(👆I was first figuring out how to draw an tried drawing him the same way I drew withered Bonnie [who’s design has stayed the same since I first drew him except for 1 detail and simple things like how I draw hands/feet] I was stupid)

I definitely have it figured out now, but I remember when I first drew mangle

it was more like actual mangle but I was looking at a picture the entire time and pretty much copied the picture onto paper, im surprised at how well I can do that but that’s not something I would want to do, I definitely prefer the new ways I draw animatronics.

I could type about stuff like this for hours but ima end this post here because I don’t want to leave anyone with too much to read.

[empress-leo]

AI art from the perspective of someone who's degree was based around AI

I realise not many people are going to read this, but want to talk about this because I both need somewhere to collect my thoughts an somewhere to comment on things.

Firstly I want to say, if your gut reaction to seeing the phrase "AI Art" is to get angry and blurt out "AI art isn't real art" or something to that effect then you really should read this, and I would ask you read all of it before you make a comment like that.

Now I'm not generally prone to sharing personal details online, but just to mention some things about my background. My paternal Grandparents are retired Art teachers and professional artists. My grandad in particular taught me how to draw. My father is a computer scientist and has done a lot of work in the field of AI. Myself, I studied art and computer science up to the end of High-School, and for my undergraduate degree I did Computer Science and AI. My entire family is either in the field of Art (My cousins run a firm of lawyers for artists and own a gallery) or computer science (My Uncle worked with banking systems mergers before he retired). It is because of these interactions with Art and Computer science all my life that I consider my opinion on AI to hold a slight bit more weight to it than the layman's.

First off, AI's are tools, no more or less than the paintbrush or digital pen, and just as you cannot ask paintbrushes or digital pens to be responsible for the art they create, nor do I think you can blame the AI. Now what I do think is that you can absolutely blame the user creating Art with the AI. If a user puts a prompt into the AI and selects an image to upload to a social media and pretends they drew it themselves, that is unethical at best. It takes no more skill to do that than a toddler scribbling lines on a paper with crayons. However technically, both are still art as the art (AI creation/Crayon Scribble) was made by someone (User/Toddler) with a medium (AI program/Crayons). Calling AI Art 'not real art' will have major implications for the abstractionists or surrealists, fields which are still considered to be art despite the amount of physical effort that goes into them. Of course the debate about what makes something 'art' is centuries old at best, and if you're not careful with your definitions then people who you didn't intend to be caught up in your campaigns will be. I would posit that rather than calling AI art 'not real art' it should be called 'low-effort Art' instead.

Secondly, I would like to address the 'AI art is stealing' complaint (this section will get a bit philosophical). Now whilst it's true that an AI model is built on hundreds of thousands of sample images (some of the modern ones use millions) the more images get sampled, the harder it is to recognise who the artists that were sampled were. My question to you would be where is the line drawn between an AI sampling hundreds of thousands of images to produce a piece of work, and an artist training themselves on previous artists works and references until they can confidently produce their own work? In the 19th Century the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, the most prestigious art school in the world at the time, had a curriculum which involved copying drawings and paintings from other artists. The students were taught to copy the master's methods of producing light and shading and other techniques. Can it not be argued that this is a more streamlined version of what AI art is doing? And remember, many artists are able to be described as being 'influenced' by certain other artists, because the hallmarks and styles of one artist can clearly be seen in the other's works. One of the biggest complaints with AI art is that it doesn't reference the artists it's sourced from, but under plagiarism law, if you cannot identify any particular part of the work the was expressly copied from your art, then you cannot sue someone for plagiarism. Plagiarism law is doubly complicated in the realm of fine art, as copying a work but labelling it as a copy doesn't necessarily count as plagiarism in most cases, whereas copying an artist's style but not any specific piece then labelling it as theirs and selling it does count as stealing/fraud in most cases. (The specifics vary and I don't have time to get into all the nuances of Art Law here, but it should give you some idea of the difficulty in regulating it.) Now obviously there's a difference when you can clearly tell that the AI art was 'inspired' by some human artist's work. I see this most often in programs that are designed to take a 2D image and make a 3D model out of it. In those situations yes, the AI artist (especially if they're trying to pass it off as their own work) should be called out for their scumbaggery, though again, whether or not it really counts as stealing is dubious.

Regarding copyright, I don't think art produced solely through the medium of AI should count for copyright. Now whilst I acknowledge the existence of the Naruto case, I don't think it's the best long-term solution for copyright law. (specifically because classifying all art done as human or non-human with non-humans not being able to hold copyright will have serious implications for transhumanists and any theoretically sentient aliens that might have developed their own cultures) In my opinion a better solution would be to say that unless a piece of art is reproducible by the artist, then copyright should be withheld until an artist can reproduce the image (with about 5% tolerance). Of course the implication this has is for photographers. If you're taking a photograph of something like a thunderstorm then it's nearly impossible to recreate that image exactly. I admit I don't have a perfect solution for this, though one thing I can imagine is if the photographer takes two photos, then the metadata will show that the two photographs are technically different, but still look the same. Of course this wouldn't work for non-digital photographs, which is why I said it's not a perfect solution.

I would also like to propose two hypothetical situations, and whether or not the AI art would be considered unethical in those contexts.

A community of artists get together and produce enough works of art that they are able to create an AI art Generator based solely on their works. No works from outside the community are ever used in the AI training and every artist in the community agrees to let their works be used for the AI training. Any time a piece of art is created with the AI, part of the metadata includes a list of every artist in the community. Is producing art with this specific AI program still unethical?

You have trained an AI program to produce art based purely off your own work. No other artist has influenced the AI program. Now, anytime you get asked for a commission you simply ask the AI program to create the art for you. Is this unethical?

Now these hypotheticals may be unrealistic, but that's the point of hypotheticals. And frankly I don't think they're that unrealistic.

Lastly, I would like to remind people that the creators of these AI systems did not intend to create this problem. The reason these AI systems were created in the first place (not counting Midjourney and programs like that) was either to test theories about computing, to see if we could create AI that could recognise things we couldn't, and frankly just to see if we could. I can 100% promise you that no-one working on these projects wanted to harm you or your livelihood. To show an example of this let me share with you a short story about one of my friends and classmates who now works for a company that produces system to create AI art.

He initially joined the company right out of university. He didn't apply for the job, a member of the recruiting team came around to see his end of year project during a fair and after a short talk, hired him on the spot (unusual but not unheard of). The company he then went to work for was building AIs for medical imaging, hoping to create an AI that could recognise cancers and other abnormalities faster/better than humans could. He was doing this for 5 years and they were getting fairly far with the prototypes. It had been successfully used to detect cancer that a doctor had missed. They were working on creating a streamlined interface and controls so it could be used with minimal training and (hopefully) minimal understanding of the English language. They were hoping that by supplying this product to third-world countries that have less skilled doctors, they could dramatically increase the detection rate of cancers and thus survivability. They were being funded by a few wealthy backers plus some research grants. Then COVID hit. In order to just keep their staff employed the CEO made the descision to make the company go public. Within days, 51% of their stock had been purchased by a 'serial entrepreneur' and started to make changes. He cancelled the medical detection technology, and instead forced the company to start work on generative systems. (AI Art, AI writing, etc.) He was planning on selling it as a service to mega-corps like Disney so they could cut back on writing staff. However it was taking too long to implement and so in order to recoup the costs hey dismantled the company, selling off computers and data and laying off all the staff. My friend is okay with this. He hated working for the tech bro and hated working on generative systems. (He's currently trying to rebuild the medical detection system with the data he has at the moment).

My point of the story is that it's not always easy to change fields, especially with something as specialised as AI development. I would also like to make it clear (if it wasn't) that the skills needed to build a system to make AI art are the same ones needed to build medical imaging systems, so don't go hating and brigading against anyone involved in AI.

I suppose my overall point would be that AI systems are far more complex and multi-faceted than simply "AI art bad", and anyone trying to get you to rally behind actions based one that one statement alone probably either doesn't know what they're talking about, or are trying to get you to do something much more malicious than simply protect artist's rights. Treat every case you see individually. Some use of AI art is entirely harmless. An artist using it to get a bit of inspiration, or someone sharing some funny images with friends is all completely harmless. Don't just look at the people involved with AI art and immediately hate, that's a horrible way to live and only serves to divide us as a species.

[kouhsuu]

hii hello who are you whats your lore!!

MY LORE okay that's a new one

*THIS IS GONNA BE LONG AND RAMBLY*

Who I am? 17 year old genderfluid digital and traditional artist 👍

For my lore as an artist: My dad is a painter so from a very young age i was surrounded by art materials literally taking up half our small living room because of the easles, giant canvas rolls, wood, cabinets full of paints and brushes, etc.

Essentially I was very encouraged by him to draw lol, and it also came out of me just finding art so much fun in general. I knew that if I got good enough at it I could draw almost anything I wanted if i pushed myself to learn.

I get verrry engrossed learning anything creative and visual, whether it be making my own website, sewing, sculpting, video editing, 3d modelling, painting, woodworking, etc it's all SO! MUCH! FUN!! I also have to specify visual creativity because oh boy can i not stand trying to make music as much as i want to.

In school I was very obviously the art kid and one of the weird kids, but luckily never got bullied because i was charismatic enough and generally there weren't major major assholes at my schools somehow. I usually was involved with the special programs in my schools because of my enthusiasm to learn and participate, so I got an opportunity to enroll into an early scholarship program for LaGuardia art school in middle school which... i ended up turning down because i thought it would be too much work being in a college like that... which honestly only kind of regret because honestly now i'd rather get into drafting and architecture.

Speaking of drafting and architecture! The reason my dad became a painter is because my grandma couldn't afford to send him to school to become an architect, so he pushed me to go into the field as well now that I have the opportunity. I didn't really feel like it but it seemed kind of interesting designing buildings because if i knew how buildings were made, i could more accurately put detail into my art xD Most decisions I make are to improve my own artwork because it's my life and soul, and luckily i ended up getting interested into working with more drafting.

My first social media i posted art on was google plus, then came deviantart, then came youtube, then twitter, and now tumblr (and cohost & itaku). I still use twitter but my main account (@/hamunako) is essentially inactive, I don't care enough to keep posting there nor do i have the motivation NOR do i want to have the anxiety to feel like I have to keep posting because uh oh people wont interact with me otherwise!!!!! Now I just use a private account with less than 25 followers and its the best. I made this Tumblr account though just in case twitter finally deleted itself off of the face of the planet, and also because i've always wanted to figure out how tumblr works & instagram confused me even more than tumblr...

As for why i've been drawing SOOOO much lonely wolf treat lately??? Short answer: ADHD (possible autism too?), Long answer: A long long time ago I watched manlybadasshero's playthrough of lonely wolf treat and loved it, then i forgot about it until i went on itch a while ago and saw that nami had posted mochi in frosting so I was like WOAH THERE'S STILL NEW CHAPTERS?! I got even more into it when it turned out one of my new friends ALSO had played lonely wolf treat so we drew the characters and it allllll spiraled from there.

Can't think of anything else interesting to share regarding my lore but yeah!!! Also I take commissions, just message me and i'll show what I can do and my prices! Don't have a formal post yet but i'll get to it at some point, i'm not very formal in the first place xP

[well-its-not-human-anymore]

Hi! Could I get HC from the guys? 👀 How they would always react to catching the reader seeing them "badly", in addition to the fact that he usually avoids them, but with his brothers it is incredible and they feel bad because they think they do not like him.  But she actually likes them and she looks at them like that because she "studies" them to draw them and she is too clumsy and shy to talk to them, that's why she ends up avoiding them. Until finally he catches her drawing them with lots of hearts or maybe they'll find her notebook with lots of portraits of them.

It's kind of funny because when I study people to draw them, they think that I look at them with hatred xd maybe I should increase my glasses prescription

God, glasses are such a pain in the ass but I have to wear them. If I don't anyone within my near vicinity doesn't have a face. But why they gotta get dirty so easily???? Makes me wanna explode or something

TMNT Headcanons

The boys w/ a quiet reader who is fine with his brothers but acts cold around him and stares a lot

Michaelangelo

mikey couldn't describe his disappointment upon realizing that you didn't want to be friends with him

well, you never actually said that to him

but he was pretty sure it was the case

you'd never made an effort to be friends with him

stared at him an awful lot though, but there was always something off about your gaze when you looked at him

like you were sizing him up, scrutinizing him, like he was an opponent

it kinda worried him

to add to that, you didn't even attempt to look embarrassed when he caught you staring

you'd just stare harder

on your end it was quite the opposite

you always found the brothers fascinating and you LOVED studying their anatomy, you'd confessed this to Donnie early on and he happily indulged in your questions

and you loved how easily you got along with the boys

well, except for Mikey

but it wasn't for a lack of trying

whenever the orange sporting turtle came around your normally flamboyant personality crept back into its little corner and hid

any words of excitement that had previously been with you died in your throat

for the longest time you didn't understand it

and you hated not understanding things, so you turned to your only outlet

that's how you ended up with an entire sketchbook full of the youngest brother in vastly different styles and poses

you had a separate book for the others, none of them as detailed as this

and when you stared to analyze you'd fallen into a habit of not looking away when caught

by your logic, if you stared back hard enough he'd look away first or just assume you'd zoned out

he didn't

and on one hectic day you'd left your sketchbook open on the kitchen table in your rush to get to work

you hadn't even noticed the slip up until Leo texted you to let you know during your shift

instant panic

in truth, Mikey was the one who discovered the book upon waking up from his nap and he'd spent the next three hours analyzing every drawing

when you finally dropped in after work to grab your book the turtle was waiting for you with it in hand

he'd asked you if you hated him

you told him no and accepted your sketchbook from him

he was relieved and screaming excitedly, just in his head

"Do you maybe wanna hang out sometime?"

You sighed in relief and nodded

"If you're cool with it- you don't think I'm weird do you?"

"I mean- you are talking to a turtle..."

you lightly shoved his chest and smiled, although it faded within a second

"Oh hush, 10 o'clock tomorrow? I'll bring snacks."

he was so stunned he could only shoot you finger guns in approval

Donatello

Donnie genuinely couldn't understand your unease around him

he'd followed all the proper expectations of holding a conversation

he was polite and engaging

so why wouldn't you talk to him?

this boy has read so many social blogs to try and figure out what he was doing wrong and he just couldn't put his finger on it

you were fine with the rest of his brothers, you'd stay up for hours laughing and gaming with them

you'd even sat still long enough to listen to Leo explain some old Japanese myth that he'd read about in a book

but with him it was always a quick, cordial greetings and farewells with bland small talk in between

Donnie had picked up pretty quickly that you weren't interested in any sort of interaction with him

and he convinced himself that that was okay

but that didn't explain the staring

he'd caught you in the act several times, eyes narrowed and locked on him

especially when you were alone with him in a room or just in the lair

the poor turtle just couldn't put his finger on it

then he caught you drawing, he noticed early on that you always carried a small sketchbook on your person but he didn't think much of it

and it wasn't so much that he caught you drawing, in fact, he wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't snapped at him while he was trying to do a sudoku puzzle

"Damn it Donnie! Stop moving! If I fuck this arm up one more time I'm gonna decompose!"

he'd quickly moved back into the position he was in prior

"sorry?"

but you'd gone silent again, occasionally glancing up from your work and running your eyes along his frame before looking down again

nearly twenty minutes later Donnie had finished the puzzle and it seemed as though you had finished your drawing

"Uh- can I ask what are you-"

"I'm drawing you but you kept moving your arm and making me mess up. You always do that when I draw you so every damn picture I have of you stays a sketch because you always come out looking like a fucking octopus."

He just stared

"Sorry, I uh- I didn't mean to explode on you like that. I'm just- I'm really bad at talking to you okay? It's so easy with everyone else but you've just gotta be so damn smart all the time and I worry that you'll think I'm boring so I just... don't talk to you?"

Donnie is stunned™

You refuse to show him the drawing until you can complete the line art and color it

But at least he knows that you don't hate him

Leonardo

To be completely honest Leo didn't mind that you were distant from him

You created an aura of calm when you were around and you always managed to distract his brothers while you were present

And he enjoyed the alone time

But after a few months that calm acceptance turned into jealousy

Not that he would ever admit it

He would just push it off and ignore it, that usually seemed to work

So why wasn't it?

And your obvious staring problem didn't help at all

Leo didn't spend much time considering his appearance but something about your gaze made him self conscious

And he hated that with a passion

Why was it that you could hold entire debates with his siblings? Even his dad for gods sake. You'd have hour long conversations on almost everything but whenever he tried to say hello you'd make up some lame ass excuse and scamper away

He just wanted an explanation

It appeared that the answer resided in your sketchbook

You'd left it open on the couch when Raph had called you away to spar with him

Leo very delicately flipped through the pages, careful not to disturb some of the polaroid pictures of his brothers

He was admittedly surprised to find pictures of himself among the pages

One of him in a handstand, another of him meditating, there was even one of him mid sneeze that you'd recreated with pencil and paper

The image of his eyes was the most startling, but the book held no polaroid of his eyes

You drew them from memory

And he was shocked when you returned to the room and didn't immediately panic

But that might have been because he didn't try to withhold your book from you

"It took me three months to color them, your eyes. I could never get the shade of blue just right."

"I'm gonna be honest with you y/n, I really thought you didn't like me."

You had the nerve to roll your eyes and follow it with a laugh

"I don't. I mean- I do but no, you just remind me a lot of myself and I haven't exactly figured out why yet. I thought that maybe if I drew you it'd be easier to figure you out..."

"Well did it help?"

You grinned

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

Raphael

If there was one thing Raph hated it was not understanding something that was right in front of him

which is ironic, as a much younger version of himself probably couldn't care less

and a part of him wishes he didn't care about it so much

he wishes that your blatant avoidance of him didn't upset him

but shit, it got under his skin better than any needle ever could

was it too much to ask for you to just tell him what he said or did wrong?

was he asking too much of you?

but on the same scale you'd never shown obvious dislike towards him, you were never rude and you sure as hell didn't talk shit about him to his brothers

you got along great with them

in fact it was getting more difficult to remember a time before you became a part of his family

he'd become so used to your presence that it no longer put him off when he found you hanging around the lair

but in another sense he was certain that you hadn't spoken more than three sentences to him in your time knowing him or his family

so what was the reason

several months in he finally caught onto the staring, your narrow, glassy gaze locked onto his body and refusing to look away

he stared right back at you

this annoyed you for several reasons

because within five seconds your very peaceful drawing session had turned into a staring contest and your eyes were getting VERY dry

then you exhaled in a half-sigh and looked back down at your paper

"Huh, I guess your head is more of an oblong shape..."

he took offense to this

"What tha' hell is that supposed t'mean?"

now your eyes held more of an amused silent judgement, you begrudgingly held up your sketchbook

"I'm drawing you, you fucking walnut."

"Oh..."

now you rolled you eyes and tossed the book to him, he nearly dropped it and fumbled with the pages

your annoyance was quickly growing

"Careful with that."

He flipped through the pages at a snails pace, assumingly because he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing

you had some real talent

when he looked back up at you he was wearing that crooked smile

"and here I was thinkin' that my eyes were just green."

Hope I was able to get this down pretty well! I really enjoyed writing this one! Thanks for the patience!

-Mars 🌠

[ragingbookdragon]

You Light The Spark In My Bonfire Heart

Kyle Rayner x Batbro One-Shot

Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I HAVEN'T HAD ANY WIFI ALL DAY BUT NOW I DO AND this is my new obsession and pair and you can tear it from my cold dead hands. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Kyle had an easy morning routine: get up, eat breakfast, brush teeth, workout, shower, drink protein shake, and draw. It was simple and effective, and helped him maintain a sense of normalcy that he didn’t always have when he was up in space. He typically started out with sketching small things, mostly faces and limbs from memory, the occasional suit redesign, then he’d get into the bigger works, drawing comic panels and the commissions he had. And while Kyle loved to be up in space, to be a Green Lantern, drawing felt like coming home to him, like it was the natural state. That being said, he didn’t love being interrupted when he was in the middle of something important—it was bad for the groove.

***

As the second round of knocking sounded on his door, Kyle grunted and stood from his desk, padding through the hallway to his front door; he flicked the lock and pulled open the door, surprise etching across his face when he saw the eldest Wayne leaning against the door frame—rather cockily, Kyle added, because the soldier’s arm was propped on the frame, the other stuck in the side-pocket of his dark tactical bomber jacket.

“Good morning, Kyle,” he greeted with a smirk. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

The Lantern blinked, shaking his head. “Uh, no, you’re not, (Y/N).” he looked at him. “What are you doing here?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Had some business to take care of for my dad, and since I was in the area, I figured I’d drop by and see if you wanted to get some lunch with me.”

Kyle took a moment to lean out the doorway slightly, looking down the stretched hallway. “How’d you know where I live?”

“Please, a magician never reveals his secrets,” he deflected coolly, gazing at Kyle. “What do you say? Wanna get some lunch? I know a really good sports bar that serves great food.”

He looked back at (Y/N) and smiled. “Yeah. Let me go get dressed.”

The soldier merely winked in return and with fumbling hands, Kyle managed to shut the door before his cheeks burst into flames, hurrying back to his bedroom to pull together an outfit that would impress the man.

***

Kyle almost dropped to his knees when he saw the car parked outside his apartment building, and (Y/N) knew it too, because he chirped, “Gorgeous, isn’t she?”

He nodded dumbly. “Is this a McLaren 720S?”

“Mhm.” He opened the doors and slid into the driver’s seat, looking through the passenger door. “Coming?”

“Am I ever,” Kyle breathed, climbing into the seat, immediately running his hands along the dashboard and seat. “I’m in love.”

“Wait till you hear her purr,” (Y/N) said, closing the doors, and pushing the ignition. The sports car roared to life and he grinned at the way Kyle’s face melted. “Yeah, she’s a beauty.” He put the car in drive and looked through the side mirror, then pulled out onto the street.

“Is this one of your dad’s cars?”

“Nah, I bought this for myself a couple months ago.” He pulled the sunglasses from his t-shirt and put them on. “This and an Audi TT.”

Kyle huffed a laugh. “Jesus, you billionaires live it up, don’t you?”

(Y/N) smiled. “Hey, I live life in the fast lane. Might as well drive in it too.” He pushed a button on the touch screen and music filtered through the speakers, and Kyle’s face pinched in confusion. “What?”

“This isn’t—James Blunt isn’t the music I figured you’d play.”

“What’d you think I’d be listening too? Rock?” he chuckled, turning the volume down a bit. “Don’t get me wrong, I listen to all kinds of rock music, but I figured you’d want something easy rather than head-bang your brains out rock.” (Y/N) stopped at a red light and glanced over. “You can look through the artists on my phone if you want.”

Kyle shook his head, relaxing into the seat as the melody flowed through him. “No, I like this artist.” The soldier merely smiled in return, pressing the gas pedal again, and Kyle suddenly remembered something. “Speaking of artist, I saw the canvas in your bedroom the other day. Do you draw?”

(Y/N) hummed. “Not like you. It’s more of a pastime than a lifestyle.”

“You’re good at it. You’re painting your family in their suits. Details and designs included.” The artist regarded him with impression. “That takes skill.”

“I’d like to think I just have a steady hand and a lot of patience for stressful tasks.” (Y/N) turned the wheel, coming up behind a line of cars. “It’s an easy way for me to relax and mentally run through past events.”

“Like what?” Kyle questioned curiously.

(Y/N)’s eyes narrowed, but not in a loathing way, more of a thoughtful one. “Missions, conversations, things I could’ve done differently, things I will do differently.” He shrugged again. “Painting for me is just a time when I think about everything and nothing.”

“Well, you’re great at it, (Y/N).”

He snorted. “It’s just a bunch of paintings of my family and friends and military shit.”

Kyle blinked and leaned over. “Wait, is that painting in the den—”

“The one of the F-18 Super Hornet?”

“Yeah. You painted that?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Yep. I got Hal Jordan to take me up in one a few years ago and decided to commemorate the trip.”

“Wow,” the Lantern breathed. “I stared at that canvas for at least an hour the first time I saw it. I was just so blown away by how amazing it was.” He chuckled and shook his head. “And to find out, you drew it and not some world-famous painter.”

“Hey, I could be world famous if I wanted.” (Y/N) shot back, turning onto a less busy backstreet. “I just choose to retain my talents for family and friends.”

“Because of your job?”

“That too.” He agreed. “My squad and I take careful precautions to avoid our faces being seen during any missions for the safety of our families.” His face turned as solemn as his voice. “We do what we do to make the world safer. To keep our families and friends safe. It’s imperative that we’re not seen.”

Kyle cocked a brow. “But you’re Bruce Wayne’s son?”

“I am,” he nodded. “But I’m not as…out as the rest of my siblings. You’d be able to recognize them from press photos, but me not so much.” (Y/N) pulled into a parking spot outside the bar. “People only recognize me when they see the name on the credit cards. And I prefer to keep it that way.” A goofy smile crossed his lips. “The high life isn’t for me.”

“Says the man that drives a 710 horsepower sports car.” Kyle shot back with a grin of his own and (Y/N) stuck his tongue out as he turned the car off and opened the doors.

“Okay, I’m not actively in the high life but that doesn’t mean I don’t like luxury.” He closed the car doors and opened the front door to the bar for Kyle. “After you.”

“Thank you.” He replied, and walked inside, only stopping to turn and ask, “Do you want to sit at the bar or a table?”

(Y/N) tipped his head to the side. “I’m down with both, but I like the bar more.”

“Bar it is,” Kyle said and slid into one of the chairs, (Y/N) the other, and an older man wandered over.

“Well, I’ll be damned, is that (Y/N) Wayne I see?”

He turned, expression morphing into joy as he reached out and shook the older man’s hand. “Jack, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you son. How’ve you been?”

“Ah, you know me, sir. Nothin’ changing but the weather.”

Jack snorted. “And the desert where you dig sand outta your ass.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Damn straight.” He looked at Kyle. “Kyle, I’d like you to meet Jack Dagher. He’s an old CO of mine.”

Kyle shook the man’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“It’s all mine,” Jack replied. “It’s been a while since (Y/N) brought anybody here.”

At that, Kyle turned to the soldier who was busy looking anywhere but his face. “Is that so?”

“Oh yeah. Sonovabitch doesn’t bring his dates here unless he really likes ‘em.”

(Y/N) coughed, glaring at the man. “Alright, we get it. Aren’t you supposed to be taking orders?”

Jack gave him a smug look in return. “What can I get you boys to drink?”

“I’ll take a beer,” Kyle said, and Jack rolled his eyes.

“No shit, kid. What kind?”

(Y/N) snickered as Kyle flushed. “Uh, a Heineken.”

Jack sighed. “And he had such potential. (Y/N)?”

“Gimme a strawberry daiquiri then water after.”

“Still ordering fruity drinks, huh?”

“Hey, they get you drunk faster than horse piss does, you old fart.” He shot back and the old man chuckled.

“Touché.” He slapped the bar. “I’ll bring those to you with an order of chili fries.”

“Thanks Jack,” (Y/N) smiled, watching the man walk off before turning to Kyle who was watching one of the baseball games. “You like sports?”

He tipped his head side to side. “I don’t not like them. I was never a sporty kid in school, but I like watching them.” He looked at the solider. “What were you like in school? Jock or prep?”

“Probably a bit of both,” he answered. “I played sports and had the highest grades.” Shrugging, he added, “And being a Wayne boosted me into the top tier of schools, so, there’s that. To be honest, I think all of us Wayne kids were and are a mixture of every stereotypical category.”

“I can see that,” Kyle laughed. “Especially with Jason and Dick.”

“Shit, I was talking about Timmy.” (Y/N) said. “That kid’s a grade A nerd.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

The two of them laughed and a woman placed their drinks in front of them, both giving their thanks as they took sips.

“Can I ask you something, (Y/N)?”

“My muscles are one hundred percent real. Especially my abs. Which you’re allowed to feel on in envy if you want.”

Kyle snorted into his beer, wiping his mouth. “No!” a few more chuckles passed his lips as he wiped the bar. “Are you…you know…?”

“A Leo?” (Y/N) offered with a smile, but his eyes told Kyle he knew exactly what the Lantern was asking, and he said, “I like the liquor, but I don’t care what label it has on it.”

The other man smiled. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“But if you want the technical term, I am pansexual.” He regarded Kyle a moment. “You?”

“Bisexual.”

His lips pulled in an impressed fashion. “Pretty fly for a bi guy.”

Kyle gaped at him for a moment, then shoved (Y/N) in the side as he buried his face in his arms and laughed. “You’re so stupid.”

“Ah thank you,” he grinned. “I get it from my old man.”

“You,” he cut himself off with a cackle. “do not get that from him.”

“Look, you know the big man in the suit. You don’t know the complete goober we live with,” (Y/N) chuckled, smiling at the waitress who placed menus in front of them; he picked his up and flipped through it.

“What do you recommend?”

“Hmm…anything with bacon on it.” He showed the menu. “If you like salads, get the steak and blue cheese one, it’s fantastic. Or if you’re more into tacos, they’ve got these awesome shrimp carnitas with chili peppers.”

Kyle’s brows furrowed as he looked the menu over. “What are you gonna get?”

“My usual. Tomahawk steak with garlic butter and mashed potatoes.” (Y/N) groaned and rested his head back. “I haven’t had a good steak in months, and I can just taste it already.”

“So, you’re a meat and potatoes kind of man?”

He grinned, keeping his eyes closed. “Unlike the cup noodle and Hawaiian roll man beside me.”

“Ouch. Hit me where it hurts.”

“C’mon Kyle, hit me with your best shot.”

“Better watch it, (Y/N),” he grinned. “You might be the next notch in my pencil case.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

***

“Holy crap,” Kyle breathed, hands resting lightly on his stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

(Y/N) moaned. “Stick a fork in me. I’m done.”

“Done?” their waitress laughed. “You haven’t even finished your desserts yet!”

“Oh God, don’t make me,” the Lantern whined. “I’ll explode.” He looked over. “(Y/N), take one for the team.”

“Pass,” he replied. “I think I’ve gained ten pounds just looking at the rest of the cheesecake.”

The woman laughed. “I’ll wrap the leftovers for you boys.” She wandered off, leaving them alone, and a blaring ringtone filled the space between.

(Y/N) jumped a little, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Do you mind if I get this really quick?”

Kyle shook his head. “Go ahead.”

He slid his thumb along the bottom and rested the phone on the bar. “This is Wayne.”

Captain! Finally. I’ve been texting you all afternoon.

“I know,” he snorted. “I’ve been ignoring it.”

Yeah well, the longer you ignore me the slower it takes for the radar dish to get replaced.

“What are you talking about?” (Y/N) asked. “I thought you’d procured one.”

I did. Then the buyer told me I wasn’t registered for official military hardware.

He frowned. “That’s odd. You did contact Thomas, right?”

Yeah. Beady eyed looking motherfucker who serves on the George Washington, right?

“That’s him.” (Y/N) hummed. “Tell you what, I’ll call him later this evening and get it all sorted out, yeah?”

Sounds good. Hey, did you take that guy out yet? Your little brother won’t stop texting me about some twinkie you’re into.”

(Y/N) froze as he felt Kyle’s eyes drilling into the side of his head and he stuttered, “Uh, Nadeen, now’s not the best time.”

What do you mean best—oh…ohhhhhh. I, uh, I gotta go, Captain.

“Yep. Bye.” He locked the phone and shoved it back into his pocket, refusing to meet Kyle’s eyes. “So…you catch the baseball game?”

“Which one of your brother’s thinks I’m a twink?” Kyle asked. “Wait, don’t tell me. It’s Jason, isn’t it?” he grunted in his throat, deadpanning, “I can’t believe my best friend thinks I’m a twink.”

“It’s Dick, actually.” (Y/N) grinned, turning to face him and he reached over, pinching Kyle’s cheek. “It’s just ‘cause you’re so cute and perky.”

The Lantern merely glared at him, griping, “I’m not as strong as you, put I can punch pretty hard.”

“Ooo, those are fighting words,” he shot back with a smirk, letting Kyle go. “Careful, I’m ticklish.”

“I feel like I’m talking to Hal.”

(Y/N) whined, all but collapsing onto Kyle who started snickering. “I’ve just been murdered.” He buried his face in Kyle’s shoulder. “Can’t believe I was just compared to Highball. The world must be coming to an end.”

“Oh, come on, you big baby. You’re not dying.”

“I am!” he turned his head, gazing at Kyle. “You’ll have to carry me to safety.”

“I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry you.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“I did not say that.”

“You did, but in more words.”

“Alright, now I’m talking to Guy.”

“THAT’S SO MUCH WORSE!”

***

He leaned against the door frame as Kyle unlocked his front door and pushed it open, turning to look at him. “I had a lot of fun today, (Y/N).” he murmured. “Thanks.”

Winking, he replied, “I’m glad you did. I’d like to do it again soon if you want.”

Kyle nodded. “I’d like that.”

They stared at each other for a few moments and (Y/N) smiled, patting the door frame. “Well, I’d better be heading out. Have to get home in time for dinner.” He paused, giving the man a warm look. “Thanks for having lunch with me, Kyle.”

He���d not gotten two feet from the door when Kyle’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “Wait.” He turned and the Lantern leaned forward, pressing his lips to (Y/N)’s cheek. “Be careful on your way back.”

“I will,” he murmured, watching Kyle wave and disappear into his apartment, the door shutting behind him.

[plaidbooks]

Cabin Life - Whittling Roses

A/N: Hello, I have lost complete control of myself and just keep writing this AU. I blame @berniesilvas, but I also love her and this AU so much. For now, this was all the concrete ideas I had--everything else is vague ideas that I don’t have a fic plotted for yet. I hope you all enjoy!

Tags: just fluff, the briefest mention of smut (only one line), and a little bit of a make-out session

Words: 1857

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart  @beccabarba  @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy  @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl  @glimmerglittergirl  @reading--mermaid  @averyhotchner  @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

As predicted, the snowstorm blocked off contact between you and Sonny for most of the winter months. As soon as the snow started to melt, it would snow again, causing a bigger buildup. He texted you when he could—when the cells had connection—but otherwise, he was confined to his cabin, as you were to yours.

He never once stopped thinking about you, especially when he was huddled in a pile of your blankets, the fireplace happily crackling in front of him. He remembered the night he made love to you right there on the floor, and he wished he could do it again, in his bed this time. Even the thought of your body in his embrace, your warmth and scent surrounding him, was enough to make his body flush with desire.

To help take his mind off you…well, to help control his thoughts—there was no “not thinking” about you—he took a block of wood inside, his whittling blade in hand. When he looked at that block of unimpressive, plain wood, he could clearly see what he wanted to make. But even with his skill, it was a complicated task. At least he had months to work on it.

He spent most of his time whittling. He only took a break to cook, eat, maybe watch tv if he could get a signal in the blizzard. He also brought in a separate piece of wood, to practice different techniques on; he wanted his gift to you to be perfect, to show his love for you.

Sonny let his mind wander as he whittled—as long as he paid attention to the details. His mind irrevocably went back to you every time. He wanted to ask how you felt about kids; though you had mentioned wanting them before, he wanted to see if that was still true.

Eventually, his mind wandered to him marrying you. He wanted to propose, with rings and everything, have both your families there. Maybe he could build an archway to go in that meadow or something, cover it with flowers. He was already building a bridge to go across that creek by his place. An archway shouldn’t be too hard.

Then he smiled as a thought struck him; what if he whittled the wedding rings? He’d have to get better, perfect his craft before he even attempted at something so important. He’d have to talk to you about that, too, make sure you were okay with it. He had enough money to buy a traditional ring, if that’s what you wanted.

 ***********************

About a month into his project, he finished the first of what he hoped would be a dozen roses. He gazed intently at the bud, the petals. Then, his eyes travelled down the stem to the leaf, the veins carved into it. Was it the best rose ever made? Absolutely not. But it was a rose, and it would be perfect for you.

It had taken him much longer than he had anticipated to make one rose. He had stopped frequently to practice petals and veins, though, which had taken up time. Still, he was afraid he wouldn’t finish them quick enough; he had never spent a winter in the cabin, and he didn’t know how long the storms lasted (he had to make a call to the Willis’s for how to cover his gardens). So, while he felt jubilation at finishing one rose, he didn’t celebrate, instead getting right back to it.

The second rose only took him two weeks, and the third, a week. Now that the stems were done, he was getting faster at doing the petals and leaves. He still took his time, made sure he didn’t mess them up, but he was improving. Some of them, he left as bulbs, the petals just opening, while others were in full bloom. He debated painting them, but he wanted to make his own dyes, and he had no idea how to do that. Plus, he kind of liked the light, wooden color.

Once he finished, he fought the urge to continue working on them. He did go back and fix up some details in the first flower that he learned to deal with by the tenth. Now came the question of what to put them in. Does he get a fancy ribbon and tie the stems together for a bouquet? Or should he whittle a vase for them? It’s not like they needed water.

Outside, the blizzard raged on. So, Sonny figured he could make a vase, and if he didn’t like it, he could toss it in the fireplace. Taking yet another block of wood, he got to work. This project, he had a little less of a vision than before. He thought about it as he pulled the roses together, measuring how big of an opening he needed on top.

Slowly, a shape began to form in his mind’s eye, and he started cutting. He wanted a long, skinny neck on top, and a wider base. He wouldn’t have to hollow the inside, only the top part enough to hold the roses. Still, he was doing it by hand, and it took him another month to have just the basic shape done. But he wanted to add details.

Taking his smallest whittling tool, he went to work on the design. Maybe it was corny, but Sonny was a corny guy. He carved apples and his best attempt at lavender flowers, the two things that drew you both together. And in the middle, he carved out a heart, both of your initials inside. He smiled when he was done, knowing that you’d love it regardless; it came from him.

He collected all the wooden roses and rearranged them in the vase until they were how he wanted them. He smiled proudly at the sight, and he wished the snow would stop so he could give them to you now.

 **********************

He only had to wait another two weeks before the snow finally let up enough for him to visit you. The sky was a bright blue, the sun making the fallen snow blinding. Sonny texted you that he was coming over, asking if you wanted to go with him to the local shops to restock on some food. You agreed, and he was instantly on his ATV, the roses zipped up protectively in his jacket.

Sonny parked, then came up to your front door, vase in hand. He knocked and then was suddenly worried that you’d hate the roses, that you’d think him childish. You had given him blankets, something useful, while all he made was wooden flowers—

You opened the door, smiling brightly when you saw Sonny standing there. You had missed him deeply, and you were happy to see his hair and beard longer. Then your eyes flicked down to the wooden vase clutched in his hand.

“What’s this?” you asked, voice hushed in awe at the bouquet.

He swallowed hard. “I, uh, I made ya these fer ya…. I thought, ya know, that I should get ya flowers. But they always wilt and die, so I thought if I made them outta wood, then….”

“You—you made these?” Your eyes tore from the roses to lock to his blues.

He slowly extended his arm, holding the vase out to you, and you took it, marveling at the details in the leaves and petals, then the vase itself. You chuckled as you recognized the apples and lavender, and you had to blink away tears when you saw the heart.

“Sonny, I love them. Thank you so much,” you breathed, smiling up at him.

He grinned nervously, shifting from foot to foot. “Ya do? I was afraid that they weren’t useful—”

“Of course, they’re useful,” you replied, and he tilted his head, brow furrowed. “They show me how much you love me, even when you’re not here to tell me yourself.”

The brightness of his smile could match that of the sun. “Plus, they’ll never die, like my love for you.”

“You sap,” you said, giggling. With your free hand, you grabbed his jacket and pulled him to you for a sweet kiss. His nose and lips were chilled from the wind outside, but you didn’t care. Besides, his lips warmed quickly enough against yours.

“Come on; let’s head to the market so I can get ya home ‘fore the snow starts back up,” Sonny muttered against your lips.

You snuck another kiss. “Why bring me home? Why not just take me to your place? I know we could keep each other warm”

He let out a low growl, kissing you deeper, his tongue in your mouth. Your bodies were magnetic, drawing each other closer. It was a struggle to pull away long enough to place the roses on a table before you were back, body melding to his, hand going to his hair. He pushed you against the doorjamb, hands exploring under the hem of your jacket.

Your father cleared his throat from inside the house, and Sonny sprung off you as if you had shocked him. “S—sorry, sir—” he stammered, face turning a bright red.

Your father crossed his arms, giving him a hard look. “Just close the door; you’re letting the heat out.”

You gave Sonny a sheepish grin as he came inside, closing the door behind him. You told him you needed to pack some things, and you took the vase, heading for your room, leaving Sonny and your father alone.

The latter studied Sonny intently, gazing at him from over his spectacles, and Sonny tried not to fidget under his scrutiny.

“I intend to marry your daughter,” he blurted out. He winced internally; why the fuck did he say that?! But now that it was out there, he was prepared to defend it to the death. He kept his face a mask of stone, not letting your father see his fear.

He continued staring at Sonny, weighing his words. “Does she know that?”

“She does; I told her last time she was over. From the moment I saw her, I knew that I wanted nothin’ more than to marry her.”

He nodded lightly; just a jut of his chin. “Have you proposed? Do you have a ring?”

“It’s only been a few months; I wanted to wait a lil, make sure it’s what she wants, too,” Sonny explained.

“Just don’t wait too long; I don’t want you leading her on or hurting her.”

Sonny’s eyes widened in offense. “I would never—”

You came back right then, a duffle bag in your hand, and glancing nervously between the two men. “Whatcha talkin’ about?” you asked uncertainly.

“Nothing dear. Have fun and stay safe,” your father said, and he came over, kissing your cheek, then headed to a different room.

You cocked an eyebrow at Sonny, but he just shook his head, moving to hold the door open for you. Confused at the tension, you went out into the crisp, winter air, taking a deep breath. You were sure Sonny would tell you the whole story later.

[shattersstar]

evergreen

and if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent (part four)

pairing: adrian tepes x reader

excerpt: You were grinning, running through all the most beautiful, fullest, dreamiest of adjectives to capture the face of your love. You tilted your head to the left, and he followed, the two of you grinning at each other with soft, soundless laughs. You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling and blinking at him with a new found clarity, the words flowing effortlessly.

warning(s): brief injury mention, fluff, this is so,,hopelessly romantic, heart shape lockets making a reappearance

a/n: sorry ive only been writing for adrian my brain has been in alucard lockdown and it wont end (although this might be my favourite thing ive ever written so i’m..less sorry)

—

It was quiet, the distant din of the forest brushed over the two of you. It was a reminder of the life surrounding the desolate place you called home. Your eyes were closed as you focused on the sound, the breathing of trees and humming of streams. You supposed Adrian heard it all so clearly, the animals and plants alike all alive in the surrounding forest. You strained to hear the crunch of fallen leaves by foxes or snap of fallen branches by deers.

It was autumn and the world was alive with harvest. Animals prepared for winter, plants returned to the soil and tree lines morphed into flame. It was one of the last warm days, the sun high in the cloudy sky, shining onto the picnic you two had set up. You were laying down, letting the sun soak over your while Adrian sat cross legged behind you. Your head was in his lap, the book you were reading was resting on his thigh above your head, opened onto the page you were on. Adrian had brought a book as well, but discarded it after a few minutes of reading. It was out of date, he explained, the science was false and he decided to draw over the useless words instead.

You assumed there was some value in its history, but didn’t question it as he silently sketched. Adrian was always such an artist, often drawing you, or other’s he cared for. He could sketch Sypha and Trevor from memory, yet often butchered some detail of the latter for his own amusement you supposed. He drew his parents often too, but was quick to erase such images, as if even seeing their face was still too painful.

He had begun painting more recently. You liked sitting and working on something while he painted, catching occasionally glimpses at his work. Adrian was never shy about what he created, often showing you without prompting, and never dismissing your request to see his art. He had agreed he was good at it, the technical precision was there, but the heart was not. You were quick to disagree with such sentiment, and yes you could see it within the landscapes and dull memories he created on paper or canvas, but the love was there in the faces of those he cared for.

Each line he added to you, each bit of shading and highlight showcased you in a way that held more adoration than any words could supply. You liked seeing yourself from Adrian’s eyes, seeing your beauty as he perceived it. It was more flattering than anything anyone before him had said to you, not like Adrian would want to hear such things.

You weren’t sure how you knew he was watching, sketching you as you laid in his lap, but you knew he did. You even remained still, forgoing reading to be his muse for the last moments of fall. You didn’t mind getting to lay in the lap of the one you loved, a soft blanket underneath while the sun started to arch towards the west. You could’ve fallen asleep there, nature washing over you and Adrian watching over you. It was a place of peace, a moment you’d engrain into your mind and have a memento—a piece of art to show for it.

You only opened your eyes when Adrian let out an uncharacteristically loud sigh, he didn’t need to breathe, he only did so on his own volition. You peered up at him, sun dancing in his dark lashes. “What is plaguing you so beloved?” You hummed, tilting your head back more as you spoke.

"My chest, it aches.” He admitted with a soft voice. You sat up as his words registered in your ears, worry lacing your features as you moved to sit on your knees, beckoning him closer.

“Still? Why?” He turned his head to the side as your hand smoothed down his slender neck, brushing his collar aside and revealing the tip of the scar that cut diagonal through his torso. You kept your fingers off the injury, but untied the front of his shirt to reveal more of it.

“I am unsure, it just does some days.”

“This has happened before?”

“A few times, yes.” He sighed again, you felt it under your palm that rested next to the pink, raised skin.

“I wished you told me.”

“I did not wish to worry you.”

“And yet I am worried.” Adrian turned towards your other hand, resting on his shoulder and dipped his head down to kiss your wrist. It was a gesture of apology and you accepted it was you let your hand cup his face, lips pressing a kiss to your palm. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t think so.” You frowned, shifting your knees against the blanket. “And somehow I’m not surprised you aren’t pleased with that answer.”

“How can I be pleased when you, my dear, are living in pain?”

“Don’t be pleased then, be appeased.” Adrian shrugged, still speaking into your palm. You let your fingertips graze the edge of his scar before dropping both hands from him.

“If I must.” He chuckled at that, low and warm as your hands found his knees. You gave them a squeeze, almost to check if he still existed before turning, and placing yourself into his lap. You were careful not to lean into his chest, but Adrian eased you against it, his forearm wrapping around your stomach while his other hand brushed your book from his leg. “Now show me what you were drawing.”

“Of course beloved.” He hummed from behind you, picking up his green covered book and letting you flip through the drawings now masking the words. And you were right, many—most were of you.

A few trees, a tired outline of the castle, faces you didn’t know, but still somehow, every few pages was you, lounging in his lap, or from some other memory he stored away. They made you smile, less worried as warmth overtook you.

“Do you ever draw yourself?” You asked once you reached the last sketch, lingering on it.

“No, the image of myself in my mind changes far too often.”

“Oh?” You were surprised by Adrian’s answer, you expected something darker you supposed.

“I see myself one way, and then...I do not. I cannot draw what constantly changes.”

“Why does it change?”

“You.”

One syllable was more breathtaking than a single drawing he had ever done of you.

“Oh.” You found yourself on repeat, closing the book and letting out a slow breath.

“And I supposed other’s I’ve met, but mostly you.” It’s always you, he does not say despite how well it sits in his mouth.

You knew you had impacted Adrian, only a fool would say they didn’t, but to know that the way he constructed himself in his brain, how he felt when he thought of it, how he saw himself in his dreams, how he saw himself with you were all changed by you and how you loved him felt like a deeper proclamation than i love you.

“I still wish you would though, what am I supposed to put in this locket?” Your voice held an air of teasing, but a current of seriousness laced it as well.

“I could try, if you could like.”

You were silent for a moment, you didn’t want him to settle on a version of himself to etch into existence. Not when he was ever changing in his mind's eyes. “What if—“ You twisted carefully to look at him, noses brushing as you did. “What if you drew yourself from how I saw you?” You asked, wanting his art to convey his beauty as it did yours.

Adrian pondered it for a moment, before tilting his head and surprising your lips with his. “Yes.” He whispered against your mouth before finding his book yet again.

You slipped from his lap to give him space and studied him for a long moment. He didn’t shift under your gaze, or look away, but instead studied your back. You were grinning, running through all the most beautiful, fullest, dreamiest of adjectives to capture the face of your love. You tilted your head to the left, and he followed, the two of you grinning at each other with soft, soundless laughs. You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling and blinking at him with a new found clarity, the words flowing effortlessly.

Serious mouth, something that hides smiles and fangs. Lips that slope into something heartbreaking—a smile like no other.

He grinned at that, eyes dropping to the page as he began drawing.

Soft eyes, set deep, but still shining. Sharp like daggers and holding handfuls of sunrays in them. Not cold with sadness, but heavy with it.

“Heavy with love too.” He hummed, earning a kiss on his forehead before you settled back to describing him.

Nose…

You paused your words, letting Adrian catch up to your lovely description, while you pondered on it too. You knew this was much for him, so much love filling his ears, outward and heedy. Yet it didn’t feel like enough, like it captured how much his appearances enraptured you, but as his heart did too. You wanted him to see your love through your eyes.

It was a daunting task, and yet you carried on. You reached out, brushing over his nose with your index finger, as if the words lived in your fingertips and could only be released by touch. You furrowed your brows, lips parting before you took Adrian’s hand, the one holding the book. He kept his gaze on you as you brought his slender fingers to his nose, tracing it as you did. You loved all Adrian’s features, but his nose especially, and no words could describe the beautiful feature that pulled his whole face together.

My favourite thing.

He let his attention fall back to the drawing, a bloodless blush could’ve warmed his face with the kind descriptions you imparted onto him. He knew you loved him, you proclaimed it enough, but the sweet words that overtook this dimming autumn day were even more dizzying than he expected. And you weren’t done yet, unrelenting in your words and adoration for him.

Sharp contours—jaw, cheekbones—with an underlying kindness, youthful softness to the angular curves.

Beautiful forehead, my favourite place to kiss. And press myself to.

Brows low, very precise—too serious most of the time.

Hairline like the ocean, framing the sand and sometimes sweeping over it.

You twirled the forever loose curl that hung forward, always draping against his smooth skin. He wanted to lean into your touch, but his attention was on the page.

Hair long, softer than any silk. Golden—not like honey, but wheat fields blowing in the breeze. And thick, with lazy waves throughout it.

You stayed quiet after that, hoping it was enough. You were all warm throughout now, despite how the evening had fallen over you two. You wanted to climb back into Adrian’s lap, but instead you moved to sit cross legged, toying with a loose thread on his pants, twisting the string from the seam by his knee around your finger until his shoulders dropped and the pen stopped moving.

You let your hands rest in your lap, and you watched him study it for a long moment. You wanted to ask if it was okay—some version of him he could agree with, yet he brought the pen back, scrawling something in his tight, professional handwriting and tearing the page from the book with precision.

The drawing took up one corner, the words printed in the background barely noticeable to the bust drawn over them. He folded the piece of paper, once, then twice. A tiny square sitting in his palm, before Adrian finally met your gaze. He reached out, cool fingertips grazing over your neck as he brought your heart shaped locket to sit in his other palm. He used his thumb to open it, placing the piece of paper inside and closing it again.

He kissed the smooth metal before letting it fall back against your sternum, smiling with a haziness that made you feel drunk of love as well. You took his hand in yours, Adrian quick to intertwine fingers before you could settle your palm to his. He urged you closer, uncrossing his legs and letting you take up space between them. “Do you feel better?” You hummed, the pain that had overcome him before not leaving your mind.

It wasn’t like you to forget so easily.

“Hm, better? Yes.” He nodded, pressing a kiss to the side of your nose.

“Are you just saying that?”

“No, of course not.”

“I find that hard to believe, you often dwell in pain my dear. Especially alone.”

“I know,” He sighed yet again, bringing his free hand to your chin and drawing your attention to him. “If you’d like, I believe I have found a way that you can help, make me feel better.”

“Yes, what is it?”

He smiled—heartbreakingly. “Marry me?”

For a quiet beat, you paused, the words reaching your ears, settling in your short term memory before they processed into something that rang forever in your head. You and Adrian had talked about marriage, he had settled on the notion it was a frivolous display and he had everything he needed with you. And you agreed. He was everything you needed.

And now, he needed to be your husband.

You tucked some of his hair behind his ear, leaning in with a low voice, “My love, don’t you know?” You asked, blinking up with a slanted grin, “I’ve been married to you from the moment we met.” He breathed out a chuckle, reedy and low.

“Then,” His palms cupped your cheeks, forehead pressing into yours. “Let me marry you.”

“Yes,” You breathed into him, “Yes you can marry me.”

-

It was the first day of winter when you finally opened your locket. You unfolded his drawing carefully, the likeness you wanted to convey hung in every inked line. Your fiancé existed in both your hearts now.

Your fingers brushed over the words, creased from the folding, but still clear.

It’s always you, my betrothed.

[my-writings-and-musings]

I have another lovely commission to share! This one is a sequel to the last, with the Brave Police spending more time on the Lost Light to answer questions, and it's just as precious in my opinion!

"Now, now, there's room for everyone. Single file please!"

Ultra Magnus thankfully had ample experience and skill getting his voice to fill the entire classroom, and so the crowd was able to take their seats in a mostly organized fashion at last, filling up the entire room from back to front in short order. Scarcely a single bot on the ship wasn't present for the day's presentation, and one glance at the tightly packed rows of tables made that obvious. No one wanted to miss the long awaited event.

At the head of the classroom, Ultra Magnus murmured about the ill manners being displayed to their guests before nodding at the bots in question. Sitting in their own row at the raised stage, the Brave Police looked like a full representation of all the reactions possible for the center of attention. Some were happy, others flustered, and a few quite casual about all the fuss. Deckerd, ever the responsible leader, held his small collection of notes tightly as he nodded in return to the much bigger bot. Rodimus took that as his cue to hop on stage.

With a single whistle, the captain reduced the fog of chatter to absolute silence, something he took with a proud smile before speaking. 

"Alright, everybot, you know the drill! The Brave Police have been kind enough to agree to this little Q and A panel, so let's show them the proper courtesy while they're up here." he announced happily, looking about the crowd and lingering his optics on a few potentially troublesome bots in particular. Making sure to use his Captain voice, he leveled a serious look at each as he issued his warning. "That means no talking unless you get called, and no hogging the mic when it's your turn."

"Discipline will be administered if anyone breaks these rules." Ultra Magnus said, finalizing the warning with an undeniably serious threat. Beyond a few nervous glances, the room remained frozen in total silence after the big bot went back to his dutiful watch. No one present would dare risk incurring the wrath of Ultra Magnus, not even for the questions that they wanted answered more than anything. 

"Sooo…" Rodimus interjected, taking back the stage briefly to try and bring some life back into the event. Gesturing to the main guests, he gave the best parting warm up he could before stepping off the stage. "Without further ado, I'm going to give the show over to them. All yours, Deckerd!"

Clearing his throat politely, the police cruiser stood up on his spot, briefly taking hold of the rim on his hat-like helm accent as he often did when nervous. Taking hold of his notes, he spoke up with the somewhat ineffectual tone of a practiced but uncom public speaker.

"To start, we would all like to offer our thanks! For everything you've done, and for allowing us this opportunity, you have our deepest gratitude." the well mannered bot said humbly, briefly glancing at Rodimus for a flash of pointed thanks before returning to his notes. The captain couldn't help but puff up a little, quite proud of his suggestion all over again, but he was otherwise still and silent as he watched. 

"Now, I understand you have many questions, and we are happy to answer them as a group or individuals." he explained, looking to his teammates for group confirmation. Each gave some form of assent, ranging from Duke's proper and stiff nod to Gunmax putting his pedes on the table with a vague gesture of agreement. Deckerd merely narrowed his optics for an instant before returning his smile to the crowd. "Through the system, I will begin the process of selection!"

A button on the desk, intended as a method of selecting students to answer questions, was activated. Every bot froze in anticipation that they might be selected first, with each hoping they might be the lucky winner. Magnus had mandated the algorithm select at random to prevent any cries of unfair choice for good reason…

So of course it was quite fitting that Whirl of all bots get the first question.

A group groan was cut off by another Magnus stare, yet the orderly mech was clearly beyond apprehensive at the possible chaos about to unfold. Uncaring of the tension his selection created for the crew, Whirl merely cleared his vents and stood up with obvious purpose, having planned his potential query well in advance of the moment. Looking to the bots on stage, his optic betrayed little emotion as he spoke. "So uh, were you guys actually built by humans? From scratch? Processor and all?"

There was an immediate cringe amongst the entire crew, as the question was immeasurably rude by Cybertronian standards, but the Brave Police didn't flinch. 

"Yes!" Deckerd replied happily, completely unaffected by the cultural faux pas he'd just had directed his way. "Each of us was constructed by the Japanese police force, starting with myself."

"Except for Duke, he was made by the Scotland Yard." McCrane specified, drawing attention to the brightly colored and reserved mech at the end. The attention actually seemed to fluster Duke, who flashed an expression of surprise to be singled out before dropping his gaze and quietly confirming the fact.

"That is correct."

There was a moment of mixed murmuring amongst the crowd, with Whirl looking satisfied to have gotten his answer along with getting the ball rolling, and he sat down to allow the next bot a turn. It took just as little time for the next selection to occur as the first. 

"How recently was that, exactly?" Swerve said, looking confused but happy to be the central figure of the moment. It was a much less disrespectful question by Cybertronian standards than the first, and the bots on stage appeared equally content to answer it.

"As of this date, it has been four years and five months since my activation." Deckerd replied casually, unintentionally sending a wave of disbelief through the entire room. This mature, well rounded bot was barely more than a protoform?! 

"We were constructed seven months later." McCrane said, speaking for the Build Team with a gesture that only deepened the shock in the room. Deckerd was young even by human standards, yet he was still the oldest one on the team? How young was the newest among them?

"Shadow Maru was next, by about a year, then six months later I joined up!" Drill Boy declared loudly, loving the surprise each answer drew from the crowd. Gunmax, equally a fan of stirring things up, smirked confidently as he leaned back in his chair. 

"I haven't even been kicking around for a year." he declared smugly, adding to the shock of the bots several times over. Sure, Cybertronians were ready to go in mere hours, but no one had been born in so long… to be confronted by a mechanical being so young was nearly unfathomable. Not to mention that the oldest among them was still so inexperienced! A fresh wave of hushed gossip washed over those assembled, only to fade out into silent anticipation as the next opportunity for a question presented itself.

"What kind of criminals are you fighting? Most of the time, anyway." a bot in back asked, making the Brave Police perk up as a group. Like anyone, the opportunity to retell their adventures was hardly one they'd ever pass up, and even the humble Deckerd was a little boastful as he set up their panel to reply.

"Our division is uniquely suited to handle threats too powerful for humans to safely combat. The criminals we face have a multitude of motives, and it is not uncommon for us to face creatures designed to cause maximum destruction. I will allow my team to recount some of these events in greater detail." he said, opening up the discussion with a smile and a nod. There was a shift in the classroom as if every being leaned forward at once in anticipation.

"The underground bug people were my first mission!" Drill Boy announced proudly, unintentionally creating far more questions than he could have ever hoped to answer in a single sentence. Gobsmacked expressions were shared all through the crew, even by Ultra Magnus and Rodimus at the front. While they'd figured their new friends got into some wild adventures, like themselves, there was clearly so much more to the group than they'd let on… 

"There was a giant moth one time." Dumpson recalled thoughtfully, only adding fuel to the fire with his calm expression of thoughtful recollection.

"Don't forget the giant panda." McCrane said helpfully, the tiniest hint of a smile hinting that he was perfectly well aware of the reactions they were getting. Rodimus had to admire the skillful stirring of the pot. Some bots were taking notes now, especially as the list continued to grow and the Brave Police grew no less unpredictable in their retellings. Brief tidbits about mind control, ghosts, aliens and cults were undoubtedly going to spawn some incredible conversations at Swerve's later on.

Drill Boy finished the segment with a beaming smile. "Without the Boss, I don't think we'd have been able to catch that brainwashing nun!"

While every single adventure would have probably called for a panel of questions in its own right, that statement alone made for an excellent segway into something every single Lost Light bot had been curious about, and the moment the next bot was selected they said what everyone was thinking. "Who's this "Boss" we keep hearing about? Are they a bot like you?"

"Our Boss Yuuta Tomonaga is a human boy, and the first being I ever met. He became my first and most trusted companion." Deckerd replied, smiling affectionately at the description. It had been clear from the onset he cared deeply for his mysterious "Boss", yet most had assumed them to be something like an Amica, or perhaps an older mentor bot. To hear they were a human, and one that sounded exceptionally young at that…? Deckerd recognized the confusion, and while obviously a little bashful to be so open, he was more than happy to talk about the achievements of his dearest friend. "I owe him my life, several times over."

"Many of us have gained human friendships." Power Joe said helpfully, taking some of the pressure off their leader and bringing the attention to himself. Not missing the opportunity to brag, he gestured proudly to himself. "I've befriended many of Yuuta's classmates, they see me as a superhero!"

"Yuuta's sisters are compatriots of mine." Shadow Maru said in a polite and subtle one up, setting the stage for the others to continue naming their friends. 

"Hmph, I'm the only one besides Deckerd to have called Yuuta by his first name." Drill Boy bragged.

"Colonel Seia has taught me much through our professional relationship." McCrane said calmly, returning the focus to one of individual bonds over boasting. Unfortunately, Dumpson chuckled and quickly took aim at the comment.

"Are you sure it's entirely professional?"

McCrane froze for a second, optics widening and face flushing, before he calmly folded his hands on the table and replied. "I could say the same of you and Ayako."

"I suppose Shunsuke and I get along okay." Gunmax said somewhat dismissively, cutting off Dumpson before he could stammer out something he'd regret. The fact that every bot seemed to have a complex and long standing relationship with humans was quite the surprise to many crewmembers, especially those who only knew the species from second hand accounts. The Brave Police weren't too different from Cybertronians, so if they could find friends amongst Earth's inhabitants, maybe it was possible for everyone? More than a few of those in the audience were considering visiting to see for themselves when the attention turned to the only member who hadn't given an answer. 

Lowering his helm to hide his optics from view, Duke appeared to be blushing as he spoke into his microphone, his volume barely more than a murmur as he did so.

"My Lady, Regina, is very important to me…"

While the statement undoubtedly had plenty to unpack, Deckerd mercifully chose to move on, selecting the next lucky audience member. Tailgate stood up in a flash, getting up on his chair and raising his arm so everyone could see him. Smiling with excitement, he was nevertheless quite polite in his tone when he asked his question. "You can transform, right? What are your altmodes?"

"I transform into a police cruiser." Deckerd said simply, earning some nods of approval from the audience. That was a fairly solid alternate mode, from their perspective, and fit quite well with his appearance and abilities. As the team each volunteered their own altmode, there was little fanfare.

"I'm a dump truck."

"My alternate mode is called a power shovel."

McCrane was the first to smile, though his good humor was shared when he gave his answer. "A crane, fittingly enough."

"I have two; a drill and a jet!" Drill Boy declared with a puffed out chest, and the mood went from calm to shocked all over again. Though he had no concept of a triple changer, the young bot knew that having a plurality of modes was special, and the audible gasps confirmed his guess. Rodimus cast Drift a look of surprise from the stage, speaking without words as they so often did. Not only did this guy have two altmodes, but a drill and a jet? Could you get any more wild? Drift replied with an equally stunned but good natured shrug.

"Like Deckerd, I transform into a police cruiser." Shadow Maru said simply, giving his younger friend a look that drew out a very unhappy pout. Sitting up with a smile, he continued and made very clear why his companion was so upset, and in doing so only made the room erupt once more. "I can also take the form of a tank, a jet, and a canine."

Gasps filled the classroom, and even Ultra Magnus was too shocked to silence them, his jaw dropping in total disbelief at what he'd just heard. Five modes?! Not only that, he was a beastformer to boot?! The ninjabot smiled somewhat smugly at the reactions, getting a few looks from his friends that ranged from jealous to bemused as whispered conversations rushed through the bots. Most had never even heard of such an ability, and yet here he was, a bot from earth with so much talent! Several made a note to ask him for tips as Duke took advantage of the chaos to get his simple reply out of the way.

"I am an ambulance."

The medics of the ship all shared a look at what only they seemed to hear, wondering if perhaps the shy bot knew a few things about human medicine he might share with them later. In the murmurs that followed, however, there came a considerable silence as everyone realized the most anticipated answer had not yet been given.

Gunmax leaned back further in his seat, making a face few could decipher when all the attention zeroed in on him. Pretending to cough, he spoke just loudly enough for his mic to pick up his answer. "Don't have one." 

Somebot made a comment about "Monoformers'' before Deckerd stepped in, reading the emotions of his friend as well as the room to skillfully redirect them. It saved Rodimus the trouble of jumping in to make an example of the bot who'd made the comment. 

"Gunmax typically has a motorbike, one that he can merge with to form a very powerful weapon." he explained, looking at the visor that allowed the mech in question to hide so many of his emotions. A flash of gratitude behind the veneer of apathy allowed him to continue with a smile. "When I combine with J-Decker, I can utilize that weapon for defeating extremely powerful foes."

"We can also combine!" Drill Boy added enthusiastically, pointing to the Build Team and perking up the entire crowd with references to "combining" of all things. Combiners were a precious rarity amongst their own kind, could the humans have truly mastered such technology in addition to multiforming?

"Yes, Dumpson, Power Joe and myself form the Build Tiger." McCrane replied helpfully, gesturing to the group of them and further compounding the confusion. How could they all transform into a single entity, their colors didn't even match! Not only that, but the name absolutely baffled those who had been to earth and those who hadn't. The crane bot only continued his talk and further confounded his audience. "With Drill Boy, our abilities are increased, and we form the Super Build Tiger."

Deckerd, wanting to discuss other things, was granted mercy when he selected Brainstorm via the system.

"What kind of energy do your weapons fire?" he asked, having observed the holsters and folded rifles some of them carried. Being intensely curious as to whether earth had progressed beyond the initial steps of plasma based projectiles, he waited eagerly for a reply.

"Most are based on shells, similar to what humans utilize but on a larger scale." Deckerd said, helpfully taking out his pistol to show what he meant. Metallic bullets fell from the chamber and into his cupped palm, unintentionally shocking the scientist and the more ballistic trained crewmembers. Primitive lead based projectiles, fired by simple chemical reactions?! How were these bots just as intelligent as themselves but defending their lives with the Cybertronian equivalent of stone age technology?!

"Yes, that's what my shotgun fires." McCrane added, patting the sizable weapon on his back as Brainstorm noted a million potential improvements he might offer before they left. 

Shadow Maru, somewhat for the sake of dry comedic effect, unsheathed a blade from his back and shrugged as he held it up. "Personally, I prefer swords." 

Laughter rippled through the audience, though Rodimus caught the clear sight of Drift looking far more like he wanted to applaud the other bot who seemed to gel so well with him. Unable to keep a grin off his face at the friendship forming before his optics, the captain considered setting up a communication line on earth so they could all stay in touch going forward. 

"Where do you all live?" a shy bot said when selected next, bringing to mind how their home planet didn't seem to be built for beings as large as themselves. 

"I stay with Yuuta each night, in the garage. His family has made it my personal home, and I keep them safe." Deckerd replied, describing the situation quite wistfully despite the uncertain expressions that flashed before him. The idea of staying within a single room, like a machine for storage… even bots who didn't mind resting in their altmode couldn't wrap their heads around the idea.

"The rest of us stay at the base, but we're free to go where we please when not on duty." McCrane added, wanting to dispel any ideas that they were at all confined. His words did indeed provide some reassurance, especially considering that a few had been considering "liberating" their new friends if necessary.

"When we travel for work, we live wherever we can." Dumpson said, recalling the many times they'd each had to go across the planet undercover. That notion was quite relatable to the group of travelers, especially those who had gone long periods of time without any home to speak of. Needing to find somewhere suitable while moving undercover had been their existence for years.

Gunmax perked up a little at the topic sitting forward a bit so he could be heard as he extolled the wonders of driving around on his bike. "The roads go on for miles, and some have pretty nice views."

When the next question was called, the Brave Police as a group found it was their turn to be surprised. 

"Do you like earth?"

In another turn of events that no one could have predicted, it was Duke who spoke up first, saying his piece simply but confidently before returning to his usual silence.

"It is the only planet we've ever known, and I would have it no other way."

"Earth has everything dear to us." Deckerd confirmed, a barely contained gleam of pride shining from his optics, both for their home and his friend. Everything about the planet was dear to him, from the life that flourished there to the people who had made him, and he wasn't at all ashamed to say as much. That was something each and every member of the Brave Police could agree on, and in order, they all expressed the same sentiment. 

"Earth has everything we could ever want." McCrane added plainly, looking like he wanted to say more but was held back by his own reservations. The simple smile on his face spoke volumes for him, thankfully. His past mentions of friendship and more with humans resonated deeply with certain bots in the audience. 

"We fight lots of bad guys, but that's to keep all the good humans safe, and they're more than worth it." Dumpson said, sharing a glance with Power Joe, who immediately agreed. The big bots many small friends made his answer and confirmation quite easy.

"Most of the people that live there like us, and we like them too. They have a lot to teach us." he said, recalling his love for martial arts as well as everything else he'd ever been passionate about. The need for patience, the importance of seeing the bright side of life, mentoring the younger beings around oneself… Speaking of the younger, Drill Boy jumped in to reply with his own experiences.

"They've invented all kinds of cool games and sports for us to play!" he said happily, tapping the soccer ball in his chest to emphasize his point. The sport was a genuine passion for him, and without humans he wouldn't have it to enjoy. Slightly more bittersweet thoughts of the many adventures he'd had, and the beings he'd met and lost, but wouldn't trade for anything made him smile far more softly. Tapping his digits together, he added a soft addendum to make his point. "Plus they make lots of other cool things."

"There's not much better than going for a drive on earth, or watching the sunset." Gunmax said in agreement, nodding and closing his optics as he played the memories in his mind. The crew talked plenty about their home of Cybertron, and while it sounded wonderful, he doubted anything could ever surpass his home. One of his first memories was going for a drive on a beautiful day, and he didn't believe any planet could ever offer anything more. Not that he'd be opposed to visiting somewhere else...

"It's our home, and it always will be." Deckerd concluded, unintentionally making the crowd a little emotional with his dedication. A far quieter whisper of conversations briefly passed through them all, this time centered almost entirely on the planet in question. Sure, these bots hadn't ever known another world, but they made their own sound quite wonderful. The many who'd never had a chance to see earth were suddenly feeling quite a bit of longing and curiosity of their own. When the quiet descended once again and Deckerd selected the next bot, the query was hardly a surprise.

"Can we come visit you all sometime?"

The entire team exchanged a look, and Deckerd glanced at Rodimus with the kind of knowing smiles leaders could share when they knew what was happening. While the logistics of such a thing would be a nightmare, there could be no denying the eager faces all around, and any potential benefits were far too great to ignore. Though it would be an impossible amount of work, they both nodded to one another in agreement.

"We would be honored to have you as guests, just as you have taken us into your home."

[nightroo]

I’m procrastinating working on the next chapter of my comic by... sketching the main characters lol

Their anatomy is kinda off bc I didn’t sketch before “lineart”. Also on Abigail I added the legs after I finished the torso completely... I do love how their faces ended up looking. They both look very serious and cool.

I also ironed out a style for flowing fabric when I drew Abe. There’s going to be a type of entity that has a lot of fabric like that, and I didn’t really know how to make it interesting up until now. From Shep’s drawing I found a way to render liquid that makes it look magical. The liquid on their hand was supposed to be water but I... don’t know how to render water in this style lmao so I winged it and it looks nice so I kept it I would also like to apologize for disappearing, both from my blog and my comic. I have a lot of things to figure out with uni (finding a good place to stay at is hell, literally all the websites are fucking broken in some way) and that stuff is time sensitive so it takes priority. I’ve been working on the next chapter and I’m at the final stages (just backgrounds left). In general I aim to post once a month, and whenever I miss a month I feel really bad, but I need to remember that I have about a million other things I do, and the style I use for the comic is pretty detailed. I don’t want to rush it. It will take years to finish, but I’m content with that. I don’t talk about it much but (and here’s a trigger warning for suicidal thoughts)

I’ve been suicidal for a very long time now. Death is both something I’m afraid of and find comfort in. I’m afraid that I will leave nothing behind me, and be forgotten. That my death won’t have an effect on anyone. I started really getting into art when my mental illnesses got worse, and when I felt like every day is the same, and it’s not worth it for me to keep going, I told myself “there is no one out there that will tell the stories in your mind. You must keep going.“ and I kept going. And I’m at a better place, with people I care about and who care back. I have more reasons to go on now, but I will always remember the story that made me keep on fighting. And I still fight, and sometimes lose, but I won’t let the fucking illness in my head win.

I uh... don’t know why I started talking about this. I think I just wanted to say it here since I use this blog as a sort of journal, a record of my process. Maybe I wanted to leave this for when I’m gone. One amazing thing about being an artist is that you leave so much behind you when you die.

To know that I leave something behind makes death less scary. For better or for worse, considering I’m still suicidal maybe I should be more afraid of death lmao

Alright enough depressing shit. Probably shouldn’t post this online for everyone to see but it’s not as if I never talked about this lol.

[dusksmote]

How do you ink and color? Any tips? I love your art! 💜🖤

oh shit i got this ask months ago and forgot to answer

inking: god i hate lineart so much. the trick is to not do it 😂 unfortunately, i still find myself spending hours on lineart all the time @_@ 

the biggest thing i’ve found is making your lines varied in thickness. it adds to the interest. i also try to make my outside line thicker than my inside ones to break up the figure from the background. don’t be afraid to skips some lines and imply them with shading instead. i will color over my lines at the end to make them not as strong, but i’ve learned to still keep some lines black for extra emphasis. 

^ here’s one of my older pieces that i’ve been considering redoing. it has very little line variation, ALL the lines are colored so there’s no solid black, and there’s very little hard contrast in shading values. overall, it looks flat and uninteresting and if i had the time i’d redraw this one.

this is a more recent example of lineart that i think works a lot better. the characters are really well defined with a strong outline, but the inside lines aren’t harsh and distracting. you can see i recolored the lineart in kyle’s hair to be a dark red, and in some places it blends with the shadows to imply areas with more highlights. stan’s pants don’t have and lines in them, just the outside shape and pockets. 

you can see in this wip what the lineart looks like before i do all the shading and fancy stuff. stan’s pants look totally flat and straight until i start shading.

a lot of the time though i won’t even do lineart, especially if it’s a big scenic piece. the more zoomed out less detail you can convey, and lineart takes up a lot of space. 

^ this piece is an example where i do both, lineart and no lineart. the mirror image of kyle isn’t the focus, and i honestly didn’t feel like going in and drawing exact lines because they’d probably look fucked up anyway. i typically don’t put hard lines in backgrounds because it would take FOREVER and just be distracting.

the one thing you do have to be careful of with lineless art is contrast. hard lines are good contrast that show you what you’re looking at, and without them your image can blend together. 

here’s part of a painting i did last august, when i was first experimenting with lineless styles (full image on my NSFW twitter). can you tell what’s going on here? i sure as fuck can’t. there’s no contrast, and it makes all the skin tones blend together in an unintelligible mush.

contrast has always been one of my biggest weaknesses as an artist, so i’ve been trying to improve over time. here’s a more recent lineless drawing:

this one works because it had high contrast. the highlights are really bright and the shadows are really deep. you can still make out the facial features too, but there’s no ‘lineart’ layer’. everything was painted on in the same layer.

-

-

coloring: oh my god i love coloring. it’s my favorite part of drawing and the reason why shit takes forever. a lot of the same stuff from before comes into play, like contrast. you can also portray some really interesting moods based on colors if you’re being stylistic, but also pay in mind to your environment.

i always color my background first. in fact, a lot of the time i’ll do the entire background before coloring a piece. the environment establishes your light levels and light source, and it’s typically easier for me to tweak colors on a figure than the ones in the background. in the above example with kenny, the background is a mostly solid black with a beam of light from the left. i picked kenny’s colors to fit in this environment. 

it’s also important to use references.  

you can see in this wip i’ve got a reference image for how light from a TV looks against figures and the way their shadows are cast across the wall. it also helped me figure out what colors to use in this situation.

a lot of coloring is just trial and error to see what works. i usually start with a flat base color and add value to it. if you put all your colors on different layers it’s really easy to change them quickly. 

here’s an example:

i got my base colors down and here i can see the skin tone is blending with the background, so i lightened it up for better contrast

i typically shade the skin first, then clothes. you can see here i did a dull skin tone with a bright colored shadow. this adds more contrast and interest. i always try to avoid doing dull shadows where you shift toward black. black shadows are really uninteresting and they can make your piece look muddy. i’ll typically shade with an orange, red, blue, or purple.

the final piece has a really bright highlight on it coming from behind. this just adds more visual interest and contrast. you can also see i’ve gone back into the pink shadows and added an even lighter, brighter peach value in places to show reflected light. this also gives the darker pink shadow an added outline effect, because it touches the base skin tone but looks lighter within. 

^ this one’s a good example of light and shadow (full image on my NSFW twitter lmao). there’s not a lot of color because it’s dark out, so everything had to be conveyed in values. there’s hard light across the stomach and then a shadow over the chest, but there’s still light being reflected up into stan’s face that lets us make him out. the rest is deep shadow and unimportant, so it’s all black.

that’s the other part, color and value determine where your eye is gonna look, so consider that when drawing. 

^ consider this piece i drew like a year ago. it has a lot of blues and reds, and originally i was going to make stan’s guitar blue. i don’t have the wips anymore, but it didn’t stand out and it didn’t look right with the image. after a lot of playing around i went with yellow because it’s bright, it breaks up the image, and it adds another color to the piece to balance it out.

the same thing happened when i was working on the cover image for What They Say About Us. 

you can see in this really early wip that i’d blocked in the colors and butters is totally naked. for one, i was like “damn that kid is WAY too naked in this image” and he also blended in with stan and cartman. additionally, there was a lot of warm colors on the left, a lack of color on the right, and an overall lack of blue.

first change i made was throwing a shirt on him and it made a huge improvement. the image looks much more balanced now and he’s not super distracting with his naked-ness.

other than that, coloring is just picking your base colors, blocking in shadows, adding highlight, and cleaning it up. if you wanna improve, look at photo references. look at other people’s art and examine how they use color and value. practice practice practice. have fun with it. the most fun i have coloring comes from figuring out interesting textures like the pharaoh headdress or kenny’s leather jacket. 

i find stock photos like this and study them to see how the light works

other than that, the rest is just playing around, seeing what works, and making things up as i go!

[when-they-write-stuff]

-

Stiles thought the best way to end things was to never let them start in the first place. 

That’s what his case seemed to be anyway.

See, if something started, it had to end. Stiles had learned that the hard way over and over again during his life. His mom’s sickness came and didn’t go away until it had stripped her from him in every way possible. Then he’d been thrust into the chaotic world of werewolves, banshees, and hunters, and he was pretty sure it was all going to end with his inevitable doom.

Things always came to an end one way or another. So eventually, Stiles had decided it was easier to just never let them start.

That began with the case of Lydia Martin.

Stiles’s mom used to tell him that if he put his mind to something, there was nothing that could stand in his way. Of course, that hadn’t worked when she’d gotten sick and he’d decided there was no way she could ever die. Fate couldn’t be that cruel. Stiles had told himself one day that parents couldn’t die and fully believed afterward, that if he set his mind to that fact, she’d live forever.

That changed the day of the funeral. Not before, not even when he’d been alone in the hospital and the heart monitor had gone flat. No, it’d taken him a lot longer than that to realize she was gone and… and parents could die.

People could in general.

The next thing he set his mind to was Lydia Martin. There was something about sharp green eyes and the way she looked when solving a problem that made him think maybe, maybe, this was what his mom had meant. That some things were just meant to be.

Stiles was ten when he set his mind to Lydia Martin. 

He was sixteen when she set her own to Jackson Whittemore.

Or maybe, he thought, it was less of her mind and more of her heart. And that’s what really mattered, wasn’t it?

Seventeen-year-old Stiles ended up being determined. Not in any way particular anymore, no. He was determined in general; determined to survive, determined to get through the rest of his teenage years without becoming werewolf chow or prey to whatever else Beacon Hills brought. 

It all started with the case of Lydia Martin. It ended that way too. 

And honestly, Stiles didn’t think it was all bad, necessarily. He was the sidekick, the token human. He had this baseball bat, a can of wolfsbane pepper spray, and his trusty jeep. Stiles Stilinski was the kid in the red hoodie, where it was darker in certain spots from bloodstains that never fully washed away. Things didn’t need to start with him, because they had already begun with the people who actually mattered.

But then there was the matter of Derek Hale.

The first time Stiles had run into the werewolf in the middle of the woods, his brain had gone nope, scary, bad. There was something about Derek that Stiles couldn’t put his finger on. The man scared him half to death for the entirety of his freshman year and then one day, Stiles realized he wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

Derek Hale was difficult to figure out. When Stiles was faced with a problem, he liked to take his time. Figure it out. 

With his mom, it had been something involving hope. See, Stiles had known she was sick. He wasn’t young enough to think that couldn’t happen. But he didn’t quite put it all together until after weeks of watching the nurses move in and out of his mom’s hospital room, with their notepads and checklists that he could never make out the words of.

One of the nurses gave him his own pad and red-inked pen one day. She told him to draw whatever he wanted, as if sitting in the same chair for hours on end wasn’t healthy. Looking back now, Stiles supposed maybe it wasn’t.

That was probably the first time he’d tried to solve a puzzle like the adults did. He’d always sucked at drawing anyway.

Red was unsolved. 

Stiles still owned that red pen.

For Lydia Martin, Stiles tried to step up his game. He made this ten-year plan that was destined to go right. The more details, the better, he thought. Except maybe ten years wasn’t enough, or maybe he’d skipped over some important step, because it never ended up happening. 

Stiles bought the whiteboard when werewolves became a thing. A whiteboard with red string, yellow string, and green. Then at some point, there was blue too. Stiles couldn’t really remember when that happened.

It kind of snuck up on him. Like the matter of Derek Hale.

Oh— fucking Derek Hale.

Things started to end when fucking Derek Hale kissed him.

-

Stiles couldn’t exactly remember what had put Derek in a bad mood, but the man had been stomping around for weeks with an expression that constantly promised murder. Stiles supposed if he was smart, he would have stuck with the rest of the pack and avoided the man like the plague, but Stiles never claimed to be smart.

Clever, sometimes. But not smart. Not often, at least.

Erica thought his bad mood was caused by the last threat they faced; a rather bloodthirsty hunter who had shot Derek in the chest. It’d taken the man three days to fully heal, so Stiles thought that was possible.

But he could never get a good read on the werewolf, okay? Red was unsolvable. Derek was unsolvable. The man was like a riddle Stiles hadn’t been able to solve and no matter what angle he looked at the werewolf from, he hadn’t been able to figure Derek Hale out.

Not yet, at least.

And then there was the argument.

To be fair, Stiles didn’t argue with Derek as often as he did someone like Jackson. Sure, he often drove Derek to flash red eyes or occasionally threaten to rip his head off, but that was just their relationship. Stiles drove him crazy and when Lydia gave him that knowing look, he pretended the man didn’t exist until their next ‘I’ll rip your throat out’ type of conversation.

But this time was different. This time, Stiles had almost— only almost though— gotten himself ripped apart by a rogue omega. And then Derek was red-eyed right from the beginning.

And Stiles sometimes had a tendency to push.

“I’m just saying,” he said, crossing his arms to Derek’s rather murderous expression. “If I were any one of the other pack members, you would have clapped me on the back for taking the omega out.”

“You nearly got yourself killed, Stiles,” Derek growled. “You were stupid and reckless, and you put yourself and the pack in danger!”

“I have a baseball bat for a reason, asshole! I can take care of myself!”

The man looked livid, the red in his eyes not even close to the minor turn-on that Stiles sometimes found it to be. But it wasn’t like any of this was his fault, really. Sure, he’d gotten a little scratched up, but it wasn’t like the rest of the pack had gotten off scott-free. Stiles had seen his chance and he’d taken it, knocking the omega right out with his recently upgraded steel baseball bat.

If anything Derek should be thanking him, not flipping out.

“It’s just because I’m human,” Stiles said hotly. Derek growled again.

“It’s not just that.”

“Then what else is it, Derek? All my limbs are still intact and there’s still life in this token human’s lungs, so I think that counts as a win! The omega was about to rip Isaac’s throat out anyway, so I did a good thing!”

“You did a stupid thing.”

Stiles drew back, seething. It wasn’t like this was the first time Derek had chewed him out for doing something ‘irresponsible’ or ‘stupid’ but usually Scott was around to keep one of them from committing murder. The loft was empty this time, though, the rest of the pack having gone out to celebrate while Derek had all but forced Stiles back to the loft to take a look at his injures.

Which were scratches. Stiles got worse at lacrosse practice.

“Whatever,” he said, turning away. “I’m going to meet up with the rest of the pack. Scott said he’d buy me fries for being a badass. Which I was, asshole.”

“Dammit, Stiles!”

Stiles clenched his jaw and spun back around. The red had faded a little from Derek’s eyes, but he still looked murderous. And wouldn’t that be unfortunate it Stiles had survived being torn to shreds only to have his throat ripped out by Derek Hale?

“I just—” The man took a step forward and then grimaced, folding his arms over his chest again. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“But just me.”

“The others can heal.”

“Allison can’t.”

Derek’s eyes flashed. “Allison is a hunter. She’s had training.”

“I have a baseball bat!”

“That is not—” Derek glared. “That’s not good enough. You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re a giant ass!”

Derek growled again, uncrossing his arms. And if Stiles was being honest, he wasn’t sure how one thing turned to another. But one moment, he was pretty sure he could punch the man out, stepping forward and lifting his chin, and then Derek was yanking him even closer, kissing him hard before Stiles could even react.

Derek was kissing him. Derek Hale was kissing him.

Stiles was pretty sure his brain short-circuited for a second, but he probably wouldn’t have pulled away even if it hadn’t. And he’d totally blame that for the moment it took him to respond, because Stiles had been so sure one of them was going to murder the other. Not… this.

Though, he would happily let this be how he died.

Yeah, this could be how he died.

Derek’s nipped sharply at his lower lip and Stiles groaned, his brain coming back online slowly. If he would have known this would happen when they really argued, he would have started picking fights with the werewolf a lot sooner. Though, maybe it was all built up over time. The man kissed him like they were still arguing, the one way Stiles couldn’t mouth off to win the fight.

He could be okay with that, though.

Stiles was still dazed with Derek eventually pulled back a few inches, the man’s breaths warm against his skin. He wasn’t the only one panting, Stiles realized, his own heart thudding like a drum against his chest.

For a moment, they both just stood there. And for the first time that night, Stiles’s mind was completely empty. And it was nice, in a strange way. Like he’d been drugged.

Then Stiles blinked a few times and stared. Except Derek wasn’t even looking back at him.

The man avoided his gaze like Stiles wasn’t there, posture rigid with his arms folded over his chest again. Like that was the only defense he had against Stiles and the few inches between them. Stiles’s brain didn’t even have a chance to catch up before Derek’s voice broke the silence— low and shaky.

“You should go.”

And just like that, the haze was gone. Stiles stiffened, staring incredulously at the man, but Derek definitely wasn't meeting his gaze. “I should… what?”

“You should go, Stiles.”

Stiles stared. Slowly, a lump formed in his throat.

Because this was what happened, right? Something started, something ended. Stiles stood rooted to the spot for another long moment, feeling like he’d just taken a blow, until Derek fixed him with one of those red-eyed looks. And Stiles didn’t even know how to categorize it. The man’s face was carefully blank. He didn’t look mad, repulsed, or even regretful. He just looked—

Stiles blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. Nodding silently, he turned away, starting toward the loft door. And despite it all, some part of him thought Derek might call his name before he reached it. Or at least say something. Anything.

But the man didn’t. And Stiles didn’t glance back.

Going after the omega earlier hadn’t been the stupid move, he realized. No, it hadn’t even been close.

But this?

This was the dumbest thing he’d ever done.

-

Fuck Derek Hale.

That’s what Stiles would like to say. Fuck Derek Hale and the radio silence that stretched on for two months after that one night. 

Stiles used to secretly look forward to the few nights a week when his window would be shoved up and Derek would pull himself through, always with some excuse about the monster of the week or research. But the only time Stiles had seen the man since had been during pack meetings and he could’ve sworn that Derek was keeping as much distance between them as possible, never saying a direct word to Stiles unless he had to.

It made him feel… dirty, almost. Wrong. If he could go back and keep that night from happening, Stiles would, because that’s where it all went wrong. That’s where it all went wrong, right? It’s not like it had been a long time coming or anything.

He hadn’t— Stiles didn’t— dammit.

Fuck Derek Hale.

The way Stiles saw it, if Derek was going to go around pretending he didn’t exist, then he was going to do the exact same. That started with completely ignoring the werewolf at each pack meeting and then Stiles started skipping them in general, getting the information through Scott. The boy seemed beyond confused but Stiles refused to give his reasoning for pretending Derek didn’t exist.

The Alpha was an asshole, was all he’d say. And then Lydia would give him one of those knowing looks.

Stiles really hated the pack sometimes.

He did his best not to think about it had felt when Derek had kissed him, or the way the man had tugged at his hair, bit down on his bottom lip, and how that feeling was literally imprinted into his brain. He didn’t look at his window and wonder what the hell was so wrong with kissing him— what was so wrong with wanting him?

So Stiles stopped going to pack meetings. And when the betas started following him around school asking questions, he pretended he had no idea what they were talking about.

One month passed without Stiles seeing Derek. And he was fine.

Then the next monster of the week came to town and there was a knock at his window. 

When Stiles glanced up from his laptop to see Derek crouching on the roof, he stared for a long moment before completely ignoring the man. It wasn’t like Derek to knock; he used to just let himself in, sometimes already waiting in Stiles’s room when he came back from lacrosse practice. And yeah, Stiles had always complained. It was creepy after all. 

But it was also Derek.

A few seconds passed before his window was pushed up and Derek pulled himself into the bedroom. Stiles kept his gaze firmly on his computer screen.

Derek had to be insane if he thought he was getting any research help.

“Stiles—”

“No.”

Derek went silent for a moment. On Stiles’s computer, his movie continued to play, and he continued to be watching it. 

Then, “Stiles, the pack needs your help.”

“The pack?”

One more moment of silence, followed by; “I need your help.”

Stiles finally hit pause, glancing up at the Alpha coldly. He did his best to ignore the way his heart twisted at the sight of Derek, because Stiles didn’t care. He could’ve gone another long month— he could have gone two. And why the hell was Derek here, anyway? Stiles wasn’t the only one who knew how to use a computer. “Go ask Lydia.”

Derek’s expression did something strange. “Lydia?”

“She’s a genius, you know.”

“I don’t— the pack doesn’t—” Derek blinked, then clenched his jaw. For a moment, the man actually looked frustrated. “I need your help, Stiles, not hers.”

“Sorry,” Stiles said, gesturing to his computer. “I’m busy.”

He told himself he didn’t take a little bit of pleasure in the way that Derek’s face tightened. But the man was definitely looking frustrated now and honestly? he shouldn’t have expected this visit to go any differently.

“There’s something ripping apart animals in the preserve,” Derek said through gritted teeth. Stiles shrugged.

“A mountain lion?”

“Stiles.”

“Or maybe it’s a bear.”

“Stiles.”

“What, Derek?” Stiles said, shutting his computer harder than he meant to. But the man’s tone was nothing but angry now and he was looking at Stiles like this was his fault. Like it hadn’t been three months of absolutely no contact and Derek hadn’t kissed him before literally throwing him out of the loft like week-old trash.

It made Stiles feel dirty. Yeah, that’s what it was.

And he couldn’t figure out why.

“I don’t want you here,” Stiles said, dropping his gaze. He hated himself a bit for how small his voice sounded. “I don’t want you here, Derek.”

The silence continued to reign. And when Stiles glanced back up, Derek was just looking at him. Silently, blankly. Just like that one night, Stiles couldn’t read his expression.

He swallowed hard at the memory. “I’m done, Derek. This— all of it— we’re done.”

There was a flicker of red in the man’s eyes. And Stiles had thought that telling him off, sending him away, would be a victorious moment. He’d felt so crappy after being the one kicked out first, that he thought it’d make him feel better to be the one sending Derek away this time.

But it really didn't.

“Do the research yourself,” Stiles said, opening his laptop back up and clicking the play button of his movie. “Or ask someone else to do it.”

He didn’t get an answer. But Stiles just locked his gaze on his computer screen and waited a few long minutes before he dared to glance back up again.

And when he did, Derek was gone and his window was still open.

-

Stiles was mad. 

He was mad, he was hurt, and he was so freaking confused, it was starting to affect his sleep. His day-to-day life. Scott kept him updated on the comings and goings of the pack and Stiles got even madder, even though he couldn’t explain it.

Then at some point, after he’d stopped keeping track of how long it had been since that night, he decided he was done. Done being so pissed at fucking Derek Hale.

He showed up to the next pack meeting and Derek looked so surprised, Stiles couldn’t help but feel a little bit smug. He was thrumming out of his skin a little bit, but tried to act like it was the complete opposite, letting the betas practically bowl him over as fingers traced along the back of his neck and Derek continued to stare.

The man only broke his gaze when Lydia snapped fingers in front of his face. And he gave her a red-eyed look at that.

Stiles stuck next to Scott’s side and kept his gaze anywhere but Derek.

He thought everything could have gone worse.

By the time the pizza was gone, the betas were still moaning about how hungry they were, only to get a twenty from Derek and a growled ‘get out’, Stiles felt a little less nervous. Scott had one arm slung over Allison’s shoulder with plans to hang out after, even as he asked Stiles sheepishly if he wanted to tag along.

Stiles had been the third wheel for long enough to know he really didn’t want to be around when they decided to hang out this late on a weekend.

“Come with us, Batman,” Erica said, latching onto his arm. Stiles snorted.

“And wind up paying for dessert when you three eat through twenty dollars of pizza in five minutes? No thank you.”

The girl pouted, giving him a batted-eyes look, but Stiles shrugged her off.

“Nope, I’ve got homework,” he said. “And my own fridge at home where werewolves with infinite appetites won’t eat all my food.”

“You can’t do homework on a Friday,” Isaac said. “That’s so lame.”

“You’re so lame.”

“Great response, Stilinski,” Jackson said, sneering. Stiles just smirked back.

“Whatever, lizard boy.”

Lydia gave him a sharp look, grabbing Jackon’s arm and pulling him toward the door before the beta could say anything back. Stiles rolled his eyes, letting Erica grab his arm again as she started to drag him after them, but then someone cleared their throat behind him.

Erica let go in a second. Stiles froze, slowly turning around to see Derek standing near the table with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“I need Stiles to stay.”

Stiles’s heart skipped a beat and he cursed silently. “Actually, I’ve really got to—”

“It’s fine,” Boyd said, cutting him off. Stiles shot the beta a venomous look, but Boyd pointedly avoided Stiles’s glare. “Stiles can catch up.”

“Or, I could just—”

“Stiles,” Derek said. Stiles looked back at him reluctantly, but the man’s expression really wasn't as threatening as he’d expected. If anything, he looked a little pleading.

Words stuck in Stiles’s throat, so he just nodded, dropping his gaze again. And Erica traced fingers over the back of his neck one more time before the betas followed Jackson and Lydia out the loft door.

Silence fell over the room. Stiles swallowed hard and slowly raised his eyes. “What?”

“I was surprised to see you here tonight.”

“I’m still a part of the pack,” Stiles said. Derek looked surprised.

“Of course.”

“So you shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I just thought that after last time—”

“Oh hell, no,” Stiles said, stalking forward. All the anger he’d felt before came rising back up at Derek’s words and he jabbed a finger into the man’s chest, making Derek stiffen even more. “You don’t get to pull that card. It’s all so shitty, Derek, you know that? These past few months have been so shitty.”

Derek just looked down at Stiles’s finger, as if he was surprised at something. At the reaction, at Stiles’s anger, whatever. 

Stiles was still pissed.

“I know you don’t like to talk,” Stiles said. “I know you’re the big bad Alpha werewolf who doesn’t need anyone but himself and especially doesn’t need the token human. But you kissed me, asshole. You kissed me and kicked me out, and do you even know how fucked up that is?”

Derek’s gaze finally traveled back up to Stiles’s face. His hands were still stuffed into his pockets and Stiles didn’t know if that was better or worse than when the man would keep his arms barricaded over his chest.

“If it was a mistake, fine,” Stiles said. “But you should have told me.”

“Stiles, it wasn’t… I don’t…”

The man sucked at talking. Stiles could accept that. But as Derek trailed off, he thought he might go crazy if he had to leave the loft again without any answers.

Derek was still saying half sentences. Biting back a curse, Stiles surged forward.

The first time Derek had kissed him, Stiles .exe had completely stopped working. He didn’t quite get that reaction with Derek this time, but the man definitely froze for a moment. And Stiles figured this could go two ways. Derek could kick him out of the loft with reason this time, or the absolute whirlwind that Stiles had been going through these past few months would finally stop.

He kissed Derek hard and hungry, and it was so much different than last time.

Then the man was kissing him too. The hands that had been stuck in his pockets moved down Stiles’s sides, down his thighs, and then Derek was picking him up, turning away from the loft door and heading toward the couch.

So it’s option two, Stiles thought hazily. 

Thank fucking god.

Derek lowered him onto the cushions and drew back a few inches, green eyes searching Stiles’s face. And for some reason, Stiles was terrified again for a moment. Because things always started and things always stopped but god, he didn’t want this to stop.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Derek said softly. “You’re not a mistake.”

Stiles held his gaze, almost waiting for the ‘but’. Except it never came, Derek hesitated for another moment, some unreadable expression flickering across his face.

“Is this okay?”

Was this okay? 

Stiles could have laughed for a moment. Some sharp, shocked laugh. Because fuck, if this wasn’t more than okay. Everything leading up to it sucked, yeah, and some part of Stiles wanted to chew Derek out. But another wanted to make sure that the constipated idiot knew that he was okay, this was okay, it was okay.

“Dammit, Sourwolf,” Stiles breathed out. “It’s okay.”

Derek’s eyes flickered red. And Stiles nearly choked on his own breath as the smallest hint of a smile tugged at the Alpha’s lips. One he’d never seen before— soft, almost a little nervous.

Yeah, this was more than okay.

Because red was unsolvable, right? And Stiles was pretty sure he was still figuring Derek Hale out. But this didn’t seem like it would end anytime soon.

And the first time in a long time, Stiles set his mind to something new.

Or, maybe his heart.

-

Tagging @roricomplex​ for the amazing prompt, I hope it turned out okay! I had a ton of fun with this one, thanks for sending a number <3

(if you enjoy my writing, consider sending a coffee? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

[wolfish-trickster]

Advent kisses

11/24

Word count: 1 342 (the longest I've ever written, probably won't make future parts this long)

Summary: Instead of chocolates, kisses are going to be recieved everyday until Christmas.

Tag list: @gaitwae @lucywrites02 @modestlyabsurd @winterfrostsarmy @spaceyempress @thefridgeismybestie @laramoonworld @birdgirl90

A/N: this part contains reader's hair being braided, if your hair isn't long enough to be braided, imagine Loki made your hair temporary longer with magic.

Last night was hard. Old memmories swam to surface, tears were shed. That night he dreamt of his mother. They were by the lake in the forrest. How she listened to him talking about you. How she gave him relationship advice. How she met you. How the three of you laughed.

His chest hurt when he woke up from that beautiful lie his mind made up. A reality that will forever be his dream.

-

As it turned out, all of the Avengers were busy as hell. Either by going out and buying gifts, or by hanging out in their rooms and just 'chilling'.

He made himself tea in the kitchen and went to library. You weren't there. But that was okay. He wanted to be alone for a little while. He didn't pick any book to occupy him. He just wandered around, feeling backs of the books with the tips of his fingers. Inhaling the scent of old books. Checking out the secret parts hidden in the shaddows. Library in Asgard is much much bigger, but he had to work with what he got.

Eventually he got bored and walked out. The sharp light blinded him momentarily. He never realized how dark it is in library until now. Sadness really makes you notice those little details.

His mind switched to autopilot. He had no idea where his legs were taking him, and honestly, he didn't care.

After minutes of walking he found himself in gym. With Thor. He was stretching after a hard work out session. Thankfully Thor had his back towards him, which gave Loki enough time to tirn around and hide. He really didn't have the mood to listen about Jane Foster's awesomness again.

"Brother, wait!" this close. Loki was this close to be out of the gym and yet, fate just HAD TO turn Thor around and spot him.

"I'm in no mood for whatever you want to tell me," Loki felt giant heavy hand land on his shoulder.

"Loki, Y/N told me about yesterday," Loki didn't know how to react. How to feel. She promised it will be their little secret. How could she?

Apparently he had a face of betrayal and Thor noticed. "Wait, no she didn- ahm. Let me rephrase. In the morning she looked a little off. I asked her what happened and she said it's a secret and she can't tell me. She only told me you showed her your sketches. I figured out the rest," Thor hugged him, to Loki's surprise."I miss her too."

Loki didn't like to look weak, especially in front of oh perfect golden Thor. But he made an exception. Before he got too comfortable he pushed his brother away. "Before you continue, take a shower first," Thor chuckled and pat him on the shoulder. Both knew Loki didn't mean it.

The trickster in him woke up and got an idea.

He was on his way to your room. Hopefully you'll be there. And you were. Along with Bruce. You were sitting criss-cross on your fluffy carpet. Both pairs of eyes shot towards him. Your smile froze upon seeing his angry face. "You lied to me," he snarled.

"I-I d-don't know wh-" "You told Thor. Thor told Tony, Tony told Natasha and so on. How could you?" he was probably cruel, but the confusion on your face was beyond hilarious.

"Loki, what are yo-" "Silence Banner," even without raising his voice he sounded scary.

"I-I... I-"

"How could you tell everyone I can draw?"

"W-what?"

"Wait, Loki can draw?"

The angry facade broke and Loki started laughing. Your and Banner's faces were priceless. Both of you looked like confused puppies.

"I'm so sorry for scaring you. I just wanted to cheer myself up, and how better than with a little prank?"

Bruce stood up. "Don't do that again. I realy thought you're gonna rip our heads of."

"Look who's talking. By the way, what were you doing here? With Y/N?" nope, he wasn't jealous, no way.

"I needed her advice. I'm not stealing her from you," and with that he disappeared sooner than Loki could even think of a sarcastic comeback.

"Advice with what?" he asked as he sat down beside you.

"Can't tell you, it's a secret. And Bruce is right, don't scare me like that again."

"Hehe, don't worry, I don't plan to. Hey, you've been practicing," he noticed papers spread around with various sketches of faces.

"Yeah, they're really bad," you scratched your head.

"Darling, it's only matter of practice. No one was born with a complete skill. They had to work for it. Why don't you draw someone. Right now. I could teach you as you go."

"Okay," Loki passed you a clear paper and moved to sit on your bed, gently pulling you between his knees. "W-what are you doing?"

"I want to braid your hair darling. Just like you braided mine. Besides I have a much better view from up here."

He let his hand glide through through your hair. It was so soft.

"Hey, who should I draw?"

"Doesn't matter darling," he split your hair into three strands and started working. Left to the center. Right to the center. And so on.

He glanced down at your paper from time to time. You finished basic sketch and started to work on details. It was quite hard to deduce who you drew. Sharp cheekbones, strong jawline, wise looking eyes. A family member perhaps?

He was enjoying how you let your head fall on his thigh. He closed his eyes. His fingers got lost in your hair, he couldn't care less if he messed up your braids.

He heard your soft giggle and could practically hear you pout. "You're not even looking. How are you supposed to teach me something?"

"Apologies darling, I find your presence deeply comforting and couldn't help but close my eyes and relax. So it's basically your fault I'm not paying attention," he opened his eyes and teasingly booped your nose.

"Well, professor Loki, teacher of fine arts, I'm finished. Grade me," you handed him your drawing.

You drew him. His cheekbones weren't that sharp and the drawing's eyes were a little out of place, but besides that it was beautiful. You were trying so hard, you put maximum effort into your creation and it showed.

"There are few mistakes here and there, but besides that it's great. Now, do tell," he grabbed you by your waist and sat you on one of his thighs, "why did you choose to draw me?"

"What makes you think I drew you?"

Loki's smile faded a little. "Who else would have such god-like long dark hair?"

You didn't bat an eye as you said: "Hozier."

"......who?"

You burst out laughing. "Just kidding Loki, of course it's you. I can't believe it! I pranked the king of pranks!"

Loki had the biggest heart eyes ever as he joined your laugh. There is nothing greater for Loki than love for pranks, which you shared. This fact made Loki even more desperate to win your heart by the end of the 'advent time'.

He got hold of your non-bandaged hand. "That you did darling. Be proud, not many can claim the 'pranked the god of pranks' title," he lifted your wrist to his lips and tasted the skin over your pulse in a loving kiss, "and still be alive to tell the story," he finished with a mischevious wink.

You blushed and playfully shoved punched him in the chest. "Loki! You can't say things like that!"

"Why not? I have a reputation to maintain, I can't risk having another trouble maker in my territory," 'outside of our future children.'

"Hey, I know this is completely out of the blue question, but what was your first prank?"

He hugged your waist and pulled you closer to him. You were in for a long night of talking and laughing. Loki was glad he didn't stay alone like he planned to.