#was looking through my sketchbook and i still like these so why not post it

[inseobts]

Sketching Another Life

sabo x gn!reader

you keep sketching sabo even though he died in front of you years ago. but what happens when he appears again?

a/n: omg finally got the chance to post this akdjsj it was in my draft for months and months lmao

words count: 2.9k

tags: doesn’t follow the anime canon events, childhood friends, protective luffy

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Luffy doesn’t hesitate when he sees Sabo again.

The moment his big brother stands before him, alive, real, breathing—he hugs him.

It’s not even a conscious thought. His body just moves, arms wrapping tightly around Sabo’s torso, pressing his forehead against his coat. He squeezes his eyes shut, because damn it, Sabo was supposed to be dead.

Sabo stiffens for only a second before his arms return the embrace just as fiercely “Luffy…” His voice is hoarse.

Luffy grips the back of Sabo’s coat tighter “You idiot,” he mutters “You—you were gone.”

“I know,” Sabo whispers, and there’s so much regret in those two words that it makes Luffy’s chest ache.

It takes a long time before Luffy finally pulls away. His eyes scan Sabo’s face, as if memorizing every inch of him. He’s older now, different, but still Sabo.

And then Sabo asks the question Luffy knew was coming.

“…What about y/n?”

Luffy’s stomach drops.

He knew Sabo would ask. He knew the moment his brother remembered everything, he’d remember you too.

Because how could he not?

You weren’t just a part of their childhood—you were one of them. The fourth member of ASL. The one who always trailed after them with a sketchbook tucked under your arm, the one who kept their memories alive on paper.

Luffy swallows hard, looking away. He remembers the way you shattered when Ace died. The way you curled into yourself, sketching their faces over and over like you were trying to bring them back.

The way you stopped smiling.

The way you stopped living.

You had lost both of them, and now Luffy refuses to let you break all over again.

So he lies, and for the first time ever he has to be good at lying, because now it's important and he can't do it wrong.

He forces a grin, rubbing the back of his head “Ah, y/n? Yeah, they’re—uh, they’re fine! Doing their own thing!”

Sabo frowns “Really?”

“Yep!” Luffy nods—too quickly “They’re not on the crew anymore. Just, y’know, off somewhere!”

Sabo stares at him “…You’re lying.”

Luffy freezes.

Sabo’s gaze sharpens “Where are they, Luffy?”

Luffy crosses his arms “Not tellin’ you.”

Sabo blinks, caught off guard “What?”

“You heard me,” Luffy says, suddenly serious “I’m not tellin’ you.”

Sabo stares, confusion flickering in his expression “Why not?”

Luffy looks him dead in the eye “Because you died.”

Sabo flinches.

“You died, and Ace died, and y/n almost didn’t make it through that.” Luffy’s voice is tight now, controlled but firm “I won’t let you hurt them again.”

Sabo feels like the wind has been knocked out of him.

You… suffered? Because of him?

“I just want to see them” Sabo says, softer now.

Luffy shakes his head “No.”

And that’s the end of it for now.

Sabo doesn’t push the subject.

He lets Luffy avoid it. He lets him steer the conversation elsewhere. But the thought of you lingers in his mind, heavy and unshakable.

Are you really okay?

Something doesn’t sit right, and then, by pure accident, Sabo finds it.

He’s wandering the Sunny, familiarizing himself with Luffy’s ship. The night breeze is cool, the ocean calm. He steps into a quieter part of the deck, where a small table sits against the railing.

There’s a notebook on top of it.

At first, he doesn’t think much of it. But then his eyes catch the open page—the sketch.

His breath stops.

It’s them. Him. Ace. Luffy. And you.

The four of you, standing side by side, grinning like you hadn’t a care in the world. Just like old times.

But that’s not what makes his chest tighten.

It’s the signature.

A dumb, childish sign that only one person ever used. A weird little mark that never made sense to anyone but you. The same signature you used when you were kids.

And right beneath it—a date.

Just a few days ago.

Sabo’s eyes widen.

Luffy lied.

You’re here.

Sabo grips the notebook, knuckles white. His heartbeat pounds in his ears as he stares at the date—just a few days ago.

He doesn’t know whether to be angry or just hurt. He knew right away that Luffy lied but now he has the confirmation.

Before he realizes it, his feet are already moving. He storms across the deck, gripping the notebook tight in his hand. He finds Luffy near the mast, shoving meat into his mouth like nothing’s wrong.

Like he didn’t just lie to his own brother.

Sabo doesn’t stop walking until he’s standing right in front of him “Luffy.”

Luffy looks up, still chewing “Hmm?”

Sabo holds up the notebook “Explain this.”

Luffy freezes.

His eyes flick to the sketch—to the signature. His chewing slows, and for the first time since reuniting, Sabo sees something rare in his little brother’s expression.

Guilt.

“Sabo…” Luffy swallows, setting his food down.

“You lied” Sabo says, voice controlled but firm.

Luffy doesn’t deny it. He just looks away.

Sabo tightens his grip on the notebook “Why are you doing all this?”

Luffy exhales through his nose, running a hand under his hat “Because you hurt them” he says simply.

Sabo’s stomach twists “I—what?”

“You heard me” Luffy says, looking back at him “Ace died. You were gone. Y/N lost both of you. And you wanna know what happened after that?”

Sabo doesn’t answer. He’s not sure he can.

Luffy’s jaw clenches “They stopped living, Sabo.” His voice isn’t loud, but it’s heavy, filled with something raw “They stopped smiling. They kept drawing, yeah, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t for fun anymore. It was like…” He hesitates, searching for the right words “Like they were trying to keep you guys from disappearing forever.”

Sabo’s fingers curl.

Luffy sighs “I thought I was gonna lose them too.” His voice drops to something dangerously soft “I almost did.”

Sabo’s breath catches.

He never thought about it. He never realized.

He had assumed you were strong. You always were. You were the one who stood beside them, laughing, teasing, drawing stupid little comics of them falling into ditches.

You had always been there but he left. Ace left. And you had to bear that weight with Luffy alone.

Sabo looks down at the sketch again, his own face staring back at him from the page. The way you had drawn him—older, smiling, standing beside his brothers. A version of himself that you had never even gotten to see.

And yet… you still imagined him there, growing up with all of you.

He swallows hard “I need to see them.”

Luffy frowns “No.”

Sabo’s head snaps up “Luffy—”

“I said no!” Luffy stands up, fists clenched “I just got you back, and I’m not letting you mess them up again!”

Sabo’s chest tightens “Luffy, I—”

“They’re happy now!” Luffy cuts him off “They started smiling again! They’re finally okay! What if seeing you ruins that?!…”

Silence.

Sabo stares at him, realization settling in.

Luffy isn’t just protecting you.

He’s terrified.

Terrified that seeing Sabo again will break you all over again.

Sabo takes a slow breath, his grip loosening on the notebook. His voice is softer this time “Luffy… you don’t get to decide that for them.”

Luffy flinches.

Sabo takes a step forward “You think they’ll fall apart if they see me?” He shakes his head “You don’t know that. Maybe it’ll hurt at first, yeah. But don’t you think… maybe they deserve to decide that for themselves?”

Luffy doesn’t respond. His jaw is tight, hands trembling slightly at his sides.

Sabo exhales “I need to see them, Luffy.”

Luffy clenches his teeth, eyes shadowed beneath his hat.

Then, finally—

“…They’re in the infirmary.”

Sabo’s breath catches.

Luffy doesn’t look at him “They got hurt on our last stop. Chopper said they just need rest and Sanji is there to keep an eye on them” He crosses his arms “If you wake them up and make them cry, I’m gonna punch you.”

Sabo huffs a small laugh “Fair deal.”

But Luffy doesn’t laugh. He just turns away “…Don’t hurt them again.”

Sabo watches him for a moment. Then, he nods “I won’t.”

With that, he heads toward the infirmary and then hesitates in front of the door.

For the first time since finding out you were here, uncertainty creeps in.

What if Luffy’s right?

What if seeing him just brings back all the pain you worked so hard to bury?

He exhales, pushing the thought aside. No—he has to see you. He has to make things right.

Slowly, he pushes the door open.

The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of a lantern. The air smells faintly of medicine, and the steady sound of breathing fills the silence.

His eyes land on you instantly.

You’re curled up on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, your expression peaceful. Even after all these years, even after everything, you still look like you.

Sanji is seated in a chair beside your bed, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette resting between his fingers. He doesn’t look surprised to see Sabo standing there. If anything, he looks… expecting.

Sanji exhales a slow stream of smoke “Took you long enough.”

Sabo tenses “You knew I was coming?”

Sanji leans back, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray on the table “Didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Luffy’s been acting weird ever since you showed up.” He tilts his head “You finding that drawing must’ve sped things up.”

Sabo doesn’t respond. His eyes flick back to you, his chest tightening.

Sanji notices “They’re okay,” he says, voice quieter now “Just exhausted and resting. Took a rough hit on our last island, but nothing Chopper couldn’t fix.”

Sabo clenches his fists. The idea of you being hurt—even now—doesn’t sit right with him.

Sanji watches him carefully “So? You gonna wake them up?”

Sabo hesitates “…I don’t know if I should.”

Sanji takes another drag of his cigarette, exhaling through his nose. “You really think you get to make that choice?”

Sabo looks at him, startled.

Sanji doesn’t break eye contact “You left them once already, didn’t you?” He taps his cigarette against the tray again “You don’t get to decide what’s best for them. Not anymore.”

Sabo’s breath catches.

Sanji sighs, standing up “I promised Luffy I’d keep an eye on them but I also know they’d kill me if they found out I let you walk away.” He gives Sabo a pointed look “So, what’s it gonna be?”

Sabo looks at you again.

His fingers twitch at his sides.

Then, finally—he moves.

He steps forward, slowly, quietly, until he’s right beside your bed. His breath is unsteady as he really takes you in.

You’re different now. Older. But still you.

And then, without thinking, he does something he hasn’t done in over a decade.

He reaches out—hesitates—then gently brushes his fingers against your hair.

Sanji raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

Sabo swallows hard. His voice, when he speaks, is barely above a whisper.

“…I’m sorry.”

For leaving.

For making you grieve.

For not finding you sooner.

For everything.

And then— you stir.

Sabo’s breath stills.

Your eyelids flutter slightly, brows furrowing as if resisting the pull of consciousness. He pulls his hand back quickly, heart pounding.

He’s not ready but he doesn’t have a choice.

Because then—your eyes open.

You blink a few times, adjusting to the dim light, and then your gaze lands on him.

And you freeze.

Sabo’s throat goes dry. He should say something. But he can’t. He can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t do anything except stare because you’re looking at him like he isn’t real.

Like he’s a ghost.

Your lips part slightly, but no sound comes out. Just wide, unblinking eyes, your body going stiff beneath the blanket.

Sabo finally forces himself to speak.

“Hey.”

It’s weak. Hoarse. Not nearly enough.

You don’t react. You don’t move. You just keep staring.

A thousand emotions flicker across your face—confusion, disbelief, shock—before suddenly, your expression shatters.

Your hands tremble as you clutch the blanket. Your breath hitches, quick and shallow, like you’re trying to hold something back.

“Sanji.”

Your voice is barely a whisper, but Sanji is at your side in an instant “I’m here.”

You don’t look away from Sabo, like if you blink, he’ll disappear “You see him too, right?”

Sabo’s chest tightens.

Sanji exhales, rubbing the back of his neck “Yeah, sweetheart. I see him.”

You inhale sharply “Oh.”

Sabo takes a cautious step forward “y/n, I—”

“Don’t.”

His stomach drops.

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut “Don’t talk.”

He stiffens.

Sanji places a hand on your shoulder “Breathe,” he murmurs “Nice and slow.”

You try—you really do—but it’s too much.

Because Sabo is standing right in front of you, looking older but still so much like the boy you lost.

And the worst part?

He’s looking at you like he’s sorry.

And that makes you angry.

Your hands curl into fists “You—” Your voice shakes, raw with something you can’t name “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Sabo flinches “I know.”

“Do you?” You snap your head up, eyes burning “Do you actually know what it was like? To lose you? To lose Ace?! I'm so happy to see you but what the hell? Why only now... I don't know how to feel...”

Sanji’s fingers tense against your shoulder, but he doesn’t stop you.

Sabo takes a breath, steady but guilty “I can’t take back what happened. I've lost my memory and got it back just after Ace... But I—”

“You what?” Your voice rises, throat tight “You just forgot about us?!”

Sabo’s expression twists “I didn’t—”

“You did!” The words rip out of you before you can stop them “You left, Sabo! You left me, and then Ace—!” Your voice breaks “And then Ace—!”

You can’t say it.

You can’t say it because if you do, it becomes real again.

The weight in your chest feels suffocating.

And then—a hand.

Not Sanji’s.

Sabo’s.

Warm, hesitant, but firm as it settles over yours.

You stiffen.

Sabo kneels beside the bed, meeting your gaze with something deep, something raw.

“y/n” he murmurs, voice almost pleading “I’m here now.”

Your breath hitches.

Because that’s the problem.

He’s here.

And you don’t know if you can handle it.

You don’t speak, don’t even move for a few seconds. Your heart is pounding in your chest, a chaos of emotions swirling in the pit of your stomach. But then, without warning, you pull him close.

It’s a sudden movement, urgent, like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you don’t hold onto him with everything you’ve got. Your arms are tight around his neck, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.

Sabo’s breath catches. He doesn’t know what to do, but he doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around you, careful and gentle, as though afraid that any sudden movement might shatter the fragile moment.

And it’s fragile.

Because in this hug, there’s tension. So much unspoken hurt in the way your body trembles against his, the way your breath hitches every time his fingers brush the back of your head. This doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t make up for the years, the pain, the void that has been left in the wake of his absence.

But it means you missed him. It means, despite everything, you’re still here. Still clinging to him.

He feels you pull away just a fraction, enough for him to meet your gaze. Your eyes are red and swollen, and the sight of it nearly breaks him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand, trying to hold it together. And then, your voice comes out rough, raw, barely more than a whisper.

“Don’t expect me to forgive you right away.”

Sabo’s chest tightens. He wants to speak, to apologize, to explain himself, but the words are stuck in his throat. Instead, he just nods, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I know,” he says quietly, voice thick “I wouldn’t ask you to.”

You swallow, your breath still uneven, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence between you is heavy, but it’s not suffocating. It’s an understanding.

Then, without warning, you move again. You turn your back to him, walking slowly over to the window, the moonlight casting a soft glow over your features.

Sabo stays where he is, unsure of what to do, still unable to quite believe that he’s standing here, in front of you, after everything.

You take a deep breath and speak, your voice more controlled now, though the weight of everything still lingers.

“When Ace died… I thought I was gonna lose everything. But I didn’t, Sabo. I stayed. For Luffy. For… for us.” You pause, fingers curling into the fabric of your blanket “And I can’t—can’t—lose you again.”

Sabo’s heart aches. He doesn’t deserve that. You stayed. You stayed through the worst of it, even when he wasn’t there, even when Ace was gone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, barely audible “I can’t take back what I did.”

You don’t look at him, but your voice trembles when you speak again.

“I know.”

It’s simple. But it’s all you need to say.

Sabo stands there for a long moment, the weight of your words sinking in. It isn’t enough to fix things. It won’t ever be enough. But it’s a start.

And he’ll take it.

For now.

[transmandorianpavus]

[ID: Three traditional sketches of a male elven inquisitor with long hair with a sidecut on their left, mythal vallaslin, and a slight mustache. On the left, he is facing the viewer and glancing to the left. He is wearing a scarf. In both sketches to the right they are facing left. In the top right they are completely in profile and have small hearts drawn next to their face. In the bottom right their body is at a 3/4 angle and their eyes are closed. He is wearing the default skyhold outfit. End ID]

older art which is now outdated because i changed their vallaslin to dirthamen's but i still like it anyway

[totally-here]

dpxdc twins au except it's no-pulse flavored

Bart’s new roommate looks a lot like Tim. 

Like, suspiciously like Tim. 

Danny’s the same height, has the same shape of nose, same shade of hair, and even frowns like him. He would have been a perfect copy if he acted more like Tim, but Danny definitely holds himself looser than Bart’s ever seen Tim. 

But he still has his face. So, obviously, Bart has to investigate. Maybe he’s a clone, or a shapeshifter, or maybe one of the Gotham rogues decided to get facial reconstruction surgery to look like him, and this was all a ploy. 

Okay, probably not that last one. Bart doesn’t think Tim’s enemies know his identity. 

Anyway, investigation! Bart’ll figure this out himself, and deal with it if Danny needs to be dealt with. And the investigation will start right after he comes up with an excuse as to why he’s back in their third floor apartment when he passed Danny in the hallway a few seconds before. 

Danny stares at him, and Bart stares back. 

“Must’ve been a doppelganger!” Bart blurts out. 

Danny’s silent for a second before nodding enthusiastically and noting that everyone's supposed to have like seven in the world anyway and wow what a wild coincidence that there’s one in their building. 

Bart extends the same courtesy when a week later he walks in on Danny with an iced over pan on the stove. Danny says they should really get their freezer checked out and Bart agrees and asks if he can use the ice for a painting study. 

(They never get their freezer checked.)

Bart finds that Danny’s great at setting up fun things for him to draw, whether he knows it or not. Like the ice, or his collection of rocks, his astronomy textbooks with the pretty covers, his gestures as he rants about his classes, the excited glint in his eyes when he’s talking about his next repair project and how his eyes almost look like they glow in the right light. 

Hm. A good portion of his sketchbook is drawings of Danny, and yet he’s still having trouble with getting the right blue for his eyes. At first glance they’re Tim’s shade of blue, but when he keeps looking they seem to get lighter. Maybe greener?

He should probably stop staring into his friend’s eyes. 

Well, maybe not. Danny doesn’t seem to mind. 

Just like he doesn’t mind when they started regularly sitting very close on the couch, or falling asleep together, or Bart borrowing some of his jackets, or-

Okay, Bart’s kinda seeing a pattern. He and Danny should really have a conversation about if this is platonic behavior or not. 

But not right now, because Bart brought Danny across the river to raid Wally’s board game closet in Keystone. 

And Wally, who’s used to this, just passes by them with a, “Hey Bart, hey Tim.”

“Danny, not Tim,” Danny replies almost absent mindedly, then looks back at Wally, who’s also staring at him now. “Wait, you know Tim?”

“OhmyGod I was supposed to investigate!” Bart says, face palming. It just slipped his mind! And Danny was distracting him with his pretty face that he totally wears better than Tim!

“You know him too?” Danny asks. But he doesn’t look suspicious of them, more amused. 

“How do you know him?” Wally squints at Danny, eyes briefly catching Bart’s in question. 

“He’s my twin,” Danny answers easily. “The Drakes only wanted one kid, so they gave me to their friends the Fentons, who wanted a second one.” He shrugs and goes back to digging around the closet. “Tim and I were always in contact, though. Letters and phone calls and texting, you know?” 

He says it all so casually while Wally and Bart are sharing increasingly concerned looks behind his back. 

Do the Waynes know about Danny? Has Tim never brought him up? Why? Does Danny know about Red Robin? Does Tim-

“Holy shit does this mean Tim has ice powers too!?” 

Or: Tim and Danny are twins. Through a series of coincidences, the first people to find out that aren’t Fentons or Drakes are the flashes.

(This post was brought to you by me recently finishing the 1995 Impulse run, and wanting an excuse to share this panel:

Look they both got called twinks clearly they're soulmates)

[reignpage]

Piercer!Geto

Ducati 350 Desmo : rev my engine

Contents: 18+ mdni, huge foreplay, teasing, insight into that one text between modern au!Suguru and reader, inappropriate workplace behaviour, not proofread (literally wrote this just now and felt an urge to post immediately)

A giggle escapes you. 

Your boss just texted you to come to his office for a consultation on a possible tattoo. And you’re biting your lip, walking over to his door, weaving around the different stations of your fellow co-workers who simply grin at you. They have eyes, they can see he treats you differently, see that he’s softer, more patient around you. 

And they definitely see the blush that stains your cheeks every time he winks at you or breezes past. You just hope they can’t see you press your thighs together when he places his large hand on the small of your back and whisper an ‘excuse me, pretty’ in your ear.

It’s a little silly to be getting so worked up over your boss — your sister would certainly not approve, but she’s not much better than you — but your boss is tall, dark and handsome. Anyone in your position would feel the same way. 

You hear him say ‘come in’ when you knock, so you slip inside and close the door with a nervous smile. Suguru is sat behind his desk, hair tied up into a bun at the back, flicking through a portfolio. His leather jacket is strung on the back of his chair, tight black shirt clinging to his lean but muscular body in a way that makes you jealous. 

“Hey, boss.” Your voice has a slight waver to it, a nervous tremor that catches his attention. He looks up through his thick lashes, a small smile pulling at his lips. Beckoning you to sit across from him, he leans back in his chair, seemingly taking in your figure. 

Thank goodness you stole your sister’s pink sweater with a low v-line dipping to your cleavage. The simmering look he gives you makes facing her wrath so worth it. 

Sitting down, you clasp your hands in your lap. You’ve been in his office many times, but those were quick moments: giving him coffee, informing him of an emergency or a sudden cancellation, grabbing something from his shelves. But you’ve never quite sat and basked in the slight vanilla smell in the air, never been on the opposite side of his desk like a client, and you’ve certainly never faced his flirtations head-on like this. 

Suguru sits up, leaning on his elbow and tilting his head at you with a patient smile. A lock of hair follows with him and you want to feel it. Gosh, his hair looks so pretty. You wonder if it’s as silky as it looks. 

“How have you been finding working here, Y/n? I hope you’re finding it easy enough to balance your studies with your part-time job.”

You pout at the paternal tone he’s taken on. “It’s great. Everyone is so nice. No matter how many times I mess up, no one gets mad at me. Everyone’s so patient, I really feel at home.”

He nods, smile widening ever so slightly. “Good, good. I’m glad to hear that.”

The pink polish on your pointer finger is flaking off as you scratch. You’re fidgeting, suddenly feeling alert and aware of every movement, every shuffle outside the door as people walk past. It feels wrong to be hidden away like this with everyone still working just behind that door. It isn’t even locked. 

“So,” Suguru begins, a teasing lilt to his voice, “you want a tattoo.”

“I want to be tattooed by you,” you hurriedly correct. Why did you do that? That sounded so desperate. You wince but he only smiles wider, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. 

You’re too obvious. 

Suguru opens a drawer and places the leather sketchbook you found the other day. It’s thick, with scraps of paper poking out, and held together by an elastic band. The only thing in his entire office, and in his entire studio, that is messy. It feels scandalous, like you saw a peek through his soul and he had let you. Your heart clenches. So does your pussy. 

Nope.

Behave, you tell your body.

When you catches his gaze, he motions you over to his side. So you stand, pulling your short skirt down as discreetly as possible, and round his desk. This feels even more scandalous. You’re on the boss’ side, seeing the world from his perspective. He’s still sat down whilst you stand beside him, shuffling on your feet awkwardly. 

Then he pushes his chair back ever so slightly to give you space to lean forward and look at the page he’s opened. It’s of the dragon you saw. A pearly white, elegant looking creature with captivating yellow eyes. Its body is twisted, curling as it takes flight, rising through the heavens. You had no idea tattoos could be so beautiful. 

“I’m happy to broaden your perspective, pretty girl,” he replies. 

You hadn’t even realise you said it out loud. You blush again. 

You’re looking down on him, and he’s leaning back in his chair, legs spread in the loose trousers he wears, but it’s settled on his thick thighs, revealing the delectable muscles there and the bulge you’re trying not to look at. 

When you glance back up at him, he’s pressing his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh. Heat rises up your neck to your face. You should be fired.

Clearing your throat, you point to the dragon. “I want that one.”

“Yeah?” He’s studying you, no doubt trying to determine if you’re worthy. “Can you handle being tattooed, pretty? You’ll have needles poking you, will you manage?”

It’s clear he’s trying to test your limits, which is fair because you don’t have a single tattoo, unlike everyone else in the studio. You stand out with all your pastels and pinks contrasting with the sharp metals and ink of the place. But Suguru thinks you’re a scaredy cat. He thinks you’d tap out immediately and cry home about how he was too rough or too mean. 

You raise a brow, trying to imitate that arrogant look your sister always has. “I think I’ll be able to handle whatever you give me,” and then you add, almost like an afterthought, “boss.”

Always smiling, Suguru lifts a hand and curls two fingers. You shuffle between his spread legs, slotting in so perfectly it makes the tips of your breasts tingle. It’d be so easy to just kneel between them, to take out that part of him you’ve been dreaming of since he interviewed you, and ask for his cum like a good girl. Or better yet, to just plop yourself down on his lap and ride him to oblivion. 

You don’t do either, of course. 

It’d be wrong to do any of that with your boss, though you’re sure you wouldn’t regret a thing. But you have no experience with men. Your fingers, and a couple times a pillow, have been your only company on night where the frustration has boiled over. 

Suguru runs his gaze up the length of your body, from the smooth thighs peaking from your skirt, to your waist, to the nipples pebbling under your thin sweater, and the curves rounding out beyond the neckline, your neck, and your face. Then back down again. 

You gulp. 

There are phantom grazes running along your skin, tickling your skin wherever it goes. It’s making you ache between your legs and you want to rub yourself along his thigh, or his face, or both. How is he doing that?

Slowly, like a panther stalking its prey, he straightens his posture and his hand lifts. You’re both watching his fingertips graze the side of your thigh at a snail’s pace, as if intent on carving the feeling of your skin to memory. 

Your heart is pounding in your ribcage, threatening to burst out and dance on his desk. It’s pulsing at a beat that matches the down at the apex of your thighs. Can he hear it?

His eyes meet yours. His smile is gone. That cool temperament has disappeared, replaced with a strain in his eyes, in the way it flickers between yours. And when you gasp as his fingers reach the hem of your tight skirt, feeling the soft pudge, his eyes narrow. 

“Where do you want it?”

Through the haze, you barely hear what he’s saying. You stutter out, “Anywhere you want, boss.”

That was the wrong thing to say apparently because in a flash he’s standing behind you, pinning your hips to the desk with his own. Oh goodness, his body feels so firm against yours. And he smells so good, like thrill and danger wrapped in one. 

Your head falls back against his chest when his hands grip your hips, fingers splaying over your tummy, so close to where you want them but still not close enough.  

His lips scrape the shell of your ear and his deep timbre enters you and vibrates your very being. “Be careful, angel. I might just brand you everywhere.”

Head tilting to the side, you’re gasping at him. “Brand?”

You breathed it out like it was the dirtiest word in the English vocabulary, like he had just suggested he spit in your mouth in front of the clients. But when you make eye contact, he raises his hand to lift your sweater just a little, thumb settling on your bare skin, all warm from the blood rushing through you. 

You’re growing dizzy, so lightheaded you hardly remember where you even are. That must be why he has an impression that looks so innocent, like he hadn’t said anything at all. You’re mistaken. The rush is ruining your perception. 

Suguru leans down and he’s so close, you’re just a tiptoe away from feeling his lips against yours, from tasting him and exploring anything and everything he’s willing to give. His hands are burning his imprints and you already know you’ll feel them later when you’re no doubt sliding your own hand into your soaked panties. 

But then he pulls away just as there’s a knock at his door. 

You hear Miguel’s muffled voice and you scramble back from Sugar, who’s gracefully sitting back down like nothing’s happened. Your mind is frantically trying to catch up, and it leaves you breathless. 

Stumbling over to the door, you fix your sweater and pull down your skirt hurriedly before opening the door to see the man polite smile at you and then at the boss. 

He enters and you exit, the door remains open. But when you sneak one last glance at the room, you see Miguel admiring something on the wall, and then you catch Suguru’s heated gaze, his stare not faltering even as he presses a hand to his crotch and adjusts himself like a promise. 

You walk back to your desk at the front of the shop and desperately try to catch your breath just in time as a pink-haired man you recognise as being a member of the student council and a friend of your sister introduces himself and ask to see Suguru on a ‘personal matter’.   

It’s as if you’re moving on auto-pilot, nodding with a polite smile and gesturing to the direction of his office unnecessarily because the man’s already walking off. Your phone pings and you open it to see a text from your friend about how she’s on her way. 

You exhale one last time, replying something to her and ignoring the embers flickering on the places your boss has touched. 

And then you giggle. 

[annadiplosis]

A few months ago I posted a couple photos of my index cards, saying I still didn’t know how and where I’d keep them, and I’ve since developed an Archiving System that combines the cards with a digital spreadsheet and has taken more hours than I will ever admit.

So, since I don’t have a “notebook system” to speak of, I'd like to share the way I archive my journals / sketchbooks / whatever you wanna call them, because I’m very proud of it, and who knows, someone might find it helpful :)

WHY I NEED AN ARCHIVING SYSTEM

The reason I don’t have a notebook system is because I use my books for absolutely everything, from sketches to grocery lists and journaling. It is crucial to me to not have any restrictions or expectations when it comes to my books, and that’s how I’ve managed to fill 43 of them over the years.

But of course, when you’ve been using notebooks without a system for most of your life and you want to read a specific entry, you can easily spend a full hour flipping through a sea of paper until you stumble upon those notes on the Bubonic Plague you took in 2011 or whatever you were trying to find.

SO HERE’S WHAT I DO

When I finish a notebook, I try to determine what its most important contents are: stuff I might want to reference in the future (project ideas, meeting notes) or is very characteristic of a period in my life (friends' drawings, travel logs). Every single page contributes to making the notebook what it is and gives it a unique personality, but not all of them are gonna be keepers, and that's fine (I'd even say fundamental, at least in my case).

These are the extremely generic categories I sort my Chosen Entries into. It's similar to the dot system so many people use, just applied retroactively:

🟣 Study notes 🔵 Work 🟢 Personal 🟡 Projects 🔴 Misc

And here's where the real archiving begins. This info goes into:

1. THE INDEX CARDS

(I always write them in Catalan; this one's a mockup and most of these are not real entries)

A little piece of cardboard with the notebook number, its start and end dates, and most important contents. I keep each index card inside its corresponding notebook, either in its own backpocket or an adhesive one I stick there myself.

This way, whenever I want to take a quick look through the book, I get a general idea of its contents at first glance. Sometimes, just holding it in my hand and reading the index card brings me back to the time when I was keeping it, and that time-travel feeling gives me a rush like no other. I don't know if you can tell, but I'm crazy about my notebooks.

2. THE SPREADSHEET

Same as before, just a couple more pieces of info (number of months, physical description) added to a file with the rest of my notebooks' data. Again, these are not real entries for privacy and language reasons, but they're very similar to the kind of stuff I do keep. The spreadsheet helps me find specific entries with a simple ctrl+f, and it's also a bird's-eye view of my progress through the years as a notebook keeper. I can see when my interests shift, how long some of my most important projects took to come to fruition, and even similar types of entries that repeat every few years which I wasn't even aware of before putting it all together. Absolutely fascinating stuff.

I hope this was useful, or interesting at the very least! If you’re a notebook keeper trying to find their own archiving system, my main advice would be to start early so you don’t have to deal with almost two decades of material like I did :’)

If you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask.

Good luck 🖤

[priintiisor]

hello i have no idea what to draw for today but the prompt is "echoes" so here!! have my echoes when they were alive designs that i ve been cooking up for like. a month at this point

i have no idea how ancients look but they are furries. to me.

(wall echo gets to be on the same photo as the downpour people because there s 10 of them total and having 6 in the first one and 4 in the second one annoys me- anyways)

also uhh i wrote a part of what they say next to most of them because i regularly forget which one of the echoes is which lol

be warned i rambled A LOT below

i have a lot of Thoughts about these guys because i am physically incapable of drawing a character without coming up with a bunch of lore for them- maybe i ll make another post with all my sketches of them (it s like half my sketchbook at this point) and tell you all my headcanons and worldbuilding that i pulled out of literally nowhere but for now here s some disjointed thoughts:

- generally i kind of tried to make their colors match the area they re in. though sometimes i just added stuff cuz i thought it looked cool

- chimney echo is my favorite echo so i designed them first and as such they ended up with the worst design. oops- i still love you chimney echo

- the details on these guys are sometimes meaningful and sometimes random shit i added lol, i m not very good at coming up with very detailed things

- yes some of them (most of them-) have bird legs and some of them have paws. i have Headcanons about the ancients. also in my head (and based on the karma paintings) they re covered in bandages and clothes are optional so. i tried to have fun with their clothes. yes some of them don t have pants. such is life

- they also have tails because I SAY SO

- farm arrays echo has no idea why they re here

- droplets has a fuckton of pearls because they deserve it

- oh yeah also i like to think (based on the fact that there s just random shit written on most of the white pearls) that these guys just carried pearls around to write down whatever they needed or with whatever information they needed to have on hand. i also had fun with hanging pearls off of them

- wall echo is Tall and Scary and he Scares me

- for the guys that i imagine would have lived after the iterators were built, i also drew their citizen drones because.. i always forget to draw sofanthiel and. justice for sofanthiel

- metropolis echo and bitter aerie echo have weapons because i like to think the anicents fought eachother, like for sport- metropolis echo because she s artificer in ancient form and bitter aerie echo because they re basically just a challenge and their dialogue is just "oh you actually got here, good job". idk it made sense in my head

- yes bitter aerie echo has a harpoon. that was my friends idea actually

- yes metropolis echo s drone is sofanthiel. i think it s funny. i told you she s just arti in ancient form to me

- 8 spots on a blind eye was born with really bad sight in one eye but they tell everyone they lost it in battle because that s cooler

- rhinestones beneath shattered glass is an insane cat lady and we love them

- yes some of them are related, yes the funny colored pieces of cloth have meaning, i WILL NOT get into it now

- pebble for scale <3 (i have my reasons to believe the ancients were giagantic. mostly the fact that their city is IMPOSSIBLE to get around without double jumps (see my post from 2 days ago) but also i just think it s cool. and really funny. i have no idea how they get through pipes)

thanks for reading my ramblings. reminder i could ramble more i ve been THINKING about these guys

[band--psycho]

Rafayel x Reader - Change Of Plans

Part three of my 'They find out you got hurt on a mission' series. This will include Zayne, Sylus, Xavier and Rafayel! I'll be posting the other stories over the next few days, please let me know if you want to be tagged in any of them!

This is also my first Rafayel story so please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Thank you all for the continued support! I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

L&DS Masterlist / Rafayel Masterlist / Join My Taglist

Warnings: Hospitals, discharging ones self from hospital, mentions of pain medication, mentions of injuries

You knew discharging yourself from the hospital wasn’t the most logical thing to do, especially when the nurses were so insistent on you staying there for observation. 

But you weren’t exactly a big fan of hospitals and you weren’t dying, you just had a slightly nasty cut on your side, one that the nurses had already stitched and bandaged up. 

So as long as you were careful, you saw no reason why you couldn’t leave, which is why you were getting a taxi to Rafayels place. 

Perhaps you would’ve stayed, had it been any other day. 

But today, you couldn’t. 

Today, you had a job to do. 

Rafayel was going to a gallery opening tonight, and as his bodyguard, it was your job to be there and ensure nothing happened to him. 

You were well aware that Rafayel could handle himself well enough, but nevertheless, protecting him was still your job…and you knew you’d never forgive yourself if something happened to him and you weren’t there to stop it. 

People at events like this could get nasty, jealous of the success Rafayel had as an artist; you’d seen your fair share of angry competitors attempting to confront him; not that they ever really got very far. 

You were always there to stop them from getting to him. 

90% of the time, people would just walk away, muttering curse words under their breath; then there was then the other 10% that thought it would be easy to take you down, of course you proved them wrong every single time, much to the delight of your boss.  

You sucked in a small, sharp breath as you carefully exited the taxi, making sure not to pull any of your stitches. 

Part of you was regretting not taking any pain medication before you left the hospital, because now that the adrenaline had worn off, the pain of your injury was beginning to set in. 

Another small wince fell from your lips as you knocked on Rafayels door; waiting patiently on the doorstep to be let in either by him or Thomas.

You heard footsteps walking down the hallway before the door opened to reveal your boss standing in the doorway. 

“There you are,” 

You could hear the relief in his voice as he looked at you with a small smile.

“Normally you’re the one chasing me to be on time,” he joked lightly; and you smiled back at him, knowing it was true. 

You’d lost track of the amount of times Rafayel was the one who ran late to these events; quite often you had to lure him away from his sketchbook with the promise that if he was bored in the first half an hour then you two could leave. 

“I’m sorry, my mission ran over a little,” 

You could feel Rayafels eyes on you, his expression remained neutral but you could see in his eyes that he didn’t believe your reason for nearly being late.  

But he didn’t push the matter any further, which you were grateful for. 

You knew that if he knew that you were injured, he wouldn’t go to the event tonight at all. 

That was even more of a reason why you just needed to focus on the task at hand; and hope that that would distract you from the pain you were in. 

He invited you inside; and the two of you were discussing the exit routes from the gallery as well as some of his competitors who were bound to make an appearance tonight; that was until you both heard a car pull up outside. 

It was Thomas. 

You slowly rose to your feet, assuming that you were both going to be leaving to go to the gallery, but instead, Rafayel put his hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you back down to the seat you’d been sitting in. 

“Stay here,” he said softly, vanishing behind the door and heading outside; you saw him talking to Thomas through the window, you didn’t know what Rafayel had said to Thomas, but you could tell that whatever it was, Thomas wasn’t that pleased about it.

When Rafayel came back into the room you were in, he had a beaming smile on his face as he flopped down into  the chair opposite you, “So, what do you want to do tonight?” 

“We’re going to the gallery opening?”  

The confusion in your voice was palpable; not even five minutes ago you were discussing the necessary safety precautions to take at tonight's events, now you weren’t going atl all?

You were used to Rafael changing his mind about going to events like this, but it just never normally happened this quickly.

“No we’re not,” he answered simply, picking up a nearby pencil and twirling it between his fingers, “I don’t feel like going anymore?”

“Why?” You questioned, mentally preparing yourself to have to persuade him to go. 

“They happen quite often, I’m sure I won’t miss anything,” he nonchalantly answered; before his enchanting pinkish-purple eyes met yours, “Besides, I think you could use some rest,miss Hunter” 

“I’m fine, Raf,” you countered back, a little too quickly, an action that wasn’t missed by Rafael

“Is that so? He asked quizzically, narrowing his eyes slightly,before putting the pencil on the table in front of him before taking a few steps towards you,his eyes never leaving yours.“Then why were you wincing earlier,”

You could have stuck with what you’d originally said; that your mission had simply taken longer than planned, but you knew Rafayel would see straight through your white lie as he already had. 

You hated having to tell people that you’d been injured during a mission, you were a hunter, you were trained to avoid getting hurt; so when situations like this happened, it made you feel slightly humiliated. 

And now you were going to have to tell the person who hired you to be his own personal bodyguard, that you got hurt during a mission and ended up in hospital.

“What happened?” 

You noticed a slight change in the colour of  his eyes; it wasn’t the first time you’d seen it happen, though it only ever seemed to happen when he was worried about something. 

And right now, that something was you. 

He was worried about you. 

“I…I got hurt on my mission,” you mumbled your admission almost so quietly you weren’t sure if Rafayel had even heard it. 

“Why aren’t you at the hospital?” he asked, placing his hand on top of yours gently, running his thumb just under one of the cuts on the back of your hand. 

“I was,” you admitted, “But I discharged myself.” 

“Because of the gallery opening?” 

You nodded simply to his question. 

“Your commitment to your job is admirable, cutie, even if a little foolish,” he praised, moving his other hand to the side of your face, cupping your cheek delicately as though you were going to break if he held too harshly. 

“You should’ve told me,” he whispered, “I would’ve come and kept you company.” 

You couldn’t deny how his words, along with his actions, made you feel…

A feeling that you’d been trying to push away for the past few months.

“Raf, that’s sweet, but we both know you have better things to do with your time than sit with me in the hospital,” you stated matter of factly; making a small chuckle fall from your bosses lips. 

“Spending time with you is one of the best ways I could possibly spend my time,” he cooed, leaning his head down slightly before pressing a soft kiss on your cheek. 

“Raf-” you breathed, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks as you savored the closeness of him. 

“Get some rest, cutie,” he quietly said, before grabbing the blanket that was behind the chair and placing it over you, “I’ll wake you up in a little while when our food is here.” 

You could’ve argued with him; but arguing would’ve been useless; and in all honesty, you were exhausted, so you complied with what your boss was telling you to do; you got yourself settled in the chair and slowly let your exhaustion take over. 

Rafayel watched you for a little while; until he was certain that you were asleep.

He knew that you were fine. 

But that didn’t stop him from worrying about you. 

When he saw you wince as you got out of the taxi, he felt his heart ache, he knew that something had happened, that was why he told Thomas that he wasn’t going to Gallery Opening tonight, he didn't want to put you at risk of getting hurt anymore than you already had.

He wanted to keep you safe. 

And he was going to ensure that that happened; that you were safe, no matter what.

Tagglist:

@xacatalepsyx @stiltdeer-snootnoodle @deathkat657 @book-dragon03 @fangirlsfandomsss @evilldentists @hao-ming-8 @worm-in-a-bug @babygirl-panda19 @tasha-1994 @popcorn-mochi01 @cheesemachine44 @thegalaxysedge22 @chubby-bun-bun @whimsiecat @callme-amaya

[throatgoat4u]

ice breakers

word count: 1.2k

summary: mrs simpson makes you play an ice breaker to get to know your tablemate!

warnings: nothing besides chris being a major asshole

a/n: ngl… i made this the second after i posted late on the first day but like…. idk why i never posted this. im posting this for @oopsiedaisydeer since i’ve been disappointing her with the lack of my posting 😔. hope yall enjoy!

toodles sluts :)

you looked back up at the seating chart, then at chris’s face, before letting out a long, heavy sigh. you could just ask mrs. simpson to move you—especially since you were her favorite student—but you really, really liked your seat, and the other tables were more crowded. so, begrudgingly, you made your way to the back.

you dropped your backpack next to your stool and took a seat, stiff and unsure. what were you supposed to do? what if he said hi or—who were you kidding? why would the christopher sturniolo say hi to you? he was one of those guys who seemed untouchable, like a character from a movie. you’d spent so long admiring him from afar that it felt strange to be this close, like you were intruding on his world.

as you stole a glance at him, you took in his perfectly messy hair that looked like it fell that way naturally (though you were pretty sure he spent at least ten minutes perfecting it every morning). his clothes were annoyingly stylish, that casual-but-expensive look that only someone like him could pull off. he was leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out, fingers tapping lazily on his phone screen. he didn’t even look up when you sat down.

you swallowed hard, turning to the front just as mrs. simpson walked in, flashing you a smile and a wink. what was that supposed to mean? did she place you here on purpose?

“welcome back, everyone,” she began, her voice all bubbly and energetic. “i can’t wait to start the year and get to know some of you while reconnecting with some familiar faces. let’s kick things off with a little table group activity. it has nothing to do with art, it’s just to get to know each other. this is important because if you know me, you know i don’t allow seat changes until the last few months when i let everyone pick their seats. so, it would be smart to get to know your tablemates. there’s a set of questions on each table—use them to break the ice. i’ll give you all 20 to 30 minutes. enjoy, and welcome back!”

your heart sank. no, she couldn’t be serious. you actually had to talk? and not just to anyone—but to him? chris looked up from his phone, his eyes flicking to the paper in the middle of the table before landing on you. his expression was unreadable as he reached for the question sheet.

“you know, i didn’t expect to be stuck with the lonely girl all year,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension.

you froze. what? you always thought he didn’t even know you existed, but apparently, he did—and not for anything good. it didn’t hurt as much as it should have, though. you were used to being seen as the quiet, lonely girl with her head buried in a sketchbook. still, his words stung, slicing through the thin layer of confidence you’d built up over the summer.

you forced yourself to look at him, your mouth opening to say something, but no words came out. chris was already reading through the questions, his brows furrowing in annoyance. “this is stupid,” he muttered before tossing the paper on the table. “let’s just get this over with.”

you nodded, eyes dropping to your lap. the room buzzed with chatter, other tables laughing and talking like this was the easiest thing in the world. you wished you could be like them—effortlessly social, blending in instead of sticking out like a sore thumb.

chris sighed, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts. “first question. what’s your name?”

“uh… i-it’s dotty,” you mumbled, picking at your jeans, avoiding his gaze.

he looked at you for a moment, his head tilting slightly. “dotty? like… dot?”

“uh… yeah, kind of…”

he let out a short laugh, leaning back in his chair. “weird name. anyways, next question—favorite color.”

“i like them all. i don’t really have a preference. each color… it, uh, serves a purpose.”

“that’s the dumbest answer i’ve ever heard,” he said, rolling his eyes. “who the hell doesn’t have a favorite color?”

your fingers tightened around the hem of your shirt. you could feel the familiar sting of embarrassment building in your chest, the kind that made you want to disappear.

he looked at you, expecting a better answer, but when he realized that you had been serious, he shook his head and moved on. “do you have any pets?”

you shook your head, and he sighed, clearly bored. “any siblings?”

“uh, yeah. i have a little brother. he’s four.”

“he’s four?” chris looked at you like you’d just said something ridiculous.

“uh, yeah, my parents waited a while before they had another kid.”

“weird. anyway, got any hobbies?”

you nodded, and he raised an eyebrow. “you know you’re supposed to say what they are, right?”

“o-oh, yeah… uh, i like to draw and paint and stuff.”

“lonely and an art loser. pathetic,” he muttered under his breath, probably thinking you didn’t hear him—but you did. is it bad that comments like that don’t even hurt anymore? “whatever. favorite tv shows or movies?”

“um… my favorite movie is call me by your name and my favorite show is gilmore girls.”

“i’m gonna pretend i know what that movie is. favorite food?”

“pasta.”

his eyebrow raised, a flicker of interest crossing his face. “finally, something we have in common.”

“o-oh, you like pasta too?” you asked, a tiny spark of hope in your voice.

he looked up from the paper, scoffing. “no, i just said that for shits and giggles. what a stupid question.”

“r-right… sorry,” you mumbled, your cheeks heating up as you looked away. there was no way this was the guy you’d obsessed over for three years straight. no way this was the guy who filled pages of your sketchbook. no way this was the guy you fantasized about, hoping he’d notice you one day. this guy was a fucking dickhead.

chris rolled his eyes, shoving the paper toward you. “you’re boring as hell. ask me the questions. i’m sure i’ll be way more interesting.”

you took the paper, nodding as you read the first question aloud, “what’s your name?”

his face deadpanned, eyes narrowing. “skip.”

“uh… excuse me?”

“i said skip. what, are you deaf?”

“n-no, i heard you… it’s just… why skip?”

“everyone knows my name, dotty,” he said, spitting out your name like it was an insult. “i’m not like you. people actually know me.”

“oh… right. sorry.”

you continued asking the questions, and he answered each one with an air of superiority that made you want to shrink into your seat. by the end of it, you knew exactly one thing about christopher sturniolo: he was an arrogant, conceited asshole who thought the world revolved around him.

when the activity was finally over, you couldn’t help but feel more relieved than you ever have. this was going to be a long year

taglist: @freshloveee. @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan. @heart-sdiary. @sturnshood. @oopsiedaisydeer. @hjvi. @poolover123. @t0riiiis. @leoslaboratory. @mattsrecipe. @reiiwith2is. @laylaluvsu2000. @shoo-00

[spaceycat]

Fic request where the reader asks Steve Rogers to draw her “like one of his French girls” 🤨

-🐇

white rabbit has returned, UH YES?? i think we all kinda glossed over the fact that steve was actually a really good artist? even though we only saw it for like 2 seconds, enjoy !!!

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

➶-͙ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ...  ╰┈➤ 𝚒𝚝'𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

♫ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: meet me in the hallway by harry styles (3:47)

✰ pairing: steve rogers x reader

✰ cw: fluffy, kissing, shared feelings, swearing

✰ word count: 0.6k+

✰ summary: reader finds out that her bestfriend steve can draw, and asks him to try and draw her. it soon leads to feelings shared.

✰ a/n: this is such a mood change from my usual posting of until dawn, enjoy regardless?? also fun fact i haven't watched titanic sooooo

════ ⋆★⋆ ════ 

༺colour chart༻ reader ❀ steve ☀︎

You were looking for something in Steve's drawers, it was normal for you to do so - you were bestfriends after all. You were searching when you accidentally bumped the drawer, books and journals falling to the floor. "Shit--" You'd mumble to yourself, crouching down to pick up the mess of books, that's when one caught your eye - a journal full of drawings. You never thought Steve was one to be the drawing type, always caught up in work with the Avengers or something of the sort. You'd pick it up, realising it was a journal dating back to his time in the war. As you flipped through the pages, you saw sketches of trains, landscapes, the occasional drawing of Bucky or Peggy. Your eyes eventually landed on one of a monkey dressed up in his Captain America outfit, a monkey on a unicycle on a tight rope? Why would he draw this.. that's when Steve's voice cut your thoughts.

"Hey-- you okay? I heard a thud.." You'd look over to him, standing up to face him. That's when his eyes caught you holding his sketchbook. "Uh-- yeah, I just knocked over some books and stuff.." "Where did you find that--" He'd walk over to you, grabbing the book from your hands. Looking up at you, expecting an answer. "I-- knocked it over.. like I said-- I-I never knew that you drew.. or that well for that matter." "That was a long time ago.." He'd close the book, placing it back onto the dresser. "Do you still draw?--" "I don't have much time to anymore, but yeah-- sometimes.." "Maybe.. drawing me will kickstart some artistic instincts.." "Oh-- no, I.. I shouldn't." "Oh c'mon, Stevie.. draw me like one of your french girls.." He looked at you confused, "..Titanic?" He raised a brow, "I-- what you seriously haven't watched Titanic? 'I'm flying, Jack'?" The quote made him look even more confused. "Titanic as in-- the ship?" "I'm surprised Sam hasn't shown you it.. c'mon, we'll watch it as you draw me."

Steve and you set up in the living room of his apartment - setting up snacks and drinks while you tried to find Titanic on his tv. That’s when you heard scribbling from beside you, you’d look over. Seeing Steve looking up at you then back to the paper.

“Hey— wait, I wasn’t ready.” You’d move beside him, looking at what he had drawn, it was a small sketch of you. “Oh..” You paused for a minute, “Steve this is really good—“ "Uh-- thanks.." He'd look at you, realising how close you two were. You'd grab the book from him - focusing on it so much so that you didn't notice how intently Steve was looking at you. "I am stealing this page once--" You'd look up at him, realising he was staring at you. "Uhm-- it's good." He'd grab it from you, closing it - placing it aside. "I want to try something.." He'd look at for you for a moment, "Can I kiss you?" That took you by surprise, "Steve I--" "Can I kiss you?.." He'd ask again, you'd nod. "Need a physical answer." "Yes." He'd lean foward, placing a hand to the side of your face. Placing a soft kiss to your lips, pulling back. You'd chase his lips, moving to kiss him again. Filled with passion and love, he pulled back for air. "So-- why the monkey?" "What?--" "The monkey you drew?" "Oh-- that was back during the war.. when I was just a statement piece, a show pony.." "Oh-- right, I.. I'm sorry." "Don't apologise, it wasnt your fault." He'd tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, "Are we gonna continue watching Titanic?" "Oh-- right."

ONE DOWN !!!

[cochineal-leviat]

Island Moominvalley AU thingy/sketches from class

Heyo, I finally remembered posting these sketches I made in class two months ago. I made these when I was feeling horrible, and I took to my sketchbook during class to deal with what was happening in my life. My grandma had just landed in the hospital during the first-semester exam period, and oh boy, you bet I was distraught. She is doing much better now, by the way. Don't worry.

I honestly love how easy it is to remember how to draw Siffrin without a reference. It helps me draw without having to think.

(Btw, au ideas are the complete bottom of the post if you want to read about it!)

So, from the top, the chronological order I made the sketches.

As my first drawing, I was just sketching a little guy that wasn't supposed to be Siffrin yet. Halfway, it did become Siffrin, but I drew him with both eyes because I was going off on instinct. At the end of the sketch, I was really confused as to why Siff felt off until I started on the second drawing and realised they had an eyepatch! So, first sketch siff became pre-canon siff. His original hair colour is already well on its way of coming through. Compared to my recent comic, Siff, this is much closer to the Sadness Incident. (Maybe around the time the party meets Bonnie?)

Siffrin is squinting because he is trying to read something but the lack of depth makes it hard. They look a little angry but Siff is wholly unaware they are making that face. And since this is after the game events, they do not have their hat to hide their face behind.

I drew Snufkin right under simply because I remembered how similar Snufkin and Siffrin are in design, which is not a surprise since insertdisc5 said that in the later stages of designing Siff, there was a vast Snufkin trend going on tumblr. I didn't have any grayscale markers on me at the time so I created depth and greys by hatching. It's interesting how different the grayscale shades on Snufkin and Siffrin are since Siffrin is almost entirely in black and white, and Snufkin, when turned into black and white, is made out of grey shades.

On the right is an older Snufkin or an attempt at a design for an older Snufkin. Then, I remembered the ideas spooking in my head about an AU where Snufmin from Moomins were Siffrin's parents before the whole Island shebang happened. More about that later.

Different stages of life for Siffrin before the Island Incident. I always admire people who can design a character ageing and them looking different but still recognisable enough to be that character. So I took a crack at that, with the top being toddler Siff, the left kid Siff and the right teen Siff. Teen Siff took more influence from Loop. But that isn't really surprising if you have completely finished the game.

(The flower crown was made by Moomintroll)

A family portrait with baby Siff and two very proud fathers. (I forgot to colour it in இ௰இ.) Snufkin is much shorter than Moomintroll, but I realised I had drawn the heights wrong afterwards. The top of Snufkin's head usually meets the height of Moomin's chin.

Btw I did not come up with the Snufmin as Siffrin's parents' idea. I saw an author on AO3 who came up with it first, and I was really inspired by it. I can't really find the fic anymore. I think about it almost daily. (I am writing a fic about it, but it's getting so long, help. Why must school be so harsh? I just want to work on that and NPLH)

I'm not that sure about my design for Moomintroll yet, but I do know I want him to have a fun curly moustache (you can see a sketch I didn't ink all the way at the top of the post, and I like it, but it can have more features of his Moomin form in there. I should have drawn regular Moomin next to him for reference, but I forgot.)

AU rambling part

My rough concept for Island Mooiminvalley is that Moominvalley is not necessarily the entire island. The original northern country is a string of islands with diverse cultures, and Moominvalley was a part of that. (The capital could almost be considered its separate thing for how advanced their technology was)

It follows the canon of Moomins pretty closely (except that they are human) until Moomintroll and Snufkin get together in adulthood and have Siffrin. Snufkin is still a traveller, which is an inherent part of where he is from on the other part of the island. In contrast, Moominvalley is a homebody (except for some residents like Moominpapa.)

So Snufkin travels all over and comes home during Spring to spend time in Moominvalley and with his family. Moomintroll stays at home half the time but also works as a carpenter around the place (and makes sure no parks are created in Snufkin's absence). He wears his father's passed-down pouldrons as inheritance, as wearing a piece of your parents is tradition when they retire. The ribbon tying his hair is from Moominmama. (Moominpapa would hold onto his top hat too much to give it to Moomin. The pouldrons are from his military service. Although if he really served in the military of the Island or if it was a trinket from his travels is unknown)

Siffrin grows up being inspired by Snufkin and wants to be like him when they grow up. Curious and excited about exploring the world. Moomintroll was against this at first (if you don't know Moomins/Moominvalley, it's because Moomintroll has abandonment issues and yearns a lot for Snufkin to return. Like a whole damn lot. Siffrin really takes after Moomintroll in that regard, XD (heh, not that funny,. More sad with what happens in game)

Eventually, he relents, and as a rite of passage, Siffrin is sent off by his parents and the entirety of the valley on their first voyage. (Something about letting your hair grow long when you stay somewhere long and cutting it when you wander again in Snufkin's culture, so Siffrin cuts their hair short and gives it to fathers to remember them by. So freshly wiped memory Siff has short hair)

In the middle of the ocean on their way to Vanguard, the tragedy of the Island struck, and they washed ashore, unable to remember their entire lives. Only a few belongings remained as the waves swallowed up most of them.

What happened to the Island? What happened to Moominvaley? To Siff's forgotten parents? I am keeping that for my fic ^_^

Are you guys interested in this au? Please tell me if you are.

[leashybebes]

fic: blue and gold (18/28)

today's @bucktommyfluffebruary prompt is trying something new and my fill is here

tumblr version below for those that prefer to read here

"What did you think?" Tommy asks.

Buck shrugs. "I don't know. None of them jumped out at me."

"Yeah," Tommy agrees with a sigh. "Me neither."

"Ugh," Buck groans. "Why is this so hard?"

"It's a whole house," Tommy says.

"Yeah," Buck admits. "Maybe we can just live in a string of Air B'n'Bs?"

"Sure," Tommy agrees easily.

"Failing that, can we just not think about it anymore today?"

"That sounds great, honestly. What do you want to do instead?"

"Get takeout and rot on your couch?"

"Perfect," Tommy says, reaching over to squeeze Buck's thigh.

***

There's an inevitable post-takeout slump before Tommy pats Buck's shoulder, kisses his cheek and says, "Back in a sec."

Buck hums in quiet acknowledgement, tilting his face into the kiss but not looking away from his book. He hears Tommy go upstairs, move around for a moment and then he's back.

"So I was doing some pre-emptive clearing out, and I found some stuff," Tommy says, and he sounds…weirdly nervous, so Buck sets his book down and looks at him.

"Is it drugs?" Buck suggests. "Leather?"

"None of the above, unfortunately," Tommy says, and holds out a sketchbook, some charcoals, a box of graphite pencils. "I was wondering if - if I could draw you."

"Oh! I didn't know you drew."

"It's been a while," Tommy says, shrugging. "I'm not very good."

Buck shrugs. "Sure. What do you need me to do?"

"Just not move too much," Tommy says. "And take your shirt off, maybe."

"Oh, I see how it is," Buck says with a grin, but he does as he's told. "Can I keep reading?"

"Yeah," Tommy says, already setting himself up across the room.

It's surprisingly soothing, the sound of pencils moving over paper, the feel of Tommy's eyes on him, occasionally repositioning himself per Tommy's requests - can you stretch your legs out, can you turn your head away a little, can you put the book down for ten minutes when you're ready. He likes it, he realizes, which shouldn't be as surprising as it is. He likes Tommy's attention - he's liked Tommy's attention since the day they met. He sets his book aside, stretches his arms above his head. The sound of Tommy's pencil stutters to a stop.

"Oh," he says. "Yeah. That's - stay like that."

Buck tips his head back and smiles at the ceiling.

Later, Tommy lets him look through the book.

"It's - it's not much," Tommy says, rubbing his charcoal-smudged fingers together. "I'm - you know, out of practice."

And he is, that's clear. But it's still miles better than anything Buck could do. It's amazing, really. Not just the quality, but the quantity. In the last - hour, maybe two, Tommy has produced sketch after sketch of Buck's eyes, his jawline, his tattoos, his lips.

Buck looks at Tommy over the sketchbook, sees the nerves melt away from his face when their eyes meet.

"This is amazing," Buck says earnestly. "You can draw me any time."

Tommy smiles bashfully.

[perkypeony]

𝕋𝔸ℕ𝔾𝕃𝔼𝔻 𝕀ℕ 𝕋ℍℝ𝔼𝔸𝔻𝕊

Model Nanami Kento x fashion designer reader

You were flicking through the pages of your sketchbook, your head spinning as you tried to decide which design would be best for your new streetwear collection. You thought you’d ask your friend's opinion later, but for now, you were going to get ready and head to the newly opened branch of your daily wear boutique.

Despite studying fashion design during your time at the creative arts academy and being able to create meticulous designs, you opted to build your own brand of daily wear that’s stylish yet affordable. Your business started small, but with the support of your friends—who happened to be the famous actor Gojo Satoru and the rising singer Geto Suguru—more people came to know your brand. Just last week, you opened the third branch of your boutique, and you were already planning to open the fourth branch overseas in a few years.

You got out of your midnight black Mini Cooper and saw a long line outside the boutique. It was probably too crowded inside, so the staff had asked the customers to queue outside. You made a mental note to install some sort of shade so the customers wouldn’t have to wait in the sun. The staff recognized you immediately and greeted you, asking if there was anything they could help with. You told them you were just doing a little observation.

You smiled as you overheard a customer praising the high quality of the material despite the affordable price. As you walked around, talking with some customers for feedback, you spotted a blonde man wearing a black mask—one you’d recognize anywhere. It was the hot model, Nanami Kento. He became famous after modeling for big brands and even appeared on the front covers of internationally known magazines. And to add to that, he was your crush back in the creative arts academy and still is today. That’s why you would remember him forever.

You admired his calmness and respectfulness. He always maintained a very professional work ethic. Unfortunately, you and he had never been close, only talking a few times. The only person you still kept in touch with was Nanami’s best friend, Haibara. He tried to set you up with Nanami, but you were always too shy and quickly declined his crazy plans.

You were surprised to see him in your boutique. Did that mean he wore your creations? Not gonna lie, sometimes you imagined him modeling your designs, but you had never hired a famous model before. After all, you had two famous friends willing to post pictures of themselves wearing your brand on social media. Without those two idiots, you wouldn’t have been successful today.

You gathered all your courage to say hi to him, hoping he would remember you. “Hi, Nanami. Uh... what are you looking for?”

“A hoodie,” he replied, then looked up to meet your eyes. “Y/N? I never thought I’d meet the designer herself.”

So, he did remember you. You could feel your stomach do silly things. It was probably the butterflies. “I’m just doing a quick observation. Is this your first time at my boutique?”

“I’ve bought a few pairs of pants and shirts from your boutique before. I really like them. And since this new branch is closer to my condo, I thought I’d give it a visit.”

“Thanks for your support. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he said with a warm smile. “We haven’t seen each other in quite a few years. Do you have any plans tonight? Maybe we could catch up over dinner?”

A dinner? With your crush? That surely sounded like a dream come true!

“I would love to go to dinner with you tonight,” you answered, trying not to sound too giddy.

“Perfect. Text me your address, and I’ll pick you up at 8.”

“Alright. I have to go check on the... um... cashier. See you tonight.”

Nanami nodded and smiled as he watched you leave. He couldn’t wait to tell Haibara that he had finally asked you out for dinner.

[luffydotcom]

straw hats and birthday gifts

synopsis: headcanons on gifts i think the straw hats would like on their birthdays! (+ their birthdays in general)

feat: luffy, zoro, nami, usopp, sanji (i was going to do the rest but it was getting pretty long)

notes: this is my first post ever on this blog and on tumblr... but since my birthday is coming up soon, and i love one piece, i had to make this! i had to think really hard about this to be honest, since they're all so different from each other + their interests are quite different

warnings: (slight) whole cake island spoilers in sanji's part

luffy:

LUFFY doesn't take his birthdays too seriously. he does take note of when his birthday is coming up, but it's not something he's too bothered about. he probably wouldn't ask for too much for his birthday, since every day is a fun day for him, so is his birthday much different?

however, he would definitely be happy with anything food-related - a big, cartoonishly towering cake (baked by sanji, of course, for his special day) that he could eat with his friends would make him very happy.

honestly, luffy would appreciate anything that satisfies his stomach - even a huge piece of meat, made extra special and extra large, would be enough of a gift for him!

most importantly, a big party with all his friends on the ship would make his whole birthday complete. he loves to party, and it would feel even more fun on such a special day.

zoro:

ZORO doesn't care too much about his birthday. he's only getting a year older, why make a big deal out of it? it's part of life, right? he's not the type to ask for gifts - but if he were to receive any, he would definitely appreciate it and be grateful for it, even if he doesn't explicitly show it.

anything that would help zoro take care of or maintain his swords he would definitely appreciate. his swords are very important to him - the thought of someone acknowledging this through a gift would almost certainly make him happy on his birthday.

additionally, zoro trains a LOT. if you were to give him training equipment on his birthday - even something as ridiculous as the comically big dumbbells he uses, or even a mat to work out on, he would definitely love! it shows that you understand his interests and priorities and want to help him in becoming stronger.

nami:

due to NAMI'S childhood, she never had much time to celebrate her birthday or receive any nice gifts. it would definitely mean a lot to her to receive a gift on her birthday, and while she would be happy with anything, she does have her own preferences.

nami is very a fashionable girl that enjoys dressing for the occasion. she loves designer fashion and luxury brands and would be over the moon to receive this as a gift. however, even if it wasn't designer or expensive, she would be happy nonetheless - she still has new additions to her wardrobe!

on the topic of fashion, nami loves making her outfits stand out. she would absolutely love receiving accessories to add to her wardrobe - especially jewellery. (it doesn't have to be very expensive, although she would be over the moon if it was!) new earrings, necklaces, bracelets, anklets or rings would make a great birthday gift.

and honestly, if that's too hard, just give her a wad of cash - she wouldn't complain at all. she could just buy whatever she wants using it as gift money.

usopp:

USOPP somewhat looks forward to his birthday - it's a day all about him, for him, why shouldn't he get just a little excited? although, he won't make a big scene for it. he isn't very demanding with what he wants, but there are definitely certain things he would like for his birthday.

usopp is creative, trying to design new things to help the crew (such as with nami's clima-tact) and also for himself. anything arts, crafts, or graphics related, such as a sketchbook or new pencils, pens, or other art supplies would have him overjoyed on his birthday, showing you understand his creative side.

obviously, since usopp is a sniper, a new type of gunpowder or ammo would also make a great gift for him. if you gave him something creative and new that would be great on enemies that he doesn't have in his inventory, or something he can use to create a new kind of gunpowder, it would be not only a great gift, but a useful one.

sanji:

SANJI never celebrated his birthdays in his early childhood. while his brothers were celebrating their birthdays together as a family, he sat quietly in a cell from afar, forgotten. although when he was adopted by zeff, he would get small gifts and plenty of birthday punches from the chefs at the baratie. sanji is a giver who expects nothing in return, so to receive a gift on his birthday - even a small one - would make his heart melt.

being a chef, sanji would love a new cookbook for his birthday. cooking is his passion, and he loves trying new things and experimenting with his food. a cookbook bursting with recipes he hasn't tried or are completely new to him he would absolutely love!

additionally, he would love new seasonings or spices as a gift. even it if was a small amount, he would be overjoyed that he has something new to add to his cooking, especially as with seasonings, the options are practically limitless.

sanji cares a lot about his appearance and looking his best, much like nami. a new suit and tie or new fashionable clothing would be perfect for him. more specifically, new shoes with strong soles and durability would have him absolutely thrilled and extremely thankful... his shoes can only take so much damage with all the kicking he does.

if it was from a lady, realistically speaking, sanji would be happy with practically anything, even a jar of dirt... LOL

[gaybatmanenthusiast]

heeey, can i req arthur morgan

THE ARTIST, AND THE OUTLAW (oneshot)

(ARTHUR MORGAN X GN! READER)

⋆★ word count : 1,112

⋆★ warnings : n/a

⋆★ summary : arthur meets the reader sketching the landscape, intrigued by their talent and he approaches them, asking for a portrait of someone important to him.

⋆★ extra : wrote this with a friend in mind once again, praying shes the one that requested this orrr someone has been waiting for their request for a hot minute …

Arthur hadn’t expected to see anyone out here, let alone someone so intently focused on sketching the open plains. He paused, just watching for a moment, leaning against his horse as the sun dipped low over the distant hills, casting warm light across the land and across the lone figure on the ledge.

The artist—a stranger whose name he didn’t know—hadn’t noticed him yet. They were too absorbed in capturing the scene before them, their hand working swiftly over a sketchbook balanced on their knee. From his distance, Arthur could barely make out their features, but he didn’t need to. It was the energy in their movements, the quiet reverence in how they observed the landscape, that held his attention.

Finally, he cleared his throat and took a few steps closer, boots scuffing over the dry earth. “Hope I ain’t interruptin’ anything important,” he called, voice rough but softened by curiosity.

They looked up, blinking in surprise, though they didn’t seem startled. Instead, they offered a slight smile, as if strangers showing up in the middle of nowhere was just part of the day. “Not interrupting. Just trying to get the light right,” they replied, glancing back at the scene before them with a quiet determination.

Arthur nodded, a little more intrigued. “S’pose you come out here often?”

“Anywhere I can find something worth sketching,” they replied, holding up the book as if it answered everything. “There’s just… too much beauty out here to let it pass by unrecorded.”

Arthur studied their sketch from a distance. Though it was unfinished, he could already see the skill behind it—the way they captured shadows and the contours of the land with a precision that felt both raw and alive. The sight stirred something in him, an odd mixture of nostalgia and longing he hadn’t expected.

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked, nodding toward the book.

They hesitated only a moment, then passed it over. Arthur took it gently, scanning the pages. There were sketches of wildlife, mountain ranges, campfires, and even little moments—a flower caught in the breeze, a lone bird perched on a fence post. Each drawing held an attentiveness that felt almost sacred.

“You got a way with things,” he murmured, still focused on the pages. “Ain’t many folks out here would even notice half of what you put down.”

They shrugged, though there was a flicker of pride in their eyes. “Guess I like to see the world for what it is, not just what people want it to be.”

He nodded slowly, feeling the weight of their words settle in his mind. For a while, they sat in a comfortable silence, he by his horse, and they back to their sketching. Arthur watched, noting the way they glanced up every now and then, catching little details with an intensity he envied. It was as if they saw the world through a different lens, one that softened the rough edges he was so used to.

After a while, he found himself speaking up again. “You, uh… ever think about doin’ a portrait? You got the skill for it.”

They glanced over, brow raised in mild curiosity. “I’ve done a few, but it depends on the person.” Their eyes lingered on him, considering. “Why? Got someone in mind?”

Arthur shifted, uncertain for a moment. “Yeah… my ma, actually. She’s been gone a long time, but… you got a way of makin’ things feel alive.” He almost regretted the admission, but the words had come unbidden.

The artist’s expression softened, a gentle understanding in their gaze. “I’d be honoured,” they said quietly. “Tell me about her.”

He hesitated, caught off-guard by the tenderness in their tone. But as the words spilled out, he found himself recounting little things he hadn’t thought of in years—the sound of his mother’s laugh, the kindness in her eyes, the way she’d held him close when he was small and scared. The artist listened, not interrupting, letting him speak in his own time. And when he was finished, they simply nodded, already starting to sketch.

Over the following days, Arthur returned to the spot by the ledge, finding them there nearly every afternoon, waiting patiently with sketchbook in hand. With each meeting, they asked small questions, drawing more stories from him, little by little. He spoke about his ma, then his old life before the gang, and even the first time he’d ridden a horse on his own. Each story felt like an offering, as if he were putting pieces of himself down on paper through their hands.

As he spoke, he started asking about their life, too—where they’d come from, what had brought them to this place. They answered with quiet honesty, sharing tales of a life spent moving from place to place, driven not by restlessness but by a love for the land and the people within it. They talked about the way different skies looked at dawn, about quiet moments in bustling towns, about the simple peace that came from just sitting under an open sky.

Arthur began to see the world differently through them. The mountains seemed taller, the rivers gentler, and even the dusty roads they walked on felt more alive. For the first time, he wondered if there might be more to his own story than just the guns and blood he’d left in his wake.

One evening, as they were finishing up the day’s work, they turned to him, a small, contemplative smile on their lips. “Arthur… you ever think about what you’ll leave behind?”

He blinked, surprised. “Ain’t never thought much of it.”

“Well,” they said softly, looking down at the nearly completed portrait. “Even outlaws deserve to be remembered for more than just the dust they kick up.”

Their words struck a chord, one he hadn’t expected to feel. There was an ache in his chest, something that felt like hope, and it unsettled him. But as he looked at them, at the quiet sincerity in their gaze, he felt that maybe, just maybe, there was something worth holding onto.

They reached out, a light touch on his hand, fingers brushing his calloused knuckles. The gesture was simple, yet it felt electric, a silent promise that there was more to life than he’d known. He held their gaze, feeling the faint stirrings of something unfamiliar, something that felt like warmth and light all at once.

“Thank you,” he whispered, voice rough, barely audible. And in the quiet that followed, they just smiled, a hint of something fond and knowing in their expression—a look that told him they saw him, the real him, and they still cared.

[squeakadeeks]

merry christmas my gift to you is telling a terrible tale since I think enough time has passed (ie over a decade) that i can tell you this without exploding.

when i was like 12 and starting out with art, i was so excited to open commissions just like a ✨real artist✨ and it being deviantart in the 2010's, within about a month i got someone asking for furry inflation fetish art. being a kid and having no sex ed, let alone the insanely specific sex ed that would be needed for me to understand what that is, i didnt flag it as inappropriate. I thought it would just be a "cool anatomy exercise like ✨real✨ artists do!" i was so ready and i took it on for 200 llamabucks or w/e the onsite currency was at the time. i did it, i drew it, whatever. well sure enough after posting it i quickly learned what furry inflation art actually was and i was mortified. being in like.....7th grade i was still terrified of sex and i was worried about my parents finding out so i took the entire sketchbook and buried it under my mattress. I lived in fear for months afterwards and felt like i deserved to be shot for falling for it and making something sinful.

the proceeding events happen in a confusing haze because my mother is an utterly puzzling woman so some suspension of disbelief is required but believe me when i say. i wish this was apocryphal. I dont know how or why, but some how some way my mom not only finds the sketchbook under my mattress, goes through the entire thing, finds the one singular offending sketch, then in a concerning mystery i will invest not a single iota of effort to solve due to the implications, immediately clocked that it was sexual fetish art. the one saving grace of a spherical wolf being niche enough that people wouldnt understand the dark deed i had done was out the window. She rips the page out, goes downstairs and parades it to the rest of the family like: "oh my god! look what ____ drew! lets all look at this! lets all look at this right now and laugh at it!" even with just this, i'm full on bursting into heavy hiccuping tears. as a kid this was the ultimate nightmare. you did something bad, you did something really bad, and your primary authority figure not only found it, but is now making sure everyone else you care about also knows the horrible shameful thing you did. except. there was something i couldnt have fathomed at the time that was about to get much, much worse.

my grandfather was dying of parkinson's at the time. when my mother took the sketch and displayed it to everyone like an auctioneer with a high ticket item, i ran out of the room sobbing so i never saw what happened to the blue inflated wolf with punk bangs. Well we all went to visit grandpa. we're all sitting around grandpa who used to be a famous local artist and was a big inspiration to me as a kid. and my mom goes "hey. ____ also wants to be an artist. Do you want to see what they drew?" and you'll never fucking guess what she pulls out of her pocket. hes barely able to turn and look over only to see that goddamn motherfucking wolf again. unlike before where i was crying so hard i couldn't breathe i remember being dead silent and stone still in shock. i dont think i blinked for 5 minutes but when i got up i threw up in the bathroom lol. I cant remember how but this time i did actually get the sketch back and i tore it to pieces and buried it in the yard. it haunted me for YEARS

but anyway now i have a memory of my mother showing my dying grandfather furry inflation art that i accidentally made when i was in middle school because i wanted a rainbow llama badge on deviantart.

[quibbs126]

So I did some more Transformers drawings, and I figured page was full enough

I mean, it isn’t really, I could have fit more in the corner if I wanted, but I can’t think of anything else to draw there, so might as well post it now

So I suppose, let’s talk through all this

First off we have an Optimus I never finished, because I couldn’t get that bending shoulder to look right. It just looks off, and I can’t finish it until it looks right. So I never did

I think he’s supposed to be sad and yearning after the breakup with Megatron, and talking about it with someone

Anyways, then we move on to the Dinobot section, which I made because I started Beast Wars and like Dinobot, and had been attempting to draw him at work the previous day

I think I draw him too skinny, which is why I made that middle one, to be more accurate. But I also kind of like drawing him skinnier? I know it isn’t accurate, but I like making him so. Like he’s got muscles, but has a lean body type. I don’t know

Then today, I wanted to draw a happy, smiling D-16, who’s doing so at something Orion did for him (this isn’t supposed to be a recreation of the race scene)

I was going to do it more like the Dinobot style, but then I ended up going back to 3D boxes anyways

Honestly I think it’s one of the ones I’m most proud of, look at him and his sweet little face

Still can’t get the sticker right though

But anyways, on to the last thing, the Bee and Elita

Honestly I think the two of them need some ships in this universe too. Megatron and Optimus got their whole situation, but what about them? Elita doesn’t really have any options presented right now outside of maybe Arcee and I guess Airachnid (but personally I’m not here for the toxic yuri right now), and I don’t really know about Bee

The sequels should give them new characters to have subplots and shipping with. It can’t all be Megatron and Optimus hogging the spotlight (even if I do like them)

As for the drawings of the two themselves, I mean it’s alright. I think Elita came out better though. But it’s also my first time drawing them, and it takes some practice for me to get them right

I’m realizing as I type this that I have a sketchbook, and I got good at drawing Dinobot after drawing him on sauce paper a few times. So like, I could just do that to try and practice the characters without needing to be at work, and having a handy place to keep those references. Hm, well that’s a solution for later

It also does not help that I don’t have good references for them, especially in their cogged forms. These are about the best I got, and they aren’t the best quality either, I do not know how to draw their heads (well mostly Bee’s)

I also don’t think I’m drawing the Transformers One cast right. Like their bodies and general proportions I mean

Like, I noticed from this random screenshot I saw today that D-16’s noticeably wider than Orion

And I also know that the quartet have their own distinct face shapes from one another

I just don’t know how to convey those things in my drawing of them, it doesn’t want to work

Also I don’t think I have the basic structure of how their bodies work down either. I noticed today that almost all of them have more cylindrical shoulders than the rectangles I sketch, and also they have those middle circle joints

This is an observation I’ve had before, but the Transformers One designs to me really feel like action figures/toys with the way they’re built and designed. I don’t really know how to explain what I mean, but it’s how I see these designs in particular, which I can’t say with Animated or I think Beast Wars either. If this makes sense

But yeah, that’s the drawings. I don’t really know how to end this