#white chalk and pastel on paper

[lemuseum]

[talos-stims]

sidewalk chalk | source

[e-likes-bones]

so a couple months ago now i think? i decided on a whim to make a puppet since i figured i had enough supplies lying around to do it, which resulted in me being struck to make arguably one of the best members* of the rock-afire explosion into a marionette: looney bird!

(excuse the goofy looking puppetry, i don’t actually have any experience w/ marionettes. whoops!)

anyhow i know a couple people that have seen puppet looney were curious how i made him, so under the cut i’ll have my rambles about that!

making looney bird was super fun! so expect this section to be long because i do wanna explain everything as much as i can. i will divid this up into sections, which shall be:

body, head, & neck

face & plant/leaves

tail & wings

legs & feet

strings & control

anyhow! let me get to explaining lol

Section 1: body, head, & neck

this is where i began! i made a base for the head & body out of crayola air dry clay so i had base shapes to put the fur on top & so the puppet would have a decent little bit of weight to it. the head was just a small ball, while the body was larger & slightly more oblong. while the base & the other sculpted parts were drying, i had to color the fur i was going to use.

i only had white faux fur (2 different kinds, a soft, sort pile, & a less soft, longer pile; what i use for most of looney is the short pile) going into this project, & since this fella was made exclusively from craft materials i had lying around, i needed to find a way to color it. I attempted dying some of the fur w/ some old t-shirt dyes i had lying around, but when that didn't work i turned to my old alcohol markers to see if they worked, & they surprisingly did! really well too! (altho there are some areas that i struggled to get ink into, but overall the color isn't too too patchy)

once i had the dry clay & fur, i got to covering the bases w/ the fur! which. i did primarily by super glueing small sections of each piece of fur down, maneuvering the fabric to lay flush w/ the base & making sure to maintain the same direction of the fur, & repeating until the fur was completely attached.

the neck was simpler, i took some more of the red colored fur, folded it over into a flat tube shape, & glued either end to the head & body (still paying attention to the fur direction!) then i took some of the remaining uncolored (white) fur & made the ring of white around the base of looney's neck!

Section 2: face & plant/leaves

imo, this was the section i had the most fun w/ lol! i actually sculpted the face after making the head & body's clay bases so that they had extra time to dry. i made the entire face as a "faceplate" for easy attachment at the size i needed, plus sculpting the face as one thing allowed me to have the 3 extra bits i needed to attach looney's face feathers the best later on in the process. the face is also made of crayola air dry clay btw.

after the face was dry it was painting time! i just used some old art kit acrylic paints for all the base colors, & the eyes were possible using a nail art dotting tool. i went over looney's cheeks w/ chalk pastel dust to get the blush effect, then sealed everything in using mod podge.

now he needed his face feathers! remember how i had 2 different faux furs? well here's where the longer pile one gets used! i cut really small sections of the longer fur & trimmed them down to be just 3 little fuzzy bits essentially, then using another alcohol marker, i colored them green & glued them to the green side sections on looney's faceplate. from here, i attached looney's face to his head, then cut & pasted the surrounding small white feather sections on either side of his face & below his beak. it was after that i made the purple feathers, as those are just colored paper clippings that i glued to the back of looney's faceplate that didn't attach to his head. (picture of what i mean below)

anyhow! onto the plant on looney's head! the stem of the plant was just a jewelry wire that i twisted to make a bit thicker, then dipped in green paint to color it & smooth the twist out, then sealed w/ mod podge, & finally glues to the top of looney's head. the leaves, much like the purple feathers, are paper, but cut into leaf shapes & colored to roughly mimic looney's leaves, then they were very carefully super glued to the stem

Section 3: tail & wings

these bits were pretty simple imo, the tail is made of embroidery floss i cut & sectioned to create looney’s tail pattern, then i tied it together to create a base i could easily attach to his body. i also tried brushing it to make the individual threads smaller since i preferred the look & thought it made it look more like feathers? but either way, from there it got glued on & i moved on to the wings.

the wings are again the short pile fur i used on the body, but they were left white when i cut them, so once i got the wing shape formed i could color the sections that needed to be red & just leave the wingtips white how i wanted. the wings were 4 panels cut into a roughly triangular shape & glued together to create 2 wings

Section 4: legs & feet

the legs & feet were also relatively simple but i have never been the best at sculpting feet so i suffered just a tad. anyhow the feet are also sculpted from crayola air dry clay like other pieces, then painted & sealed the same as the faceplate.

the legs are pony beads & more embroidery floss. i used the beads to make the legs as full & patterned as i wanted & the string to make sure the legs are loose & easy to maneuver. 2 beads were glued to looney’s body & 2 to his feet, & the string was looped thru the body beads, down through the leg beads, & tied & secured to the feet beads

Section 5: strings & controls

finally! the last section!

the string is just some clear beading string. there are 4 strings, which were tied & glued to both foot beads, the base of the tail, & the base of the plant. i eyeballed the needed length for each string to keep the puppet at an upright position when held up regularly & cut them to size.

the control is just a pair of chopsticks i cut to the rough size of the puppet & glued the ends of the strings to: the head & back end strings to either side of one stick, & both feet strings to either end of the other stick.

& that was pretty much everything i had to do to make looney!! it took like. 2 days? i was very dedicated to finishing him in just a weekend. thank you to anyone who read all my extended rambles about how i made this guy!!! i appreciate it!! also please excuse any typos, i never make typos ever idk what y’all are talking about

[huariqueje]

Bread – Claudio Bravo , 1985.

Chilean, 1936–2011

Pastel, charcoal and white chalk on handmade paper, 50.8 x 66.6 cm.

[honeyywoods]

“Y’ever heard of pirate glass?” Jack asked out of the blue, his drawing hand stilling as he set his charcoal down. Davey raised a curious brow, and thoughtlessly tilted the angle of his head as he did so. This drew a ‘tsk’ from Jack - ever the artist - and Davey rolled his eyes fondly before returning to his original position. “No,” Davey responded, watching with surprise as Jack retrieved his pastels. This was an exceedingly rare thing, Davey knew; Jack’s sketches were almost always exclusively charcoal. Nothing more than smudges of black on white, and yet so much more. Jack breathed such life into his drawings that they hardly needed color.

And yet.

Davey watched from the corner of his eye as Jack rifles through the box, pulling out several colors that he can’t quite see. “Why do you ask?” Davey inquired, his voice sounding strangely in the New York night. Even with the bustle of the city, the two of them seemed to be in another world where the only sound was the clattering of chalk.

Jack hummed as he shifted back, pastels in hand. “‘S neat stuff.” He said simply, starting in with one of the pastels - a pitch-dark shade, Davey could now tell. “When you look at it in the dark, or in most light, it looks just plain black or brown.” Jack continued, his hand making delicate, meticulous swipes across the paper. “Guess them pirates thought it helped keep the sun out o’ their booze or somethin’.” A chuckle, and when Davey looked over there was a sort of half-smile on Jack’s face, though his eyes were still trained on his drawing.

“But, if you get it in the right light, it’s anythin’ but plain. The color shines through.” Jack held up a bright spring green, something soft in his eyes that Davey couldn’t quite place. “Like a gemstone, y’know? Real pretty.” With that, Jack returned to the drawing, and the pair lapsed into quiet.

Chalk scratching paper, Jack’s soft, even breathing. Davey could stand to stay like this forever.

Davey isn’t sure how much time passed just like that, but eventually Jack stood up, tipped the chalk dust off of the drawing, and lingered awkwardly in his spot for a moment. A hand brushing over his braids, Jack turned his sketchbook around and extended it to Davey.

Oh. Oh.

Staring back at Davey was his own face - his own eyes. Davey was no art critic, but it was obvious that Jack had made the eyes the focal point. His eyes. They were bright golden-green, like new spring growth, with dark around the edges.

Davey knew that it shouldn’t have been so special. He saw his eyes regularly in the small mirror kept next to the bathtub, after all. But Jack had made them look…different. As though the lights of the city had turned them into something else entirely.

Pirate glass.

What a funny thing indeed. Such a fitting concept for Jack, who seemed to know everything about the seemingly most unusual matters. Davey was forced to wonder where Jack had learned of it - perhaps it was just another case of ‘improving the truth.’

Regardless, there was something to be said about Jack using such a comparison to communicate his thoughts about Davey’s eyes.

Real pretty played back in his head, and suddenly everything clicked neatly into place.

And even if pirate glass was just a Jack Kelly-certified method of skirting around the truth, Davey could think of worse ways to find out.

[moominsuki]

✎ᝰGOJO SATORU ; — hot and heavy on wheels

࿄ ! warnings - afab!reader. car sex, fingering, porn with no plot, piv, unprotected sex, creampie. / note. my first ficlet in a long while :} i’m on a gojo craze now idk he’s just perfect. minors & blank blogs dni!

mall shopping with gojo is difficult. well, to preface, it’s not difficult in the sense that he spoils you and buys you what you want without so much as a question or a plead of your round eyes. and he carries round the plethora of bags and boxes from all the shops you got lured in to without a sigh or even a noise of complaint.

it’s more so difficult because after the whole ‘ordeal’ is over, the white haired man has a look in his eye that can only be attributed to feeling a bit frisky. you chalk it up to the fact that you allowed him to sit in the dressing room while you frequented between ann summers and the like - not allowing so much as a grip to the back of your thighs and slapping his hands away when gojo tries to bite at your clavicle and grab at your ass.

“have i told you that you’re impossible?” you groan as gojo noses wet kisses at your jaw, practically throwing you in the back of his g-wagon. he’s so incredibly impatient - so much so that you scold him for throwing the delicate paper bags so haphazardly in the boot of his car and trying to kiss you so brazenly in the open parking lot.

the man chuckles, “maybe once or twice, but that’s what you like about me,” as he clambers over you to surround your smaller body with his much larger one - lifting your thigh to wrap around his nimble clad waist. you’d never admit this to your boyfriend’s face (so as to avoid the upturn of his lips falling into a smug-laced smile) but you love the days where he’s dressed and looks like this - he’s in navy blue dress trousers and a henley to match, pastel hued locks falling over his head and opaque lenses dropping from his nose bridge and he’s biteable like this - so biteable that it makes you want to tease him, rile him up so that he falls prey to your charm and sway of your hips. and while gojo does pride himself in being omniscient or whatever is along those lines, his head turns to mush when you bat your pretty eyelashes at him.

gojo sits up between your legs, pulling down the frilly straps of the pale pink summer dress that he got you (it cost a pretty penny but you thanked him religiously after so he thinks he won that trade off) to reveal your breasts and he smiles, more to himself than anything, leaning down to take a pert nipple into his mouth and sucking hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. you reel at the feeling, hands finding immediate purchase in his fluffy locks and you don’t stop the whimper that leaves your plump, bitten lips.

“so receptive, aren’t you, pretty?” he asks and it’s more than likely rhetorical because he carries on pulling down the dress down your waist, until you can shake it off your ankles and it falls somewhere underneath the backseat, accompanied by his top in mere seconds.

nimble fingers creep their way down to where you really want him and his hand sneaks into your panties, smearing your desire all over fingertips so he can really get a feel and you’re writhing, all impatient and embarrassed under the heavy crystal gaze of the man, his milky lashes batting against his cheekbones.

“so wet f’me, fuck, pretty girl,” he whispers, leaning back down to press hardened kisses at your neck and collarbones - to prepare you for the two long fingers that slip into your pussy and you clench, both outward and inward.

the sound of your sloppy cunt meeting the knuckles of gojo’s hand is so incredibly loud and so incredibly wet - and he chuckles again when you try to close your eyes to ignore the stare of his ocean blues zeroing in on your facial expressions.

“wish you could see how well this pretty lady opens up for me,” and the half baked praise makes you burn, tears brimming as your damp lashes bat against your flushed cheeks. one of your hands wraps around gojo’s neck so you can place chaste, messy kisses on his mouth (lest another lewd word comes out as you’re pretty sure you could come just by his expansive and quite sexual verbiage) and the other wraps pathetically around his own that’s exploring the depths of your tight wet cavern that’s clenching sporadically.

gojo is always so messy with it: smearing your wetness all over the expanse of your cunt lips to tease at your sensitive pearl with ease; not before dipping a third finger back inside and searching for that cakey spot inside you. you cry out a meaningless, “‘toru, i-i’m- can’t, hnngh,” your hand making a weak attempt at slowing his fast acting wrist but he laughs again, like he always does when you get like this.

“need’ya to come all over my fingers, baby, can you do that?” and just like that, he sets you off, and he lifts a hand for your lolling head to fall back as the weight of your simmering climax hits you like a freight truck, damp thighs tightening over his hand and an aroused, “just like that, yeahhhh, good girl, good girl,” echoes around the jeep, which doesn’t do much to quell the overall stifling thirst in your gut.

gojo acts fast, in everything that he does, and today is no different when he slides your panties down your slender legs and strips himself till he’s nothing but washboard abs and a hardened, tan cock. he sets himself on his haunches - between your legs and your arms find purchase around his wide shoulders, and you find yourself unable to stop the kisses that press along his jugular. he’s told you this multiple times but you tend to get extremely needy after an earth shattering orgasm (his words, not yours) but he welcomes the doting nonetheless, placing himself around your head and he leans down to slot his lips against yours. you mewl when he bites down at your lower lip and the minty, citrusy taste of his tongue can only be attributed to the peppermint gum he was chewing before and the taste of yours truly.

gojo leans up once more, cerulean blues darkened and dilated.“ready for me? gonna put it in. nice and slow, just how-”

“just stop talking and do it already!”

he tuts teasingly at the raise of your voice, “so impatient.” the head of his cock knocks on your clit a couple times, running between your folds and you’re about to snap back when his cock finds purchase at the first ring of your cunt hole.

his girth sinking in and stretching you wide, his answering whine almost louder than yours, eyes threatening to clamp shut as he feeds you the long stretch of his cock. the scratchy, high pitched noise that leaves the your throat shocks the both of you and you’re suddenly reminded just how different his fingers feel from the weight of his fat cock, the puffed up veins brushing against your tender walls.

the air in the backseat of his car makes your bodies slippery with sweat - the windows are clouded with the condensation of your meandering while you squirm underneath him, your breath wheezing out of your lungs until you can’t breathe. “look at that.” 

“wish you could see yourself, princess,” he gasps, a cavalier smirk on his lips but it falters when you squeeze ‘round him just right, sore cunt fluttering against the hard swell of his cock. his dark blues dim, blunt fingernails opting to stop digging into your squishy sides for leverage not to fuck deeper but to instead grip under the seat you’re on to slow himself down, because even after all this time, you feel too fucking good and he needs a minute, damn it, he’ll cum too fucking fast and you won’t get to cum at all-

the rest is a mirage, lost in the way you’re splayed out for him now, knees now bent to your shoulders and his long fingers desperately digging into the backs of your trembling thighs to hold them in the air. the position is only slightly uncomfortable and you thank your lucky starts that you’re flexible, (you kind of have to be when gojo likes to fold you in various positions) but even if it was, you don’t care, not when he’s got your breasts bouncing mutely, with his chest pressed against your jiggling ones, with each repeated, dirty slam of the tip of his cock right up against your womb until you can practically feel him in your stomach, in your throat: stealing the uncontrolled moans right from your voice box. 

“look at you, squirtin’ all over me, angel,” gojo groans, stamping down the fast advent of his orgasm as arousal streams down the curve of your ass, wetting the expensive seats of his mercedes. watching the way your swollen, puffy pussy spasms and tries to force him out but it only makes him drive deeper, his pace brutal— his hips and upper back rouged red from the friction of your bodies slapping together and the digging of your manicured nails between his shoulder blades. “prettiest pussy in the whole world. you know that? wanna give you everything you want and more.” 

you keen at the praise, tears dribbling down your face now, “‘toru, ‘toru, ‘s too much, i-hahhhh- ‘m gonna make a mess,” you babble mindlessly. “wan’ you to cum inside me plea- pleash, pleashhh.”

“ohh, shouldn't have said that, sweet girl. ooooh, f-fuck. you shouldn't. have- hah - said. that. fuck fuck fuck, i'm gonna put my cum right here,” he chants desperately, a big hand splaying out on your belly, pressing down hard when the head of his cock bulges against your lower tummy, as his thumb dips low, circling your sticky clit almost impatiently. the words punctuated by the heavy slap of his balls against your ass, the backseat hitting violently against the ground. his spine tenses, orgasm building in the pit of his gut and he can’t wait to feel it, to see the dribble of his cum seep between your folds. “you want it, huh? gonna take care of it f’ me, aren’t you? promise ‘toru you won't spill a drop on the seats?”

“yes, yes, i prom- promise, please ‘toru, wan’ you to cum inside me so bad!” you whine loudly and gojo leans even more forward to place a hand against the condensation on the car windows, eyes falling shut and beads of sweat dripping down and pooling in the dip of your bellybutton as he continues crowding your every senses with his smell, his stature, his everything.

gojo dramatically collapses on top of you and you sigh, having to hold onto him so you don’t slip and fall naked bottom to the hard floor of the backseat, “do you have to do that every time, satoru?”

he chuckles breathily, “no, but you like it.” you don’t reply to that, just wrap your arms tighter around him as gojo kisses your damp hair and you manoeuvre a hand to brush away the hair that sticks to his forehead.

“you know you can get up now?” you deadpan, slightly breathless and gojo ponders before snuggling closer to you.

“yeah but if i pull out, you might get cum all over the seats and i don’t know if i could explain the stain to the guy who cleans my car.”

“…remind me to never take you shopping again,” you roll your eyes, pushing him off with your hands pinching at his hips and gojo slips out with a yelp at your assault and gasps, with as much melodrama he can: “it’s already getting on the seats! quick, hmmph-”

gojo shuts up with the press of your tongue in his mouth and he’s even quieter when he feels his spent cock harden against the thigh strewn across his stomach.

he may drop a pretty penny on you whenever you beg him to take you shopping but you drop an even prettier one when you wrap a hand around his neck and pull him down to lose yourself in another round once more.

besides, what’s one more stain to have to awkwardly explain to the cleaners?

࿄ ! — all rights reserved © MOOMINSUKI 2023. please do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend my work outside of tumblr. this is strictly prohibited.

[salchat]

Can somebody please give this Angel of the Lord a big, squeezy hug? Look at those puppydog eyes! Who could resist?

This Castiel is brought to you by cheap newsprint paper, willow charcoal, compressed charcoal, a bit of white chalk and a couple of pastel pencils. And not forgetting the squishy eraser for doing the softer highlights and generally smoothing out rubbishy bits.

Oh, look at the time! I'd hoped to do a Dean, but I think my curry is nearly done...

[mcromwell]

question: whats the difference between wax, oil and soft pastels? (different materials of course, but how do they feel on paper?)

Hi Anon! I love pastels, let's dig in.

Wax pastels feel like a soft Crayola crayon. In hotter temps, they feel like spreading a stick of butter across a pan. In colder temps, well, like frozen butter. Mmm. They're water soluble sometimes, and I think those are softer, and the non-water soluble ones are denser and feel more like how any other crayon feels, but with better pigment loads. Good Crayon. Artist-Grade Crayon. Accepts a certain amount of scratching, but not as much as oils.

Oil pastels are very soft and sticky. They're sometimes so soft you can smoosh them between your fingers. They feel extremely smooth going across paper and very textured surfaces will eat them alive. They're basically really really gummy oil paints, so you can treat them as such with thinning chemicals and whatever. (Sorry, I am not an oils person, lol) You can scratch them away for fine lines, too. They don't dry out quickly (or perhaps at all), especially if you layered them on thick, so a special type of fixative is needed for oil pastels.

Soft pastels are like chalk. (There is confusion in my mind on whether to use "chalk pastel" over "soft pastel", but I think the differentiation lies in that soft pastels actually don't have actual chalk in them. From what I can find out, "chalk pastels" are just dyed chalk and not artist-grade. This is tangential, lmao, my bad.) Soft pastels are powdery, crumbly, very breakable. I often Hulk smash them in my hands as I color. It is heartbreaking to drop them on the floor. They taste extremely bad; do not eat dry cereal while you are working on a soft pastel piece. They're bad to breathe and technically require a particle mask* if you're using them a lot. They feel like chalk on paper! There are also PanPastels, which are pigments in a little pan and you apply it with sponges, similar to makeup. I haven't used those, but I want to. I'm pretty sure soft pastels come in pencil form, too. I'm rambling. Anyway these can't be scratched off, but can be erased, more or less. So you can dig some white values back out with an electric eraser.

If I made any mistakes, someone correct me. But that's what I know about pastels. Thanks for the opportunity to infodump.

*I don't do this. If the particulates don't kill me, the microplastics will.

[swordmouse]

Cosplay ear fins tutorial

I made ear fins for an Eridan cosplay, and a lot of people asked how I made them. I haven’t seen anyone else doing the same method I used, so I thought I’d share.

I started out with some wire. I don’t know the exact gauge off the top of my head, but I don’t think it particularly matters as long as it’s thick enough to hold its shape but thin enough to shape with your hands/pliers. Cutting up a sturdy wire coat hanger would probably give you workable material.

Here are the bases I made. I put some paper over my ears first and sketched a loose outline to get the size I wanted, but I didn’t end up following it too closely. It was mostly a lot of trial and error. I decided on four tines for each ear fin, but you could do a different amount or longer tines if you want. I used round nose and needle nose pliers to shape the wire, but I mostly used my hands and you could probably do this project without pliers if you don’t have them. The ends are curled to avoid stabbing myself in the ear with wire. You want the ear fins to go in front of your ears, and then the wire at the ends loops around the back of your ears to hold them in place. Getting this right took a lot of trying them on and adjusting them, but I eventually got them to where they would stay on without any adhesive but didn’t squeeze my ears too badly.

Next, cut up some old pantyhose/tights to get nylon material. You don't need too much material for this, so sock-style pantyhose would be enough. I happened to have some old tights with holes in them so I just cut out some non-holey pieces. I used black tights since it was the closest I had to gray. You’ll color over these later, but try to get a base shade as close to your desired ear color as possible to make things easier later on. I wouldn’t recommend buying new tights in the exact color you want since that’s expensive and wasteful, so you’ll probably be choosing between black, beige, and maybe white, but just keep in mind that you’ll have to color over it and the coloring method isn't completely opaque. Like, don't use black tights if you want white ears.

Stretch the nylon over the wire bases. I used a roughly square piece of nylon for each ear and folded it in half, then scrunched the excess to pull it tight and used binder clips to hold the material in place. Then use a thread in the color you want the ears to be and sew along the whole open edge of the nylon, anchoring it to the wire frame as shown below. Keep the nylon stretched tight over the tines while sewing so it has those divots in between tines. Cut off excess material and sew the raw edges down.

Try the ears on again and adjust as needed.

Paint the fabric with Mod Podge (I used matte but I think other finishes would work too.) Take extra care to spread the Mod Podge around the sewn edges to really glue things in place. Wait for the Mod Podge to dry on the nylon. This creates a hard, chalkboard-like surface that you can color on, but keeps some of the transparency of the nylon. I used a combination of chalk, pastels, and eyeshadow powder to color the ears. If you’re going for ears that match your skin tone, foundation powder would probably work. I was just using whatever art supplies I had around, but any powdery pigment should do the job.

I started with white chalk all over the surface to lighten the black color into grey. Then I used white pastel to make highlight lines on the top of each tine and black pastel to make shadow lines below each tine. This added some definition and made the tines look more three dimensional. I filled the spaces between tines with some purple pastel, which I blended into the grey shade with my finger. I then put a layer of shimmery purple eyeshadow over it to give it a nice sheen.

Once you’re done coloring the ears, seal the whole thing with some hairspray and you’re ready to go! You could probably also add some earrings to them if that’s the look you’re going for.

Here’s my final result! I was able to wear a mask with them and they were relatively comfortable to wear all day. Let me know if you have any questions and if you try this tutorial, definitely send me pictures of the results!

[hadrian6]

STUDY OF A MAN RAISING A STICK. 19th. century.   Pietro Benvenuti. Italian 1769-1844.  black chalk, heightened with white chalk (pastel?) on beige paper.    http://hadrian6.tumblr.com

[hidefromjai]

CRYSTALS || s. gojo

☆→ ORIGINALLY WRITTEN ON WATTPAD

♪ - SONG RECOMMENDATION ; DO I WANNA KNOW? - ARCTIC MONKEYS

_ _ _ _ _ SO WE MEET AGAIN?

RECAP ; Suno and Megumi had just started school and are meeting their teachers for the first time. Megumi, not knowing his teacher at all and would be okay to only know her as a teacher was fine with everything. Suno, on the other hand, had recognized his teacher. But he couldn't pin point on who it was.

. . .

Suno stood infront of Gojo, staring at him blankly. He then pushed past Gojo who was still squatting, going in the class to find another teacher and saw a familar woman. He gave a cheesy smile and ran to her, hugging her leg, "Tete Shoko!" he squealed and looked up at her, flashing his teeth at her and she returned the gesture by patting his fluffy, snow white hair. 

   Gojo glared at the two, dumbfounded as to why his own child chose someone else instead of him when he's the father. Gojo closed the door and went to play with some of the other kids in the class and also teach them. But, for some reason, Gojo couldn't stop thinking as to why Suno didn't wanna be near him. That was his child. Perhaps Y/N told Suno not to come near him at school.. but how would Y/N even know that Gojo worked here? People barely knew he was back in town, and they'd only find out today when the parents meet the teachers after school.

He sighed, taking another glance at Suno who was supposed to be learning from Shoko and saw Suno take pills from his backpack, holding it out towards the older woman. Shoko eyes widened slightly, then rested. "Your mother told you to give me this or?" She asked him and inspected the pill bottle, "Oh." she said. It was for him and they were meant for him to take. Shoko leaned it towards Suno, "They're for your," she held up six fingers. "Eyes?" Suno nodded at her while she took the cap off the bottle. "I forgot about prescribing this for you."

Shoko put two pills in her hand, breaking one in half and putting the other half back in the small bottle. Then she took the water from the side pocket of his backpack, "Y'know what to do?" she asked him and he nodded again. "Okay, take it. I'll be right back." He took the pills and put them in his mouth slowly then opened his water, leaning his head back with one eye closed and poured it in his mouth. After swallowing it he put the water back into the side pocket of his backpack, looked up and saw an older copy of him looking down at him.

"Where'd your tete go?" Gojo asked, his voice low. Suno ignored him and instead went where other kids were and went towards a green haired girl with chalk on her face. Gojo stared at Suno as he walked away, his little copy ignoring him for.. what reason? Just to say it was his child, he didn't act anything like him. More like his mother instead. He sighed and fixed his posture considering how he had bent down to whisper to Suno. He turned around and saw Shoko staring at him.

A stare that was burying his heart deep in him.

Shoko crossed her arms over her chest, "What do you want with Suno?" she questioned quietly, stealing a few glances at the kids in the class as they played. "Shoko." Gojo uttered out as they both continued to stare at each other. He then pointed at Suno, "That's my child isn't it? Why doesn't Y/N want him and I communicating with each other?" he asked holding his arm.

Shoko scoffed at Gojo as she walked to the dusty chalk board in the class, "Ask her later today. If she even wants to talk to you, Satoru." Satoru stood dumbfounded while Shoko clapped her hands to get the kids attention to go back to teaching.

Megumi sat at a table by himself, writing his alphabets down on a paper with lines and the alphabets, he just had to trace them. A pastel pink haired boy and a brown haired girl were playing when suddenly the boy noticed him. "Baaaraaa.." He managed to get out, pointing a finger at Megumi in awe. The girl, Nobara, looked over with a frown on her face which quickly disappeared when she saw the boy that her friend was pointing at. "Uji! Let be his fri-" She stopped, she had to. She liked being perfect and didn't want to pronounce the word wrong. Nobara looked around the classroom to see if their was a board, poster, or anything with the word she was trying to say on it.

Nobara found one, squinting her eyes to see it better. She sounded the word out in her tiny brain as Yuji would say, "Friend." she finally said. Yuji gave her a cheeky smile, snatching Nobara then running to Megumi. "Hi." Yuji said quietly to match Megumi's demeanor to make it seem as if they had matching personalities. Nobara gave Yuji a questioning look as to why he started acting different just then when encountering Megumi. Nobara held her hips with her tiny hands, letting Yuji do all the work. "Wanna be our-" Nobara cut Yuji off, knowing he would pronounce the word wrong. "Friend."

"Saki!" Yuji screamed, catching everyone's attention. Megumi stayed quiet, staring at the two while his hands moved around on the small kid's table. The two began quarreling, catching everyone's attention until the teachers pulled them apart. To Megumi, he couldn't decide who won or lost. Yuji's eye was sore-looking and Nobara looked like she had been bit and her hair got pulled. When the class went quiet, Megumi smiled. The silence fascinated him for some reason.

  The school bell rang and all the students were dismissed, their teachers allowing them to wait outside on the benches for their parents. Y/N soon got out her car, locking it behind her. She had rushed from work to their school just to retrieve them, combing her hair out with her fingers as she walked to the doors. Megumi and Suno sat on a bench outside, talking. But it seemed as though they were whispering so no one could hear them.

  Why would they need to be whispering?

   Y/N walked towards them, bending down to their heights. She pulled on their cheeks with a smile, "So, did you two have fun today?" she asked and Megumi nodded but Suno on the other hand didn't. You glanced at Suno with a worried look, "What's wrong, baby?" you asked him and he looked up, down, left, right, then slowly looked behind him. He turned back around and stared at you, pointing his thumb behind him which made you look.

  The sight had took you by surprise, as Satoru looked down at you with a smug look on his face. You patted Suno's head hesitantly, questioning him. "This your teacher, baby?" And he nodded before leaning in to whisper in your ear. "I don't like him, can we go?" He asked as he side eyed Gojo and you nodded. You picked up Megumi who was fiddling with your keys and you took them to the car, Satoru staring at you.

   Just to say it had been five years, and almost six, somehow, you still hadn't moved on from the man. You sighed looking at your two little ones, handing them both their iPads to entertain them while you go and see their teachers. You walked back to where Gojo was, your heels clacking on the concrete ground. You held your purse strap tight, your lips trembling. You were ready to walk past Satoru to go and meet Megumi's teacher because you already knew Shoko was teaching Suno.. just not Satoru.

   And knowing Satoru, he wouldn't let you by, or atleast not that easily. "Why aren't you letting my child speak to me, Y/N." He asked quietly which caught your attention, and it also made you sigh. You looked up at him due to the fact he was taller than you, then you finally answered. "I kept him away from you for a reason, despite him needing a father. Because, I knew if you really cared for him and didn't care how I'd treat you, you'd still try for your child and not me." You told him the complete truth—you let it off your chest and Satoru was somewhat surprised.

  "So, then," Gojo started. "How come you never made an effort on letting the past go and allowing him to see me?" Oh, you were taken aback by Satoru's words. Because not once had you thought about that. Ever. You stood quiet until Shoko grabbed Satoru by his shoulder, "Y/N. Got some important stuff to tell you about both of your kids." You smiled at Shoko, giving her a nod as an answer before she did the same and left. You sighed deeply, turning your back to Satoru. He stared at your back, pondering about things before your voice caught his attention.

   "I don't know what to say or tell you, Gojo. Do whatever is up to your liking." You muttered, walking off to your car to see Suno and Megumi watching Sonic. You got in the driver's seat, putting your keys in hesitantly and went home. "Fucking Satoru." You whispered to yourself, pulling into your garage which opened when it detected it was your car. After parking the car, and getting Suno and Megumi from their carseats who were just a ball of energy as of right now, they ran towards the elevator with their backpack and iPads in their hand, going to the second floor and to their rooms.

  You walked in the living room, flopping down onto the sofa. Ready to shut your eyes and take a quick nap, knocking was heard from your front door. You groaned loudly, your face smushed in the couch pillows, moving your hand around to find your phone. After feeling it, you grabbed it and unlocked it using Face ID and checked your security cameras and saw Gojo at the front door.

  You instantly woke up then.

  Trying hard not to drag yourself to open the door for Satoru, you eventually made it to the door and opened it for him. You hugged yourself, staring at Satoru with a drowsy figure and tired eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but you were quick to cut him off, "Satoru. What?" you cut to the chase as he stared at you as much as you were staring at him. He peeked in on the inside of your house and saw how modern and minimalistic it was—just about anyone could tell that by looking at the outside of your house. It seemed to have cost a lot with how big it was and it was three floors. Not to mention he saw two cars here when he came, quickly assuming you had three vehicles because you drove one to drop Suno and Megumi off.

   You snapped your fingers infront of his face in annoyance, "What?" he asked, then realizing what he had just asked. "Oh—sorry. Uhm, Shoko told me you lived here and I wanted to visit. But," You put your hand infront of his face, cutting him off and quieting him down. He gave you a questioning look and you gave him one back before yours quickly turned into a stern one. "Y/N can we please talk this out." Satoru begged, but it's not like it fueled your ego or anything. Seeing him beg was unusual, but you weren't sure if he was genuine or not.

  You turned your back towards him, making him more disappointed. You then gave a deep sigh, looking ahead of you. "Fine, Satoru." And he smiled, but you couldn't see as your back was faced towards him, "One condition, but that's as of right now. Later, we talk. Right now, watch Gumi and Sun until I'm done with my nap." You finished, walking further into your house to go to your room. Gojo glanced around, "Can-" he stopped and saw you staring at him. "Look around all you want, don't steal anything, though. There should be no need I should have to deal with a man child and literal children." Satoru frowned at your words as you walked in the elevator, going to your room to change, shower, and sleep.

   Just a quick nap.

It had been around four-twenty when Satoru came and when you woke up, looking at your alarm on your bedside table it was almost ten in thirty minutes. You heard giggling from downstairs, quickly rushing to see why and who had your kids laughing. It couldn't have been Gojo because he's a teacher.. and need rest just to teach energetic kids every weekday. When you got downstairs in your white, fur slippers, you saw Gojo playing with Suno and Megumi and their was food cooked on your black and gold stove. Your eyes widened and saw how big of a smile all three of them had... especially Satoru. But you needed to talk with Satoru, desperately.

You walked towards them, reaching out for Megumi who came to your arms willingly. "It's past their bedtime, you gonna put them in their rooms until we uhm, finish talking." Suno pouted as you carried Megumi and held his hand, taking them to their rooms knowing they'd go in one room together and play with legos or so. After doing so, you hesitantly went back to the first floor and saw Satoru man-spreading on your couch with his blindfold over his eyes. He didn't have it on when he first came so he must've brought it with him.

You sat on the couch across from him, staring out the window. Gojo rubbed his thigh, tugging on his blindfold. "Satoru, please. Just get to it." You murmured, despite the fact that you murmured, he still heard you. Gojo cleared his throat, putting his hand on his chest then wrapped his arms around his chest. "I want to make things right with you—uhm, for our child too." He lied, partly lied. Despite it being his child, he mostly wanted to make things right with you and try starting over as a family.

You continued staring out the window, then averted your gaze towards Gojo. "Sure, not with me, though. Just Suno. I'm fine as I am." You lied.. partially. You were fine as you were, but not wanting Gojo to try and make things right with you was a lie. You still missed him after so many years apart and genuinely almost nothing could make you deny it. Gojo eyes widened slightly but then his expression went back to the one as before. He couldn't blame you, but at the same time, Gojo was a busy sorcerer. You were a retired one and had a different job now and had one biological kid and adopted one.

You stood up and walked towards the stairs, your hand gliding on the rail. You turned your head to look at Gojo who was still on the couch manspreading, "You can stay here for the night since it's late. Their's a guest room across Megumi's and his room has a Badtz-Maru rug infront of it. When you get up to shower in the morning, give me your clothes so I can wash them for you." you informed him, heading back up the stairs. Then, he finally spoke, his voice stopped your movements.. his voice saying your name in a quiet manner, "Y/N." Satoru said. You looked back at him once again, your eyes blinking rapidly.. for no reason.

"Goodnight." He ended, as you mumbled it back. You walked to your room, going in it and flopping down onto your bed. It felt so gloomy after your talk with Satoru and you didn't know why. Was the topic sensitive to him or were your words harsh? You couldn't control it, it's not an initial reaction you don't believe because you were a mature woman. But.. maybe it was an initial reaction from all the pent up anger you held towards Satoru because of how long and how easily he left both you and your child.

Despite it being late, you texted Shoko, pleading for her to call you. And as soon as your phone rung, you answered quickly. "Shoko, I—there's so much to say," Shoko sighed over the line, too tired for your ranting, venting, whatever you liked to call it. But she was willing to listen because you were her best friend, the only one she has. After you tried your hardest to explain everything to Shoko, piece by piece, she stopped you. "Y/N." Shoko questioned.

"Are you harsh to Satoru because you can't control your emotions, or you can't control your emotions because you're harsh to Satoru?" She asked as calm as she could and you couldn't find the answer anywhere. Even if you were to search it up on Google or ask Siri, even they couldn't come up with anything. Shoko let out a chuckle, "Goodnight, Y/N. Stop worrying about everything, anything that happens will happen when the time is right. I love you." she said and hung up the phone as you fell back in between your pillows on your king-sized bed.

You didn't know what to do anymore, it was all confusing. But.. maybe you should take in everything Shoko said, despite the fact that it wasn't much. Little things can mean a lot.

Gojo walked in the guest room you told him about, slightly surprised by what it looked like. Not that it was clean, but how fancy it was. Were all your rooms in the house fancy? Even though they were fancy, they were all super minimalistic. How does that even work? Minimalistic but fancy? Gojo's house is modern and a bit minimalistic in some areas of the house, but if he had a fancy house.. it would not be minimalistic at all. He went in the bathroom connected to the guest room, washing his face with a white towel and some skin care product he saw on the shelf above the mirror. He also used a toothbrush that wasn't open because it was still in its package when his eyes averted towards it.

He brushed his teeth then went back in the room, locking the room door. He sighed and went to the bed, dropping down to his knees instantly. Gojo was prepared mentally and physically to pray to God just for you back so he could be a better man and have the family he've always wanted. After praying he got in the bed and under the comforter, staring at the ceiling and tracing it with his long, slender fingers. "Answer my prayers please. Amen." Satoru said, later on knocking himself out to dreamland and whatever is in it.

"I love you, Y/N." Was the first thing Satoru said in the mirror when he woke up this morning. He looked energetic as ever in the mirror, and majestic with his crystal blue eyes. He had woke up around three in the morning just to wash his clothes and went back to sleep with a towel wrapped around his waist. He threw his uniform back over his head, walking out the room quietly. Now, Satoru, even though he said that, he had a tad bit of common sense knowing not to say that to Y/N infront her face. Not yet at-least.

He headed straight for the door, ready to leave before Megumi and Suno ran up to him, hugging his legs, upset that he has to go. You also stopped him, or at-least your voice did, but either way, Satoru knew you could just about stop him with anything. "Suno, baby, come take your pills and eat. Gumi, you too." Satoru turned his head, staring at your figure. Your hair was a mess, but you still looked pretty to him like that. Satoru adored you in any type of way. Then again, your voice snapped him from his trance. You put down the knife beside the cutting board, staring at the coffee maker, you questioned Satoru. "Uhm, do you want.. want something to eat before you head out?"

'We're already acting like a married couple, she must want me back already.' Satoru thought to himself, scratching his snow white hair, shaking his head. He didn't want his presence to be a bother to you any longer, "I'll eat at a café while I'm on my way to work." he informed you, standing firmly with his hands on his hips before leaving. You sighed as Suno stood on a wooden stool, reaching for his pills that you said you were going to give him. You grabbed his pills from the cabinet, turning around after doing so while he waddled towards the fridge for a beverage like orange juice or water. Megumi was stuffing his face with his cut up pancakes and scrambled eggs with bacon and a blueberry muffin on the side. You ruffled Suno's hair as he poured his orange juice carefully then placed it back in the fridge.

"I'm glad your six eyes didn't have you crying last night as usual, baby." You told him and he looked at you confused then shrugged, "Maybe you didn't hear, mama." He said as you handed him one and a half pills. You gave him a questioning look, "What? What are you talking about?" Suno took his pills then drunk his orange juice as fast as possible just to answer you in which he nearly choked trying to do so. His gaze averted up towards you, "I did! I was crying for almost thruty minutes. But then Mr. Toru came and helped me by hitting my head three times and rubbing my forehead." He told you and you let out a small giggle from how he pronounced thirty.

Although, the rest of what he said was nowhere near funny. More so confusing, weird, and maybe interesting. "Okay, well.. you two go get ready for school." You told them as you checked the clock and it said six thirteen. When they ran up stairs to go get ready, you were ready to follow behind them because you had to get ready for work. Right when you walked past your front door, you heard knocking and a grunt. You stared at it for a second, gulping then walking to it slowly. You opened it with your hand gripping the doorknob, and when you opened it, you were surprised.

What else is gonna happen.. I haven't seen this guy for how long? You questioned yourself mentally. He laughed at your reaction, his hands in his pockets.

"So, we meet again, don't we now?"

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

should i post my ds stories also 🙂. / desiredsyd on wattpad

[riberoibeis]

A friend was winding their shrimp tank down after ~4 years so they gave me their shrimp, including Big Bertha the gigantic and ancient Amano shrimp who has quickly become the queen of the tank and my heart.

VD: a tiktok set to the song 'Da Biggest Bird' by Saint Mercat∅r of Big Bertha the huge female Amano shrimp hanging out with Gonzo the bamboo shrimp and swimming into the cherry shrimp feeding frenzy to take an entire food pellet to eat by herself. I also introduce Medium Michael the normal sized amano shrimp, also eating his own pellet.

ID: a realistic chalk pastel drawing on grey paper of Big Bertha the amano shrimp, outlined in black and rendered in white with orange and blue highlights.

[bylersecretsanta2023]

from @willelworld, to @marshmallo824

Will is mad.

He’s been sitting on his bed fuming for the past two hours, stirring in a thick cloud of frustration while staring down at his final project for ART235. There’s one of Jonathan’s mixtapes— he made it for Will as a graduation present, congrats on surviving high school. literally!— buzzing from his Walkman headphones, acting as white noise to wade through the jumbled thoughts straggling around his mind.

He’s burning up in a newfound rage at the fact that he just can’t figure out what’s wrong with this piece lying in his lap. The class is one of his art electives— The Beauty of Still Life — and despite being only a 200 level elective course, it’s been pulling Will through the wringer all semester long. After two graphite drawings, three chalk pastels, a 3D clay model, and his very first venture into oil painting, Will is decidedly not seeing the beauty in it. He is, however, seeing red, because the final project is due tomorrow morning, and it’s already ten at night, and the charcoal coating his fingers and therefore streaking across his bed sheets is enough to have him in tears. Will holds them back, and continues to stare blankly, like the flowers and grapes and vase will actually come to life and clue him in on what he’s been getting wrong, what feels so off about the piece as a whole.

It’s the last night of Hanukkah, and Will has spent the better half of it rolling around his bed, sighing every few minutes as he makes another mark with a stick of charcoal, smudging it with a finger, then realizing it wasn’t looking any better. The kneaded eraser feels sweaty in his palm as he continues playing with it like a stress toy.

He and Mike had lit the final set of candles of their chanukiah hours ago, the flames leaving dripping wax in their wake as Will sat and watched. It was his first time celebrating away from home, from his family, which felt different, but he’s lucky to at least have Mike around to get a sense of home. Another thing he’s mad about - finals week taking up the time where he could be home with his mom, Jonathan, El and Hop, but instead he’s been swamped with hours upon hours of tedious papers, crammed studying, and finishing this stupidly frustrating still life.

In all, his first semester of college was nice, if not a bit hectic. Living with Mike had been both a dream and a nightmare, which he fully expected when signing himself up for living with the guy you’re in gay love with. And now, he’s only twelve hours away from the end, the finish line in sight, the last sprint before he’s back in Hawkins for a month of rest and recuperation. But this drawing is all wrong, and he’s ready to resign himself to a B+ in this class by handing in the world’s shittiest charcoal still life at 10 AM sharp. After that, the two of them will shove their suitcases and duffle bags of necessities into Mike’s trunk, and drive the hours-long ride home for winter break.

Will’s stomach growls embarrassingly loud, enough so that he hears it over both the headphones and music. As if on cue, the door handle jangles around and Mike waltzes through, kicking it shut behind him. He’s carrying a white porcelain plate with a couple of latkes, reheated from a few nights ago. Earlier in the week, Mike had somehow found the time amidst his plethora of essays to conjure up freshly made latkes in their dinky little communal dorm kitchen. Will isn’t sure how he did it, considering the sheer lack of kitchen utensils, and the rusted stove that clearly hasn’t been updated since the 50’s, a fire hazard waiting to happen. But nonetheless, when Mike had walked back upstairs carrying a platter filled with that beautiful fried potato, Will just about cried at the sentiment.

Mike joins him on his bed without asking, knowing full well that he’s allowed, and Will’s stomach growls again for good measure, like an alarm blaring out his jealousy over Mike finishing the last of the batch. Will hooks his single clean finger around the headphones and tugs them off.

Wordlessly, Mike hands him the plate. “For you,” he says, voice airy and dripping with fondness. Will could kiss him on the spot. He smiles, then looks down at his fingertips covered in chalky black, and then looks back to Mike sheepishly.

“Open. I’ll feed you,” Mike commands, and Will coughs out a laugh in surprise. He gives him a funny look, expecting Will to carry out their normal routine: Will refuses the help, then Mike pushes him on it, and Will caves immediately.

Will could argue on this, and he considers it, but he’s starving, and it feels ridiculous at this point to decline Mike’s care. They’ve fought monsters together and protected each other in literal battles. Mike hand feeding him latkes isn’t gonna kill him. Maybe.

“I feel like a baby right now,” Will admits, opening his mouth regardless of the comment as Mike breaks off a small piece for him to eat, then takes a bite for himself. They were much better fresh, but Will can’t complain. Mike pushes another piece against Will’s mouth before he’s done chewing the first, laughing, warm and light, at the unimpressed glare he receives.

And this is where Will’s biggest problem lies. This is the root of his current predicament with the still life. See, while he should’ve been spending the past three weeks getting a head start on his final project, he instead chose to work on something that’s, in his opinion, much more important, if not stupidly reckless. Will had put all of his free time towards a painting for Mike. A new one, a callback to the last grand piece he dedicated to him, in the backseat of that musty, sweltering pizza van flying through the Nevada desert.

He’s being stupid, Will realizes. He understands that, fully. He’s spent months overanalyzing every interaction with Mike since graduation. He spent the entirety of late October contemplating if he should go through with it, with making him another painting. This time, with a proper, honest confession attached. Not the piss-poor excuse of whatever he gave last time, hiding behind El, making a fool of himself with his trembling, lying words.

This time, he actually does have a little confidence. Mike has always been kind with him, always caring and gentle, but never in an insulting or belittling manner. But ever since they moved in together, it’s like the final walls separating the two of them fell, and Mike’s been all over him. He’s always complimenting Will, more than normal, peppering him with little innocuous comments on how nice he looks today or how well he’s doing in his classes or how good he’s been at making new friends. On top of that, Mike’s dialed up his touchiness to an entirely unheard level. He’s gotten more hugs from Mike in the past three months than in the entirety of high school. And the worst (best) part, is the ‘flirting.’ Will is hesitant to call it that, not wanting to get his hopes up, but he just doesn’t know another word to use that sums up all the little moments in their conversations that feel too playful, too endearing, and altogether too sweet.

It’s like Mike had some grand revelation on move-in day back in August, that this was for real. That Will wasn’t going anywhere. That they survived all the bullshit of their childhood, and they still have each other, and nothing could change that other than their own choices, not some ever-looming threat of death.

Whatever it is, Will is grateful, but he also wasted so much energy on dissecting every change in Mike’s behavior, every normal action amplified by an indescribable air of openness, trust, and, dare he say it, love. Will is feeling loved, every single day, and it unsettles him greatly. Not that he doesn’t feel loved by his family and friends at home, of course not. But this is a different kind of love. He feels wanted.

Which is why, despite their 13 years of platonic history, and despite his better judgment, he’s decided to take the plunge. Risk it all, so to speak. Gamble their friendship. Put his heart on the line and pray that Mike picks it back up, gingerly in his hands. That he returns it to Will’s chest in-tact and, against all odds, returns his feelings, too. If it all blows up in his face, Will’s betting on their school’s resident housing office to help him switch to a new dorm before the start of the Spring semester.

He’s chewing on another piece of the latke, deep in thought about this sticky situation, when Mike oh so helpfully points out his other, more pressing plight.

“How’s the still life going?” he asks, staring down at the almost completed drawing in Will’s lap. “It looks really nice.”

Will groans at this. “You say that about all my work. It’s starting to mean less and less everyday, you know.”

Mike scoffs playfully, not really hurt, but wanting to keep this conversation fun and spirited. “You’re saying my expert opinion doesn’t matter?”

“Expert in what, exactly?” Will welcomes the needed distraction from his work, and he wouldn’t admit it if asked, but he really does love to hear Mike comment on his art. Mike was his first critic, his first muse, and his biggest fan when it comes to his artwork.

“I’m the world’s leading expert in Will Byers art history. After you die they’re gonna be begging me to sell your old paintings, but I won’t budge.”

“After I die?” Will asks, eyes bulging as he laughs out the words. “Are you gonna open a museum in my honor, or something?”

Mike rolls his head to the side where it’s resting against the wall, linking their eyes. “Oh, definitely. There’ll be a whole wing just for D&D. I’ll sell Will the Wise merch in the gift shop for a profit.”

Will laughs again at the imagery Mike created for him, and shakes his head, his smile wide and on display. Mike tears his gaze away from Will’s eyes and for a moment, it moves to somewhere lower, a dangerous spot just below his nose and right above his chin. And then he’s looking down at the charcoal drawing again.

“Why are you still working on it, though? This looks incredible. Really. Like, really, really professional,” and Will can tell Mike’s having trouble finding the right words to describe the drawing, because it’s unlike any of the art Will actually enjoys creating. It’s black and white for starters, and there’s no people, just inanimate objects.

Will looks back up to Mike’s face, and he’s clearly concentrating hard. He appreciates the concern Mike gives him, the effort he puts into things even when he’s not quite sure how. “Not enough magic for your taste?”

This brings a closed-mouth grin to Mike’s lips, but he still hasn’t broken his gaze from the drawing. “Could use a dragon or two, I suppose.”

He’s suddenly all too aware of the painting currently hiding underneath his bed, right below the two of them. It’s different from the one he made in ‘86. Rather than the Party fighting a three-headed dragon, it’s simply a full-body portrait of Sir Mike. Will’s improved significantly in the past three and a half years, constantly honing his skills with acrylic paint through high school and now early college. He thinks he got the metallic reflect on Mike’s paladin armor just right, and he made sure to include the big old heart on his shield, again. Just to hammer home the point even more.

“But like, for real. From an objective standpoint, can you see anything— I don’t know— weird about it?” Will probes for more feedback. He should’ve paid more attention in the critique for his last project.

Mike goes quiet this time, zoning in on it. Will watches as his eyes glide back and forth, picking up on all the details. The lines and streaks of the charcoal stick lie across the finely textured paper. The hours of smudging and blending that Will endured, chasing perfection. The negative space he left behind for the highlighted points. The shadows cast by each object— a bowl of grapes surrounded by ornate candlesticks and a vase with a single lily flower— making them look like they’re bouncing off the paper and taking up real space. All the elements are present, but yet, something isn’t quite right.

“It’s the perspective, isn’t it?” Will interrupts the peaceful silence, breaking Mike’s concentration with his anxious rambling. “That’s definitely it. But it’s too late- I don’t think I can really fix it at this point- and I don’t have time to start all over, I mean I’ve been working on this nonstop for a week and a half and I don’t know why I keep fucking it up and—“

“Will,” Mike cuts him short with a hand pressed to his forearm, almost clutching at him. “There’s nothing wrong with the perspective. This looks crazy realistic, like I could reach in and touch everything for myself, you know? But it still has that sense of, like, your style. It feels purposeful, I guess, with how you can see the lines if you look up close. It feels human, even though there’s no people included.”

Will stares at him in a profound shock, like he didn’t expect Mike to go so deep with his analysis. He blinks a few times, a blush sprouting on his cheeks. “Thank you- that’s, that’s so. I’m so— thank you.” He settles on a simple form of gratitude, not wishing to trip over his words any longer.

“It’s perfect,” Mike tacks on, finally looking back upwards to take in Will’s expression. Will forgot how forward Mike is with his compliments for his art, as it’s been a good long while since he’s properly gifted him anything. Will feels a mix of excitement and dread at how Mike will react to his present-slash-confession. He’s planning on showing him the painting on the night the Party officially holds their holiday festivities, once everyone’s returned from their respective schools. He figures it’s a nice enough opportunity to give him the painting, and also relieves Will of the panic around finding Mike a suitable Christmas gift.

And Will thinks it’s over. He thinks his heart is finally safe to crawl back down his throat and settle into his ribcage once more. But Mike has other plans.

“You’re perfect,” Mike says in a whisper, but his eyes are still locked tight in an unbreaking connection with Will’s. He means it wholeheartedly, and Will sees something glimmer in his eyes at that moment. He’s made a choice.

Before Will can even process Mike’s words or begin to formulate a coherent response, Mike’s face is suddenly in front of him and it’s all he can see. It’s all he knows. Mike Mike Mike. Screw The Beauty of Still Life, Wil decides he’s never going to make another piece of art that isn’t focused around the boy in front of him.

Will’s not really sure what he expected would happen within the next few seconds, as all his brain power is going towards deciphering the logistics of proposing his new major that entirely surrounds painting this beautiful boy he lives with, but then there’s a pressure on his mouth, and he’s thrown out of his daze.

What the fuck. Mike’s kissing me. And it’s an electric shock to his nervous system, and it’s like his body’s being woken up by a bucket of frozen water as he’s flung into the present moment. His brain catches up, and before he starts kissing back or doing really anything at all, Mike’s pulling away. His eyes are searching his face, back and forth, in this confused and hopeful and pained fashion, brows pinching in the center.

Instead of saying anything useful, Will blurts out, “Oh my god, you ruined the surprise.” He’s thinking about how many hours of tossing and turning in his bed, pondering what words to use when he inevitably reveals the true depth of his feelings. All the worries and fears he’s harbored, all the insecurities, they’re playing on a loop in his mind, like how they say your life flashes before your eyes right as you die. He’d gladly let Mike kill all his fears.

“What?” Mike utters, quiet and hurt, his very own fears springing up as his brain zeros in on the word ‘ruined’ and nothing else. Will wants to punch himself in the face.

“Shit, sorry, I meant. I meant that, I was planning on doing that, too. As a Christmas present,” Will states, dumbly. He’s still a bit disoriented.

“You were planning on kissing me as a present?” Mike giggles, his eyes turning to crescents. “I mean, I’m not complaining. But you could do that any day of the year, if you want.”

“No, that’s— I was trying to say that… that I’ve spent the past few weeks writing up this- this whole confession to you in my head. And I wanted to wait until we were back in Hawkins and not, like, sleeping in the same room. In case things got awkward,” Will explains, still sounding sort of silly. He’s never felt simultaneously so embarrassed yet so overjoyed.

Mike’s laughing a little, eyes dazzling. But now he’s sobering up, listening to Will intently.

“And, I- um. I kinda— I made you a painting.”

Mike brightens at this, his smile widening even more, somehow. “Like the one when we were fifteen?” He asks, teasing, with a tilt of his head.

Will sighs, embarrassment trickling in yet again. “Yeah. Like the one when we were fifteen. But much better quality, and more kissing involved, preferably.”

It’s like Mike was waiting to hear the word ‘kiss’ again for the green light to lean back in. He puts a hand on the back of Will’s neck and into his hair, pulling him closer. Will rests his own on the side of Mike’s face, cautiously, like he’s still not sure if he’s allowed to do this. They meet in the middle, and this time, it’s not as much of a jolt, as an overwhelming feeling of warmth. It’s like pouring warm water over your hair and down your neck— shuddering, but in a good way.

When they break apart again, Will realizes he never wiped the charcoal off his hands, and there’s a collection of smeared black fingerprints on Mike’s cheek. He can’t contain his laugh at the sight, bubbling up out of him. He feels on fire. He feels hysterical.

“Can I see the painting, now that I’ve ruined your surprise?” Mike asks, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Will considers it, and then shakes his head. “Nah, you’re gonna have to wait for the full thing. Including the confession. It’s only fair.”

Mike wilts at this, grabbing Will’s neck again from where his hand has been resting on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can spend the next ten days pretending like there’s nothing between us,” he says in a hushed tone. He’s being dramatic, Will notices, and it’s in that faint teasing tone that Mike always does when he tries to get his way.

“I mean, you don’t have to do that,” Will offers.

Mike spends a total of five seconds considering this, before he outright asks: “So, you’ll be my boyfriend now?”

Will barks out another laugh at the way he phrased it. Sometimes, it’s hard to keep up with Mike’s impulsivity. He’s spent the last couple of years wanting to make a move, and then the past months building up to actually doing it. But here Mike is, beating him to it in a seemingly split-second decision.

“Yes, of course. Of course I’ll be your boyfriend,” Will answers him, beaming at the prospect. He can’t believe his luck. He can’t believe Mike’s timing.

“Okay… so, can I see the painting now?”

Will rolls his eyes without a hint of malice, shoving Mike in the shoulder. “Did you really think that would work?”

Mike leans into Will’s space once more, bouncing back to him like a rubber band. He’s never seen the other boy happier. “Worth a shot.”

A couple weeks later, when Will receives his final grades, the “B+” next to ART235 is enough for him.

It’s perfect, even.

[ilikecarsandlike4people]

Todays warm up sketch❤️

Graphite, charcoal, white pastel chalk on A3 paper

[theskylarkin]

KHOC Week Day 3 - Dream

(I'm mixing up the order of the prompts just a bit for the sake of narrative-building.)

What is something they dream about?

Word Count: 1468

In Relai’s opinion, the only good thing about living in San Fransokyo was finally getting her own bedroom.

No longer would Relai be woken up in the middle of the night when her twin clambered down the creaky ladder of their old bunk bed to get a glass of water. She’d never have to put up with Mariss’ nonsensical insistance that they divide their shared room equally ever again; no matter how much she’d tried to keep her various art projects on “her side” there had always seemed to be some clutter that spilled over the imaginary boundary and earned the ire of her twin. Now Relai was finally free to just leave her stuff wherever, or at least until Aunt Anima or Uncle Mundi made her clean her room.

When the four of them had moved into the house in San Fransokyo, the walls of Relai’s bedroom were already painted a sterile white just a few shades lighter than the cream carpet. The munny her aunt and uncle had on hand was only enough to buy the property; they wouldn’t have any real furniture for a few months. So Relai rolled out the old sleeping bag Aunt Anima found in a secondhand store in the middle of the room and set down the knapsack carrying her only worldly possessions left before flopping onto the floor and staring up at the ceiling.

She’d wanted a room of her own for ages, but not like this.

Relai reached into the knapsack and pulled out the only piece of home she’d managed to grab before the family was forced to evacuate: a box of fancy oil pastels her mother had given her for her eleventh birthday. She’d stared at it longingly every time she passed it in the shop window and even though Mom would always scoff at the price, there it was wrapped in red paper on the dining table next to Mariss’ gift. Holding it then felt like a dream come true, holding it now only reminded her of all that she’d lost.

Clutching the box to her chest, Relai nearly started to cry again as a sense of overwhelming nothingness washed over her. You don’t belong here, the walls closing in around her seemed to say.

This wasn’t home. This would never be home.

In the months that followed, Relai was plagued with nightmares about the fall of Radiant Garden. Almost every night, the chaotic memories replayed themselves endlessly: the sky darkening as the hordes of shadow creatures descended upon the castle town, the cobblestone streets splitting apart with an almighty crack as the ground shook, the screams of the people around her suddenly cutting off as the land underneath their feet collapsed or the monsters caught up with them.

The resulting lack of sleep didn’t make it any easier for Relai to get used to the new school Aunt Anima had enrolled the twins in. San Fransokyo was a world with far more advanced technology than that of Radiant Garden; Mariss had a theory that this clear technological superiority was a result of the world’s inhabitants never discovering the existence of magic. Whatever the reason, the San Fransokyo schools placed much more focus on math and science, neither of which were Relai’s strong suit. It was difficult to explain to her new teachers that she hadn’t learned everything she was supposed to already know at her current grade level without revealing that she wasn’t from this world.

Mariss, on the other hand, acclimated to the new curriculum with enviable ease. (Relai chalked it up to them being a huge nerd, but it still stung to see the ease at which her twin was doing with school and getting to know their new classmates.) However, they were just as beset by nightmares of their frantic flight from Radiant Garden as she was. One night, Relai woke up to find Mariss curled up beside her on the floor, wrapped up in their own sleeping bag and shaking uncontrollably. “Bad dreams?” she asked groggily and Mariss nodded. “Yeah, me too. What did you see?”

Mariss’ nightmares were similar to her own, but strayed further from what had actually happened that day. Sometimes they saw their missing parents, reaching out to pull them to safety only to turn into the shadows with yellow eyes and sharp claws. Other times either her, Aunt Anima, or Uncle Mundi tripped as they were fleeing and were swallowed up by the darkness before they could hit the ground. Then one time they all made it to the hangar only for the gummi ship that had brought them to safety taking off without them.

Once Mariss finally felt brave enough to return to their own room, Relai tried unsuccessfully to get back to sleep. Finally giving up, she stood up to turn on the lights and was briefly blinded by the bright blankness of her empty room, as boring as a clean sheet of paper.

Wait…

With a burst of manic creative energy, Relai reached for her coveted box of oil pastels, marched over to the closest wall, and started to recreate her home.

She drew the plants and flowers of Uncle Mundi’s little backyard garden, followed by the sprawling gardens in front of the castle that he’d been in charge of before his retirement, wearing down every single green pastel to almost nothing. She drew the cascading waterfalls of the fountain plaza, smudging them with her fingers until the pink, purple, and blue hues matched the walls of water when the sunlight hit them just right. (Relai absentmindedly wiped her hands on her pajamas, staining them with various shades of purple.) She even drew the castle at the center of the world and its chaotic array of towers sticking out at every angle.

By the time Mariss arrived to wake her up for school, Relai’s mural had expanded to cover half of one wall. Her twin opened the door, saw the mess of color, and immediately turned and ran down the stairs. “Aunt Anima! Uncle Mundi! Relai’s drawing on the walls!” she could hear Mariss tattling from the kitchen.

Unexpectedly, Relai’s aunt and uncle seemed more impressed by her handiwork than upset, to Mariss’ apparent annoyance. “Well, I did say I’d let the two of you pick any color you wanted for your rooms,” Aunt Anima remarked dryly. “This is lovely, Relai, but this much oil pastel is never going to dry. It’ll smear into an awful mess and ruin the carpet.”

“Don’t worry, we can paint over it later,” Uncle Mundi suggested. “It’d be a shame to lose such a beautiful rendition of Radiant Garden. It’s like we never left!”

“I wanted to make sure I always remember home like it used to be,” Relai said in a small voice, barely suppressing a sniffle. “Before Mom, Dad, and Sophia disappeared and everything went wrong.”

“Oh, honey,” Aunt Anima sighed as she pulled Relai into a tight hug. As Relai fought back tears, she saw Mariss look away in embarrassment before backing out into the hallway.

“I know you miss them, we all do.” Relai felt Uncle Mundi place a hand on her shoulder. “But your parents… and your cousin would want you to keep moving forward. And as long as you keep those memories in your heart, there will always be a part of them and Radiant Garden that lives on.”

True to his word, Uncle Mundi started to put munny aside for Relai’s paints as soon as his first paycheck for his new job came through. Within a year, Relai had a real bed in her bedroom where she could see her wall-length mural of Radiant Garden every time she fell asleep.

Now when she dreamed of home, she envisioned a world where the darkness had never taken hold. A world where her family and friends were alive and well. A world where she didn’t have to hide who she was because of some stupid World Order.

A world where she felt like she belonged.

Relai didn’t know if Mariss dreamed of Radiant Garden anymore. They seemed more concerned with trying to fit in with their new friends nowadays, something Relai just couldn’t understand. Neither of them would ever truly be a part of this world, so why even bother to try?

Funnily enough, Relai’s good dreams were still causing trouble for her in school. She would zone out in the middle of class while daydreaming about her perfect world, only snapping back to reality when the bell rang. One day, the school guidance counselor called her up to his office and warned her that her future was in serious jeopardy if her grades didn’t improve.

But Relai didn’t care; her dreams so were much more interesting than her current reality anyway.

@khoc-week

[of-the-true-autumn]

completed swap for @cadrenebula of her OC Destiney ! i kinda wanted to do something a bit more unique and different to what i would do normally. it was also a fun challenge to learn how to work with black toned paper and using different mediums on it. this is a mix of pastel chalk (applied carefully with paintbrushes), pens both white and colour, and coloured pencil and white pencil. i know it's not too fancy, but i do still hope you like it ! thank you for letting me doodle her, i had loads of fun with it !!