#with some details added in black ink
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It's been 84 years, but i finally drew an Alexander von Humboldt again and am also only 6 days late for his 255th birthday. :3
#mutantenfischart#this is painted entirely in cheap af acrylics on a watercolour paper postcard#with some details added in black ink#i haven't drawn with acrylics in almost exactly a year#i'd also like to add that this looks better in person. my phone cam sucks#alexander von humboldt#watch me return to my historical scientist obsession because i still love this man so much
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Quiet corners 🐈⬛
#cats#black cats#art#fantasy art#inks#lil series of pictures i made based on photos of my sister’s neighborhood#it’s a very hilly and cramped and cute place …#and as usual i added some details of my own#esp cats …#black cat#btw#sry yes i already posted the first one on its own …#posting it again with these other two cuz they’re all based off the same area
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FIRE ALONE...CAN SAVE OUR CLAN...
Full illustration from the hardcover jacket cover of WARRIORS: THE PROPHECIES BEGIN Volume 1 + some details!
Process, WIPs and detail rambling under the cut:
Sara and I rarely get to do detailed, non-comic page illustration work, and wanted to get some painterly texture to set this apart from regular comic panels. We did some tests early on in the process:
(inked lineart on the left and graphite lineart on the right)
Sara used some soft, chunky (8B!!!) graphite pencils to get the storybook texture we ended up going with. I also used a gritty digital "gouache" brush to softly paint the whole illustration, and used a watercolor texture overlay I had on hand for added crunch.
These are the rough sketches I sent in to our editor and designer- I normally do a rough color pass at this stage. It's a little extra work, but it's worth it to not feel totally lost on color later in the process.
(Pencils by Natalie, printed and handed off to Smo, who "inks" with a heavy graphite pencil)
More WIPs...I think it looked pretty good in black and white too, honestly!
Thanks everyone for all of your kind words about the book so far! I'm already drawing volume three ;w; see you in a year!
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love and tattoos (kaz brekker x reader)
summary: in which jesper has a theory and kaz might be the matching tattoos kind of guy.
or
it’s two small words, a raven and a crow, a broken lock and a key, and a band around their ring finger.
or
“He has to be drunk, or high, or something, because there is absolutely no way he’s just seen a band of ink around Kaz’s ring finger.”
warnings: brief panic attack (not detailed), mentions of wounds and blood (not detailed, canon typical), set in the future, kaz has worked on his touch aversion
kaz taglist: @the-tpd-bau @ellievickstar @thestudiouswanderer | soc taglist: @ancientbeing10 (if you want to be added or removed from the taglist just dm me!)
a/n: here i am, once again, because apparently im incapable of stopping myself from writing for kaz brekker. i have so many wips but kaz always calls to me😭😭 this one was so much fun to write, it just flowed, and i hope you enjoy it just as much as i did!!
i. a band of ink around his ring finger, part one.
Jesper must be hallucinating, he has to be. He blinks once, twice, looks down at the drink in his hand, briefly wonders if it’s been laced with some sort of drug powerful enough to have his brain imagining things— because Jesper does not have the imagination to be making this up, he wishes he did —and then looks back up. The ink remains in place. Nope, no way. He shakes his head, presses his eyes shut. He has to be drunk, or high, or something, because there is absolutely no way he’s just seen a band of ink around Kaz’s ring finger.
It’s not the tattoo itself that shocks Jesper. Although, maybe it does freak him out a bit, a band around the ring finger can only mean one thing, and Jesper has never believed Kaz to be the marrying type. (Then again, he never thought him to be the matching tattoos kind of guy, and the last couple of months have had him discovering that Kaz very much could be.) No, what makes Jesper spiral is that he’s seen that exact same tattoo on (Y/N)’s own ring finger.
ii. you break, i mend.
Jesper has seen the tattoo on the inside of (Y/N)’s left wrist more times than he can count.
The word ‘mend’ in all lowercase, the typography delicate and elegant, the font somewhat rounded. Jesper has never asked what it means— because everyone in the Barrel has been branded, either by choice or against their will, and Jesper knows the black ink carries memories, promises and pain, he knows better than to ask —but he thinks it’s fitting for her, both the word and the style. Because (Y/N) is a gentle force, someone who provides emotional care to those close to her, a fixer. She loves proudly and deeply, and Jesper has never met someone in this wretched place that is so unafraid to be kind. He doesn’t know what she does to remain untainted, to keep her soul so pure in spite of their line of work. He envies it, sometimes. But then he’ll hear muted sobs through the thin walls, wake up at the sound of screams caused by nightmares, and he’ll wonder if feeling and caring that much is even worth it.
Jesper doesn’t think much about (Y/N)’s tattoo— it’s pretty and it suits her, and, yeah, he gets the desperate need to ask for a backstory whenever he catches a glimpse of it, but never does. There’s nothing more to it. That is until he spies a word on Kaz’s own wrist.
He only sees the tattoo because Kaz takes his gloves off. That doesn’t happen very often, if at all. But it’s the hottest day of summer they’ve had in Ketterdam in years, and they’ve been out in the sun all day, so Jesper is only mildly surprised when they reach Kaz’s office and he takes the black gloves off. What does take him completely off guard, however, is the inked word on his right wrist, partially hidden by the sleeves of his shirt.
‘BREAK’. In uppercase, with jagged and fragmented lettering. Jesper only catches a glimpse before Kaz twists away and the ink is completely sheltered by his clothes, but he’s almost sure the tattoo has some sort of optical effect, makes it seem like the words have been shattered, all sharp and angular lines.
Kaz is saying something and Inej is responding, and it’s probably important and he definitely should be paying attention, but Jesper’s mind is elsewhere because (Y/N)’s delicate tattoo suddenly comes to mind. The similarities are just right there and now all Jesper can think about is how odd of a coincidence it is that (Y/N) and Kaz have mirror tattoos. Same place, but opposite wrist. A single word, one neat and elegant, the other harsh and precise. Jesper does not believe in coincidences, but it can’t be anything else— because believing it to be something else would mean believing Kaz to be a matching tattoos type of person and Jesper would bet his guns against that —so he simply ponders over the possible coincidence, just for a quick second, before Kaz is directing questions towards him and Jesper is forced to shove the information in the back of his mind.
He ends up forgetting about it. Not forgetting forgetting, more so in the way he forgets his debts until there are collectors knocking on his door. The information is there, stored in some corner of his brain, ready to be brought back into his consciousness with just the right push.
The right push comes a Saturday night, two months after he first notices Kaz’s tattoo.
(Y/N) is out on a job. Jesper doesn’t know any of the details— not the target, nor the entry and exit routes, nothing at all —but he knows something is wrong because Kaz has been pacing for the last half hour.
“She should be back by now,” is all Kaz says when he asks. He doesn’t really need to say more. Jesper feels the way his chest constricts, panic slowly building. (Y/N) is never late.
Just as Jesper feels like he’s about to start pacing himself, the door of the Slat opens. She’s got her hood on, doesn’t look up from the floor when she walks in. There’s a certain drag in her limbs, something that tells Jesper that something is wrong, wrong, wrong.
“Where the fuck were you?” The words aren’t directed towards him, but Jesper cannot help but flinch. Kaz doesn’t get like this often, cold and harsh because he’s worried, so the job must’ve been important, high stakes, the type where survival isn’t assured.
(Y/N) looks up, and it’s only then that Jesper notices the blood. It’s everywhere. It drips down the slope of her nose, it trails down her lips. She walks closer and with the change of light he notices that it’s also embedded in her clothes. The most disturbing thing, however, are her eyes. Glassy, distant, unseeing. She’s shaking. Full body tremors.
By his side, Kaz deflates completely at the sight of her. He’s already moving towards her when she whispers brokenly, “I’m sorry.”
The apology goes ignored, “Where are you hurt?” Kaz asks. He reins his panic well enough, but Jesper can still taste the traces of it, they float around in the air.
(Y/N) doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge Kaz as he comes to stand right in front of her, trying his best to assess for injuries. It’s hard when all there is to see is blood.
“I’m not hurt,” she responds, and it’s like she’s in a trance, capable of responding but not truly present. Jesper furrows his brows, catches the concerned look on Kaz face. Does she not realize she’s covered in blood? She raises her hand to gesture at herself, and it’s only when she does so that Jesper notices the blade. She waves it around. It’s stained red, all the way to the handle. “Blood’s not mine.”
Jesper freezes. Kaz stops dead on his tracks, too.
Kaz looks back at him and understanding passes through them. She snapped. Something made her snap.
It seems like she’s just processing it, too, because a second after she mutters those words the knife falls from her hand and her knees wobble. It’s like Kaz had been expecting the sudden crash, because he’s quick to help her down. He grabs her by the sleeves of her tunic and sits her on the floor, back against the wall.
Her breathing begins to come out hard and labored, she clutches at her chest, hard.
“Look at me,” Kaz instructs, but she’s not here anymore. Jesper cannot help the way fear courses through him at the sight of her faraway eyes and the sound of her disordered breaths. He’s only ever seen (Y/N) like this once before, and even then, it hadn’t been this bad, she’d been responsive to Kaz, and very much able to breathe properly. Right now, not even Kaz’s words are cutting through the haze.
The wheezing becomes louder, more intense. The more she panics, the less she breathes, the more Jesper feels like he, himself, isn’t capable of getting air into his lungs. Kaz keeps talking, but she doesn’t seem to hear him.
“I can’t—” Her lips are slowly losing color.
Jesper is still frozen in place, and he can tell that Kaz is also beginning to panic by the way he grabs her clothed hand and presses it against his own chest.
“Breathe,” he orders. Insistent, firm. Kaz’s words leave no room for argument and (Y/N) reacts accordingly. Like it’s instinct to do as Kaz says, she takes in a deep breath, ragged.
“Good girl.” Kaz’s hand, the one that isn’t on top of (Y/N)’s own, pressed against his chest, hovers over her cheek. He ends up grabbing the end of the hood that still partially covers her face. “One more time.”
She repeats the action, another deep breath, interrupted by a brief coughing fit.
“You’re okay, match my breaths.” She nods weakly and does as best she can, eyes shut. The hand that is on Kaz’s chest has become a fist, rumpling his shirt. She holds onto him like a lifeline.
“I’ll get her water,” he finds himself saying.
Kaz doesn’t turn to look at him, “Bring a wet cloth, too.”
Jesper nods and slips out of the room and into the kitchen. He feels like he’s having an out of body experience, his body working automatically on pouring tap water in a glass, on finding a clean cloth. His mind is miles away.
Saints.
It’s disconcerting to see someone as serene and put together as (Y/N) so rattled and distraught. He feels disoriented, like the world has shifted off his feet. He’s never seen her snap so badly that she ends up spiraling into a panic attack. Jesper doesn’t know much about her past, but Kaz had once mentioned something about a complicated upbringing, about being raised as a weapon not a child. He doesn’t want to begin to imagine what he’d meant.
The soft murmur of words brings him back to reality, grounds him and guides him once again into his body.
“Are you with me?”
No response, but Jesper imagines that she must’ve nodded because he hears the soft sigh of relief that Kaz lets out.
It’s quiet for a little while, Jesper focuses on the sound of water flowing through the cloth in his hands, the feeling of it getting damper.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out soft, filled with emotion and embarrassment.
“None of that.”
“I didn’t mean to…”
“I know. It’s okay.”
The silence lingers before being filled by quiet noises. Jesper has heard her sobs through his wall enough times to identify them. His heart tightens painfully.
“It’s okay,” Kaz repeats, softer this time. It’s a tone Jesper has never heard him use with anyone else.
“There were children, Kaz,” Jesper has to strain to make out the words, they’re muffled by something, “little kids. And it just reminded me of… I couldn’t...”
“I know.”
A sniffle, “I’m sorry,” followed by a broken laugh, soft and sad. “I’m a mess.”
Jesper turns off the faucet, twists the cloths to remove any excess of water. He grabs the glass of water with one hand and the cloth with the other and then, just, waits. He knows this conversation is not one he should be present for, he doesn’t want to be present.
It’s a good thing, too, that he doesn’t make his way towards them, because he’s pretty sure he would’ve stumbled and dropped everything at the next words that fall out of Kaz’s mouth.
“If you break, I mend, remember?”
(mend
BREAK)
Jesper places the glass of water on the kitchen counter and blinks once, twice.
Saints be damned.
Kaz might be the matching tattoos type of person.
iii. a raven and a crow
The matching tattoo theory, as Jesper likes to refer to it, remains just that, a theory. Because Jesper has no real way of proving it, not unless he finds the will to ask (Y/N)— which he just can’t do, she’s so open about everything that prodding just feels unfair —or unless he brings his curiosity to Kaz— which might just end up with him losing a finger, and Jesper likes his limbs just as they are, thank you very much. So, for now, it’s merely speculation, something that could be played off as a coincidence. And he thinks it must be a coincidence, right? Matching tattoos are too sentimental for someone like Kaz. (Then again, he has always been different when it comes to (Y/N), so maybe Jesper shouldn’t be that surprised.) And they aren’t matching tattoos, not really, they are more like, well, mirror ones. It’s different. Probably nothing. He might be connecting dots where there’s absolutely nothing to connect.
He can’t help the way he begins to observe more, trying to find anything to sustain or disprove his theory. It’s only natural, he tells himself, Jesper is nothing if not a curious man.
It’s only because he becomes so attuned to them, and whatever that thing is that they have going on, that Jesper notices little things.
“Inej?”
“Good.”
Kaz keeps on making roll call, making sure all of them are there and unharmed.
“Jes?”
“Very much alive,” he grunts in response, letting himself flop into the haystack. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, but at least it’s still beating. He cannot believe a blizzard of all things is what saved their lives.
He looks to his left. Even Inej looks slightly winded. She pats the pocket of her coat, sags in relief immediately after. Jesper does the same, touches his inner pocket, feels the edges of the glass key, and sighs.
The goods are safe.
“Nina?”
“Here.” Her cheeks are rosy. Jesper isn’t sure if it’s because of the dreadful cold or the exertion.
There’s silence after, the room filled by only harsh breaths. Jesper snaps up, looking around frantically, because Kaz is not calling (Y/N)’s name and that can only mean that she’s not there or she’s…
His mind quiets down when he takes in the sight in front of him.
Kaz is not calling (Y/N)’s name because he already has eyes on her. Probably always did.
And that’s when Jesper sees it, a little thing, something that tilts the scales in favor of his theory; the softness in (Y/N)’s face as she listens to Kaz.
(Y/N) is always kind— with battered gang members and hungry street urchins, with the loud customers and even with those who dare gamble against her —but Jesper is just now realizing that there’s a different gentleness when it comes to the way she takes Kaz in. The look in her eyes becomes quieter, more intimate, delicate. She says something, much too quiet for Jesper to hear, and smiles. Kaz shakes his head fondly, responds with a hushed whisper. It’s tender, precious, private. It makes Jesper feel like he’s intruding.
And then something Jesper has never seen before happens. Kaz takes (Y/N)’s chin with his gloved hand, thumb and index fingers holding her. He moves her face around, looking for any visible injury.
There goes another detail in favor of the matching tattoo theory.
Jesper thinks he might’ve just entered some sort of altered reality because what is he even looking at right now. He looks around but Inej and Nina aren’t paying them any mind, too engrossed in their own conversation.
Great, he’s all alone in trying to figure this thing out.
“I’m okay,” he hears (Y/N) reassure.
For the most part, Jesper thinks to himself, because he doesn’t miss the way she’s pressing her hand to her abdomen. Apparently, it hasn’t slipped past Kaz either, because he hums and raises his eyebrows, eyes pointedly trailing down to the wound.
She rolls her eyes at him, even that action looks fond, “It’s not deep.”
Kaz is more tactile with her, Jesper realizes with a start. It’s not a word he would ever use to describe Dirtyhands, but it’s the only one that comes to mind. (And Kaz has gotten better over the years, he has. It’s been gradual, and Jesper has no clue as to how or what he’s done, but he hasn’t missed the way Kaz doesn’t cringe away from the Crows anymore, how he doesn’t pale when someone brushes against him. He doesn’t seek touch, but he doesn’t lose all semblance of control at it either. Still, tactile is farther from what Kaz is, and this? This is huge. This is the greatest display of touch Jesper has ever seen him do.)
“You’ve got it?”
“Yeah, I’ll stitch it.”
His gloved thumb brushes her skin, briefly, before he taps the bottom of her chin gently, in approval, and lets her go.
“I can help you with that,” Nina pipes up.
Jesper turns around, immediately catches the look in the Heartrender’s eyes. Seems like he might not be the only one noticing things.
(Y/N) nods in agreement and Nina follows after her. Jesper decides, after taking only two seconds to ponder on the thought, to trail behind them. He wants to listen in— because he knows Nina won’t be able to keep herself from commenting or questioning and he’s aching to know —but he’s also hoping the Heartrender will take pity on him and heal some of his bruises.
“What do you want?” Nina asks him as they settle on a small corner of the stable. (Y/N) leans against a wooden post as she begins to undress, untucking her shirt.
Jesper simply points at the bruise he can already feel forming on his cheekbone, offering a cheeky smile.
“I’m not a nurse, Fahey.”
“You’re gonna stitch her up!” (Y/N) is watching with amusement and when Jesper points at her she raises one hand in surrender, the other still pressed against her wound.
“Yeah, well,” Nina shrugs, needle and thread in hand, “She’s my favorite.”
(Y/N) chuckles. There’s a broken-down iron chest and she sits on it as well as she can, leaning back so that Nina can work. She winks at him, “Privileges, Jes.”
He pouts.
“Saints,” Nina mutters when she catches a look of him. She’s decided that kneeling by (Y/N) side will be the most comfortable position for her to work. She cleans the wound, pours water over it, and doesn’t turn to him as she says, “If you stop doing that face I’ll see what I can do about the bruise.”
He smirks to himself, “You’ve got it, boss.”
Jesper can’t see it, but he’s sure she rolls her eyes at him.
“Try not to move,” she instructs (Y/N), voice gaining a softer, less teasing edge. The needle pricks the skin.
It’s not a deep wound, (Y/N) had been right about that. It bleeds, but the flow seems to be slowing down. It’s a little bit over her hipbone, but not quite on her abdomen. Judging by the injury, if Jesper had to guess, he would say it was probably caused by a straight back blade.
He had sort of expected Nina to immediately fire away, to start unabashedly questioning, but she doesn’t. She moves her hands in a repetitive motion, closing the skin. Then, she casually comments, “That’s not a crow.”
It’s only then that Jesper notices the ink; just over (Y/N)'s hipbone, only visible because she’d pulled her trousers a bit down to give Nina more skin to maneuver around.
“No, it isn’t,” (Y/N) confirms. She’s got her eyes closed, looks a lot more like she’s sleeping and not like she’s having her skin stitched back together. Either Nina has an amazing ability or she’s somehow managing to dissociate from the pain.
“A raven?”
“Yeah.”
Jesper leans away from the wall to get a better look at it. It’s small, simple, just the silhouette done in thin black lines. He has no idea how Nina managed to identify the bird.
Nina stays quiet for a split second, musing. She keeps her hands steady, thread pulling skin. Apparently, she decides she does not care about decorum— just like Jesper had expected —because she ends up stating, matter-of-factly, “Kaz calls you that.”
Jesper sort of forgets how to breathe. That’s why Nina hadn’t gone on a tangent regarding the touches and the glances, he realizes in that moment. She’d been distracted by something much more interesting.
And she hadn’t identified the bird, she’d just made an informed assumption. Because Kaz does call her that, raven, and sometimes, when he's feeling particularly fond, little raven. He uses it interchangeably with her name and often enough that when Jesper had initially joined the Dregs, all those years back, he’d assumed it to be her name. He’s not quite sure how Nina, who’s been with them for a shorter period of time, managed to make that connection quicker than him.
(Y/N) lets out a breathy laugh, “That he does.”
Instead of further grilling (Y/N) about the tattoo, as Jesper had expected, Nina changes the line of inquiry.
“Why?” She stops sewing and looks up at (Y/N), eyes filled with curiosity.
Oh, she’s insane, Jesper thinks to himself. He sort of wishes he’d have the audacity to ask such direct questions.
(Y/N) doesn’t seem bothered by the prodding, only mildly amused. She chuckles, “You would have to ask him that.”
Not even Nina is insane enough to dare do that. Probably. Nina is sort of a wild card, Jesper can never get a complete read on her.
She proves her sanity by taking the easier route, she whines and pouts, “C’mon. Tell us.”
(Y/N) laughs, louder this time. The reaction is immediate, the wound oozes more blood, and she flinches, moving her hand towards the injury and managing to stop herself millimeters before touching it. It makes Nina get back to stitching.
“You’re bold,” (Y/N) opens her eyes and looks straight at Jesper. There’s something in her eyes, a glimmer that passes quickly, like she knows something that Jesper doesn’t and it amuses her. “Jes would never dare ask.”
“Hey!” He pretends to be offended but isn’t really. She knows him too well.
“You know it’s true.”
He only grumbles in response, hates that she’s right.
Nina is suddenly tense, as if she isn’t quite sure if (Y/N)’s words are meant as a compliment or a reprimand. (Y/N) closes her eyes again, rests her head against the wall and reassures her, “I like that. Your boldness.”
And Nina preens, subtly, but she does. Jesper understands. (Y/N)’s approval somehow comes to mean everything to those around her. She’s like an older sister you’re always trying to impress.
Jesper thinks she won’t be saying anything more, but (Y/N) does.
“Ravens are softer than crows, more playful,” she mumbles quietly. Jesper, who isn’t even far from her, strains to hear, “Gentler, too.” And it’s like she knows exactly where the ink lays on her skin, like she has it memorized, because she manages to avoid Nina and the needle and trace the outline of the tattoo, eyes still closed, “And yet they manage to survive in the same brutal world that crows do.”
The words sink in. Jesper blinks once, twice, shifts on his feet, somewhat uncomfortable. It feels like he’s just gained insight on something much too private, into the feelings and thoughts of Kaz Brekker. Because what she just explained, vaguely and in simple words, has a much deeper meaning, and Jesper doesn’t miss that. It’s how Kaz sees her, an equal. Someone as strong as a crow, as fierce and resourceful and capable, but softer, gentler. That’s (Y/N) to him.
“That’s it?” Nina sounds perpetually unimpressed, but she doesn’t get it. She hasn’t been with the Crows long enough to understand.
(Y/N) smirks, like she knew the words wouldn’t mean much to her, and that tells Jesper something. There’s even more to the meaning of the nickname and she won’t be sharing.
“If you want more you can just ask Kaz.”
Nina huffs and pouts, pulls at the thread a bit harsher than necessary in retaliation. It probably doesn’t even sting, but (Y/N) plays along.
“Ow!?” The smirk remains on her face.
“Sorry,” Nina says, not sounding the least apologetic.
(Y/N) only chuckles, “I really do like your boldness.”
It isn’t until later that night, as Jesper sleeps in the haystack and shivers from the cold, hoping to the Saints that the smell of horse can be removed from his clothes, that realization strikes him. His eyes snap wide open.
The image of a letter R inked in Kaz’s forearm flashes through his mind.
R.
A Raven.
No fucking way.
He has no evidence of it, no evidence that those tattoos might be complementary, but something in his gut tells him they are, and he decides to listen to his instincts.
Great, that’s yet another circumstantial piece of evidence in favor of his theory.
(Jesper doesn’t know, will never know, but he gets it both wrong and right. The letter R that is permanently etched on Kaz’s skin means something else entirely, but he does have the small silhouette of a crow, different from the one on his arm, over his ribs.)
iv. a broken lock and a key
Jesper and (Y/N) stay behind. It’s Jesper’s fault, he’d landed wrong when they jumped off the cliff, too busy on firing his guns to focus on the landing, and the resulting sprained ankle made it hard to keep up with the rest. (Maybe it was sort of Kaz’s fault, too, because who even decides on an exit route that includes free falling off a cliff. Jesper should be used to Kaz’s antics by now, but the man keeps on outdoing himself.)
(Y/N) had quickly offered to match his pace, to keep him company while the rest went ahead.
After a quick discussion Kaz had agreed to it. Jesper hadn’t missed the way they’d said goodbye. Their pinky fingers interlacing with one another.
He might not be completely sure about his matching tattoo theory— denial, really, he’s in denial, and he’s man enough to admit that to himself —but he has absolutely no doubt there is something going on between them. Jesper hasn’t put a name on it yet, he’s not even sure they have, but one would have to be blind to deny it.
Wylan had volunteered too, but Kaz needed him for the next phase of the plan, so he wasn’t really an option. A shame, really, Jesper would’ve enjoyed some alone time with his boyfriend, but he can’t complain, (Y/N) is good company. She doesn’t whine about how slow they’re going, doesn’t mention the fact that, by now, they’re probably two days behind. She keeps the air between them filled with light chatter and that makes it more bearable, makes him feel less of a burden.
On the third day of their journey Jesper wakes up alone. He’s not immediately filled by dread because he’s a light sleeper, he’s sure he would’ve woken up at the sound of any commotion, and he’s even more certain that (Y/N) would’ve had any attacker down on the floor with a gun to their temple before they even had the chance to breathe too close to them.
So, he’s not worried, but there’s something about not having (Y/N) within his line of sight that feels wrong, partly because he’s got no idea where she is, and mainly because Kaz had given him a cautionary glare when they’d ventured ahead, an easily interpreted warning to keep her safe or else.
It’s only when he begins to look around that Jesper notices her knapsack is also missing. He closes his eyes and focuses. Somewhere in the distance he can hear running water. He follows the sound before he can think too much, limping along the way.
Jesper finds her easily. He sort of wishes he hadn’t found her. Because she is showering in the lake and she is completely naked.
“Saints!” It’s a knee-jerk reaction to turn around, eyes screwed shut. “I am so sorry.”
(Y/N) snickers, unbothered, “Relax, Jes. It’s okay.”
And she’s saying that, but Jesper is pretty sure Kaz would gauge his eyes off is he found out he’s just seen her completely nude.
He shakes his head, over and over. Ah, Kaz is going to kill him. He is a dead man walking.
She must be watching him because she lets out a laugh.
“Oh, please.” There’s amusement in her tone, “Nothing you haven’t seen before,” she teases, and Jesper regrets every single thing he’s ever told her about his sexual encounters.
He huffs out a laugh. It’s got nothing to do with that, Jesper isn’t a prude, he’s just trying to process the fact that if Kaz ever finds out he will more than likely lose a finger, or his life. But he can’t say that, that’s a conversation he’s not ready to have, so he settles for, “You’re like my sister, it’s not the same.”
“Fair enough,” she responds. Jesper catches the affection in her voice. He doesn’t think he’s ever told her how she sees her as family and she must’ve known, their bond runs deep, it goes unspoken, but maybe it’s different to hear it out loud.
“It’s my fault anyways, I shouldn’t have left without telling you where I was going,” she disrupts his thoughts. “But you were finally sleeping.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles. Obviously it wouldn’t slip past her that in between the pain on his ankle and the cold of the night he’s been having a hard time falling asleep.
“You shouldn’t be standing for long,” she points out, and Jesper agrees. His leg is beginning to ache and if they’re going to travel long today, he must rest as much as he can. But the idea of walking back to camp and leaving her alone doesn’t sit right with him— even if he knows she’s capable of defending herself, she would probably do a better job than him, given his state —so he limps towards a big rock, back still towards her, and sits.
“You’re gonna keep me company?”
Jesper hums in response, “Talk so I know you haven’t suddenly been kidnapped.”
She doesn’t talk, instead she sings. It’s an old Kerch song, Jesper knows because of the mournful feel. It builds up slow and steady, flows with the morning air. She's got a nice voice. Jesper never gets tired of hearing her.
It’s as he listens, slowly being lulled into a peaceful mindset, that the memory of the ink flows through his mind. It’d been the thing his eyes had zeroed in, the black mark on the back of her neck.
Maybe it’s the soothing music, or maybe he’s slowly becoming more daring, but the words slip out of his mouth without thought, “Is it a key?”
(Y/N) stops midway through the bridge of the song.
“What?” she asks, confusion permeating the lone word.
“On the back of your neck,” Jesper clarifies, gesturing to his own neck.
There’s silence, long enough for Jesper to start thinking that maybe this wasn’t the best idea, before the air is filled with laughter. She chuckles as if he's just said the funniest thing.
She’s still giggling when she says, “I can’t believe you caught sight of it.”
He’s confused by her reaction and settles for responding with a teasing, “I’ve got a great vision.”
“That you do,” she replies. "It is a key," she confirms and then the singing starts again, more of a humming this time around, a much brighter song.
And Jesper must be really really losing the filter between his mouth and his brain— he blames the pain and the lack of sleep —because he finds himself asking, “Does Kaz have a lock, by any chance?”
He’s teasing, but not really. It’s a good enough question, not truly invasive. It gives her room to answer as she wishes.
To his surprise, she says, “Yes, he does.”
His head snaps towards her, momentarily forgetting that she’s naked and that Kaz will definitely kill him for seeing her naked twice. To his luck, (Y/N) is already getting dressed, water dripping down her hair and staining her shirt.
“What?”
There’s a sharp glint in her eyes, knowing, almost playful. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, just enough hint of mischief to make Jesper doubt the truthfulness of her words.
“Yeah,” she repeats in mock seriousness, “he’s got a small lock around here,” she points the area around her collarbone, close to where her heart is. “It’s very pretty.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
(Y/N) snickers, “Maybe I am.” She ruffles his hair as she walks past him.
Weeks later Jesper realizes that she had been fucking with him, but not lying. Kaz’s shirt rips during a heist and Jesper catches the briefest glimpse of the image of a broken lock, inked right above his heart.
v. a band of ink around his ring finger, part two.
As if summoned by his thoughts, (Y/N) materializes by his side. She takes a look at his face, follows his line of sight, and snickers.
“Did you finally figure it out?”
He turns to her. Blinks once, twice.
“What?”
She looks highly entertained by the evident confusion on his face.
“I caught you staring at my tattoo sometimes,” Jesper follows the movement of her fingers, watches as she rubs the mend on her wrist absentmindedly. “And then you would get this constipated look on your face.”
Jesper sputters, “I do not look constipated.”
“Only when you’re thinking too hard,” she teases, her smile bright. “So, I figured, well…”
“That I might be losing my mind trying to figure out if Kaz is the matching tattoo kind of person?”
“Yep, something like that,” she takes a sip of her drink. “He is, by the way.” (Y/N)’s not looking at him anymore, her eyes have drifted. He follows her sight and isn’t surprised to find her looking at Kaz. She softens immediately. “All the tattoos were his idea.”
Jesper feels like he’s really entered some other reality. He can’t believe she’s just telling him all this. Does this mean that he could’ve known months ago if he’d just asked?
“And,” he dares ask, because apparently (Y/N) is in a sharing mood, and apparently he's grown bolder. It must be the alcohol. “You’re married?”
He doesn’t miss the way she rubs her thumb against her ring finger, the one that contains the exact same band of ink as Kaz’s.
“Yeah.”
“Actually?”
She pulls her necklace. A wedding band lies there. It’s anything but traditional. Black, probably forged from oxidized steel. Sleek, unadorned and somehow still elegant. There’s something engraved on the inside. Jesper just catches the letter R.
“Got the documents to prove it, too.”
Jesper sighs, astounded, “You never said a thing.”
“We didn’t really keep it a secret, just private.” It sounds like an apology somehow. “It's just, in a place like this," she gestures around, "some things you have to keep to yourself."
Jesper understands.
He shakes his head, still somehow feeling like he’s drugged.
Kaz Brekker, a matching tattoo and marriage type of person. Who would’ve guessed.
“Lovers, huh?”
(Y/N) smiles, before she slips away and makes her way towards Kaz, Jesper hears her whisper.
“‘Lovers’ feels too small a word for what we are.”
#kaz brekker x reader#kaz brekker x y/n#kaz brekker x you#six of crows imagine#six of crows#shadow and bone#kaz brekker#kaz brekker x fem!reader#jesper fahey#jesper fahey x reader#jesper fahey x platonic!reader#shadow and bone imagine#grishaverse#shadow and bone fanfic#six of crows fanfic#kaz brekker fanfic#six of crows fic#shadow and bone fic#shadow and bone fanfiction#six of crows fanfiction#inej ghafa#the crows#happyyyandcrazyyy writing#nina zenik#wylan van eck
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Copy Of A Copy
Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader
Summary: Whatever is drawn on your skin shows up on your soulmates skin.
Warnings: Annoyance, Draco being Draco, I honestly can’t think of anything let me know if you see something!
Note: I’ve been planning on writing this for so long and I’m finally doing so! Hope you guys enjoy. :)
Masterlist
Request Requirements
The pale fingers of the Slytherin carefully-but skillfully- chopped the ingredients for the Potion, trying to cut out the conversation of Potter and Weasley. They were clearly trying to keep their voices down but failing to do so due to Draco’s hearing abilities.
It was at that moment he wished he was temporarily deaf, so that he didn’t have to hear the bickering of Potter and wanna-be-Weasley.
“Haha! Look at Seamus, Malfoy.” Crabbe said, his big face scrunching up as his fat finger pointed to the clumsy boy across the room. Draco spared a glance, seeing the boy with a black face, looking into his potion helplessly as the explosion just occurred. Malfoy rolled his eyes, shooting Crabbe a glare before looking back to his task at hand.
But, when he glanced at his hand, he saw little flowers forming, the ink moist as whoever was drawing it was doing it in real time. Petal after petal appeared, forming a decent picture. He grumbled, grabbing the towel Seamus used to wipe his face and aggressively rubbed the skin, terribly smearing the ink on the back of his hand, the flowers mushing together, making it not look so decent anymore.
He flung the towel on the table beside him, and picked up the knife he placed down, going back to his previous actions.
“What now, Malfoy?” Goyle asked. Draco snarled.
“Stupid soulmate drawing on their skin again. Seriously, they can’t draw on a piece of parchment?” He complained, his chops becoming more harsh on the cutting board.
Goyle shrugged. “Unless they’re bored in class. What is it anyway? Little reminders?”
“No, course not! In fact, I’d rather it be that instead of rubbish drawings of dumb flowers! Look at that rubbish,” Draco started, repeating the word he said earlier with a bitter taste growing in his mouth. He showed the two boys what was left of the flowers on his hand. “Honestly, how ugly.”
The two boys agreed, but they had hints of smiles on their faces.
Draco noticed and barked. “What’s so funny, boys?”
The smiles dropped instantly on Goyle’s face but Crabbe still had a teasing glint in his eyes.
“Nothing, just that your soulmate draws on her skin.”
Draco squinted. “And what’s so funny about that? Enlighten me, I’d rather laugh than roll my eyes.”
Goyle shrugged. “Just that she must be doing it in purpose. Ya know, for you to see?”
Draco thought about it for a moment, ignoring the new lines forming on his hand.
“Why would I want to see this?” Draco wondered, irritation brewing inside him. “Especially on my hand, I don’t need it there, it’s annoying really.”
“You know how girls are. She’s desperate, man.” Crabbe jumped in, entering the conversation once he found out Draco wasn’t as upset as he thought.
Draco scoffed. “You know what, you’re right, Crabbe. She’s desperate for me. Doesn’t change the fact that it’s annoying and I don’t want it there.”
Draco then finally looked down at his hand, and this time he saw an eye with shading, the smooth strokes of eyelashes now forming on his skin. Once she was done, Draco saw more stokes forming above the eye, and, wondering what it is, leaned forward to see what she was drawing. It turned out to be an eyebrow, but the way the lines were drawn helped Draco see the direction the hairs were going in, adding detail to the drawing he didn’t know was needed.
He gripped the towel between his finger tips of his other hand, but he felt some sort of guilt eating at his chest for rubbing away such work. But he didn’t want to be walking around with silly eyes and eyebrows on his hand, so with unwanted shame brewing in his chest he rubbed the fabric on the back of his hand, the once was ink smearing, covering his skin in black.
The girl frowned deeply as she watched once more the drawings she made were harshly rubbed away. The ink from her quill was a black blob now once the person was satisfied enough. Satisfied that the pictures were gone.
Her heart sank in her stomach for an unknown reason.
Well, she knew the reason, she just didn’t want to admit to herself that what her soulmate was doing was effecting her in this way.
She shouldn’t be surprised that he rubbed them off; I mean, who wants to walk around the corridors with silly drawings on the back of their hand? She didn’t have a problem with it, but he clearly did.
After the last moment of Lupin’s lecture faded away with the bell she grumbly got up and out her things away, making her way to the bathroom to rub the ink off. (Despite the nonexistent problem with walking around with drawings on herself, she did have a problem with walking around with a big ink smear in their place.)
She bent over the sink, her bag discarded at her feet as she rubbed the skin, forming red marks in their wake. The ink slowly ran down the drain, her heart going down with it.
She wished her soulmate accepted her actions on showing she was there, existing, live and breathing, to assure them that someone out there wanted them. But was he just embarrassed? Did he not want her as much as she thought he did? Did he have an annoyance towards the whole soulmate concept?
She sure hoped not, because her want to show her love was strong, yet the want to receive it was even stronger.
She wanted someone to love.
That loved her right back.
Did he even want that?
“Any drawings today, Malfoy?” Crabbe asked, a soft chuckle escaping his big mouth. Draco snarled at the boy beside him, also glaring at Goyle who was making interesting-meaning quite disgusting- noises while he was eating the feast the house elves provided.
The boy who received the glare quickly composed himself, swallowing the large amount of whatever it was down his throat, a loud gulping sound heard around the table.
Draco glared again.
Finally he turned to the other boy who addressed him earlier and replied reluctantly.
“No. Thank goodness. I’ve been sick and tired of constantly having to distress my skin; honestly, the embarrassment of walking around with a red tomato colored hand.”
Crabbe agreed with a hum, in the middle of chewing. Draco definitely noticed him paying extra attention to the noises he was making, so he didn’t annoy Draco any further.
“Never mind that,” Draco said, pulling through Daily Prophet out of his robes, long pale fingers flipping the pages until he got to the one he wanted.
“Father’s in the paper, as always.” He said proudly, showing the two boys the picture of his father. “Oh! And look!” He added, chuckling madly as he pointed to the same article, the name ‘Arthur Weasley’ printed as it told a story about him.
“Ridiculous, honestly.” Malfoy muttered, shoving the paper to Goyle across the table since he was (according to Draco) taking too long to read it.
“Ugh, Care of Magical Creatures today.” Draco complained, looking at his schedule. “That silly Hagrid, honestly, I swear I’m going to die each time I attend his classes.”
Goyle swallowed again. “Seriously, how many times does he have to bring in a deadly creature that might chop my head off-”
“Well I would certainly enjoy that.” Draco snapped. Goyle’s cheeks turned pink.
“God this place has gone to the dogs.” Draco muttered, stuffing his schedule in his pocket, taking one last gulp of pumpkin juice, and storming out of the Hall, and without question, the two boys followed him.
“‘Ello! Please step dis way,” Hagrid said, large hands clapping together. Draco scoffed but reluctantly followed the orders.
“Taken’ care of- well more of lookin’ at interestin’ creatures today; take a step back now.” He warned. (Malfoy gladly stepped back)
The crates ended up being full of slimy creatures Draco ended up forgetting the name of, too busy trying to keep his fingers attacked to his hands. “Gross, Goyle you do it.” He said, handing the boy the food and watched as his friend gave the creature its supper, hands shaking nervously.
Draco looked around as Goyle did the work, folding his arms as he watched with amusement as the Gryffindors struggled to feed the animals.
He then spotted another Slytherin working alone, the back of her head the only thing visible when it came to her features near her face.
Two small braids were on either side of her head, easily blending with her hair but he could see the twisted strands in the sunlight much easier.
She turned so he saw her profile, and, from what he could see, her eyes were bright but hesitant, a look of disgust on her lips as she fed the creature. As soon as all the food was gone, she instantly dropped the tool she was using to handle the food and grabbed a rag, wiping her hands off even though she didn’t touch it or the animal.
It was then Draco saw it. The small detail on her left hand, as so his.
A patch of distressed skin was there, in the same exact shape as Draco’s. He found himself looking at his own hand, then at hers, and back at his once again to double check.
They matched.
They matched.
Which means only one thing.
The girl that he’s never seen before, which was quite surprising since he often told himself that he knew all the Slytherins, was his soulmate.
What was more surprising though was something much weirder and stranger. And that something was this:
The realization didn’t bother him one bit.
Tag list: @thatonepupkai @squishneon @buttersuaa @bxtchsimp @amayaaaxx @ssailormoonn @redvelvet103 @yasmine12xxx @youreyesareasprettyasstars @cassiethefab @iambored24601
Thanks for liking the post! (I will also be tagging y’all in the Harry one- let me know if you changed your mind about it and don’t want to be tagged!) :)
Skin To Skin (part two!)
#imagines#stories#x reader#draco lucius malfoy#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy x reader#draco x reader#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry#draco malfoy#tom felton x reader#hogwarts#hogwarts imagine#draco imagines#soulmates#soulmates meeting#soulmate trope
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bookshop owner!reader with tattoo artist!suguru is actually brainrotting my mind.
coincidentally, the two stores are directly opposite each other and you can’t help but be drawn to the simple tattoo parlour across.
in bold, the name of the parlour stands above, clean and glistening windows with italic writing promoting to customers. if you squint you can spot artworks displayed in the window, even from afar you can tell how detailed and professional they are.
you’ve never been one for tattoos, your excuse being that you have a low pain tolerance for getting them. but in reality? you’re scared of the idea of a tattoo being permanent , the idea that you’ll get a tattoo you’ll regret or the design will come out ugly or that it’ll—
“do you need help with that?”
a silky voice interrupts your thoughts as you stood staring at the the shop with a cardboard box in your hand. the box contained one of the last piles of books for the store, new arrivals were to come in the next few weeks finally filling up the shelves.
a tall, long raven haired man stands besides you with nothing more but a friendly smile on his face. he stands in a large dark blue sweater, a paper cup of coffee in his hands probably from the local cafe on the same street as you.
it takes you a few seconds to snap back into reality, noticing piercings on his bottom lip and eyebrow.
“I’m fine! thank you.”
“I can take that in for you or at least hold the door open.” the stranger suggests, raising a brow.
a shift appears in pit of your stomach — would it hurt to say yes?
“that would be great, actually.” you return a friendly smile.
as you make your way inside with the assistance of the coffee scented stranger, he begins to make conversation, helping you to the back rooms. “you interested in the tattoo shop across the road?”
you let out a huff, “oh no, not for me. tattoos seem…” you pause for a split second attempting to find the right word, “regretful.”
“how so?”
you ignore the teasing charm of the stranger and continue to give your explanation.
“well for one… it hurts like shit.” you start, “and what if the designs don’t come out the way you want or the person tattooing you messes up? now you’re stuck with this permanent mark on your body, it just seems like a waste of time and money to me anyways.” you huff, finally placing down the box amongst a pile of identical boxes.
the scent of old wood and dust fills your nostrils. The building was older than most among the street yet it still held some sort of modern look. cosy and comfortable was the atmosphere you had wanted to create for your bookstore and it took you ages to find this hidden gem, sending the deposit almost immediately.
the stranger lingers by the doorway of the back room of the store, his dark hair tied up into a man-bun yet it doesn’t fully restrain the few locks which seem to escape. he’s pretty, you muse, as he opens his mouth to speak again.
“maybe this would be some bad news for you but I actually own that tattoo parlour.”
he says it in a lighthearted tone but that doesn’t stop your stomach from dropping any harder.
“oh.”
awkward silence swiftly crashes into the two of you, your face heats up in record time.
you fucking idiot—
“it’s nice to meet you.” the stranger finally speaks, outstretching a hand and as he does so, his sweater rides up his arms a little where you see black ink begin to pattern across his skin.
“shit, m’ so—
“don’t worry about it, s’ not for everyone.” he smiles again with that friendly smile you saw outside. you shake his hand tentatively hoping that he wasn’t offended by your comments. his palm feels soft in yours, fitting into his perfectly. quickly you pull away before you get too absorbed in your thoughts.
“call me suguru.”
you repeat his name and for a second he swears there’s nothing but pure nectar in your voice.
in a reply you introduce yourself and a flash of white teeth come your way in a full grin. he tries out your name for the first time too, adding a compliment.
“I’ve been wondering when they were finally going to sell this building. ” he begins. “I think a bookstore is perfect for this place.”
your face heats up again and Suguru asks for a tour. the store isn’t fully ready yet but you’re hoping for an opening at the end of the month.
“I hope to get an invite.
“Of course, we’re practically neighbours, you’ll be the first to know the date.”
“glad to hear it.”
as he leaves, you wave him over to the other side of the street watching him open up his store.
for the first time in your journey you can’t help but feel a tiny spark inside of you that makes you feel excited for the change coming up ahead and in particular, getting to know this suguru more…
join my summer event here!
#angel writes#jjk fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen suguru#suguru geto x you#suguru geto#getou suguru x reader#jjk imagines#jjk fanfic#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujustsu kaisen x reader#geto x you#geto suguru x reader fluff#suguru geto x reader#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jjk headcanons
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Ink & Flannels
Tattoo artist Ellie x female reader
Cute girl in a flannel gives you a sweet thigh tat
Inspired by a lil dream I had about a special someone
___________________________
Ink and Flannels
The waiting area smelled faintly of antiseptic and citrus, the low hum of a machine buzzing from the back of the studio. Y/N shifted nervously in her seat, absentmindedly flipping through a worn-out portfolio filled with intricate designs. The sound of a door creaking open drew her attention, and a deep, steady voice broke through the quiet atmosphere.
“Y/N?”
She looked up, and her breath caught in her throat. Standing in the doorway was a striking woman in a flannel shirt rolled up to her elbows, revealing a sleeve of intricate leaf-like tattoo climbing her arm. Her auburn hair was messy, and her green eyes sparkled with a quiet confidence as she held a clipboard in one hand.
“That’s me,” Y/N said, standing up and smoothing her hands down her skirt.
Ellie smiled, the kind that made her dimples show. “Follow me.”
Y/N trailed after her, her eyes lingering on the tattoos that wrapped around Ellie’s forearm. The detail was breathtaking, but her gaze kept getting distracted by the way Ellie’s muscles flexed beneath her flannel.
They reached a room in the back with a cozy, creative vibe. Posters and sketches plastered the walls, and a faint smell of ink filled the air. Ellie gestured toward the chair in the center.
“Take a seat. You nervous?” she asked, pulling on a pair of black gloves and setting her clipboard down.
“A little,” Y/N admitted as she perched on the edge of the chair.
“First time?” Ellie asked, pulling out her tools and prepping the machine.
Y/N shook her head. “No, I’ve got a back piece—a songbird.”
Ellie paused for a moment, glancing up at her. “A songbird? That’s pretty cool. Does it mean something to you?”
“It reminds me of my mom,” Y/N said softly. “She loved song birds. Always said they were free spirits.”
Ellie’s expression softened as she nodded. “That’s beautiful.”
Y/N felt her cheeks warm under Ellie’s gaze, but before she could dwell on it, Ellie snapped on the machine.
“So, thigh tattoo, huh?” Ellie said, quirking a brow. “That’s a good spot. You ready?”
Y/N nodded, and Ellie got to work, her gloved hand steady as she began the design. The sensation of the needle against her skin made Y/N flinch slightly, her muscles tensing.
“Hey,” Ellie said, her voice low and soothing. “It’s okay, pretty. Relax for me.”
The nickname sent Y/N’s heart racing, and she tried to will herself to stay calm. Ellie’s touch was firm yet gentle, and her presence was somehow reassuring.
“You’re doing great,” Ellie said after a moment, her eyes flicking up to meet Y/N’s. “Just let me know if you need a break.”
“Thanks,” Y/N murmured, her voice quieter than she intended.
As Ellie worked, she kept up the conversation, her tone light and teasing.
“So, what do you do when you’re not getting cool tattoos from me?”
Y/N chuckled. “I work in marketing. Not as exciting as being a tattoo artist.”
Ellie smirked. “You’d be surprised. Some days it’s less ‘art’ and more babysitting drunk walk-ins.”
Y/N laughed. “I’m sure you handle it like a pro.”
Ellie grinned. “Oh, I do. But enough about me—what made you want this tattoo?”
Y/N shrugged, though her voice was earnest. “It’s just... something I’ve wanted for a while. A little reminder to be brave, you know?”
Ellie nodded, her expression thoughtful as she worked.
As the session went on, Ellie’s teasing grew bolder. At one point, she glanced up and quirked a brow. “You’re surprisingly calm now. Guess I have that effect on people.”
Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “You’re really full of yourself, aren’t you?”
Ellie chuckled. “Only when I’m right. Besides, you’re in my chair. That means I win.”
Y/N smirked. “Win what?”
“Everything,” Ellie shot back with a wink.
Y/N’s heart did a little flip at that. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m single, too,” Ellie added casually, as if it were an afterthought.
Y/N raised a brow. “Really? I’m surprised. You’re the typical hot masc.”
Ellie stopped the machine and looked at her, amused. “Hot masc, huh? Does that mean you think I’m hot?”
Y/N tilted her head, feigning nonchalance. “You’re like a six, maybe.”
Ellie laughed, shaking her head. “A six? Wow. Brutal.”
“What would you rate me, then?” Y/N challenged, her tone playful.
Ellie set the machine down for a moment, her green eyes locking onto Y/N’s. “You’re a very pretty girl, Y/N.”
Y/N felt her cheeks heat up. “How pretty?”
Ellie leaned back, a slow smile spreading across her face. “So pretty, I’d like to take you out after this.”
Y/N’s stomach flipped, and she couldn’t fight the grin spreading across her lips. “I’d love to.”
Ellie’s eyes sparkled, and she turned back to her work, her movements steady and confident. “Good. Now sit still, pretty girl. Can’t have my future date walking around with a crooked tattoo.”
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AHHH LOVE THISSSS😖
#ellie williams#ellie x fem reader#ellie x reader#elliexyou#ellie the last of us#ellie tlou#ellie williams fanfic#ellie x dina#tlou2#fanfic#ellie williams x reader#ellie x reader x abby#tlou fanfiction#gxg imagine#ellie imagine#ellie williams imagine#oneshot#ellie williams oneshot
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Sugar and Skin
4. Fractured Focus || Previous - Next
A late-night encounter lingers in the quiet hum of the shop, a step too close and a touch nearly made, leaving behind something unspoken—something that refuses to fade.
TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (4.6kwc)
tw: 18+ MDNI; mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of smoking, lingering touches, close proximity, unspoken intentions a/n: pls forgive me if some of the phrases are repetitive... i dont know how else to word and reword the same motions sometimes ((babes im so sorry for the wait.. it's been crazy... I started training at my new job.. i quit that job.. I saw hugh jackman in new york city, fell behind in school work so i had to catch up and then i got a new internet crush... so it's been CRAZY anyway..)) enjoy!!
The shop was unusually quiet for an early afternoon, the faint hum of the fridge muffled through the walls of the back room. Bucky sat in his station chair, feet propped on the black recliner stretched across from him as he leaned back, a sketchbook balanced on his lap. The pen in his hand moved slowly, purposefully, trailing delicate lines across the page.
He wasn’t even sure what had drawn him to this particular image. At first, it had been a simple twig, then small berries began to take shape, clustered tightly together. His usual sketches were bold and heavy—intimidating designs for ink that would sit on someone’s skin forever. But this? This was… different.
The soft red ink shaded each berry into a round plump form, almost glistening on the page. Leaves sprouted from the stems, broad and delicate, with the faintest etchings of veins running through them. Thorns lined the thin branches, sharp and deliberate, giving the otherwise soft drawing a quiet angst.
Bucky’s brow furrowed slightly as he added detail to the sketch, his focus sharp yet relaxed. The raspberries, though he never called them that in his mind, seemed to grow beneath his hand, as if they were waiting to spill from the page. His hand lingered over the image, caught up in the small folds of a leaf and the way the weight of the fruit bent the stem.
“You know,” Steve’s voice broke through the stillness, startling Bucky just enough for his boot to slip from the bench. He straightened, quickly closing the sketchbook with one hand as his sharp blue eyes flicked up toward his friend.
Steve stood at the counter, arms crossed, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to grin. “I’ve been reading up on insubordination,” he began, feigning seriousness as he leaned casually against the counter. “And technically, I’m your boss, which means when I send you to get my stuff and the stuff is given to you, I expect you to bring everything to me.”
Bucky sat up straighter, his boots hitting the floor with a dull thud. “I do,” he said defensively, his tone clipped. “I did.”
Steve’s grin broke free, his feigned seriousness dissolving. “Relax, Buck. I’m kidding.” He waved a hand, stepping away from the counter. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about yet and you’re already giving yourself away.”
Bucky gave him a sharp look, his brows pulling together in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” Steve replied with a laugh, shaking his head as he approached. His eyes flicked to the sketchbook still tucked under Bucky’s hand. “What’ve you been working on?”
“Nothing important,” Bucky said quickly, but Steve ignored him, leaning over to tug the book free.
Steve flipped it open before Bucky could protest, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the page. “Huh.”
“Huh?” Bucky repeated, annoyed.
Steve tilted the book toward him, tapping the edge of the page. “This isn’t your usual style.”
“No shit,” Bucky muttered, grabbing the sketchbook back and closing it with a snap.
“Relax,” Steve said again, his grin softening. “It’s good. Just… different. Almost delicate.” He raised a brow, but didn’t press further, stepping back toward the counter. “Anyway, don’t forget to grab my coffee tomorrow, thanks.”
Bucky scoffed, watching as Steve disappeared into the back room. When the shop fell silent again, he glanced down at his sketchbook, the edges of the raspberries still vivid in his mind. With a quiet sigh, he leaned back in the chair and flipped the book open again, his pen hovering over the page.
The raspberries stared back at him, vibrant against the soft cream of the paper. Bucky tapped his pen against the edge of the page once, twice, before letting it trail back to the delicate stem, adding another small thorn.
—-
The shop had emptied out hours ago, leaving only the quiet hum of the fridge and the soft scratching of Bucky’s pen against paper. The raspberries on yet another page had taken form in a way that felt almost absentminded, the delicate shading of each berry and the sharp, spiked edges of the leaves coming together without much thought.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking toward the clock. It was late. Too late to still be here, but something kept him rooted to the spot. He exhaled sharply through his nose, flipping the sketchbook shut with one hand before running the other through his hair.
He needed air, maybe a cigarette, probably both.
Pushing himself up from the chair, he grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on as he made his way toward the door. The air outside was crisp, the streets quiet save for the distant hum of a passing car.
And then—
The soft scuff of a shoe against pavement made him glance up.
She was standing a few steps away, caught mid-stride under the dim glow of the street lamp.
Bucky froze.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The light above buzzed faintly, bathing her in warm hues against the dark backdrop of the street. She clutched the strap of her bag a little tighter, her fingers flexing against the worn leather as if she hadn’t quite expected to run into him either.
His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the smoke from his lips curling faintly in the cool night air.
“Didn’t think you’d still be here.” She said, voice quiet.
“Neither did I.” He finally said, voice low and rough from hours of silence.
A pause.
The silence stretched, thick and unyielding. It wasn’t the comfortable kind, but neither of them seemed to want to break it too soon.
Bucky shifted his weight slightly, exhaling another slow stream of smoke. His fingers twitched against the worn leather of his jacket, debating what to do with his hands. He could feel the way she was watching him—cautious, curious, like she was trying to decipher him.
His voice came quieter this time, more curious than anything. “Didn’t think this was your usual route.”
She took a slow step forward, fingers flexing against the strap of her bag. “Oh, I just wanted to run through some stuff with Steven if he was still here.”
Bucky’s gaze flicked toward the darkened tattoo shop behind him, then back to her. “You just missed him.”
A beat of silence passed, thick with something unspoken. She nodded, lips pressing together like she was weighing whether to say something else. Bucky didn’t move, didn’t press, instead he just watched, his empty hand sliding into the pocket of his jacket as the air between them stretched.
The distant sound of a car rumbled through the street, headlights sweeping past them for only a second before disappearing around the bend. The glow of the streetlamp flickered slightly, casting shifting shadows across the pavement.
Bucky’s gaze flickered down, catching the way she rubbed her fingers against the worn strap of her purse —a nervous habit, maybe. His own fingers curled inside his pockets.
The stillness felt heavier than it should’ve, settling in his chest like a weight. He exhaled through his nose, then brought the cigarette to his lips, taking a slow drag. The tip flared in the dark, smoke curling around his face as he held the breath for a moment before releasing it into the night air.
“You smoke a lot?” Her voice cut through the quiet, soft but pointed.
Bucky flicked his eyes down to the ember at the tip, rolling the cigarette between his fingers, considering. Smoke curled lazily in the space between them. “Depends on the day.”
She hummed, tilting her head slightly, like she was turning the answer over in her mind, weighing it.
Bucky brought the cigarette to his lips again, taking another long drag, letting the burn settle deep before exhaling slowly. The air between them clouded with it, thinning as it drifted up toward the streetlamp’s glow.
“One of those days, then?”
His fingers twitched.
Bucky looked at her—really looked at her—his gaze tracing the way the dim light softened her features. She wasn’t looking at him, not fully, just watching the ember flicker, waiting for an answer.
He inhaled again, slow, the nicotine further grounding him.
Then, he let out a short chuckle almost a scoff, low and almost to himself. “You could say that.”
She shifted on her feet, fingers tightening slightly around the strap of her bag. The words seemed to catch in her throat before she finally managed, “Actually, do you think maybe I could just… leave something inside for Steven?”
Bucky’s brow lifted slightly, but he didn’t move. “Yeah?”
She nodded quickly, a little too quickly, and gestured to the folder tucked in her bag. “It’s just—uh—it’s nothing urgent but—. Just some things I drafted for him for that thing you guys are doing.”
Bucky’s gaze flickered to the folder, then back to her face. She wasn’t looking at him—not directly. Her fingers fumbled slightly as she messed with the folder in her bag, like she was feeling the weight of the silence just as much as he was.
He exhaled through his nose, slowly, then shifted his stance. “Yeah, alright,” he murmured, reaching beside him to pull the door open. “Come on.”
Bucky watched as she hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping toward him, her movements quick but deliberate.
She slowed just as she neared him, close enough that he could see the way her breath caught, the faintest hitch in her chest before she steadied herself. Her eyes dragged up his frame, lingering for just a beat too long before finally meeting his gaze.
As their eyes met, Bucky exhaled slowly, the cigarette perched between his lips, smoke curling between them in the narrow space. His free hand held the door open, fingers curling around the edge as he leaned into it, using the frame as lazy leverage. The glow of the tip cast flickering shadows across his face, the low light making his sharp features even sharper, the silver glint of his nose piercing catching faintly.
She hesitated for another second, her fingers twitching against her elbows as her arms crossed her chest. His gaze dipped slightly, just for a fraction of a breath, before flicking back to hers. He didn’t say anything, just watched her, the slow pull of smoke filling the space between them like something tangible.
Then, with an almost reluctant exhale, he reached up and plucked the cigarette from his lips, the barest hint of a smirk ghosting across his features as he dragged his tongue across his lower lip. The motion was slow, almost thoughtless, but she caught it—her eyes flicking to his mouth for just a second too long. His gaze met hers again, amusement glinting beneath the surface.
“You gonna go in,” he murmured, voice low, “or we just gonna stand here?”
Her breath hitched, just barely, before she shifted, stepping past him into the shop.
Bucky didn’t move from the doorway right away. He lingered just long enough to watch her falter in her steps before stepping further into the dim shop. The scent of her—something warm, something faintly sweet—brushed past him, but he didn’t let his gaze linger.
Instead, he sighed slowly, rolling the cigarette between his fingers before flicking it into the little tray by the window. His steps were unhurried as he followed her inside.
“You know where his desk is,” he muttered, nodding vaguely toward the back. The soft click of the door seemingly echoed in the vacant shop
“Right. Yep.”She moved without another word, sneakers scuffing lightly against the hardwood as she disappeared past the main workstations.
Bucky stood still for another second, fingers flexing slightly at his sides before he exhaled through his nose and trudged to where he sat earlier. Staring at the discarded papers strewn throughout his area, he sighed again shrugging off his jacket. The leather slid off his arms in one smooth motion, and he tossed it lazily onto the back of his chair.
Then, as if none of this was anything, he sat down.
His eyes flicked to the sketchbook, still open to the crimson crops decorating the pageg. The red ink bled into the page in soft gradients, the delicate shading giving them weight, depth. He hadn’t planned on sketching them again, but somehow every time his mind came up empty, the shape of sweetness had come easy, his hand moving without thought, refining the curve of each berry he drew, the way stems wove together, thorns barely visible but always there.
His fingers hovered over the edge of the paper, the pen tapping idly against the margin. He wasn’t really thinking just tracing lines, smoothing out shadows, letting the motion guide him. The act itself was grounding, something to focus on, something to fill the quiet.
Bucky exhaled slowly, dragging the pen along the edge of a leaf, darkening the veins, sharpening the points where the thorns curled. The thorns had come later, after the berries, after the delicate lines and soft shadows. He didn’t know why, exactly—just that the drawing had always felt unfinished without them.
The shop was quiet. Too quiet.
The soft shuffle of footsteps barely registered until he felt a presence at his back.
"You've been busy."
The words were soft, spoken just behind him. Close.
Bucky stilled.
His fingers flexed against the pen, grip tightening slightly as the voice settled over him—quiet, but not uncertain.
He didn’t turn immediately.
Instead, he let the weight of her presence settle, let the space between them shrink just enough to be fully noticeable.
Then, slowly, he angled his head, catching her in his periphery.
She was standing closer than expected, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, her gaze flickering between the scattered sketches on the desk before landing on the one beneath his hand.
Bucky stared at her, waiting.
She nodded toward the page. “Didn’t take you for the delicate type.”
His mouth twitched. “I’m not.” He spoke too quick for his liking.
“Mm.” The sound was quiet, skeptical.
But she didn’t step away. Instead, her attention slowly dropped, shifting away from the sketchbook. It was subtle, something no one would notice unless they were really looking at her. Unless they were paying attention.
His gaze tracked the way her eyes flickered downward, no longer fixed on the paper but on him.
Her eyes traced the ink along his forearm, the dark lines and sharp, angular designs shifting over his skin as he involuntarily flexed his fingers. His tattoos were nothing like the sketches that were strewn about the room. They instead were stark, intricate, built from jagged lines and interlocking symbols that looked almost mechanical in their precision. They sprawled up his arms in bold, geometric bands, twisting and branching in patterns that mimicked circuitry, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his shirt like a secret map etched into his skin.
And she was still looking.
Bucky felt the way her focus kept drifting back, like she was trying not to, like she was searching for something else to land on but every time, her eyes traced the same path. His fingers, then his hands, and then arms, the way the veins ran just beneath the surface of his skin.
She swallowed.
“So,” she said, her voice quieter than usual, like she was only speaking to fill the space. “You, uh… sketch a lot?”
Her eyes flicked up briefly to his then to the book beneath his hand, like she was forcing herself to focus on the book in front of him instead of the way his biceps flexed slightly when he shifted in his seat.
Bucky tilted his head slightly, not answering right away, just watching her.
“I mean, I guess that’s obvious,” she continued, fidgeting slightly where she stood, fingers twitching against her arm as she still had them crossed loosely against her chest. “Tattoo artist and all.” She quickly glanced at him. The motion was quick, barely there, but Bucky caught it.
He caught all of it.
His tongue flicked against his lower lip, slow, measured.
“Yeah,” he finally murmured, voice still hushed, and rough around the edges.
That should have been the end of it. She should have nodded, maybe said something about how it made sense, how he was good at what he did, then gone back to whatever excuse she had for still standing there.
But she didn’t.
Instead, her fingers flexed against her arm again, her weight shifting like she was debating something before finally nodding toward his sketchbook.
“This one’s…” she started, “not what I expected.”
Bucky’s brow twitched, his fingers tightening just slightly where they rested against his book.
She was still looking.
Still filling the silence.
Bucky dragged his tongue along the inside of his cheek, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly. Her focus flickered between the sketchbook and his arms, like she was trying to settle on one or the other but couldn’t quite manage to stick the landing.
Instead of calling attention to it, Bucky let the silence stretch, watching the way she fidgeted slightly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Not nervous—just… preoccupied.
Her eyes flickered to the sketchbook again, as if reminding herself why she was standing there in the first place. “It’s just different from what I thought you’d draw.” Her voice was even, casual, but the way she kept her arms crossed tightly over her chest gave away that she wasn’t as relaxed as she sounded.
Bucky tapped his pen lightly against the edge of the book, watching her through half-lidded eyes. “Yeah?”
She nodded, her gaze darting across the page. “I guess I figured it’d be more like…” She hesitated, searching for the right word… before her eyes drifted again not toward the sketch, but to him.
“You know,” her gaze traced the length of his fingers where they rested against the edge of the sketchbook, absentmindedly running his fingers against the edges of the paper.
“Like the kind that…” her eyes then traced higher, following the veins that cut sharply along his forearm, disappearing beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. The intricate lines of his tattoos stretched over the muscle, shifting subtly with every small movement.
“That…?” Bucky tucked his lower lip between his teeth, trying to hid his enjoyment in whatever was happening in front of him.
Her attention lingered on his bicep a sec, then trailed upward again, sweeping over the broad plane of his chest, the way the fabric of his shirt stretched tight over it, dipping just slightly at the collar to reveal the edge of what seemed like the same tattoo.
Her lips parted slightly, eyes flitting up—finally—to meet his.
Bucky was still watching her.
She immediately cleared her throat, and stood straigh shifting her weight.
“I-I’m sorry it’s been a long day, I think I’m losing my train of thought.”
Bucky didn’t miss the way her arms tightened against her chest, the huff of air she let out blowing a few stray strands of loose hair from her face. He watched, eyes tracking every small movement, as she reached up to push the hair back behind her ear, her fingers brushing lightly against her cheek.
Then she took a step back.
His gaze followed her as she leaned against the edge of the metal dresser behind her, shifting slightly until she was fully braced against it.
And then—
His jaw ticked.
He didn’t mean to look.
Didn’t mean to notice the way the hem of her jeans hugged the soft curve of her thighs, how the fabric subtly creased and pulled as she shifted her weight back against the dresser. It was brief—just a flicker of movement—but Bucky felt something twist in his chest.
His grip on the pen tightened, fingers flexing against the smooth barrel, accidentally leaving a violent mark across the page.
His brain felt like it stalled for half a second, before jolting back into motion, forcing him to drag his eyes away.
He shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders like it would shake off whatever strange pull had settled over him. The shop was too quiet, the air thick with something unspoken, and Bucky suddenly hated how aware he was of everything—the faint scent of sugar and vanilla clinging to her skin, the soft hum of her breathing, the way she had caught her bottom lip between her teeth for half a second before releasing it.
He needed to say something. Needed to break whatever this was.
“You figured what?” he asked, his voice coming out lower than he intended.
Her brows lifted slightly, like she had forgotten what they were talking about. “Huh?”
Bucky tapped his pen against the edge of the sketchbook. “You said you figured I’d draw something different.”
“Oh. Right.” She let out a quiet breath, eyes flicking back to the page—though her posture was a little stiffer now, like she had caught onto the shift in atmosphere. “I just meant… I guess I thought your style would be more bold. Darker, maybe.”
Bucky hummed, his grip relaxing just slightly on the pen. “Most of the time, it is.”
She tilted her head, considering that. “So what made you change?”
He hesitated, the pen stilling against the paper.
For a second, he thought about lying—thought about brushing it off as nothing, as a mindless sketch, as something without weight.
But the raspberries stared back at him, delicate and vivid, surrounded by the sharp twist of thorns.
“Dunno,” he murmured finally, voice quiet, unreadable. “Just happened.”
She hesitated just a moment longer, adjusting the strap of her bag again, fingers gripping it as if she needed something to ground herself. “Artists,” she finally said, the word a soft exhale, laced with something almost amused, almost fond.
Bucky’s gaze flicked to her hands, to the way she flexed her fingers against the strap, before dragging his eyes back to her face. He didn’t say anything, just watched as she shifted, as she took the first slow step toward the door.
“It’s getting late. I should go.”
Something about the way she said it made something in Bucky’s chest press tight—like it was the natural conclusion, the only logical ending to whatever this had been.
Still, before he could stop himself, before he could think about it, he was standing.
She noticed immediately.
He moved without hesitation—quicker, smoother—and as he straightened to his full height, the shift in his posture made her steps falter just slightly. Her head tilted up, her brows twitching in the faintest flicker of surprise.
His fingers flexed briefly, then curled into his palm.
"Um…" He cleared his throat, fidgeting just slightly. "Sh—should I take you home?"
Her breath caught, just a fraction. Her fingers twitched against the zipper of her sweater.
Bucky felt the words sit heavy in the air between them, waiting.
She blinked at him, like she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly.
He forced himself to hold her gaze, suddenly wondering what had even prompted him to ask. The words had left his mouth before he’d fully thought them through, hanging between them, heavy and uncertain.
“I got my bike out back,” he added, quieter, as if that somehow explained everything.
She stared at him for half a second longer, her expression unreadable. For a fleeting moment, Bucky thought she might actually say yes.
But then her lips parted, and a dry, almost amused lilt colored her voice.
“Your bike?”
Bucky exhaled slowly through his nose, nodding once. “Yeah.”
Her fingers flexed again, then curled into her palm. “And you think I’m just gonna get on the back of it?”
His brow twitched, but he stayed still. “Why not?”
She held his gaze, something flickering behind her eyes before she let out a slow breath. “That’s not a good idea.”
Bucky’s fingers curled slightly at his sides. “Why not?”
Her lips parted like she had an answer, but whatever it was never made it past her tongue. Instead, she just exhaled again, her grip tightening around the strap of her bag. “It just isn’t.”
His jaw shifted, considering her for a moment, before he gave a slow, almost reluctant nod. “Alright.”
Something in her posture eased, but only just.
Still, neither of them moved.
“Really,” he opened the door for her, stepping halfway through, his frame filling the doorway. “It’s not an issue.”
“No, really–”
She moved, and suddenly, they were in the doorway, the narrow space between them forcing them chest to chest. Closer than either of them had prepared for. The narrow space between them barely existed, her breath catching as she realized just how little room there was to step past him.
“Oh, Um..” Her voice coming out rushed. “Sorry i didn’t mean… I wasn’t—” and then as if second nature, her hand lifted. Maybe to steady herself, maybe for something else. But the moment her fingers grazed the fabric of his shirt, just barely, she froze.
Bucky did too.
“Paying attention…” She drawled out, staring at the stretched fabric over his chest. The touch of her hand was fleeting, but it sent something sharp through the space between them, something tense, something neither of them knew how to speak on.
She pulled her hand away quickly, like she’d been burned, like she hadn’t meant to do it at all.
“U-um—thank you,” she murmured, quieter this time, a little breathless, a little uncertain as she cradled the hand that touched him to her chest. Like she had been hurt. She stepped fully through the doorway.
Bucky’s eyes flickered down, watching the way her fingers curled slightly against her palm. Something about it made his chest tighten, made his jaw flex, but he didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.
Not until she did.
“Maybe next time," she murmured, "Goodnight, Bucky.” She smiled at him softly before turning in the opposite direction, and heading back towards her store.
Maybe next time.
Bucky’s fingers flexed at his sides, his pulse thrumming in a slow, steady beat against his ribs. He didn’t know why he was still standing there, watching her walk away, or why the sound of his name on her lips sent something sharp and unfamiliar through him.
His throat worked around the weight of whatever the hell this was.
He could have said goodnight. Could have given her a nod, a grunt—something easy, something that wouldn’t feel like stepping into whatever was settling between them, thick and unspoken. Instead, he just watched as she disappeared over the bend of the sidewalk.
The door groaned softly as it swung back into place, the brass bell giving one last muted chime.
Bucky stood there for a moment longer than he should have.
Then, with a slow exhale, he reached for the lock, twisting it into place before dragging a hand threw his hair and around his jaw.
His other hand tugged at the fabric of his shirt, the ghost of something warm against his chest making the material feel too tight all of a sudden. Like it had shrunk in the last thirty seconds.
Bucky rolled his shoulders, flexed his arms stretching them down his sides, but it didn’t shake the feeling.
With a quiet sigh, he turned back toward his station, eyes drifting over the scattered pages, the open sketchbook. The raspberries stared back at him, vivid and red, surrounded by sharp, curling thorns.
Bucky dragged his tongue over his molars, then reached for his pen, twirling it once between his fingers before setting it down.
He should go home.
He would.
Eventually.
But for now, he sat back down, flipping to a fresh page.
And, without thinking, he started to draw.
—
a/n: again thank you so much for your patience w/ this chapter huhuhu~ please reblog to support! I also love feedback, and comments :)
Literally your comments are hilarious
taglist (lmk if you want to be added!) : @cheezemanz @shirukitsune @miharuwrites @multifandomkid @violetpassionfruit @sapphirebarnes @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @angelbabyyy99 @theendofmaterialgworl @venuslovey @blackhawkfanatic @lazyneonrabbitt @singsosworld @danzer8705 @xamapolax @otterlycanadian @that1geek06
#sebastian stan#bucky fic#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x reader#bucky fanfic#bucky buchanan#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky x you#james buchanan barnes#the winter soldier#winter soldier#bucky x y/n#bucky x female reader#winter solider x y/n#winter solider x reader#winter solider fanfiction#james bucky barnes#slow burn#sebastian stan x reader#sugar and skin
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9 Identical models.2 Painted for speed.3 With different approaches to the same end goal.4 Explorations of alternate art styles.52 hours of my slow painting 1 GW Basic. Painted with simple flat colours that all receive a wash. 'Black-line' was added using black for all. Everything received a solid highlight pass. 6.3hrs 2 Contrast Over White: A speed focused method. Single pass contrast paints over off white. Some dry-brush highlights (where possible) and a touch of cherry picked detailing. 2.4hrs 3 Contrast Over Zenithal and Dry-brush: Same as number 2, but with a more complex under paint providing additional details. Has the benefit of giving it a lighting solutions, but that the cost of murk. 2.5hr 4 Wet Blended: A method focused on adding lighting via gradients. The gradients being achieved with wet blending. Faster then glazing, but at the cost of a little less control. Personal fav. 6.5hr 5 Glaze Blended: A method focused on adding lighting via gradients. The gradients being achieved by applying multiple passes of ultra thinned paints. Effective, but time consuming. 8.1hr 6 Blanchitsu: An attempt to mimic the 2d art style of John Blanche one of the defining artists of Warhammer. Lots of sepia and warm tones. Ambient colour and white highlights of untouched paper. 4.5hr 7 Cell Shade: An attempt to recreate an anime esk look. Clean colors with sharp transitions mimicking light and shadows finished off with black ink 'lines' Time consuming and needing a high level of precision. 8.6hr 8 Comic Book (Boarderlands): A dirty, textured style that includes lighting. Low saturation, and defined not only by outline 'inks' but with inks being used to add illustrative detail. Time consuming but not as much as cell shade 6.5hr 9 Impressionist: Trying to channel the traditional media art style. No blacks, bright colours applied in daubs without blending and an exploration of complex colour, ambient and reflections. 6.3hr
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I promised I would provide some detail costume breakdown of my Azem summoning circle. It took me about 85 hours total over 19 days. The skirt is overlayed over a red petticoat (because it’s the only one I had long enough) I made the skirt about 7 in longer than floor length for me because I’m wearing platform shoes!
The skirt is two layers of black chiffon. The bottom layer is a normal circle skirt, top layer is a seven panel circle skirt. Figuring out the math for this part was hellacious I do not recommend it. The top was gold lamé with black chiffon overlay. The waistband circles are gold upholstery bolts that I used bolt cutters to remove the stabby bits of and the beams from the waistband are from a fringey door cover that I dissected. I then twisted the beams (fringe) and fastened them to the skirt.
The Ps and the filigree things are from bathroom wall decals that I cut into pieces. Then I added rhinestones, these triangle book decorations, and sequins for the designs and the giant summoning circles.
The rest of the designs are various additional pieces of fringe, rhinestones, and hand painted designs with gold calligraphy ink. I almost added my statics job symbols into the summoning circles but I didn’t have time.
There’s still more I want to add to this but I’m ecstatic how it turned out and felt like an absolute goddess.
#ffxiv#final fantasy cosplay#final fantasy#ahaha#shadowbringers#endwalker#ffxiv azem#azem#my face#wol#Halloween#nekos cosplay saga#costume#cosplay#tik tok#video#costume breakdown#cosplay breakdown#final fantasy xiv#final fantasy 14#azem summoning circle#summoning circle
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requested by: anon, I sincerely hope you like this ✨🌻💛
pairings: Sirius Black x reader (platonic), James Potter x reader (platonic), Lily Evans x reader (platonic), Remus Lupin x reader, etc.
warnings: female!reader. there might be some curse words
a/n: for the Amortentia smell I took inspiration from a post by @littlemessyjessi (it was amazingly detailed omg)
It has been some time since I’ve last written on this blog, and I'm not confident in my writing anymore. I'm sorry if this is too long or confused of a piece to read!
feedbacks are always appreciated!
If you wish to be part of a taglist don’t hesitate to ask!
You hated Remus Lupin.
He was your arch-nemesis, the one individual that kept you from becoming the best student in your year. The one that always managed to be awarded the most points for your house, except for a few occasions (which were quite scarce to be honest).
It seemed like he found some sort of enjoyment in seeing you strive for the professors’ attention. Needless to say, you did not enjoy any part of this academic rivalry.
The other Marauders were quite invested in the dynamics of the relationship between you and Remus. As a matter of fact, it looked like they came up with all sorts of plans in order to see the two of you together.
On one particular occasion, you and the other fifth-year students were attending potions class and experimenting on Amortentia and all its properties. Professor Slughorn was walking between the worktables and monitoring everyone's work.
Just as you were about to write down the correct dose of peppermint before adding it into the cauldron, Slughorn spoke.
"Can any one of you recall who was a pioneer in the creation of Love Potions?"
Your eyes widened. You knew the answer, and you didn't want Remus to take the glory and win the points for Gryffindor once more. You were determined to win.
"Yes, Mrs. Y/l/n?" professor Slughorn questioned, seeing your raised hand.
"I reckon it was Laverne de Montmorency, sir"
The older man nodded at your response before saying"It was her indeed. Very good Mrs. Y/l/n, five points to Gryffindor!".
You smiled widely and took the opportunity to turn around and see Remus' face. He was glaring at you, while Sirius and the other Marauders were teasing him.
"Got anything to say, Lupin?" you asked, to which he curtly responded with a "No".
The whole ordeal died out within a few minutes, and everyone went back to doing their assignment.
After some time Slughorn decided that it was time for his students to show the results of their work; therefore he called out a couple of names at a time so that they could be evaluated.
It didn't take very long for him to say your name which was followed by Remus', much to your dismay.
"It seems like there weren't any incidents in the preparation so there shouldn't be any problems with the potion. Mrs. Y/l/n, why don't you begin?"
You could not understand what he was talking about.
"I'm sorry, I—"
"Tell us about the smell that comes from your cauldron."
You could feel everyone's eyes on you. Especially your best friend's, and the Marauders'.
Needless to say, as soon as your face was above the cauldron you hesitated to analyse the smell coming from it.
"What do you smell then, Mrs. Y/l/n?"
You cleared your throat and spoke up, even though you were too anxious to even utter a single word.
"Uhm, let's see — warm cashmere, cassis, parchment paper, ink, and— chocolate, I think"
As soon as you said that you noticed that the Marauders started whispering between each other. You couldn't see Remus' face since he was standing next to you, but from the way Sirius was giggling it seemed like he was shocked.
A strange thought came to your mind, but you quickly brushed it off. It couldn't be, right?
Slughorn's voice brought you back to reality.
"Very well. Now, Mr. Lupin, tell us what you smell"
It was obvious that Remus was as nervous as you were when he started describing the smell coming from his own cauldron. You did not dare turn to watch him directly since you couldn't stand embarrassing yourself more than you already did.
"It's a bit unclear but—" he stated "I smell a hint of roses, then... books, cedarwood, basil and thyme".
Your eyes widened once again. You always wore a rose perfume, and had developed the habit of lighting up a cedarwood, basil and thyme candle with your roommates in the Gryffindor common hall. Something which Remus always complained about whenever he and his friends walked into the aforementioned place.
You swore you could hear Sirius and James snorting for how much they were suppressing their laughter.
Professor Slughorn could clearly sense that the situation was somewhat getting out of hand, so he warned the boys about giving them detention and dismissed the class.
You were tempted to run away, but you had a couple of classes left so you pushed through and waited until they ended to finally get into your dormitory.
Thankfully, you hadn't seen the Marauders since the incident a few hours prior. However, the fact that you were with your best friend Lily Evans (who was James' girlfriend) implied that you were bound to meet them, eventually.
Unbeknownst to you, while the two of you were sat in your dormitory the Marauders were busy talking about the aforementioned "incident" during potions class.
"Admit it, you smelt her perfume!" Sirius exclaimed, to which Remus responded with a scoff.
"Don't you 'hmph' me, Moony! You like her and she likes you!"
"No, I must've interpreted the scents wrong... I despise her! She always tries to be better than me and steals the points that I should get for the house!" Remus remarked.
"Too bad we don't believe a word you're saying!" James stated "If you really despise Y/n, tell us why"
"Well, for starters, she always seems to know things better than I do. I feel like that annoying perfume of hers is always up my nose and she never seems out of place. And, and— she's... I just hate her guts!"
The Marauders stared at each other for a few seconds, then bursted out laughing.
Remus was so confused that Sirius had to explain to him that those were not valid reasons to hate someone, but rather he was just saying what he liked about her.
Moony kept denying his friends' accusations, but there was a part of him that couldn't help but think that maybe they were right. Just maybe.
Maybe he didn't really hate you. Maybe those very parts of you which he had insulted were the reasons why he liked you, and wanted to distance himself in fears of hurting you. He couldn't pinpoint the exact things he was feeling in that moment: it was like a flood was pervading his mind and heart.
"You really think that—" he muttered, to which the other Marauders responded saying "Yes! You must tell her, Moony. Right now!"
Even though a part of Remus kept telling him that things might have gone awfully wrong and that he wouldn't have been able to do it, he took courage and walked up the stairs and to your dormitory by himself.
Unbeknownst to him and his friends, you and Lily had been busy talking about the same thing: you and your feelings for Remus.
Your 'girls talk' was interrupted by a knock on your door.
"Who is it?"
"Y/n, it's Remus. I have come in peace"
You immediately stood up from your bed, and rushed to the door.
"Yes?" you opened the door, expecting to find all the boys behind him. It was rather surprising to see Remus by himself.
"I was wondering if we could talk. Just the two of us" he stated, to which you responded with a nod of your head.
You turned around to see Lily standing, with her thumbs up and a big smile on her face, which suggested that she was going and you were staying there.
As soon as she began walking down the stairs, you shut the door and invited Remus to sit down on your bed.
"There is not an easy way to say this. But I'm not going to beat around the bush" he said "I didn't think I would ever say these words, but... Recent events have led me to come to the conclusion that I like you"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I like you, Y/n. I am in love with you, and I hope that you reciprocate my feelings or else I've made a fool of myself"
You were looking at him like he was an alien. Did you or did you not understand the weight of his words?
"I'm sorry, what?" You asked once again.
"Oh for fuck's sake. I am in love with you, Y/n Y/l/N!"
With that, you started laughing.
"Why are you—"
"I heard you the first time. I just needed the information to sink in" you said, giggling "I like you too, Remus".
What a strange way to react to one confessing their feelings for you.
Remus smiled. He couldn't believe that it was all real. He had to protect this newfound tranquility, the beautiful yet unexpected source of his happiness, at all costs.
"I won't force my affection on you or anything. If you're comfortable doing so, I'd like to hold your hand"
"Of course you can"
And he did.
Remus slowly reduced the distance between the two of you, then timidly held out his hand which you took with the same bashfulness.
You loved Remus Lupin. You really did.
And you couldn't wait to live your future with him.
#writerdream22#reader insert#requests open#x reader#gif imagine#harry potter x reader#harry potter x oc#harry potter oneshot#harry potter au#harry potter gif#harry potter imagine#hp fanfic#marauders#marauders x reader#marauders x y/n#marauders x you#the marauders#remus lupin#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin x you#remus lupin x y/n#sirius black#sirius black x reader#sirius black x you#james potter x reader#james potter#james potter imagine#marauders imagine#remus lupin imagine#lily evans
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Modern au
Lambert takes his niece to get her ears pierced for her birthday and oh no, the new guy at the studio is ridiculously hot!!
"You still sure about this, kid?" Lambert asked as the two of them rounded the corner onto the next street, Ciri took a break from demolishing her purple frosted doughnut to give him an excited nod. It was the answer he'd been expecting but it still didn't hurt to check. Ciri had expressed interest in getting her ears pierced a few months prior and the agreement she'd reached with her father was that if it was something she still wanted by the time her birthday came around and it wasn't just a passing whim then she had his permission. That day had finally arrived and Lambert had volunteered to make the arrangements and take her to his usual guy, fully convinced that Geralt would just end up wandering into the nearest Claire's otherwise - having no personal experience, the man had proven himself to be clueless when it came to researching reputable places.
He felt Ciri press a little closer to him and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. He didn't blame her, they weren't exactly in the most respectable part of town anymore - he was pretty sure the rats would try to mug you if they were capable - and if any of Ciri's three parental figures were with them (Jaskier was definitely in the realms of honorary parent at this point, whatever the situation was with him, Geralt and Yenn) they'd probably be making them turn around and head back. They weren't though; and Lambert had been using this place for the last seven years, since he was eighteen and making questionable choices just to push Vesemir's buttons.
There'd been some new graffiti added to the red brick of the outside of the studio since the last time Lambert had visited - not that it'd stay there very long before one of the inhabitants covered it with work of their own. Years of this has led to a good portion of 'Dyn Marv tattoos and piercings' being covered in a mish-mash of traditional tattoo designs, psychedelic swirls, detailed wolves and tigers and a relatively fresh looking comic style UFO by one of the top windows.
Lambert's brow furrowed a little in confusion at the noise that greeted them as they entered. There was music playing - nothing unusual in that, there was always music playing on a low volume but this wasn't Cedric's usual heavy metal or Schrödinger's classic rock or even Axel's K-Pop. It sounded almost like folk rock if Lambert had to guess, unfamiliar but not unpleasant.
The figure behind the counter was also unfamiliar as they stood with their back to them, fairly tall and dark skinned with black curls tied back with a strip of blue cloth, a sleeveless white tank showing off muscular arms. Lambert cleared his throat awkwardly to catch their attention, then felt his throat dry up instantly when they turned at the noise. Oh no.
He was fucking gorgeous. A few loose curls framed a high cheek-boned face, full lips framed by labret and septum piercings pulled up into a wide smile which in turn caused khol rimmed, emerald eyes to crinkle at the corners. A silver chain disappeared into the low neck of his tank top which also offered a glimpse of toned chest, the edges of black ink barely visible.
"Hi there, can I help you?" He asked and oh god, even his voice was hot.
"You're not Cedric." Lambert immediately wanted to go drown himself in the customer bathroom.
"He left me in charge while he had to run out. Something about moving apartments and Schro getting stuck in a box again..." He finished with a shrug, "I'm Aiden."
Lambert felt something click in his brain, "Cedric's brother right? He's mentioned you a couple of times."
"Whatever he's told you, it's all lies." Aiden said with a wink, leaning on the counter and resting his chin on his hand - the back of said hand Lambert noted, sported a tattoo of a realistic snarling, green eyed black cat.
"So anything I can help with today or would you rather hang out and wait for Cedric, although I couldn't tell you how long he'll be."
"Depends. How are you with kids and piercings?" He knew Dragonfly only dealt with tattoos whilst Joel specialised in the more 'adult' piercings and didn't tend to take clients under twenty one. Lambert gestured to Ciri who had wandered away from him to browse over the display of various spiked cuffs and brightly coloured necklaces for sale.
"I've experience with both. I did my apprenticeship and got my qualifications under Cedric and Axel and have many niblings and foster siblings, as you probably already know if you know Cedric."
Lambert nodded. Cedric and the others ran a tight ship, they wouldn't allow Aiden to work here if he didn't meet their standards, "Ciri." He called, dragging the girls attention from a plastic unicorn necklace she'd been eyeing up "This is Aiden, he's going to do your piercings, ok?"
Ciri scrutinized him for a couple of seconds before giving a nod. Aiden grinned back.
"And what are we going for today. Nose, belly button? No don't tell me... eyebrow!"
Ciri giggled, "My daddy said I can get my ears pierced for my birthday."
"Oh really?" He threw a quick look at Lambert and something in his expression closed off, "Well let's get some studs picked out and then we'll get you all comfy and set up."
"Can I use the bathroom first, please?"
"Just through there, sweetie." Aiden said, gesturing to the lime green door behind her before placing one of the standard forms in front of Lambert, "We'll do the boring paperwork in the meantime."
"I'm not daddy by the way." Lambert blurted out after a couple of minutes spent in awkward silence.
"Huh?"
"I'm her uncle." He held the form out for the other whilst trying his damned hardest not to stare at those lips.
"Well," Aiden deliberately brushed his fingers against Lambert's as he went to take it, voice pitched lower as his eyes slowly looked Lambert up and down, "If you ever want to be someone's Daddy, I wouldn't be opposed."
Before Lambert could even think of a response to that Ciri returned and Aiden was back to being professional, yelling for Dragonfly to come watch the front before showing his newest client all of the different earrings she could choose from and having a serious discussion about red Vs. blue as if he hadn't just made Lambert's brain short circuit. Dragonfly chimed in with her opinion every now and then too whilst throwing a smirk at Lambert which left him wondering how much of that exchange the petite, heavily tattooed blonde might have heard.
Lambert was ready to leave at a moments notice as Ciri glanced around Aiden's workspace, sitting stiffly and looking far too small in the leather chair.
"Ok Ciri, we're all ready to go." Aiden settled on a stool next to her, angling himself so the tray bearing the bright pink studs (and more importantly, the needle) was out of Ciri's eyeline, "Now, you look a teeny bit nervous there so would you like me to explain everything to you or just shut up and get on with it?"
"Could you tell me please? I don't like not knowing what's happening."
Ten minutes later, after having Aiden show her everything he was going to be using and answering all her questions, a much calmer Ciri was staring at the far wall trying to count all of the band stickers which had been put there and added to over the years, with Lambert sat on the now vacated stool by her feet "Feel free to swear kid. We won't say anything if you don't."
"Absolutely." Aiden agreed, "Ok. And 3...2...1"
"BUTTS!"
Lambert rolled his eyes heavenwards whilst Aiden looked like he was trying to hold in a laugh.
"Well, I can honestly say I've never had anyone scream 'butts' in my face before now. You got a poop to go with it? 3...2...1"
"POOP!"
"I need to be having a word with her dad if she thinks butts is a swear." Lambert muttered as he paid, Ciri back to hanging around the jewellery display and proudly showing off her new piercings to Dragonfly.
"Oh come on. It was pretty hilarious." Aiden chuckled somewhat awkwardly, "Hey, I'm sorry if I came on a little too strong earlier by the way. Sometimes my mouth shoots off before my brain kicks in."
Lambert made sure Ciri was suitably distracted before leaning in closer, "It's not your mouth I want to make shoot off."
The hitched breath he got in response was incredibly satisfying.
"Uncle Lambert, look what Dragonfly gave me!" Ciri yelled, breaking the moment and holding up the unicorn necklace from earlier.
"For the birthday girl." Dragonfly looked a little too smug and Lambert was going to figure out a way to get revenge.
"Well then...if there's nothing else I can help with today...?"
"Actually-"
Vesemir sighed, shaking his head in defeat as he caught sight of Lambert, "Please tell me taking Ciri wasn't just a cover for that. What on earth were you thinking?"
Lambert merely waggled his eyebrows in response, the new gold bar in the left catching the light as he did. Right now he was thinking getting an impulsive piercing to give the pretty guy a reason to touch him wasn't the dumbest thing he'd ever done by a longshot. Especially when said pretty guy gave him his private number afterwards "Incase you have any problems with aftercare."
He smirked as he fished out his phone, firing off a message to Aiden inviting him to find out sometime exactly how seriously he took aftercare.
#the witcher#the witcher fanfiction#lambert x aiden#lambert/aiden#lambden#aiden x lambert#aiden/lambert#witcher aiden#lambert#witcher lambert
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Here's a quick and dirty tutorial for the weathered olive drab scheme I used for the Awesome 9Q. This scheme looks great on the table and uses fairly basic weathering techniques that mean it doesn't take very long to paint! I use it here for 6mm scale mecha and vehicles for Battletech but this could easily be adapted for Imperial Guard or Raptors for 40k or any other military olive drab wargaming scheme.
Paints I used:
Feel free to substitute any of these based on brand and availability- I just used whatever I had around my desk.
Citadel Deathworld Forest (dark olive)
Citadel Mechanicus Standard Grey (medium grey)
Citadel Zandri Dust (khaki)
Citadel Driad Bark (dark brown)
Citadel Mournfang Brown (rich brown)
Citadel Elysian Green (light olive)
Citadel Dawnstone (light grey)
Citadel Seraphim Sepia (sepia wash)
Citadel Drakenhoff Nightshade (dark blue wash)
Citadel Contrast Snakebite Leather (brown ink wash)
Citadel Lamian Medium (thinning medium)
Army Painter Matt Black (black)
Begin by base coating all of the armor of your model with deathworld green and all of the mechanical parts like tracks, weapons, and other machinery with mechanicus standard grey. These are going to be the primary midtones of the model so make sure you get a solid and smooth color with multiple thinned coats of paint. Then, apply a sepia tone wash to the green parts of the model and a blue tone wash to the grey parts. You can see I also added some zandri dust to the sand base I gave this model in between steps here
Once the washes are dry, we can move on to the secret sauce that makes this scheme sing. Thin down a dark brown paint like dryad bark with 2 or 3 parts water for every one part paint, and then using a small brush carefully paint this thin brown into all of the exposed crevices and recesses of the green armor. You should be able to easily correct mistakes by dabbing up any paint you get on the flat panels with a dry paper towel but you can also leave some of these mistakes for later as it can help us with weathering. Leave the brown to dry, and then return to apply a drybrush of dawnstone to all of the mechanical parts of the model and a drybrush of elysian green to the green parts. If you want to stop here, you can paint the cockpit, throw a wash on the ground texture, rim the base, and have a fully battle ready 3-color paint scheme that looks great and has a complex green olive drab.
If you do want to continue, lets move on to some basic chipping and weathering techniques. Remember those mistakes I mentioned in the step with the brown? We're gonna turn those into chips in the paint. If you have any little lines or splotches of brown on the armor panels, go in with some of your elysian green and draw a thin line of your green highlight underneath the brown. This will create a fast faux 3-d chipping effect that adds visual intrest to the model up close. If you don't have many existing brown bits on your panels, always feel free to go back and add some more extra little thin brown lines and splotches to the mini for more chips, though keep it a bit conservative- I find 1 or 2 at most per panel is fine, more will it look like you've been driving behind an unsecured gravel truck.
You might notice I'm also painting the glass for the cannon view port and driver's compartment on the vedette and adding snakebite leather contrast to the sand base at the same time. I won't go into detail on that in this tutorial (tumblr's got a dumb image limit I'm butting against) but if anyone's interested I can write seperately on my process for doing canopy glass!
Now we have some simple grime techniques to finish the model. To add a wet mud effect to the tank, mix 1 part of a rich brown color like mournfang brown to 1 part thinning medium. Add a small ammount to a brush and paint it around the bottom parts of the model, focusing on recesses and where the model would contact the ground. Use a paper towel to dab up any excess that collects on the flats and panels- a little is fine but you still want to see the green underneath.
To tie the mud and the base into the model, drybrush the base and the areas you applied the wet mud effect with some zandri dust as 'dried mud'. Again, you want the browns and greens beneath to still be mostly visible but you want a bit of dusty khaki over top. Because dust gets kicked up higher than mud, make sure this effect goes higher than the wet mud. Finally, add some black to the insides of the gun barrels and rim the base in your favorite colors.
And there you have it- a basic green drab armor scheme with some extra weathering and chipping steps to take it to the next level. Use this for basic generic grunt units or militaristic factions you want to have a grimy and subdued appearance!
#battletech#hobby#miniatures#mini painting#6mm#vedette#tutorial#miniature painting#tanks#painting tutorial
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I've drawn a lot of designs like this recently since I got to saw them at the Brisbane concert! I might post the rest here later too.
Made on Photoshop, took about half a day coming up with a concept on paper and then making it digitally. I originally wasn't going to have the stitches, I only added them when I started inking but I think it made it look 10x better.
I tried to make each quarter show their most iconic part of face paint, while still making sense to be done in some type of order. Luckily I was able to capture that with everyone; the messiness of Papa I's makeup, then the more modern design of Papa III's eye and nose, Copia's black lips, cheek design, big ass chin, and Papa III's edgy mouth lines and cheek design. Papa III's hat was a fuckin pain to detail.
I was also going to make each quarter's smoke be the colours of their respective albums but I just could not make it look good or harmonize so I stuck with just Opus Eponymous since it has a better striking palette for something with limited colours.
Top left is Papa I,
Bottom left is Papa II,
Top right is Papa III,
Bottom right is Papa IV.
#artists on tumblr#digital art#fanart#ghost band#ghost bc#papa emeritus iv#papa emeritus iii#papa emeritus ii#papa emeritus i#ghost band fanart
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any tips on how to draw in the splatoon style?
Ive been trying over and over to answer this question but i simply can't, cus i dont know how i make stuff, i did 2 tutorials in the past and they are simply me going "yeah you just go black in your mind and then come back and boom!" I tried to film myself a few times but still it's simply me zoning out filling a canvas of millions of sketches and then just drawing and drawing. There's no step by step thing, I simply just go BRBRBRBRBBRR and like adding really REALLY specific details and then BRBRBRBBR.
I tried hard, to think, why I make it accurate, I honestly tried for over 4 years to do splatoon looking art before i even opened this account, especially for commissions or doing more splatband art, people can give you feedback and if you're good enough they'll pay you.
I really came to think I was the best to just hate the art i did 3 days after, I did the "pufuu" moment trying to fake leake art or something and you can really put there if ppl is 1) so desesperated for new art 2) youre good at it
Then I tried to think, well did i studied the style? Yesss,,, at the begining, then i starts to differ as different artists besides Inoue, and his style also develops, so basically as long it fits,,
These 3 drawings just look complely different from each other and still it simply makes them more unique.
"But then how you make it splatoon?" You simply can't, cus it is not just one person, there is a lot, make it your own, give it your own twist, but, what about brushes, THATS what gives the style... right?
MogaChumu, on devianart
this art LOOKS officinal, but it isnt, thre's barely any rough edges like in original, there's some shading but it is not like in the original
is it the anatomy? neither, you can clearly see how they change every time how they draw inklings, sometimes the draw eyebrows in place, sometimes they round the faces sometimes they color pink they mouth despite the ink color. IT IS NOT JUST ONE PERSON.
I can't really give you more than this. As I mentioned in other posts, I use clip studio paint, my brushes were made by myself 4 years ago. If you have a hard time making your own there's (again) pufuu's brush set for procreate: https://x.com/pufuulive/status/1427743911708143617?lang=bn
the same but for psd and csp: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/15Ib-jyvKxIDi0um0FnX3LcBet6m1pym3
and if you use another program just search for "Splatoon brushes" and go to the image tab, ive seen brushes uploaded in devianart for paint tool sai and for ibis paint. I just searched for splatoon tutorials and I found this saved: https://www.tiktok.com/discover/how-to-do-splatoon-art-style
Here's one of my videos if you can take anything and analyse it better than me, I'm sorry I can't really give you anything better,
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Mr.Rodger.
What your opinion on the twisted version of Glisten? Considering it's the only twisted with half of own mind and that really similar with your best friend, also i will be interested to just hear what research you made on him and your opinion.
-
” Wait a minute.. ‘Twisted’? I don't want to lie, but I've really never heard of such a term. I mean, I've heard it, but it's a completely different context than the one you're describing to me.. And yet, how does this even relate to Glisten? I can only say that the word sounds extremely unpleasant, especially when prescribing it to a living being. For this reason, I ask you not to attribute it to the mirror, please.
But in order not to completely upset you with my ignorance, I could tell you a little about other investigations that I am conducting at this point in time. Right now I'm interested in three problems: The first and most important is the problem with the Managers (or, more simply, our creators), who, after their stunning failure (which I'm still trying to figure out), left us in a huge building without access to any exit to the outside. Moreover, there is no way out, at least on the floor of the Gardenview Center. Due to the limited supply of food, this situation is getting even worse. That's why I'm always rummaging through various papers scattered throughout the complex: to find a solution to the mystery of our "uselessness." I didn't learn much, because I usually came across bills for communal payments and other various unnecessary things. However, I did find some interesting specimens, but I prefer to keep silent about them. I'm sure the main characters know about this situation better than I do, but it's like they've had their mouths sewn shut. They avoid the subject, no matter how hard I try to get them to talk.
The second secret is the Ichor mining or the ichor operation itself, created by Dandy. I don't know why he needs so much liquid, but it looks extremely strange. Previously, as I learned from one classified entry, Ichor was the ‘ink for creating live cartoons,’ which MAY have been the reason toons appeared in this world. I'm not exactly sure, but it seems that we all consist of Ichor to some extent (our blood is really black. But I can't explain our birth. As I said, most of the toons memories are fake, so people could just erase some of the ‘scary’ parts of the story from our heads so that there would be fewer problems). However, what we are mining now looks more like "something spoiled", as if it has long since exhausted its usefulness due to poor conditions of detention. Even the smell of the current Ichor causes some "hallucinogenic effects" and dizziness, which prevents us from being on some floors. The flower assures us that ichor will help us in the future (however, it avoids answering how), which I am beginning to doubt, especially after personal attempts to study the liquid.
And one last thing.. The abrupt loss of Astro. We didn't want to offload this topic, hoping to somehow determine the location of this toon, but all to no avail. Since everyone knows that the star boy only leaves his room at night because of his drowsiness, no one has noticed the loss yet, which plays into my hands - we don't need unnecessary panic. The only one who knows about this is Brigtney, as Astro is the second leader of the Literary Club, managing the library at night.. I would talk about this in more detail, but the topic is not suitable right now. That's why I'm overwhelmed with work. ”
[Key event: Blog story update. Added new information in the profile post.]
#blog rodger_bll#dw rodger#rodger dandys world#dandys world#dw glisten#glisten dandys world#dw brightney#dandy's world brightney#dandy dandys world#dw dandy#dw astro#astro dandys world
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