#painting process really is sketch -> flats -> fuck around -> find out
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damn bitch
#painting process really is sketch -> flats -> fuck around -> find out#flashman again come get ur food#my art#megaman 2#flash man#megaman#flashman
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heyyyy i was curious as to what brushes you use! Im in a huge art rut right now and cant figure out what really works for me :/ just saw your post on twit 🫡
hii!! my fav sketch/line brushes are the artemus pencil brush pack, the chalk pack from artemus too (you can just search up the name in clip studio market and it’ll show up!!), i really like this brush that’s basically just called ‘silly sketching brush’ (id is 1994916), the textured pencil brush i started using recently is the rc side pencil and i really REALLY like it!! it’s the very brush i was talking about in my post actually!! i also like using a very basic round opacity brush both for defining primary shapes before sketching and for the actual sketch, there’s a ton of them and they mostly work the same!! for painting - i rarely work with opacity and mostly use the paint mixing in csp, i like flat bristle brushes (again - a ton of them on the csp market) that i just tweak to my liking!! i can’t share the one i use bc i tweaked the shit out of some brush i found so i don’t actually own the brush lmao but i like working with ~80 in the amount of paint box with the amount linked to pen pressure, ~70 in density of paint linked to velocity and ~20 color stretch (but the numbers also depend on your pen pressure etc, you gotta fuck around and find out with stuff like this)!! i also put some texture from one of deharme’s brushes on it!! their brushes are in all the main concept art brush packs from like zabrocki, jamie jones, the evenant brush pack etcetc so you can download that and tweak your brushes with the materials you get from there!! i also use the artemus pencil to render sometimes!! and that’s about it!! have fun drawing <3
if you want to ask about my art and my process feel free to do so!! i’m by no means a professional but i’ll try my best to answer <3
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ok a few weeks ago i went to an art camp and some sort like that and it was fun so I thought I just rant on how it went and how it was and also put the thing i made on each day. this artcamp thing was five days and each day the kids there (including me obv) made something different every day
ok here we go- day one. this artcamp was quite far from where I live so I took the train. but I got to the train station and missed the train so I took the longer way of taking one train to the other direction of where I needed and then changed it to the direction i needed to go. but i got there in the end. then out of the train and taking the bus that went to the OPPOSITE direction so i got down and walked all the the to the artcamp place and arrived there SO FUCKING SWEATY and half dead. but I did get there in time which was the thing I wanted. to just be there on time. we did something with clay and each of us got four flat pieces of clay that we made with them a bigger flat piece. and wE CARVED INSIDE IT. i wasn't sure what I wanted to do first but then I made one of my OCs and their story. i really liked how it came out. since it made of clay it had to be dried and burned for couple weeks so this is the picture of the after. but I also took a picture of after I finished it when the clay was still not dry...? so ill that picture too. when I went to take that after it dried then I was quite happy to find that all the lines of the fingers and all that weren't ruined from the drying process
day two. took the CORRECT TRAIN this time and also the right bus and it all went good. i got there on time and even before the time like 15 minutes before or smth. we did urban sketching. walked to near marketplace in the area and we just wandered around the place and drew buildings and things around that we saw and we drew them. and then after that we got back to the class studio thing that the artcamp was in and we did the same thing but in acrylics. chose one sketch that I did and painted it in acrylics . i gave it watercolre texture which I really liked.
day three we did realistic sketching. this is it . i didn't really like it . drew this picture of a face.
day four. did the same thing in day three but a bit differebnt. drawing with layers . but this time it was with acrylics so i enjoyed it more. drew a portrait of a woman. i looked at a picture and drew that in acrylics/
day five. was also th last day . we did still life drawing' there was a rtable with a lot of stuff on it. i really enjoyed this one. first few charcoal practice warmups you can only see the last one i did. and we also =did this with acrylics . i focused on a statue of a womans body and stuck with it the entire time. and when we drew it ewith the acrylics i also did another work of just a house in a forest from paint leftovers. and thats it. this camp thing was really fun and i got new skills from it that idk if i use but atleast theyre there.
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Hi! I am obsessed w your art. I really like seeing these sketches that you have been posting from prompts recently - I find it interesting to see a bit of your initial sketch underneath (also they're amazing, I love all drawings of the two of them hugging). If you're comfortable doing so, could you talk a bit about your process? I've recently begun dipping my toes into digital art and would love any tips. I'm so amazed with you that it only took an hour to do the sketch w them kissing after work
Hi bud!! So hyped you’re getting into digital art—it’s such a fun medium, and there are loads of resources online for learning! I’m flattered that you came to me 🥺😳🥰 The doodles are a good way to practice, and I’ve definitely gotten faster and more accurate with more practice!!
Alright so we are gonna use this recent painting as an example! I do my paintings on Procreate (with an iPad and Apple Pencil) and find it really intuitive and easy to use! I also am a staunch supporter of using references, and a really good place to find them is Unsplash, because the images are free to use (although I do confess to practically living on tumblr and Pinterest, so you’ll probably run across my refs from time to time lol).
I start with a loose sketch using a chalk brush that my buddy imported for me (not a Procreate brush, sorry), then usually lower the opacity on that layer to add another more detailed sketch on top of that. In image 1, you’ll see Draco’s body starts out as just block shapes, and then gets a more defined sketch on top of that (in the same chalk brush, just much smaller). Then I go in with linework (image 2), using the Procreate Dry Ink brush (that I’ve modified to be a bit more streamlined).
I personally do my linework on a different layer for each thing, because I will go in and change the color of the linework to ~match~ whatever the object is. I find that it gives the whole painting a more cohesive look, but that might just be me! It usually means that I use about 35-40 layers for each painting, and frequently have to merge layers before I can keep painting 😂😂😂 I run out of space!!
Flat color comes next, which is best seen on the left side of image 3. Once that’s all blocked out, I’ll go in with shading (a clipping mask set to “multiply” is literally a gift from the Art Gods) and little details (meaning plants and knick knacks. I love knick knacks) Alpha lock and clipping masks are going to be your best friends, I swear to god.
The last step is usually fucking around with overlays and lighting. For this, all I can recommend is really just playing around with colors and opacity. I typically paint these??? Vague shapes??? And then Gaussian Blur them until it’s a soft overlay for the whole canvas, and then will set it to Multiply/Soft Light/Luminosity depending on the mood I’m in!! And then to add light beams and sometimes dust motes on an “Add” layer with like 30% opacity
Voilà my layers. These have already been combined a whole bunch of times (Draco’s body used to be 15 separate layers), but it helps to see kind of what is going on! The very last thing I do to a painting is to add a noise layer on top of everything, which adds a mild grainyness to the work! You only need like 4% noise for it to be a soft accent ❤️
Also, I do post timelapse videos for all of my paintings on Instagram! If you wanna mosy on over and check that out 💕 I hope this is in any way helpful!!
#:)))))))))#I am here with my basic knowledge!!!#I’m also always still learning#and have only been doing this for like a year so????#take it with a grain of salt#and keep doing your own thing!!! you will develop your own style and best practices as you draw!!!#asked and answered#procreate#digital art tips#anyway this ask made me feel very special and knowledgeable
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Color Thumbnailing Guide
people have expressed interest in knowing how i do my color thumbnails, which i whip out EXTREMELY fast, so i’m writing up this little guide to talk about it. It’s a pretty simple and straightfoward process so it won’t be a long writeup, but i’ve got a lot of images.
Anyway here goes nothing.
First things first, you need a sketch. I like to keep my sketch somewhere in the warm purple range because purple looks decently overlaid on both warm colors and cool colors.
I set my sketches on a multiply layer and lower the opacity pretty low, because you dont want the color from your sketch weighing too heavily in the overall palette.
Block in your ‘local colors’ at a low opacity. i like to keep a lot of atmosphere in my drawings when I can so the further back stuff gets the more transparent it gets. You want a low opacity so whatever you end up using as a base color tints it well enough
I’ve got the papers and whatnot on a different later because i’m planning to hue shift those a bit as I go, since whites are tricky I want to be able to adjust them to match the background as needed.
Now here it is with the background color on
You can see how immediately this shifts the local colors a ton. That’s what you want.
Now you need a light source (at least one, you can have as many as you want obviously) and some shadows. I put the lights and shadows each on one separate layer.
here I’m doing the light in yellow and the shadows in blue because that’s just a color combo I lean to a lot, but play around with the colors. You’d end up being surprised about what color combos will work together well. I also just painted in a bit of a lighter patch in the background to give some more depth to the color.
Adjust the blending layer for your highlights and shadows. For the most part my shadows will be on either multiply or just normal, and either color dodge or add for the lighting. Just fuck around and play with blending modes and opacity until you find something you like.
Now, making new color thumbnails from this is as simple as locking the opacity on your highlight and shadow layers to recolor them, changing the blending modes, and using hue/saturation/brightness adjustments on the background layer
Here’s three new thumbnails made by only change the highlights/shadows/background color. there are slight adjustments made to the hue of the paper layer, but that’s it. The local colors are entirely unchanged.
You can get a lot of mileage out of doing just this! But there’s also a bunch of other really simple color adjusting you can do with gradient maps. So let’s take a look at that.
I’m also gonna switch out my light sources, and show you how easy it is to switch that around with this method of working too
Okay, new highlights and shadow pattern. Also added the sort of starburst light in the background there just to give some more depth to the image. The group there at the bottom is the old shadows and highlights just there for posterity.
I also duplicated the local colors to make them a little bit more opaque, because I’m gonna be manually adjusting them a little bit more for this set of thumbnails instead of just relying on the ambient background color to harmonize.
Here’s this with the highlights and shadows in their appropriate blending modes.
Now, here’s a new thumbnail
Here it is with the light and shadows turned off, plus i’ve doubled the flats.
Now, what i’m going to do is use a gradient map and adjust the colors on the flats
I’m making them blue to match the general feel of this palette
I’ve lowered the opacity on the gradient map layer, so now the flats have a much bluer twinge to them, but the value hierarchy is still the same. This is a really great way to make your colors more harmonious overall.
Here’s a few more examples of thumbnails done in this manner. You can see what colors i went with for the gradient map in the layer menu on the side. play around a lot! try new things! Make a ton just fucking around. quantity is always good.
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Seven times someone spoke to a Marauder alone in a portrait and one person who spoke to them all together
In a world where all the Marauders died in the first war, their souls are preserved in portraits in Hogwarts. Their stories are legend if a bit tweaked, and their names are famous if a bit forgettable. But they were painted individually, and housed all over the castle, separated for all eternity from each other.
(Also, there are seven Marauders because Lily, Severus, and Regulus. Fight me.)
(FOR CONTEXT: Regulus married a Muggle named Amir and had a daughter with him named Hailee. Regulus and Sirius never fell out and Regulus calls Remus “Mum” because reasons. Sirius and Remus married and died without children and James and Lily had Harry with their partner, Severus. Peter had a nonbinary partner named Max, but they died in the war.)
ONE: Regulus Black (Room of Requirement) & Draco Malfoy [Second Year - Youth (Daughter)]
Draco is coming back from Quidditch practice after calling Hermione a Mudblood. He’s walking alone down a hallway empty of doors when one suddenly materializes in front of him. He walks inside, too curious not to, and finds a room with two chairs in front of a crackling fire.
Over the fire hangs a portrait of a young man with pale skin, ebony hair, and striking grey eyes. Draco sits down in one of the chairs and picks up the cup of hot cocoa from the coffee table, looking up at the portrait, which has now started moving.
“Who are you?” He asks, and the portrait shoots him a grim look.
“My name is Regulus Black. Do you know who I am?”
Draco shakes his head. Regulus hums, tugging at something around his wrist.
“I’m a Death Eater who defied Voldemort,” he says, pulling his sleeves up to reveal a blank wrist. “They didn’t paint me with that wretched Mark, thank Merlin.”
Draco puts his cocoa down, nervous, and finds his eyes darting around the room for a door.
“How do I get out of here?” He asks with all the politeness he can muster, and Regulus offers him a wry smile.
“Right through that door,” he says gently, pointing to the door now etching itself out of the wall. “But please remember, Draco - you make your own choices in life. You decide who you are. Not a House, not a name, not a Mark. You. Do not forget that like I did.”
Draco nods, backing towards the door.
“But you defected,” he says, feeling small. Regulus smiles sadly, his eyes cutting.
“Yes, I did. And I paid for it with my life. And the life of my partner, and my daughter, and my brother and my mum and my best friends. I paid, Draco. I’m still paying.”
Draco has his hand on the door knob. “Huh,” he says, and opens the door when Regulus adds, “Oh, and Draco, dear? Don’t call people Mudbloods. There’s no such thing. And it’s rude.”
Draco nods frantically and closes the door so hard he lands flat on his ass in the hallway, watching the door seal itself and fade back into stone.
TWO: James Potter (Gryffindor Quidditch “Hall” of Fame, Gryffindor Common Room) & Seamus Finnigan [Fourth Year - Never Not (Lauv)]
Seamus finds himself alone in the Gryffindor common room one Wednesday morning, pretending to be sick with a cold. He’s wrapped in a blanket and staring into the empty fireplace when he hears, “YO! KID!”
Startled, he falls off the couch, and stumbles up and over to the Quidditch trophy case in the corner. There, in a small frame, is the smiling face of a boy who looks just like Harry, except without the mark, with dark eyes, and happier. Seamus reads the plaque, James Potter, and smiles sadly, wondering if Harry has ever talked to this portrait before.
James, meanwhile, barrels forward, “You’re the one in love with that lanky black kid, right?” Seamus’ eyes snap up as he sputters, but James just grins. “Cool. I thought so. Can I give you some advice…?”
“Seamus.”
“Can I give you some advice, Seamus?”
Seamus, now bright red, says, “Um, sure?”
James’ eyes twinkle and he says, “Tell him.”
Seamus starts coughing, beating his chest as James laughs and he protests, “No! No, I can’t just tell my best friend I’m in love with him!”
James shrugs. “You can,” he says. “You wanna know a secret?” He leans in just a bit. “My best friends fell in love.”
Seamus startles. “What?” He breathes, and James grins.
“Yeah. Sirius Potter and Remus Lupin. Wasted six bloody years apart before finally giving in and admitting it. They’re the most in love people I’ve ever met.” His brow wrinkles. “Well, except Sev and Lily and me.” It wrinkles further. “Nah, I gotta give ‘em this one.”
Seamus gapes in shock for a moment before blurting, “That werewolf and the Black runaway were in love?! And you - fuck, you were with Severus Snape???” James stares at him for a moment before blinking and then bursting into laughter.
When he finally calms down, he looks back up at Seamus’ flushed face and says, “Sirius is a Potter and a Lupin, not a Black. And he and Remy loved each other more than anything. And yeah, Sev and Lily and I had some real fun times.” He tilts his head in consideration and says, “Actually, now that I think about it, some of those happened right on that couch over there. It’s weird they haven’t gotten a new one, huh?”
Seamus sputters for a third and final time and skitters away with a tomato-red face as James shouts after him, “TELL HIM, KID! SHOVE HIM AGAINST A WALL AND SNOG HIM SENSELESS!”
(Seamus, later, to Harry: “Your dad is fucking wack, bro.”)
THREE: Lily Evans (Library, Restricted Section) & Cedric Diggory [Fourth Year - Someone To You (BANNERS), Good Old Days (Kesha, Macklemore)]
Cedric sneaks into the Restricted Section to hide from all the pressure of the tournament. One night he’s thumbing through the books in his boredom when he finds an unframed portrait of a smiling redhead. As soon as he lifts her out of the book, titled The Marauders: A Complete History of Unfiltered Pranks (by Minerva Mcgonogall for Minerva Mcgonogall, signed by Regulus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Severus Snape, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Lupin (Love you Minnie!), and Lily Evans), the portrait pipes up, “Hi! I’m Lily!”
Cedric nearly drops the book in shock, but manages to catch it at the last second, mustering up a smile for the grinning portrait and introducing himself. She beams and glances at the book in his hand, her smile turning mischievous. “That’s a good one. We did get up to a lot, didn’t we?”
Speechless, he nods, not really processing that she’s just admitted to being Lily Evans, and her eyes dull with sadness at the sight of one of the injuries on his collarbone from the most recent challenge.
“Where’d you get that?” She asks, and he explains the tournament. She hums, and finally murmurs, “I heard them say my son is in that. Is that true?”
Mouth dry, Cedric nods, and Lily looks up at him again with glassy eyes and rasps, “Can you tell him I love him? That I’m proud of him and so are his fathers? Can you tell him that for me?”
Cedric nods again, hearing a creak and turning his head towards the noise when Lily whispers, “Go. Go, Cedric, before you get caught. Be brave, honey.” Cedric shoves the portrait back into the book and the book back onto the shelf with a muttered goodbye before sprinting away, Lily’s words echoing in his ears like a dying child’s scream.
FOUR: Sirius Black (Mcgonogall’s Office) & Ginny Weasley [Fifth Year - Alone (Bazzi)]
Ginny is sitting in Mcgonogall’s office, waiting for her professor to come and scold her for punching Zabini (he touched Luna’s ass, what was she supposed to do? Ask him to kindly stick his nose up where the sun don’t shine? She’d still be here, and he’d still be snickering like the slimy motherfucker he is in that dungeon cell he calls his bedroom). She hears a cough from somewhere on Mcgonogall’s desk and straightens up, ducking her head to peek around when she hears, “Pssst. Over here.”
She looks over and sees a framed picture of Sirius Black, grinning as if he’d never died. She swallows down her tears and nods her head in a polite hello. Sirius’ smile saddens as he says, “I hear you’re dating my godson.”
Ginny blushes, but nods, and for a moment, Sirius looks like he’s about to cry. “Why are you here, Ginny?” He asks softly, and she shrugs.
“Punched a Slytherin who touched my friend’s ass.”
Sirius grins at that, nodding his head in respect. “Good girl. You ever think about why that is?”
Ginny’s brow furrows and she opens her mouth to ask what he means when she sees his eyes wandering to a sketch of a wolf howling at the moon on Mcgonogall’s far wall, with the note For you, Minnie. Moony didn’t want it. Love, Sirius.
“I fell in love with a boy once,” Sirius murmurs. “My best friend. Remus Lupin. And he loved me back.”
I know, Ginny wants to say. You two were married and gave baby Harry joint Christmas presents and danced in the kitchen when you thought no one else was still awake. I’ve heard the stories, I’ve seen the pictures. I know. But instead she stays quiet, listening as Sirius tells his story.
“But instead of admitting that, I dated Marlene McKinnon for three years. Sold my gay ass out to a lesbian whore because I was too afraid to tell him how I felt about him.” Ginny has a lot of questions about the “lesbian whore” part - “I mean, she was a friend of mine, but I never wanted to kiss her, or sleep with her, but I did anyway. And he looked so fucking sad all the time. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t wanna ruin my happiness. I didn’t know how to tell him that he was my happiness. By the time I figured it out, it was too late.”
Ginny swallows, finally speaking up, “Why are you telling me this?” Sirius finally tears his eyes away from the picture of the wolf and the moon and gives her a bitter smile.
“Because I’m dead and my husband and I spent a mere three years together in all of the ten we knew each other. What kind of bullshit is that?”
Ginny shrugs. “Some bullshit,” she answers, and laughs uncomfortably.
Sirius laughs too, then sighs. He looks deep into her eyes and says, “I love my godson. You make sure he knows that. But I also love my husband. And I spent too damn long running from that. So let me save you a bit of trouble, Ginny - the greatest love is often the scariest.”
Ginny purses her lips. “What are you saying?” She says slowly, and Sirius smiles sadly as Mcgonogall’s heels come clicking down the hall.
“I’m saying maybe you shouldn’t waste your time on Harry when both your and his hearts lie elsewhere.”
Ginny blushes, looking down at the homemade bracelet Luna made her three summers ago, and at the sound of the door opening, she looks back up at a frozen Sirius, whose eyes are caught on Mcgonogall, somehow still twinkling.
FIVE: Peter Pettigrew (Outside Gryffindor Dorms) & Ron Weasley [Fifth Year - lovely (Billie Eilish, Khalid)]
Ron is sulking on the stairs outside the Gryffindor common room after a particularly bad Quidditch loss. He wishes he were with Hermione and Harry, but they were already tangled together when he came upstairs and he didn’t want to intrude, even though they invited him to.
He knows they’re all best friends, he just feels so much like the third wheel sometimes. So he’s sulking when he hears a soft, “Hey.”
He looks up in surprise and sees a portrait of Peter Pettigrew, and he immediately steels his eyes, backing away. Seeing this, Peter shouts, “Wait, no! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I know! I just - I didn’t actually betray them, you know? Okay, well, I did, but - but I fixed it! They forgave me! I promise I’m not evil, I’m not, Ron -”
“How do you know my name?” Ron blurts, and Peter jumps back in his frame, startled, then smiles softly.
“They say it,” he answers. “Harry, and that girl you’re always with. They say your name all the time.”
Ron blushes. “Oh,” he says, ducking his head with a smile. When he looks back up into Peter’s sad eyes, he says, “We lost today. Quidditch.”
Peter cocks his head. “To who?”
Ron shrugs, looking down at his lap and fidgeting with his fingers over his knees. “Slytherin. Never lost against Slytherin before.”
Peter shrugs. “James and Sirius did. All the time.”
Ron looks up. “Really?” Peter smiles softly.
“Yeah. Mostly because they wanted Severus and Regulus to feel good, but. Yeah, they lost to Slytherin all the damn time.”
Ron’s smile fades. “Severus? Like, Snape? The Death Eater?”
Peter winces, then shrugs. “The Order spy. But, yeah.”
Ron blinks in shock. “They were friends? Even after Lily?”
Peter’s brow furrows in confusion, but he answers anyway, “Yes? They were dating. Them and Lily. Sent the whole school up in flames.”
Ron’s jaw drops open. “You can do that?”
Peter shrugs. “Yeah, ‘course you can. You can date Harry and that girl if you want. No one’s stopping you.”
Ron flushes, looking down in shame.
“They don’t want me,” he mumbles. “Not the way they want each other.”
Peter hums. “Severus said that too. So did James. They were both idiots.” Looking up at Ron’s glistening eyes and pouting lips, he smiles.
“Just because you’re not the smartest or the strongest or the funniest or the best at anything in particular doesn’t mean you’re not important, or that people don’t care about you.”
Ron nods, slowly. He stands and heads back inside without another word, pretending he doesn’t hear Peter sigh and say, “You’re welcome,” bitterly as he mumbles the password to the Fat Lady and slips back through the crack in the door.
SIX: Severus Snape (Headmaster’s Office) & Hermione Granger [Sixth Year - Ophelia (The Lumineers), O Children (Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds)]
Hermione is visiting Dumbledore’s office for her Prefect badge and an overview of the position while Ron and Harry are brooding in their room. The three of them have become far closer than normal lately, and she’s almost glad to be away for a moment, as they’ve always been more honest with each other when she isn’t around. She can’t decide if that bothers her or not.
She’s waiting for Dumbledore to get there when she hears, “Miss Granger, correct?” in a slow, molasses drawl.
She looks up at the portrait labelled Severus Snape and answers the boy in the Slytherin tie, “Yes. Hello, Mr. Snape.”
Severus grins slowly, a cat-like expression of amusement and carefully calculated arrogance. “Smart one, aren’t you?” He asks, and she nods. He clicks his tongue. “Should’ve been in Ravenclaw.”
She flushes and opens her mouth to retort when the Sorting Hat starts shouting about insecure fuckwads who don’t know their place and Severus starts screaming back about it not doing its fucking job right until finally Hermione screams, “STOP!”
The hat grumbles off to sleep again while she stares a shocked Severus down, her shaking hands curled in fists as she says, “Please don’t shout at it. It’s tired.”
Severus raises an eyebrow, but huffs and turns away. She sees his blank arm as he turns his back to her and feels her heart break open with pity.
“You’re Harry’s father, right?” She asks softly, and his head whips towards her in shock. She offers a sad smile and explains, “Lily and James. There are no records, of course, but…”
“You’re Mcgonogall’s favorite,” Severus finishes, smiling wryly. “Yes. I am one of Harry’s fathers.”
Hermione nods, looking down at her books, and swallows before looking back up again to say, “He really loves you.”
Severus rears back in shock, his eyes searching her for lies as she tears up. “He really does. You may not know it, and he doesn’t speak of it, but - but I can tell. He misses you.”
Severus’ eyes turn dull and glassy and he turns away, hiding his face with his long shaggy hair. Hermione swallows down her tears, smiling again. “Yes, well -”
“I love him too,” Severus interrupts, voice soft. “I miss him too. We all do. Tell… tell him that, would you?”
Hermione blinks, then nods.
“Of course,” she says, ducking her head as the staircase starts to rumble. “I’ll take good care of him, sir.”
Severus smiles that sad wry smile again and stills just as Dumbledore steps through the door, but Hermione hears his silence echo in her ears.
Thank you.
SEVEN: Remus Lupin (Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom) & Luna Lovegood [Seventh Year - Dynasty (MIIA), Towards The Sun (Rihanna)]
As the war comes closer and closer to Hogwarts, the students there grow more and more anxious. Luna herself takes refuge in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where only Harry and Ginny know to find her. But with Harry on the run with Ron and Hermione and Ginny trying to hold down the fort with Seamus and Dean, Luna often finds herself alone.
One day she decides to make her way up onto the balcony over the classroom that leads to the office, and she reaches for the knob on the office door when she hears, “Don’t go in there, Miss Lovegood.”
She looks over at the portrait who’s spoken, dubbed Remus Lupin, and smiles. He smiles kindly back and asks, “What are you even looking for?”
Luna shrugs. “Some way to help, I guess.”
Remus smiles wryly and nods, glancing down at the wedding ring adorning his finger. His smile softens for a moment before he says, “Sometimes, Miss Lovegood, the best way to win a war is by treating others with kindness.”
Luna tilts her head to the side. “Like, with hugs and smiles?” She asks, and Remus smiles, biting his lip and nodding. His eyes are glassy, but she pretends not to notice.
“Yes, my dear, with hugs and smiles. Support each other. Take no conversation for granted. Merlin knows the only thing that comforted me in the first war was the constant reminders that I still had my family. That they were fighting with me, and that I was fighting for them.”
Luna nods sagely and looks down at the bracelets littering her wrists, each one made for a different person in her life: Ginny, her girlfriend; Harry, her partner; Neville, her best friend; Draco and Ron and Hermione, her friends. She asks, “What comforted you when you died? I know… I know it wasn’t fast. Or painless.”
Remus smiles, his eyes shining with kindness and hope despite the exhausted bruises beneath them and the scars across his face.
“I wasn’t alone,” he answers, his voice soft. “I died by Sirius’ side. I was holding his hand when I saw the light. And in the light there were silhouettes - James, Peter, Lily, Severus, Regulus. They were waiting for us. And I knew we would be okay.”
Luna nods. She twists a ring on her finger and says, “Thank you, Mr. Lupin. I’d best be going now.”
Remus nods as she begins to descend the steps, his voice ringing out one last time, “Good luck, Luna. I hope to Merlin your victory will be more permanent than ours.”
Luna twirls around, cocking her head as she asks, “You think we’ll win?” Remus smiles.
He nods, his eyes twinkling, and says, “Someone has to. Why not you?”
ONE: All Together Again (Grimmauld Place, Harry & Ron & Hermione’s Bedroom) & Harry Potter [After Graduation of Eighth Year - Daylight (Taylor Swift)]
Following the end of the war, Harry moves into Grimmauld Place, left to him by the godfather he never knew. He takes Hermione and Ron with him, the three of them having been in a committed relationship since sometime when they were on the run and following an unspoken agreement that they will follow each other anywhere.
Luna lives nearby with Ginny, in an apartment by Draco’s little cottage and Neville’s tiny hovel. The three of them live quietly, though their friends visit often. Harry feels better, happier, though the hole left by his missing family is still there.
One day, as he’s putting up pictures of him and his partners around their shared bedroom, he hears, “Harry?”
He looks up, and there, on the opposite wall, is a picture of the seven Marauders, all young and staring at him in shock. Harry tears up and rushes over, taking the picture delicately in his hands and smiling as he rakes his eyes over his lost family. They all grin back, and Harry reads the inscription on the frame: My dear Marauders, You have been my pride and joy for seven long short years. I know you will all do great things; I cannot wait to see what you accomplish. You are, and have always been, my favorite students. All my love, Minnie.
Harry covers his mouth, emotional, until finally James asks, “Are you happy?”
Harry looks at Remus and Sirius, their fingers intertwined and their eyes sparkling. He looks at Regulus and Peter, their arms around each other’s shoulders as they grin. He looks at Severus and Lily and James, his three wonderful parents. And he looks down at the two wedding rings on the chain around his own neck, bearing the initials R.W. and H.G.. And he nods.
“Yeah,” he answers, grinning. “Yeah, I’m really fucking happy.”
#marauders#harry potter#wolfstar#james x lily x severus#regulus black#james potter#lily evans#sirius black#peter pettigrew#severus snape#remus lupin#draco malfoy#seamus finnigan#cedric diggory#ginny weasley#ron weasley#hermione granger#luna lovegood#deamus#linny#harry x hermione x ron#minerva mcgonogall#albus dumbledore#i dunno i just wanted them to be happy#except i have a very twisted idea of what happiness is#or so i've been told#have a nice day y'all
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Just Below the Surface (Taywhora) - Phryne
A/N: Hello all and welcome to the shark fic, an absolute labor of stupidity, a half-processed thought come to live in the middle of the night. This fic is inspired by @incorrectdruk’s post. Please comment and like if you’ve enjoyed; it means the world! Also a shout out to my wonderful girlfriend, @scarletenvy, who reviewed and supported me throughout this fic. All my love to you.
Tayce tries to get Aurora out of a design funk by taking her to the aquarium for some inspiration. Aurora has never actually seen a tiger shark in real life—she gets a rude awakening about sharks, and imminent failure.
When her drab little apartment is getting her down, with its peeling pre-war paint and hard water stains; when the rain no longer feels soothing and mesmerizing and sleek; when Aurora finds herself tapping her pencil against her face instead of against her sketch pad, Tayce insists on a change of scenery, even when sheets of rain are splattering against their windows.
She comes up behind Aurora, spreading her fingers over her shoulder. It’s a risk, knowing that Aurora might startle and throw her head back into Tayce’s nose, but she kisses the crown of her head anyway. “Not going good, is it?”
Aurora groans, but nonetheless leans into the touch. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?” She holds up her sketch pad with nothing more than the model on the page.
“Reckon you can’t send nudity down the runway, love?” Tayce laughs, digging her thumbs into the base of Aurora’s neck. “Though I’d call off work to model that one for you.”
Ignoring the quip, but for quirking a brow, Aurora shrugs out of the touch and continues. “I’ve got nothing. No inspiration. No real idea. No thoughts about structures or colors or fabric I’d like to work with.” She slams the pencil down. “I’ve started from every square one I can think of and I’ve still got nothing. I’m supposed to put more of myself into these designs but myself is giving me nothing useful.”
As much as Tayce understood the classic Aurora ‘I’m not amounting to anything, everything I do is dull and boring and meaningless, but, insert forced laugh here, if I give up now I can still be your sugar baby, right?’ speech was coming, and would typically be chased by a reminder that she was only a couple years younger, exceedingly talented, and a retail worker’s salary could never sustain both of their tastes, Tayce decides to cut off the monologue before it even starts.
“Let’s go.” Tayce says, releasing Aurora’s shoulders and giving a hearty clap. “Grab your slicker, we’re going to the aquarium.”
Aurora hums before letting the request fully sink in. “Why are we going to see a bunch of scum covered fish?” She pauses, pushes her hair out of her face and tries again. “It’s a lovely idea, but I don’t have much time for a date right now. I need sketches and fabric samples by Monday.”
But Tayce ignores her, taking the pencil and pad from Aurora’s hands and stuffing them into her purse. She continues absently, “There’s a new tiger shark exhibit that I think—”
“A fucking tiger shark?” Aurora turns around, resting her arms on the back of her chair, glancing up at Tayce and speaking through that Cheshire Cat smile of hers. “You’re telling me we’ve got a tiger shark now?”
Tayce feels herself brighten along with her. “It looks rather interesting, world’s greatest predator and all—”
“Of course it is, it’s a tiger shark. Like, just try to think of something more fierce than that.” Aurora punctuates every word as she hauls her purse into her lap and sweeps the contents of her desk inside, zipping the top even as her fuchsia and forest green pencils stick out from the corners, muttering on about the world’s greatest predator, how it’s an absolute destroyer.
Tayce takes Aurora’s sudden disinterest in organizing her pencils into their case—by most to least used—as her cue to leave and slip on her boots, already wearing a pleased little smile.
*
They settle into the tube, Aurora securing her umbrella before sitting down next to Tayce. It’s easy to find a seat, the car less crowded than usual, likely thanks to the weather. Aurora thinks she’d like to stay inside with the rest of London, put the kettle on, and work in the living room where she can see the damp landscape before her and Tayce on the couch beside her, but that wasn’t working before. So here she is, wet blonde hair plastered to her forehead, the thought of seeing the tiger shark still coursing through her, lighting her like neon.
“Concept: a tiger shark suit,” Aurora poses, just as Tayce holds her hand out for Aurora’s purse. She obliges and continues. “A little shift on the color forecast. Instead of yellow and grey—so bloody industrial, I’m thinking orange and grey. Would need a poly to get that wet-look of vinyl though…”
Aurora tends to work like this, rambling off her ideas in a whirlwind, usually tearing apart the flat for the nearest pad of paper to get it all down before the idea’s lost forever and she’s left pouting while Tayce is trying to work as well. She’s become used to the smattering of Post-It pads around the house, reminding Aurora to dig the pens out of her pockets before running the wash, cheeky grins as she pulls pencils out from Aurora’s frantically done bun before properly lying down for bed. It’s endearing though, the chaos Aurora works in, the way Tayce’s chaos stabilizes Aurora’s.
So Tayce digs around in the tote until she pulls out a little baggie with her croissant, and Aurora’s notebook, pleased at how she’s taken to the leather bound folio Tayce gifted her for their last anniversary. She hands it over before picking at the almonds atop her croissant, adding, “bitch to make though, isn’t it?”
Aurora knows what Tayce is referencing and almost shudders at the thought of more vinyl after her Spring/Summer 19’ collection. She spent hours on end cursing the fabric, trying not to tear the tissue between, which she used to help the panels float smoothly under the presser foot as she sewed them. On an industrial machine, no less, which was a bitch to haul up into their flat. It was a disaster to get an invisible zipper into the gown, the damn thing ripping itself out with every try-on. And at the end of it all, she had to sew Tayce into the finale catsuit not fifteen minutes before the show, which meant she had to cut her right out of the garment at the end of the show, with her girlfriend’s reassurance that it was “bloody sexy” and “what’s a little bit of scissoring between two lesbians?” doing little to sage her qualms about ruining hours of work in a snip.
“Maybe some treated leather.” Aurora nods solemnly and writes notes wildly, not sure she’ll even be able to read anything besides the “SS19” with an angry cross over it when she reviews them later. “Either way, I’m thinking it’s going to be fierce, especially if I can figure out the movement; move like the tiger shark, no? To get that floating through water feeling.”
Aurora doesn’t expect an answer, seeing that Tayce is occupied with picking almonds off of the pastry. She holds her hand out for them, throwing them back in one shot before taking half the pastry as well. “Why get the one with almonds if you just got to pick them off?”
“The taste, the flavor,” Tayce says through a bite. “And I know you prefer them, so…”
Aurora gives her a light shove before pulling her back in by the crook of her arm. “You’re soft,” she taunts, capping her pen and sticking it in her hair.
“We can’t all be tiger shark ladies, babe.” She gives her pastry a deep bite, raising her brows at Aurora as she does so, if for nothing but to catch a chuckle from her, from what was a miserable day.
Aurora shakes her head, but nonetheless shifts closer, taking a bite and swallowing quickly. “Stupid, absolutely dense—”
“—The idiocy, the dullness, dimwittedness, superficiality of it all,” Tayce continues, brushing the crumbs off of her black trench jacket, picking a couple tricky ones out of the red stitching with her nail. Head resting against Aurora’s still damp shoulder, she adds between a cheeky grin, “We gotta finish up; Waterloo’s in just a bit.”
*
By the time Aurora gets her things gathered and finds the umbrella, Tayce is taking her hand and leading them to the exit. They schlep along to County Hall, Tayce holding the umbrella high above them, Aurora wrapped around Tayce’s arm, bundled up against her, pressing her bag flush against her side. She’s practically buzzing by the time they reach the aquarium, her childish enthusiasm endearing, and Tayce feels it bubble up in her as well. It’s contagious really, Aurora’s joy. It practically travels through the air, filling the room.
“Here, let me,” Aurora says, fishing for her wallet as they approach the ticket counter. “Since I’m spending our date looking at a shark.”
“Tell me what you really think of me, why don’t you,” Tayce quips back, laying on as much annoyance as she can while still holding a grin, studying the exhibit poster in front of them.
Aurora takes her card back, muttering as she stuffs it back into its slot. “It’s the world’s fiercest predator, babe. I don’t know what to tell you.” She hands Tayce her ticket before taking her hand, dragging her to the queue. “It’s me in animal form, though I wouldn’t typically pair black and orange, especially for spring.”
Tayce breathes out a laugh. “Then what am I?”
“Dunno. Maybe a squid.”
This time, Tayce fully cackles. “A squid?” she asks, and she feels the rest of the queue turn to look at them. She shakes her head playfully as Aurora eyes her long legs and arms before she shrugs, already moving on, focused on a poster next to the queue.
“Or maybe an absolute hound.” Aurora pokes Tayce’s side before wrapping herself around Tayce’s arm, tugging them forward.
“Shark fact,” Aurora continues, reading off the line-marker. “Tiger sharks have a near completely undiscerning palate. Some tiger sharks have eaten sting rays, birds, squids, old tires—even other sharks.”
“Sounds like you, A’Whora,” Tayce teases, pulling her in closer, draping an arm around her shoulder.
Aurora rolls her eyes and pats Tayce’s forearm. “I obviously only go for the finest of squids,” she says, before glancing up and giving a pronounced chomp.
“Babe, please don’t bite my pussy.”
Aurora doesn’t get to respond, finding herself right in front of the ticket scanner, who’s shifting around a bit in his uniform, unable to look at the two women in front of him. Not that Tayce or Aurora particularly care about offending some greasy twenty year-old boy at an aquarium with the concept of pussy. He scans their tickets and gives them a nod, so they walk off toward the exhibit, breaking into laughter once they clear the lobby.
The hallways are lined with fish, of all different colors and sizes, flitting in and out of coral and anemones and grasses. There’s a reception class gathered around a circular tank, trying to find the Nemo, but to no avail. Tayce knows that usually, Aurora would stop by the tank and help the kids out, wholeheartedly join this hunt for the orange and white fish. She’d remind the kids that the little clownfish might be taking a break in his anemone, just like he did in the movie, but that he’ll surely come out, especially if they’re kind and patient. And usually, Tayce would stand back a few feet and watch the scene play out, heart swelling in the process.
Today, however, Tayce’s heart is going double-time as Aurora takes her hand and pulls her through the crowd. Aurora’s on a mission, weaving in between strollers and other couples, skirting behind tour guides as they explained how algae grows, following the signs pointing toward the tiger shark exhibit with a cutting precision Tayce hadn’t seen since last year’s Arlington sample sale.
Aurora breaks free when she sees the tank, running up to it and practically smashing herself up against the glass, with no care for the second years or the family of four next to her.
Tayce catches up. “Love, you don’t gotta press your tits up against the glass, he knows you got them,” she breathes out, wrapping an arm around Aurora’s waist, pulling her back in the process.
“What the fuck,” Aurora whispers. The look of wonder she once carried is replaced with shock, her face fallen, a dangerous pout forming. “That’s not a tiger shark.” She trains her eyes to the tank and speaks quietly, pointedly, like she’s jabbing the shark with each syllable. “That’s just a shark.”
Tayce gives her a moment, her own lips pursed as she studies Aurora, then the shark, then Aurora again, searching for the disconnect but unable to find it. She was so excited to see it, but in a moment, something had gone exceptionally wrong.
She gives up, drumming her fingers against Aurora’s waist, before pointing to the sign. “We went to the right place, babe. The sign says it’s Oliver the tiger shark and he’s 17 years old…today.” Tayce turns Aurora toward the sign, but her feet stay firmly planted, her eyes trained on the shark. Nonetheless, she continues. “It’s his birthday, love.”
“Fuck his birthday,” Aurora grumbles, head following the shark as it passes by them. “He doesn’t look like a bloody tiger shark to me. Why’s he gray? Where’s the stripes?”
“Aww, he’s old. That’s why he doesn’t have any stripes.”
Aurora shakes her head like Tayce doesn’t get it, and frankly, she doesn’t. As far as Tayce sees, it’s a perfectly good shark, swimming about, living his life, being as inspirational as any shark can be. But Aurora’s miffed, her mood as clouded and dreary as the weather outside.
She hikes her purse up her shoulder and leans forward again, her nose and two fists pressed right against the glass. “You’re a filthy liar, Oliver.”
“Babe, it’s a shark—”
“I’ll still fight an old bastard like you. You’ll pay for your lies.”
Tayce takes her by the shoulders and spins her around, marching them out of the exhibit. “Ok, you can’t fight a shark so it’s time to leave him alone. Time to find some other inspiration in the…” Tayce looks up at the next exhibit’s sign as they walk. “…sea spiders.” She shakes her head. “Christ.”
As they walk away, Aurora softens, though she’s still dreary and listless. The spiders, of course, aren’t helping—they’re disgusting little heathens, what with their spindling legs and radioactive green backlight. Even Tayce has to admit that. But as she pulls Aurora in for pictures, she finds her limply pressed against her side, disinterested in the pursuit, even though in one of the pictures, it looks like the spider’s balanced on Aurora just so, like it’s woven itself into her waves, made a nest atop her head. Tayce quickly sets this as a new background; Aurora only gives a hum in response.
They continue with the deep sea creatures, with their dark tanks and neon blue tint, stopping at the octopus and its inky purple light, all spread out against the wall of its tank, its orange tentacles sticking and peeling periodically. Tayce again insists on a picture, “for memory’s sake, even though he looks like a bollock, all pruned from the bath.” Reluctantly, Aurora lets out a breathy laugh and gives in. Tayce counts this as a win, even though her pouting resumes once they move on.
At the next tank, Tayce is amused by the little round fish that dips in and out of its hole, its mouth forming an “O” as they approach it. Aurora cracks a smile, but for a moment, when Tayce pulls her in by the shoulder and makes the same face, jaw slack and nude-painted lips rounded like the fish’s. Aurora claims she’s not going to kiss “fish lips over here,” and yet she does, giving Tayce a peck. Tayce snaps a picture of her now smiling girlfriend, the red light from deep within the fish’s hole haloing her.
Aurora needs a bit less prodding in the stingray exhibit, sticking her hand in the open tank as soon as she’s given the go-ahead. “He’s a velvet pancake,” Aurora comments, petting the flat beast, its mouth flap opening and closing as it moves through the tank. Tayce reaches for Aurora’s folio prematurely.
“Velvet is super 2018. I’m bored of it,” Aurora explains, drying her hands before taking Tayce’s. “Thank you though.” She says it quietly, but Tayce knows she’s appreciative from the way she tightens her grip, by the way her thumb lays on top of Tayce’s as they walk into the next exhibit.
“Look at all these fucking sharks.” Tayce glances upward, dragging Aurora’s hand with her as she points, full of awe, glued to the shark gliding above her, cutting through the water seamlessly. “Look at them go. Absolute beasts they are.”
Aurora sees it’s clearly Tayce’s turn to be struck with wonder, and at the sharks no less. So, she tries to wipe the pout off of her face, smooth out her furrow, and take in the moment. Take in Tayce, arms spread before her. How the blue light reflects off of her cheekbones. Her still rain-slick hair and jacket. And the sharks passing above her are beautiful, with their milky white bellies and steel body, their rounded faces and sharp fins. There has to be something inspiring about them, she’s sure. Maybe in the shapes, or the colors? She could play with the sharp and round structure, surely. Or work in grayscale. Imitate the leather-y touch of their skin. She rests against the wall, pulling out her folio, clicking her pen aimlessly.
Tayce continues with the sharks, pointing at them one by one, asking each, “let’s be having you? And you? And you?” with a silly point. She takes pictures with a few.
But when Tayce returns, suggesting they head out and have lunch while the weather’s clear, Aurora finds her paper blank yet again, more and more sure that she has nothing left to give.
*
The cafe Tayce picks out is splendid and quaint, though Aurora wouldn’t expect anything less. The server wipes down their seats and the metal table before they take a seat, hands over the menus, and gives them a moment to look them over. Aurora doesn’t even bother looking, knowing she’s too upset to eat much at all, instead laying her head against the cool metal, trying to focus. Or, rather, pull her focus away from her imminent failure and toward Tayce’s new story in the saga about the lady who orders all these clothes online, and every single week, comes into the store, three shipping bags in hand, demanding that everything be returned.
“They’re not even nice clothes.” Tayce adds, dipping a chip. “We sell some nice shit, but she keeps buying garbage and complaining that it’s garbage.”
Aurora hums, ripping at the bits of lettuce hanging out of her sandwich.
“So she comes on in, throws her shipping bag onto the counter, whips out this polyester blouse, and sticks her hand through it and starts ranting on about how see-through the top is.” Tayce sticks her hand up, wiggling her fingers around.
“She shouldn’t have bothered with a polyester Zara shirt to begin with.”
“Shouldn’t have bothered buying a top labeled “sheer” to begin with,” Tayce threw back. “I thought she’d stop her nonsense after I took her around the store, pointing out everything that was good, would look good on her, would fit her enviable work-life-balance, but she still comes back, every Thursday with more shit.” Tayce takes the now ketchup-soggy chip out of the ramekin and sticks it in her mouth. “Even if we didn’t go to the aquarium, I would have called out today. Like I just couldn’t look at those shirts anymore without frying my mind.”
“Couldn’t have that, could we?” Aurora tries at a laugh, finding it coming up faint.
Tayce tilts her head, analyzing the situation in front of her. She opens her mouth, like she’s got something to say, before stealing one of Aurora’s chips.
Pointing the chip at Aurora, she doesn’t ask if Aurora’s okay, or if she’s still disappointed by the aquarium, or if she’s still racking her brain for a sliver of a design idea. Instead, she asks “Well, Whora, what did you think a tiger shark was?”
Tayce always cuts down to the bone, even when she’s not meaning to.
Aurora throws her head into her hands, speaking through her fingers. “Fuck if I know, something fantastic and inspiring and shiny and fierce and—”
“Orange?” Tayce laughs before popping the chip into her mouth.
“Fuck off,” Aurora mutters, raking her fingers through her hair. “I thought it’d all just hit me, babe, and now I’ve got no idea what to do.”
Aurora looks up, blinking rapidly. Her nose starts feeling peppery, and she knows soon her face will become red, blotchy, and streaked with tears.
But Tayce reaches over and takes her hand between both of hers. Aurora dares a glance at Tayce, before resting her gaze on their hands.
“Look, I know you’re not going to tell yourself this, but you’re brilliant and talented, and your brain is, like, dancing so fast, even when your feet aren’t moving.” She gives Aurora’s hand a squeeze. “You’ve got so many ideas up there, and I’m sure you’ll have the work to show for it soon. And those ideas are surely better than a tiger shark pantsuit, promise.”
Wiping a stray tear, Aurora breaks into a chuckle. “It was like, my dumbest idea.”
“Not your dumbest, no.” Tayce says. “But a dumb one.”
*
When they get home, Tayce all about shoves Aurora into her office, throws a can of Fanta in behind her, and tells her to look through the pictures from today, get inspired by nature, sort it out, and come back when she’s got a design.
“Can I at least get a kiss for good luck?” Aurora shouts through the door.
“How about one for good work?” Tayce quips. And before Aurora can fire back, she hears the faint sounds of the Mortal Kombat theme through the crack in the door, and thinks better of disturbing Tayce when she’s in the zone, getting out the stress of Polyester Blouse Lady on Johnny Cage.
So, Aurora picks the Fanta off of the floor, sets it on her desk to rest, and settles into her chair. She moves around in her seat, trying at least a dozen positions before taking a deep breath, flipping to a fresh page.
She pulls out her phone, scrolling through the pictures Tayce sent her today. There’s a few of the two of them on the tube, Tayce resting on Aurora’s shoulder. Anyone who didn’t know Tayce better would think she looked ready for a nap, with her closed eyes and relaxed lips, but Tayce wasn’t one to rest in the middle of an adventure.
There’s another of Aurora, taken from behind, stood in line, bouncing on her heels, a neon wave floating above her head, as though she were under the water herself.
There’s Aurora, plastered against the tiger shark tank, her face blue tinted by the water and the lights in the tank, her gaze steely as she watches that shark—who is an arsehole, she might add.
And then the next series of pictures—the two of them again. Painted in neon green, a sea spider nesting in Aurora’s hair. Then in purple, shocking purple, the octopus behind them looking ready to strangle them both, it’s tentacles plinking off of the glass like pennies into a well. Then they’re kissing in front of the little fish that kept opening and shutting its mouth, forming a perfect “o,” bathing them in a bloody red tint. She’s not sure how, but Tayce managed to miss all of the miserable faces Aurora knew she had on throughout the aquarium. But when she thinks a bit deeper, she’s not sure when she’s ever looked truly miserable around Tayce.
She nearly puts her phone down when she comes across the next picture. She couldn’t even remember the moment; Tayce must have asked someone else to take it.
It’s Tayce, resting against the far wall of the shark exhibit—the tunnel-style tank, with the sharks swimming all around them—glancing off to the side with a lazy grin, eyes vigilant, wild. And the neon blue all around her, bouncing off the shine of her slicker, hitting her cheekbones and her collarbones just-so, filtering through her hair.
Tayce cackles from the other room, the metallic clash of swords following.
Absolutely radiant. Aurora chews at her pencil, studying the picture further, the way the light bounces off of the wet jacket…
And Aurora’s scribbling, the model she sketches nothing more than a handful of lines, led by memory, as she’s working desperately to draft the design. The pencil sweeps, once, twice, three times, as she sees the fabric floating. But it’s floating over something tight, sleek, but still soft and shiny. And there has to be a shimmering quality to it, or course. It’s not opaque either, no, much more sheer. She’s going to have to work with chiffon, damn it to bits, but it’ll give her the look she’s after, the wet shine she needs. And in a moment’s time, she’s flipped over to another page for another design, one that drapes lightly. She glances once more at the picture, before following the tempo of her pencil, this time switching it out for a light blue.
In a blink, she’s filled four pages.
So she grabs her folio and runs out into the living room, knowing from the sound of the TV that Tayce is still there, and still ripping Polyester Shirt Lady a new one, mentally.
“I’m here for my kiss,” Aurora announces smuggly, throwing her folio into Tayce’s lap.
She’s smart enough to pause the game right as Aurora makes her presence known, surely anticipating her dramatics after all this time.
Tayce flips it open, staring Aurora down like she’s about to rip her designs apart, though she knows Tayce would never, or really, wouldn’t have the reason to do so. It’s that serious look Tayce has, though Aurora knows it only shows up because she’s serious about Aurora’s designs. “And I’m here for some good fashion, love.”
Aurora falls beside her on the couch, pulling her legs up on the seat and curling in against Tayce. She’s warm. It’s comforting.
“So I’ve got this one, like the octopus tank. And it’s got this iridescent purple that just flows off of the pantsuit, like it flows right off of it,” Aurora explains, leaning in further, pointing out the details. “I’m thinking Bim for this one.”
“I can definitely see that. Definitely. With all that movement, ugh.” Tayce runs a finger over the design, outlining where the fabric would trail off steaming behind the model, like the wind’s carrying it, like it’s suspended in mid-air.
“Okay flip,” Aurora instructs, pressing her cheek against Tayce’s arm. Aurora continues, answering questions about fabric, structures underneath the garnments, styling. Tayce slips the pencil out of Aurora’s hand at some point, jotting down answers as she rambles on and on, far too excited to manage writing it on her own. So Tayce scribbles down her directive to add wirey jewelry around the wrists, heels with lacings up the calf, everything looking like it’s floating just below the surface. At some point, the Xbox powers off, until all that’s lighting the room is the standby logo.
Tayce reaches over the couch, turning the lamp on.
“So, which one are you thinking of for me?” Tayce pokes at Aurora’s side, her voice trailing into a whine.
Aurora takes back her book, flipping through the pages aimlessly. “Oh, you know, the first one. From this morning…”
“You didn’t even have—”
“…Absolute nudity.” Aurora curls in closer, a devious smile forming. “Or maybe full vinyl?”
“I thought no more after last time?” Tayce begins flipping through the book. “I guess I’ll just have to find it on my own, now won’t I?”
“Gimmie that,” Aurora takes it from her hands and flips to the page easily, holding the design close against her chest. “And you look good in the vinyl, is all I’m saying.”
She plops it down in Tayce’s lap. “You’re obviously getting the finale gown, moron.”
Tayce scans over the page, over and over, tracing along the outline with her finger, as though she can feel the slip of the iridescent blue chifon layered over black organza, how it gathers at one hip, falling down in crashing waves, with the other side draped cleanly, softly.
“It’s supposed to be murky, like you’re coming out of the depths of the ocean where all the weird spindly things live, that have, like five eyes and spikes and stuff.” Aurora bristles for a moment. “At least that’s what I was thinking. But really, you could wear any of them if you wanted, it’s all inspired by you,” she says, soft, feather-light, like she’s letting the words float on down from the surface.
They continue on in silence, Aurora watching as Tayce scans over the design, mouth agape. Tayce swallows and mutters, “lil ol’ me, the finale?” She turns to Aurora. “It’s just gorgeous. So, absolutely gorgeous.”
And Aurora smiles, closing her eyes, breathing in the moment, the relief, the momentum of the collection. She places the folio on the coffee table and sets her sights on Tayce.
“So, did I earn my kiss?”
Tayce rolls her eyes playfully. “If you insist,” she says, not leaving Aurora much time to think before pulling her in closer, thumb stroking along her cheek. Their lips meet comfortably, knowingly, in a way that would seem commonplace if not for love.
They break apart, Aurora resting in the crook of Tayce’s neck.
“You did an amazing job, love,” Tayce says, quietly this time, as though the moment deserves quiet. And the two hold the silence, open palmed, soaking in the golden, still light of the lamp.
*
“Oi, you!” Aurora taps on the glass, sure she’s the subject of a few wandering eyes, and the reason why the aquarium security tests the receiver of their walkie a few times. But she doesn’t care. She has some unfinished business, business that’s been keeping her up at night, making her toss and turn right into Tayce’s spread-out, sleeping form, ever since she began production on her collection.
So she’s returned to Oliver the tiger shark. This time, she’s bearing gifts.
Aurora points at the shark as it passes, hoping in vain it’ll stop for her, just as she’s stopped for him. She tries again, snapping at him as he passes by once more, before giving up, feeling lucky Tayce wasn’t around to mock her attempts. Aurora continues on regardless.
“We’ve had our differences, but I must thank you for the inspiration…” Aurora trails off, spotting the shark stopped on the other side of the tank. She scurries over, hoping she can get a good view of him, maybe take a reprieve from looking like a lunatic, talking to nothing.
“But thank you, Oliver the shark,” she says to him, before he swims off again, practically to the spot Aurora was just standing.
She huffs and hauls herself back to the other side of the tank.
“You’re a right dick, you are.” Aurora breathes in deeply before digging into her bag, pulling out her phone, pressing it against the tank, as though he’ll look at the picture and have any idea who she is. “It was really her, my girlfriend here who did the heavy lifting, and she got more than a thank you for it all.”
Aurora bites at her lip a bit, locking her phone, muttering, “sex, obviously, but you don’t get it, you’re a dumb, heterosexual shark, so…” into her purse as she plops her phone in.
“But I figured giving you some thanks would earn me back some ocean karma points—” The shark swims to the back of the tank, facing entirely away from Aurora, and she has to remind herself not to stomp like a petulant child.
She settles for muttering a “fucks sake” under her breath.
“Anyway,” she hikes up her purse. “Have a good one, Oliver the tiger shark.”
She gives a half-hearted wave before walking away, dividing to give that funny, little, perpetually surprised fish a visit, hoping he’ll appreciate her company more.
#rpdr fanfiction#rpdr uk#uk2#phryne#just below the surface#tayce#a'whora#taywhora#lesbian au#aquarium au#shark fic#established relationship#fluff#concrit welcome#submission
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i wrote down some art-related thoughts and tips, inspired by people i follow who occasionally say the sort of things that they wish they were better at drawing but don't really know where to go with it, not like i'm much of an authority or anything and nobody's asked my opinion but, if this is helpful for someone out there, then it's worth writing!
- examine other people's art, especially those that you like, and study which things you actually like about it. you shouldn't directly copy someone else's art, but what you can do is take inspiration or study the details that you enjoy and adapt them into your own style. for practice it's fine to copy someone else, but if you post the final piece, you should mention whose art you referenced in it. also, do the same with art that you find yourself not particularly liking! think about the things that don't make it very good in your opinion and see if you can learn something from that. if you don't like your own art, you can even study what makes it disappointing to yourself. process it a little instead of just going "wow i suck at drawing" and moving on, even if it feels difficult.
- also related to the above: widen your view of how art can be done in the first place, and if you find that you're always drawing one and the same thing, maybe try something different every once in a while. and by this i don't really mean the actual subject matter but small things like, do you always use a black lineart brush? try using colours instead. do you reference fanart from official art? try making your own version instead or reference the style of some other series, go a little crazy with it. do you have a particular style of drawing eyes, or faces in general? play around with shapes and see how it turns out, go more realistic or more cartoony. i sometimes draw noses on characters and sometimes i don't, just kind of depending how it looks like to myself, and i don't draw nostrils because i don't really like the look of two holes in the face. you don't have to stick to just one "truth" with art. (of course it's totally fine to want to draw realistic humans and not the kind of anime stuff i personally do, these are just examples from me and you should focus on the things you like yourself)
- pay attention to shapes, and the fact that sometimes simple is better than adding too much detail. or if you like adding tons of details, then it may be better for the base drawing (e.g. the character under all that detail) to be extremely simple in contrast so that it doesn't look too busy for the eye. when i draw faces, i only really put details in the eyes because i like pretty eyes a lot but leave the rest of the face very simple, which makes the eyes stand out more. again, you don’t need to do that, but it’s something to think about when doing art. there are so many details to every single thing ever and it’s generally better to choose which ones you want to emphasise in art.
- a thing i see relatively often is that people draw in black and white, maybe with pencil on paper, and then lament that their art doesn’t get enough attention. the thing is, making b&w art interesting is much harder than giving it personality with colour, because it won't catch people's eye the same way. to me personally, an artist's use of colour is one of the things that draws me into their stuff (actually even the main thing in most cases), so while black&white art can be really beautiful as well and it's totally fine to want to pursue a b&w art style, i'd still encourage people to learn to use colours. it's much easier to give your drawings character with colours, and if you honestly want more attention (which is a valid thing to want), then i'd especially encourage it. it takes more time, so you may need to get used to the fact that finishing a fairly simple drawing can take 8 hours instead of one, though. at least if you're a slow ass person like me
- and as an addition to the former, there are so many different ways to use colour, so don't limit yourself by thinking there's only one way. you can even make art that's primarily black&white but add an accent colour or two in there and it already changes the feeling of the image completely (i do this sometimes and like that style a lot). or you can have a style that only includes flat colours and no shading or anything at all, you don't need to become a master painter with realistic shadows everywhere if you don’t want to. (if you do want to, then my best advice would be to study photos and paint using them as reference.)
- if you find yourself going, "this artist's colours are so good! i wish mine were like this!" -- why not use similar palettes with that artist then? think about what kind of colours you like and what kind of mood you want to convey in your drawing, bright hues will look completely different from darker or duller ones, blues will look cold and reds warm, some colours pop out more when placed next to another. don’t shade with grey or a darker hue of the exact same colour to make it look more interesting. look up palette websites, or study the colour wheel and pick colours from the opposite or adjacent sides for ideas of colours that go well together. this is the stuff that a lot of tutorials mean by colour theory, and it's not rocket science but actually rather simple when you take a look at the colour wheel. if you don't like how the colours turn out, play around with the hue, saturation, brightness and contrast settings all you want. most of the actual magic you see in a lot of digital art is adding layers with a multiply, overlay etc setting on top, so find those in your drawing software and go crazy with it. (they take a while to learn to use, i have plenty of drawings where i've used them badly, but that's just how learning anything is)
- youtube is full of videos of people doing complete drawings from sketch to finish. they can be a bit much for beginners (sometimes for me as well tbh) but give a good idea of the overall process of creating a full-colour illustration and what phases go into it. to me it's crazy that there's artists who put in the colours first and then do a lineart on top but that's just one simple example of how there's not just one way of doing art.
and just one practical thing that goes into doing digital art, you'll find that there are a million different brushes everywhere and every artist seems to have a “brush set” for different things and you’re supposed to know how to pick which to use yourself. if it's any consolation, i use exactly one (1) brush ever on clip studio paint and draw every single thing with just that one brush. because fuck that noise i don't care
#really just my number one tip is looking at art you like#and if you're like#i wish i was drawing like this person instead of how i draw!#then start drawing more like that person#there's no art police that comes to your door like sir you drew differently from before
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hey wolf, there’s lions in here (hey wolf, just see there’s no fear)
Sander's all chaos and Robbe's so calm and Sander doesn't know how to handle it. AKA Sander's perspective when Robbe finds him in the midst of Chernobyl fallout.
I wrote this in a frenzy and it took me about thirty minutes so sorry if it's shit. I have a ton of emotions about Monday still and there might be more where this came from but I had to get this out. Disclaimer: I do not have bipolar disorder and I do not claim to be an expert on how Sander was feeling.
Title from "Run Run Blood" by Phantogram.
Also posted here. Hope you guys enjoy. <3
*
When he’s like this sleep doesn’t come, not when he’s at that dangerous cusp between mountain and valley, when he has one foot in blurry paradise and the other in darkness. When Robbe comes to him, finds him at the place he calls safe, he’s frantic: desperate for Robbe to understand him and is hot-shamed for the chaotic state he’s in at once. He doesn’t want Robbe to see, doesn’t want him to know how dire things can get when his mind takes control of him, and yet he’s never craved opening to someone more. The rational part of him that still lives and thrives beneath layers of paranoia and fear whispers to him: if anyone can love you, it’s him. If not him, no one.
And yet he still remembers how Robbe pushed him away, still dwells on the rejection his disobedient brain magnifies by thousands, reinforcing the mantra he’s had committed to memory for years, you’re unlovable you’re not worthy you’re NOTHING.
The sleeping bag in the corner of the room is unused. All he does is manifest his pain to paper, bleed the things he’s nearly bit his tongue off trying to stop screaming out loud to the one his soul knows: Robbe. Because it’s the only way he knows how to breathe he draws him in color, draws him in shades of black and gray and white, his face, his hands, that medallion gilded and stark around his neck. He sketches them together, scratches black and black and black across paper that’s so white it robs his vision. When he’s like this he feels like an unfinished painting, random scarred slashes of color across canvas, no order. Normally that’s the way he likes it, no rules, only spontaneity, all the way or no way, but when he can’t find lines and edges to define himself he is lost.
Robbe is those lines and edges. Robbe is the borders that keep him from coloring too far outside the lines. Robbe is stability; it’s just that Sander’s ability to upset the balance is as volatile and shattering as an earthquake.
“Get the fuck out,” he says when Robbe edges into the room, but across his mind sprints never leave me again. The entire room is how Sander feels about Robbe and every time he is vulnerable with someone they leave him in the dark and what must this look like, all of his artistic renderings of Robbe’s face, how obsessive, how intense? All Sander knows is shame.
“No,” says Robbe, in that soft tranquil murmur of a voice that Sander loves so, and then he says “I’m not leaving,” and then he says it again
And again
And again.
Through hazes and blurs Sander watches Robbe kneel beside him, feels his hand warm on Sander’s skin, mouth against Sander’s chapped knuckles. He’s aware that he hasn’t showered in days.
Sander says, “I’m toxic. Everything I touch is destroyed.”
Robbe says, “You touched me and I’ve never felt anything like that. I love you.”
But Robbe has said it and said it and then when Sander’s episode forced him to unmask the truth he ran and Sander wants to believe him but he can’t. But right now, right now, after he’s seen the worst side that Sander could possibly show him, Robbe isn’t moving, and his light-luminous eyes are honest, his face open and sure when he says look at me, Sander, look at me. Sander’s name on Robbe’s tongue adopts the hushed quality of a reverent prayer and Sander never needs Robbe to call him baby because that voice murmuring the sound of his own name is endearment enough.
When Robbe pulls Sander to his feet, taking charge for them at last, Sander follows. When Robbe instructs him that they will, from this second onward, be living their lives minute by minute, Sander agrees. And when Robbe kisses him, surprisingly big hands framing Sander’s ashen cheeks, the emotion radiating from his entire being is so sweet and genuine that Sander can do nothing but dissolve in anguish wrapped in Robbe’s arms, aqueous and ruined, the center of him bared for Robbe to see.
Robbe sees. He sees everything. And instead of running, instead of abandoning Sander to his ugly inner disarray, all he says is:
“I’m so glad I found you.”
*
Somehow Robbe gets him home, but he finds that when they cross the threshold to Robbe’s flat, he doesn’t remember the trip. Automatically Sander kicks off his shoes by the door and stands waiting for Robbe to lead him and when he does it’s straight into the bedroom, the path they hunt quiet and swift. Intermittent tears still drip hotly down Sander’s cheeks but Robbe’s hand is warm and sure at the flat of his back and if that’s the only thing tethering him to the earth then it will do: Robbe has proved that he is strong enough for them both.
“Sander,” says Robbe gently, when they’ve reached his room, shut themselves in. “What do you need?”
Sander looks at him, blinks. No one ever asks him that, not in so straightforward of a manner. It takes him a while to process.
“I,” he says after a moment, and his voice is a wreck. “I really want to shower.”
“Okay,” says Robbe. He leans up to him, kisses gently at the side of his mouth, sudden salt of Sander’s tears on his tastebuds. “Do you want me to come?”
“Yes,” says Sander fervently, because the thought of Robbe being out of sight for even one second right now is too much, and he’s already at war with the precipice at every breath.
Robbe smiles and leans his forehead into Sander’s neck.
“Okay.”
Tenderly he pulls him into the bathroom, where he runs the shower until it’s the perfect kind of furious hot, and then for the second time they’re under the water together and Sander is crying for how different it is from last time. Robbe holds his face in his hands like he’s sacred, like the worst thing in the world would be to handle him with anything but utmost care, and when Sander thinks about that he sobs even harder.
“I’m sorry I ruin everything,” he chokes into Robbe’s neck, and when Robbe pulls back to force eye contact Sander sees that he’s crying too.
“Sander,” he says, and there is his name again, made into song by the reverence of Robbe’s tone, so different from what he’s accustomed to. “You don’t ruin anything. I came after you that night, you know.”
Sander feels his chest seize. “You - what?”
“I came after you,” says Robbe, and he’s so beautiful when he cries Sander wants to paint him. “I found you, but Britt stopped me before I could get to you. I was screaming your name - “
[there is rain and cold and rain and cold and someone is wrapping a shield around his shoulders and the euphoria that crashed into paranoia that crashed into nothingness is fading and there is only rain and cold and
in the background, “SANDER!”
and something in his chest stirs but his mother is touching his face and the paramedics are pushing him back into the ambulance and Britt is there no now she’s gone and
“SANDER!”
he wants to look up but he doesn’t know if he is dreaming and then Britt is back beside him and the doors are closing and that voice the one he trusts is silenced]
“I heard you,” says Sander slowly. “I heard you, but I didn’t realize it was you until it was too late. I couldn’t - when I’m like that I can’t - nothing works.”
Robbe kisses his mouth and their tears mingle with the shower water and Sander is holding on to everything that makes him feel anything at all.
“Sander, I love you,” says Robbe, and Sander can hear in his voice that he’s trying to keep it together but he can’t. “You scared me so fucking much. She told me you - she said you had been manic the whole time. She said that you - that you didn’t love me. So I thought that meant it wasn’t real.”
For the first time in days something more powerful than darkness rises volcanic and ferocious in Sander’s chest.
“Britt told you I don’t love you?”
“Yes,” says Robbe, and Sander can feel him trembling. “I know it’s not true now. But I didn’t know what to think, I was scared, and that’s the only reason I - said what I said. I never, ever meant it.”
And just like that, clear as a Caribbean Sea, everything, everything makes sense; Sander understands the crucial part of the story he’d been missing. Robbe didn’t run away. Britt chased him.
“Robbe,” says Sander, and if it destroys him he’s going to ride this last positive wave of emotion until he can’t anymore because Robbe needs to know, Sander has to tell him. “I love you more than anything in this entire universe, in any universe, ever. And there will never be a day that that won’t be true.”
And this time when he collapses against Robbe’s chest and starts to sob anew it’s not for grief. It’s for relief.
*
Even when the brunt of the depressive wave is blunted by being with Robbe, sleep eludes him, a whim he can only chase and snatch at in bits and pieces. Robbe’s bed is warm and soft but not as warm and soft as Robbe himself is against him and he’d forgotten how healing it is to be clean. He doesn’t know the time; doesn’t care to know, all he focuses on is Robbe’s fingers braiding over and over through his hair, sliding gently down his nose and over his ribs (you’re so skinny, Robbe chides, and Sander manages a tiny smile and presses at Robbe’s poleaxe collarbones and says look who’s talking, tiny), their legs entangled beneath layers of blankets. Sander wants to look at Robbe all night long but he knows Robbe won’t sleep if he doesn’t so eventually he closes his eyes and pretends. Some time later, after he’s managed to drift the deepest he’s gone for days, Robbe’s phone dings and not long after he sits up, kisses Sander’s forehead, climbs easily out of bed.
Sander’s stomach knots; before he can shut himself up he blurts:
“Are you leaving me behind?”
Robbe turns to him, chuckles. His medallion gleams at his chest.
“Not in this universe.”
Sander smiles for that, rolls his eyes.
“Where are you going, then?”
Robbe walks back over to the bed, leans over, nuzzles his nose against Sander’s own. “School. I have exams.”
Sander has fears he cannot name and he knows they’re irrational but the monster in his head is loud. “Are you coming back?”
Robbe presses his mouth so, so tenderly to Sander’s own.
“Always.”
Sander melts then, closes his eyes, and all of a sudden he is so, so tired.
“Good luck,” he whispers, and Robbe’s soft response of “thank you,” is made of gold and sweet and kindness and Sander thinks that despite it all there is no person in the world luckier than he is at this exact moment because Robbe Ijzermans is a literal angel and his heart is bigger than the world and Sander gets to call him his own.
He sleeps.
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The Joker x Reader -”On Cloud Nine”
The Clown Prince of Crime died protecting his girlfriend and now The Afterlife Assessment Bureau doesn’t know what to do with him: although J’s actions didn’t change the outcome, it scored major points in his chart and they have to recalculate the final score. Until that happens, The Joker was allowed to wait on the Lower Clouds right below The Higher Clouds where the woman he tried to save is spending eternity.
“Hey lady!” you hear as you watch the beautiful blue skies from your fluffy cloud. ”Hey!”
Y/N looks towards the source of the noise only to notice this strange man with green locks waving at her from the cloud below.
“Yes?”
“Where are we?” the guy asks, having a hard time processing what’s happening to him.
The two don’t recognize each other: once you’re dead, you’ll have no memory of your past; they definitely don’t recall being together while they were alive.
“Not sure, but it’s beautiful,” you sigh and he huffs, annoyed.
“Ugh, it’s boring. Nothing to do besides sitting down and analyze… whatever the hell this is!” J flares his arms around as a voice coming from everywhere echoes in the stillness:
“Please mind your language, sir!”
“Who said that?!” The Joker tries to find the person that just admonished him and there’s no other soul besides the woman he’s having a conversation with.
“I don’t know,” you lift your shoulder up, intrigued. “Kind of weird,” you dangle your feet above the abyss, totally unconcerned about the invisible presence. “What is that?” you point at the sketchbook he’s holding.
“My drawings,” The King of Gotham sulks, restarting to doodle on the almost blank page.
“Can I see?” you curiously inquire.
J bites the pencil and frees his hands, then shows you his current masterpiece.
“Could you hold it higher?” you squint your eyes. “Higher!!”
The expression on your face demonstrates you can’t perceive too much.
“Why don’t you come over?” the man proposes and your stalling makes him snicker: “Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.”
“Hmmm…” you debate on the offer not because you’re afraid of a little jump but because you’re uncertain it’s worth the trouble.
“C’mon!” The Joker wants to get up and help yet Y/N is already hopping down on his cloud: she’s always been independent, one of the qualities he secretly liked about her before they both unexpectedly kicked the bucket. “Nice landing!” J chuckles as you take a sit by him, the artist reprising his work. “What do you think?” he proudly boasts.
You glimpse at the clumsy lines depicting an apparent landscape filled with pumpkins and can’t hold in a smile.
“I think there’s a lot of potential hidden behind the primitive naivety of this little gem,” you give him your honest judgement and J scoffs, intrigued.
“Primitive?!”
“I like your style,” you sweetly reply since you realize you shouldn’t have blurred out the comment; he might be offended by your genuine critique. “The pumpkins are super cute,” you add in order to divert his attention.
“I like pumpkins,” The Joker growls.
“Me too,” you continue. “That would be an adorable nickname for someone, don’t you think?”
“I suppose,” he shakes his head and mentions: “Why are you staring at me? Do I have something in my teeth?”
“They’re silver,” you bring your face closer to his, puzzled to discern the detail.
“Are they?!” The King touches his mouth, appalled.
“Yes, but it suits you,” the sincere tone calms down his frantic movement.
“Am I ugly?!” his ego emerges even beyond the grave and Y/N has the perfect answer:
“No, you’re handsome in a sort of eerie way.”
J frowns, suspicious.
“So I look creepy?!”
“You don’t look creepy to me,” you candidly emphasize. “In my humble opinion, you’re attractive.”
He straightens his back, pleased at the statement and your rosy cheeks give him a boost of confidence.
“Are you going to ...e-hem…” you cough, flustered at the stupid confession, “…draw another pumpkin over here?” your finger taps on the corner of the paper.
“Might as well,” J agrees and you have no clue that what he’s doing is basically thanks to you.
God knows how much you encouraged his practically nonexistent skills just to keep him away from problems he created for himself and others! You were actually his number one fan and to be honest his only fan: as long as The Clown Prince of Crime was immersed in his unique hobby, it meant Gotham and its citizens were safe.
The Penthouse was filled with The Joker’s phenomenal paintings and sketches, extravagantly framed by yours truly to overcompensate the lack of substantial talent.
“Ma’am, please return to your cloud!” the voice you heard earlier resonates all around once more.
“Why?” you glare left and right, annoyed you can’t see anybody.
“You belong on The Higher Clouds,” the elusive response doesn’t enlighten the mystery. “Hold on, we’re sending our representative over!”
After a few seconds Y/N and the former King distinguish an individual dressed in a black suit carefully jumping from cloud to cloud, steadily approaching his objective.
“Apologies for the delay,” he addresses the stunned couple once in The Joker’s space. “Sir, we had to compile a lot of paperwork for you,” the guy flips pages of a thick file, annoyed. “After adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing your points, turned out your final score is still a negative number.”
“Huh?!” J puckers his lips, confused.
“It seems you were a very bad person, sir; did a lot of despicable things and dying while protecting the girl you loved doesn’t mean diddly squat in the end!”
“Awww,” you gush at the revelation. “That’s so romantic,” you whisper and the man bends over, completely overwhelmed:
“Ma’am, allow me the honor of shaking your hand,” the agent grabs your fingers, softly squeezing them. “You are a true legend and we are forever indebted to your greatness: you put up with him and saved numerous lives also,” he gestures towards The Joker and you gasp, finally understanding the bigger picture.
“He died…for me?!”
“I died for her?!” the awkward pair asks in the same time.
“Yeah, no big deal. You were killed anyway and I’m so, so sorry for that,” the emissary extends his regrets to the woman he admires, entirely disregarding The Joker’s sacrifice.
“No big deal??!!” the latest shouts. “Dying for someone is no big deal?! How the fuck am I still in the negative?!!”
“Language!!!!!!” the omnipresent voice surfaces again.
“WHO.IS.THAT?!” Y/N gets vexed at the multiple invisible interruptions.
“Steve Rogers,” the representative notifies. “He’s in charge of The Profanity Control Department.”
“Who?!” J crinkles his nose, fed up with the messy situation.
“It’s not important,” the agent cuts him off. “What’s important sir is that you can’t be here; we have to move you.”
“Move me?! Where?”
“Yes, where are you taking him?” you quiz the black suited guardian.
“Far away, unless…”
“Unless what?” J crabbily interrogates.
“Unless someone is willing to transfer their points to you, sir. It hasn’t been done in centuries though; lots of bureaucracy involved and frankly, if I may: why would anybody donate their hard earned credits to you??!!”
The Clown is scandalized at the brutal affirmation while Y/N has a magnificent idea:
“How many points do I have?”
“Mmmmm…,” the man flips more pages and finds the information: “Ten gazillions.”
“How many does he need?”
“Three gazillions.”
“Oh,” you cheerfully clap your hands. “I have plenty so I’ll donate my credits to him.”
“Nah, you don’t want to do that,” the man shrieks, already unhappy with the perspective of putting in overtime for this project. “We’re out of clouds; we’ll have to make more and that takes forever.”
“There are plenty of empty clouds around!” The Joker barks.
“Not empty. They are inhabited by others but you can’t see them: you can only see the people you are connected with, true love type of deal,” the emissary indifferently blurs out.
“So…that’s why I can only see him and he can only see me?!” Y/N’s burning, red face matches J’s stellar entitled smirk after the astonishing revelation.
“Precisely,” the flat tone prompts The King’s logical question:
“Then why can’t I stay on this cloud?”
“The Lower Clouds are similar to a waiting room; we can’t have them occupied for long periods of time.”
“I’ll share my cloud with him!” you firmly suggest as the emissary is panicking:
“That means more paperwork!! We usually don’t have two residents spending eternity on the same cloud.”
“Make it happen!” J commands. “The lady wants to give me her points and share her cloud. You can’t say no, you said it yourself: she’s a legend!” he preys on the guy’s hesitation.
“I would really appreciate your help,” your disarming smile gives the guardian a nudge in the proper direction.
“Of…of course ma’am,” he stutters because how can one say no to a legend?!
And you surely count on it.
“I have to stipulate a reason for all this, what should I write on the formulary? In a simple sentence, it needs to be specific and concise: why are you gifting him credits and share your personal area?”
Your brain slots are hollow yet there’s one motive:
“I like his drawings.”
The impeccable suit ogles J’s silly scribbling, muttering under his breath:
“Another Picasso…” then louder:
“I’ll do the paperwork; for now, please vacate the premises and go on the Upper Cloud; we have new arrivals that require the Lower Clouds,” he exhales and starts leaping away, leaving you and The Joker behind.
Your cloud descends so you both can step on it and then floats higher in the air again.
Y/N gazes at the stranger in silence, until he breaks the shell:
“Thank you for your generosity, Miss…” J sniffles, realizing an important detail is absent from the whole dialogue. “What’s your name?”
“…I don’t know…” you regretfully answer. “I can’t remember…”
The Joker scratches his chin with a brilliant solution on the horizon:
“You said Pumpkin would be an adorable moniker for someone. Do you mind if I call you Pumpkin?”
“No, not at all,” you gladly accept his proposition. “And you’re welcome, I had so many credits, might as well use them. I have to thank you too for dying for me, Mister… What’s your name?”
“Bits me; I can’t recollect.”
Y/N pouts, upset she doesn’t have a name when a genius recommendation escapes her lips:
“You know… you have this small “J” letter tattoo under your left eye…” you gently poke it and he feels a sudden warmth taking over his body. “Is it ok if I call you J?”
“U-hum,” the hypnotized King gazes at the woman in front of him. “So I have tattoos on my face?”
“Yes, a few: a tiny star and a big one on your forehead that spells ‘Damaged’. And playing cards on your neck…” you describe his ink, mesmerized.
“Do they make me look horrible?”
“You don’t look horrible to me,” you praise and J inflates his chest at the declaration; oh boy, you definitely have a way with words.
“Thank you Pumpkin,” the flirtatious Clown winks and you play with the hem of your shirt, about to burst out with delight.
“You’re welcome… J.”
“Oh my God!” The Joker snaps out of it since the artist in him is begging for attention: “The sunset’s gorgeous! I have to sketch this!”
He sits down on the cloud and you scoot over until your thighs touch, interested in his new project.
“Your cloud is a better quality than the one I was on,” he bounces on the white, velvety texture. “It will certainly improve my technique!”
“Absolutely!” you enthusiastically exclaim, determined to assist no matter what.
Heaven knows your new friend J evidently requires steady guidance regarding his hobby: he’s no Picasso yet, but with a legend’s help he might eventually get there.
Also read: MASTERLIST
You can follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.
#the joker x reader#the joker imagine#the joker fanfiction#the joker jared leto#the joker suicide squad#the joker#joker#joker fanfiction#joker imagine#joker jared leto#joker suicide squad#mister j#Mistah J#dc#dcu
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In your one fic, Desire and Lust, what does Grimmjows Lamborghini look like? Just curious if you have an actual picture on hand
SPOILERS ABOUT DESIRE AND LUST AHEAD
Ooooooo! I was just ogling some Lambos! I’m about to go on a rant!!!
Sexy, in a word; his Lambo looks like a sleek, sexy sportscar. I put a TON of thought into his car specifically, buckle up! The first description I ever added was Grimmjow telling Ichigo its make, model and color: “‘A Lamborghini Murciélago. Sportscar, solid black paint, custom build but it still looks like a Lamborghini. It should have been parked out front if ya saw it.’” Ichigo soon goes outside and sees a car in the parking lot and we get the detail that it is ‘jet black’ too: “A sleek, jet black sportscar was parked in the farthest spot to the left of him.” Ichigo also finds out that there is a trunk and the engine is up front and that the car is modified and heavier than usual for its model. So the base image we have to imagine is a sportscar model like:
This is a stock Lamborghini Murciélago, which is actually one of my small model Lambos, this is the almost the same as Grimmjow’s HOWEVER, he did make significant modifications but most of them don’t show outright. He kept with a sleek and classy black theme, the interior is almost completely black suede, panther and silver accents as noted by his mentioned satin seat covers with panthers on them. (the panther on his key-chain was from his wrecked Jag) Most details of the mechanical modification process reside in the chapter called Flashback - Motor Head other details are scattered through multiple chapters but I’ll summarize anyway!
Most of his car from the outside looks the same as it would stock except that it is longer (length) by maybe six inches or less (don’t think I gave exact dimensions) which works to create a backseat since he seated the new v8 motor/engine for it in the front under the hood, meaning a v12 (stock) motor’s worth of space contributes to the space to make a two-person conjoined backseat and a small trunk because that’s a big-ass motor. The glass and metal on the back of that small model car are a hatch which would open to show the motor but instead in his Lambo shows a small upholstered trunk and the back-side of the backseat. There are still small windows on either side to see outside from the backseat with black-out tinting. The windshield is not tinted or not fully tinted. The windows on the passenger and driver doors also have black-out tinting. The headlights and taillights do not have tinting and are LED. The back hatch’s glass I have not mentioned but I would say it isn’t tinted or just barely. The glass is bulletproof and very resistant to breaking. Rear view mirror, side view mirrors (that lift with the doors), etc. stuff like that is all just stock. The gearshift might look different but I haven’t picked out a design though it is short. His Lambo can be started with a turn of a key or an ignition button with key inserted. The dash display is stock, I believe that’s mostly analog and features a tachometer, speedometer, secondary speedometer (digital - not stock), odometer, oil pressure and oil temperature gauges as well as all the other fun random lights that come up for different sensor thingies (like the ‘check engine’ light we all hate). It would be reasonable to assume there are a few extra lights for extra sensors in a heavily modified vehicle like this.
There was no need to change the flat hood of the car for the motor’s blower/supercharger (twin-screw) or the front features on the fender to consider ram air intake as this car already has this feature; the oncoming air is just rerouted inside to the front compartment instead of the rear. (some other Lambos you’ll see have hoods popping out on the rear panels for ram air to cool their huge motors) The modified v8 motor that Grimmjow installs is smaller and part of the total added length to the whole frame (six inches or less) is in the new engine compartment for easy of installation and maintenance on the motor. Grimmjow’s modifications to the transmission and drive train (front transaxel, all-wheel drive, semi-auto) are all under the car and don’t really show; there are skid-plates. His car has only two doors. The butterfly doors are stock-looking and lift up at a slight angle but inside them his custom locking assembly (with sliding bars like a vault door) is heavy so there is a large hydraulic cylinder needed to hold them up under the front edge of each door. Grimmjow (in very recent chapters) thinks he needs even bigger cylinders. Only the tinted driver and passenger windows can roll down and up. Most of the cosmetic and superficial features of Grimmjow’s Lamborghini we can assume are kept the same/stock black theme. We find out that the Lambo used to be blue, it is a shiny jet black now so it was repainted [by a shop Grimmjow took it to]. Grimmjow’s car didn’t have seatbelts until recently - to please Ichigo; assume they are black. The center console and upholstery/interior is black suede/leather (Lamborghini has a special name for this type I think) with maybe a few very small silver accents like handles or buttons. The seats are stock black suede too but covered with black satin with a panther on each (probably around the high back), front and backseats. The deck/stereo interface in the cockpit should be digital but I might’ve written it as analog so far. I never gave details about the rims but I would say they are painted matte black and somewhere between normal and true low-pro because I don’t think Grimmjow would want true low-pro ones. The tires I never describe much either but they’re black-walls probably just street/sport, all the same size and width in front and back - around 21 inches tall and are also wide (315s or 325s??? *shrug* lol). As you can tell I had plenty of thinkin’ to do about rearranging everything else so the tires and rims kinda went under my radar. Grimmjow seems like the kind of guy to have a nice border around his license plates (front and back) but I’ve never written that in, would probably be solid chrome with a panther or two.
Oh my god I have to stop myself. I go on and on about this fucking dream-car.
This is a really rough sketch (sadly only from the front) of Grimmjow’s Lamborghini:
At this time I don’t have any other sketches to share BUT that doesn’t mean one isn’t coming out in the future. *brows* One day I might actually draw something of a diagram or the Lamborghini from the outside - it would be a hell of a task either way.
Lamborghini Murciélago © Lamborghini
#Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez#Grimmjow Jeagerjaques#grimmichi#Bleach#Desire and Lust#fanfiction#writing#vehicle#car#Lamborghini#asks#spoilers#FD Art Things
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Lardo Week Day 2: accident
Here is my entry for day 2 of @lardo-week
Chapter 2 - happy accidents
(chapter 1 can be found here)
One of Larissa's very first studio assignments at Samwell didn't actually take place in the studio. To fulfill the assignment, they had to go to a sports practice and fill a number of sketchbook pages with gesture drawings of athletes in motion.
As an assignment, it was a darned good one that she normally would have enjoyed. The only problem was that Boston was in the middle of a heat wave and even teams that had practice at ass-o-clock in the morning would be sweating through their jocks and/or sports bras in five seconds flat.
In short, yuck.
(Also, Lardo had already learned the hard way that charcoal and copious amounts of sweat were not mixy things.)
She skimmed through the athletic calendar looking for something like 'competitive air-conditioned yoga' but figured in the end that ice hockey—emphasis on the ice—was her best bet.
If it hadn't been for her phone's battery conking out in the middle of the night and killing her alarm, she would have gone to the women's practice at o' dark early. As it was, she got to Faber after the men's team had already taken to the ice.
She got a few curious glances from the players, but their captain (she assumed it was the captain) barked at them to pay attention to the ice, not the stands. One of the coaches nodded at her sketchbook and asked, "Professor Davila's life drawing class?" without expecting an answer.
It wasn't until she actually started drawing that Larissa realized why she was the only member of her class who had taken advantage of the cool of the rink. Yes, she had heard of the hockey team's general loudness and obnoxiousness, but that wasn't the problem. The shouts and insults ('chirps,' she would later learn) were a comfortable part of the background along with the swish-swish-swish of the skates and the clatter of the sticks.
The problem was more fundamental than that, and brought with it an echo of her mother's protests of you need to focus on what's practical, sweetie. You need to set yourself up for a successful life.
Practical would mean staying at home and taking the T to school every day. Practical would mean constant, well-meaning, 'we just want the best for you' commentary on her choice of studies.
Well, fuck practical. And what did it mean to be successful, anyway?
A small, exhausted part of her said that successful people didn't have to work at one of the campus dining halls to make up for what her partial scholarship and college fund wouldn't cover.
And drawing hockey players wasn't the most practical way to succeed at this particular assignment.
Larissa was debating whether or not she should just give up and join the majority of her class at the soccer fields when someone scraped to a halt right in front of where she was sitting.
Whoever it was had better not ask her to 'draw him like one of your French girls,' or he would need a gastroenterologist to remove his hockey stick from his ass.
"What?" she snarled.
The player wasn't anyone Larissa had met before. She would have recognized that mustache for sure. His eyes were wide, and he held his stick in front of him in both hands like a talisman.
"Wow," mustache-guy said. "I was going to tell you to try to capture my left side, because that's the best angle if you want to do a portrait of me, but _damn _if that isn't the single scariest death glare I have seen in my life! Jack! C'mere! You gotta see this death glare!"
The captain skated over, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Leave the nice artist alone, Shits." He turned to Larissa. "I apologize. In advance. For everything."
He grabbed mustache-guy by the back of the jersey and skated off with him in tow.
Mustache-guy flailed and squirmed, but not to the point of actual resistance. "Jaaaaaack! You need to stop and talk to the scary lady! That death glare! Put her on D, and we'll have Brown shaking in their skates!"
The captain (Jack?) mouthed a silent 'sorry!' at her before turning his attention back to practice.
She had just made up her mind to go draw soccer players for the rest of her assignment when the practice finally ended. She flipped through her sketches and was pleasantly surprised to find that she had nearly two-thirds of what was required.
She was less pleasantly surprised when mustache-guy scraped to a stop in front of her again.
"Um, I know this is really fucking forward of me, and you are totally free to say no—and wow, it's kind of fucked up that I even have to say that, isn't it?—but anyway..."
Oh, god. He was going to ask her out, wasn't he?
"I absolutely get it if you don't want to, completely one-hundred-percent get it, but could I see what you've been drawing?"
Lardo could only stare for a moment. "It's just gesture drawings," she blurted out even as she shoved the sketchbook at him.
"Gesture drawings?" He pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth so he could turn the pages. She could see how he looked at each little sketch in turn, not just skimming, but looking.
"Yeah. We're supposed to focus on capturing how the human form looks in motion."
The figures were roughly blocked out, with the occasional thick and swooping line showing the curve of a spine or sweep of a leg.
"These are really neat," he said after a while. "I mean, they're kind of scribbly in parts, but you can really see what's happening. Hell, I can even tell who some of these guys are!"
'Jack' was a tall, solid figure with classical proportions. "You can see how this this fucker just moves with power! Ah! Adonis made manifest on earth! And that's Johnson if I ever saw him," he said, pointing at a mess of foreshortening.
That was the goalie, captured as he dropped to block a puck, practically folding himself into something out of an Escher drawing in the process.
"Rans and Holster," he said, pointing at a tangle of overlapping forms that were still two separate people even though they occupied the same space.
He turned to look through the pictures again, which was more flattering than Larissa would ever admit to anyone, while most of the other players headed towards the locker room.
"Thanks," she said. "I'm glad to hear that they work. I was beginning to think that coming here was a mistake."
The betrayed look on his face would have been hilarious if it wasn't so heartbreaking. "Mistake? No! There are no mistakes! Only happy accidents!"
Larissa laughed. "Did you just quote Bob Ross at me?"
"Please don't tell me you're one of those snobby art students who–"
"Bob Ross is awesome the way Mr. Rogers is awesome," she said plainly. "I'm not into his actual paintings, but you gotta love the way he loves what he does."
"Amen," mustache-guy said, sounding more serious than she would have expected. He was looking at his captain—Jack—as he said it.
(It was only after Larissa became Lardo that she would understand even half of what was going on with that look and everything behind it.)
"So why were you worried coming here was a mistake? Please tell me that none of the guys were douchewaffles! I know we're loud, but it's like we're the lacrosse team!"
"Ha! No, Professor Davila warned us away from them. What threw me were the pads. They make it hard to see what's actually going on, anatomy-wise."
She almost regretted that the instant she said it, because she could imagine all of the lewd comments she had just set herself up for.
That didn't happen. All that happened was that Mustache-guy nodded solemnly and Captain Jack glanced over to make sure he didn't need to come over and apologize for something.
"I see. It must be like trying to draw the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man."
"Close enough." She didn't laugh, but she did let a hint of a smile show through the unimpressed look.
"By the way, you can call me Shitty. That's not my real name, but that's actually worse."
"Hey, Shits!" Jack called out. "Ask her if she's interested in the team manager job!"
"Team manager? Like managing your team? The hockey team?" she asked Shitty. Strangely, the name fit him, but not in a bad way.
Shitty nodded.
"I don't know how to skate!" she shouted at Jack.
Jack stared at her as if she had just sprouted two extra heads and a tail.
Shitty cackled.
Johnson, who had been hanging around doing not much of anything, muttered something about not being needed after all and left the rink.
Shitty wiped away teas of laughter. "Aw... I think you broke Jack's poor, Canadian brain. Anyhow, skating isn't needed for the job. Dealing with stinky hockey equipment, on the other hand, is."
She shrugged. "It can't be worse than what I smell like after working the deep-fryer all afternoon. What's the pay like?" she asked, because being practical did have its time and place.
The pay wasn't much, but it was better than what the dining hall offered.
"Well, I'd say this was a successful drawing session," she said as they exchanged fist-bumps.
"Yup. Here's to happy accidents!"
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a quick (not really aha) 2019 summary of art (i chose two for some cause i couldn’t pick a fav askdjkalsj)
this is MESSY dkjsghjkdgh
i didn’t draw a lot of finished pieces during the beginning of the year, and i flat out did not draw for two months. when i did get some stuff done, afterwards felt like i didn’t have any energy for the whole month other than some sketches. a lot of these are like, the only finished piece i found in my folders...
still, there is some positives this year. my favorite pieces for april, june, and july pioneered my art style. this wasn’t my first time doing super neat line art that also act as shading, but making them were very fun and satisfying. however, i would eventually come back to doubting my skills, become too nitpicky with their flaws, and i was still too tired to make any more. another big problem was that i get too easily distracted while i took my breaks. breaks just meant the end of the piece since i got too discouraged to finish it ://
i think i painted more this year? and i actually had fun with it? whoo! though, i don’t think the painting style is going to be my art style, but it’s always nice to try it. my respects goes to all of y’all who has a painting art style, it’s so pretty but i find it so hard to make it ajdhfsh
so yea, basically my procrastination, laziness, and art block kicked my ass this year. until rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles kicked their asses in december.
i have always loved how lively and dynamic, drawings and animation can get. i have always strived to have an art style like that. there are plenty of media i have seen that are like this, but rottmnt was the tipping point for me.
i have always liked my sketches over my line art because it achieves that dynamic look i want, but for some reason my line art doesn’t capture that. it’s another reason why i can’t bring myself to make finished pieces, causes they’re all sketches instead. so, for the first time i drew all of the teetlez, i took a new aproach to drawing line art. i drew the sketch like i usually did, and then erased the lines i didn’t need. the process took longer, but this just. Hit Different. i had way more fun than before and i end up feeling way more satisfied afterwards. i ended up drawing more finished pieces with this process. i felt like i was really improving my art.
afterwards, i decided to the beginning of decade vs end of decade trend that i saw going around on twitter. the oldest drawing i found was when i was in fifth grade and i decided to redraw it. it turned into a complete reimagining and throughout the process, i felt surprised and... regretful. 5th grade me never imagined that i would get this far. fuck, 2018 me never thought i would grasp perspective and backgrounds. but here i was. then, i wondered what would have happened to my art if i drew everyday. if i followed through with helpful art advice earlier or noticed mistakes so i could fix it the next time earlier. imagine how much better i would have been today. ngl i wanna slap past me soooo much for being lazy.
it is what it is though. i can only try to be better next year. Less procrastinating, laziness, and self-doubt. i don’t want to make future me feel like she should slap current me for repeating the same mistakes.
here’s to 2020 y’all, lets flourish and be a better version of ourselves
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Tiny House Headcanons: Avengers Edition
Avengers Headcanons/Imagine.
Plus Size Reader because YASSSSSS.
Also, if you’d like to read more of my work my main masterlist and you can find tons of stories and mini masterlists there! Enjoy!
Imagine refusing to live on base and instead living in a Tiny House....
Tony:
Let's be honest. He's slightly miffed that you wouldn't want to be near him. Especially when you have free range with decorating. However, he knows you well enough to know that you need your space. He'll just make sure to invade that very small space EVEN MORE.
#noconceptofpersonalspace
Rhodey:
For the most part, he's cool with you having your space and him having his...as long as your in his arms at night. That's what really matters to James Rhodey. #snugglebeast
Peter:
Oh, Peter. Bless him. He thinks that you are the most badass person on the planet that you could build your own tiny house. He's beyond fascinated and constantly trying to figure out ways to make it even more high tech.
#constantlyswoonsoveryou
Natasha
: Ya'll, lol. This woman tells you flat out, that whatever you do...you best have room for her in there because she not will under any circumstance be going to sleep without you. You offered the suggestion of bunk beds and shawty was so damn offended she couldn't even finish her cereal. Long story short, tiny house is more like bedroom on wheels, lol. #dtf #literally #itseffingportable
Clint:
This turned into a full on family affair with Clint. Ya'll went back to his farm and he got the kids involved. They love you. It was a whole project. Complete with tiny little area on top for 'someone' to sit and 'nest'. "It's a lookout, babe." *cough* "Nest" *cough*
#itstotallyanest #letsseeifhelaysanegg
Thor:
Thor is DOWN with this idea. He thinks all Midgardians are tiny anyway and when he sees you making sketches about a 'tiny house'....homie is FASCINATED.
He is more than willing to offer up Asgardian building techiniques and help with anything you like.
Payment you ask? Coffee, cuddles, smooches, and poptarts.
#itsafuckingdeal #godofdeals #winwin
Loki:
Loki takes a bit of a different approach. Firstly, he fucking evesdrops and figures out what you're doing. Then this lil mofo STEALS your papers and makes adjustments. THEN he replicates himself by like twelve and they build it when he insist you pay him with affection.
#manipulativelittlejerk
#youloveitthough #thankgodforhispowers
Hulk:
You are so fucking happy to have your big green gumdrop on your side. He is most helpful with the building process. Much like when you need to put the star on top of the Christmas and he just lift you up...he does the same when you want to install anything to the roof.
"Baby, I can totally use the latter." you tell him.
"Latter not safe. Hulk safe. Hulk hold chipmunk." he says.
#hecallsyouchipmunk #becauseeveryoneistinyandcutetohim #healsoloveyourchubbycheeks
Bruce:
On the outside he's shy and withdrawn. On the inside and when you get him off onto your little plot of land where you're privately building....this dude is a fucking casanova. He may have smashed his finger a few times with the hammer but wow, he's a charmer.
#youredeeplyimpressedwithhiscontrol #yousmashedyourthumbonce #yourbasicallyturnedintoawerewolf #nofullmoon #nocondition #youjustafuckingbeastlol
Wanda:
Secretly loves the idea and wants to live in this little house with you because you are her number one bae FOREVER. On the outside, she's a little hesistant to leave the base because she's worried she'll hurt you. Is totally caught in her feels when you ask her what color she'd like her 'closet' area to be.
#ofcourseyouwantherthere #youknowher #toknowheristoloveher #wandaiscutestbae
Peitro:
10/10 had fashioned a chain through the front hook up, tied it around his waist and took it on a joy ride more than once. With you in it. #sorrybabe #itwasfunthoughright #letsdoitagain
If you didn't love him so much...you'd have choked him.
Steve:
Psh, this boy. He's totally supportive of whatever you want to do. You want a build a tiny house? I got you, babe. Immediately goes out and rips wood apart with his bare hands for it. Also, applies his artistic sensibilities when you ask him if he'll help you paint. Stevie = Extra Supportive Babe. 10 out of 10 would reccommend. #stevethebabe #supportivesteve
Bucky:
Bucky is Bucky and sometimes that means reserving his opinions on things. He's constantly impressed with your drive and determination and the both of you know that if you asked something of him...he'd crawl through a valley of glass and swim through a sea of alcohol to do it for you.
Also, he thought he'd be a little claustophobic of a small space after spending so much time in kryo but the tiny house is ....you. Everything about it makes him think of you and he loves being in. So much so that if and when a little glitter gets on him...it actually makes him smile when he finds it on missions.
#buckylivesinthetinyhousenowtoo
Sam:
Sam insisted on a good kitchen and that if you just had to have the tiny house...please not to go further than the back yard. He'd miss you too much. However, he'll be the first to admit that when ya'll go places it is so much easier to just hook it up to the back of the truck. You can literally drive all day and go to sleep in an actual bed. Wake up and have bacon and eggs on a stove. Fucking amazing.
#downforbreakfast #alldayeveryday #mealsonwheels
Heeeeyyy, smoochies! I hope you enjoyed this little fun headcanon/ imagine for the Avengers! If you liked it please be sure to let me know in the comment section!
Also, rather than make this ridiculously long, if ya'll want it- I can do the Thor movies version of this and the Black Panther movie versions of this with all those characters. I figure if I don't...it'll be a million miles long, lol.
Happy Reading!
Love,
Kennysaurus!
@frankie2902 @pleasantdreamqueen @becrazy–beyou–beyou
@littledeadrottinghood @blackirisposts
@therealmrshale @woodworthti666
@jimmys-afterlife-love-deactivat @the-great-irene @fanfictionandjunk
@angelus320
@alanlizzingtonshore @buriednurbckyrd @disneymarina @@tubbypeachwriting
@sullybot @georgiagrl1990 @whenallsaidanddone
@mischiefnevermanaged94 @inumorph
@congurl
@centerhabit
@bubblymusiclover13
@meetcally
@qtmeryr
Love, Kenny
#marvel headcanons#tiny house#marvel#imagine#plus size reader#tiny house imagine#marvel x reader#marvel x plus size reader#tony stark#alpha bucky#steve roge#sam wilson#james rhodey#pietro maximoff#wanda maximoff#hulk hogan#bruce banner#thor#loki
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My Creative Year in Review 2018
stolen from but also requested by inspired by @drstrangewillseeyounow
Preface: This will be a bit of a mashup of two things; art and writing. But I’ll be clear. This is also a long post, I’m very sorry. Apparently I don’t shut up.
Total number of creations? (Or a rough guess!)
Art - Finished; 221 (not all published)
Art - WIPS; 25
Writing - Published; 4
Writing - WIPS; 9 ?
Was there a project that you didn’t get around to?
In terms of starting or finishing? Lol. I didn’t get around to publishing the first chapter of the MU fic, which I desperately still want to before S2 starts. Because I keep writing all the middle bits instead. Nor did I get around to start writing the “winter fic” beyond plot points and a few little scenes.
There’s a looooooooooooooot of art I didn’t get around to either starting properly or finishing. Lol. I have a L’Rell piece I really want to do, as well as [another] mirror Stamets piece I want to do.
What was the creation you had the most fun making?
Art: Oh that’s hard. A lot of things for a lot of different reasons. I enjoyed the Holiday artworks because they were….really out of my depth and fun. Mostly I loved sending them out on cards to friends.
More recently I had a lot of fun doing the Patroclus and Achilles piece. Loved using golden hues.
Also have a lot of fun with Not Safe for Work-Viewing pieces, but those will never be published here. :D Sorry.
Writing: I had a surprising amount of fun writing the Vampire AU fic [Just a Taste] for Halloween. Which I never expected to write anything vampiric, ever, and also it came together really quickly. Building the world in that short fic was a lot of fun.
Any surprises? (E.g. a character or ship you never thought you’d create for or a project that came out of nowhere?)
Well honestly this whole revival to art and writing came as a surprise, I hadn’t done either in many years. I was also never a Star Trek fan prior to Disco, nor have I ever been a part of a fandom before. This is my first! So that was surprising, also surprising was how massively obsessed I became and how important it became to me.
But the best surprise out of all of that is the connections to people I’ve made and the friendships that have come from that. ily. <3
Also not going to lie, pretty surprised that suddenly my art has become mega-fuckin-colourful. Where did this love of neon come from??? Wtf
What was the hardest creation to make?
Writing; MU fic - hands down. I have pages and pages and pages of resources. Not only is it going to be a long story (I endeavour and hope) but also from the amount of which I am pulling from and want to align to canon as as best I can as well. Being a new fan to Trek also... it’s been pretty overwhelming to get these details right. But at the same time, really trying to flesh out a character we never met or saw in the show, and have them interact with the established canon and have that all make sense… That and have the science in it make as much sense as possible, I’ve based a few new things on scientific principles and things that exist and just trying to elevate them to a cosmic scale… and hope I can pull that off too. It’s pretty intimidating. Not going into it, but the way the story weaves and intersects with a few different genres.. I just want to have it make sense in it’s self contained body of work.
Yeah it’s hard. Lol. Biggest thing I’ve ever tried to do. But, I love it, truly. I think about this whole project an inhumane amount of times every day, and I love that.
It’s also hard because I’d love to be a linear writer, but I am not. At all. I’m constantly writing ahead, well and truly ahead, but then coming back, adding to and editing earlier bits and rewriting and rewriting….rewriting… ugh
The subjects and themes are also a little heavy, and it’s cathartic to write about, sure, but also wanting to do those moments justice and with respect and integrity - because that’s important to me too.
The whole thing is just a lot of fuckin work, lol. But I really love it. Already - and it’s nowhere near done.
Art; Probably the one where Paul is laying down [crying] in the spore chamber. It was my first return to trying to paint semi-realism, and... it didn’t work out. I’m not happy with it anymore, but also proud that I pulled it off. That pose? Hair? HAND? UGH those took me too long to get right. But, overall it certainly taught me a lot to use on future more realism-ish pieces such as the Cosmic/Celestial pics of Hugh and Paul [which I love.]
What inspired you the most this year?
Oh, easy. Discovery. Hugh and Paul, hands down both of those things. But also to the endlessly talented people who I’ve come to know and also enjoy the works of - be it written, art, or otherwise. Creativity inspires creativity.
What are you most proud of? (A creation, something you learned, etc)
Art: The Cosmic/Celestial pieces. Very proud of those. (So much so I made metal prints of them and they sit on my bookshelf between a salt lamp.) I really love how they came out, and really the original (Cosmic Paul) was kind of an accident, a happy accident if you will.
Also the piece of Anthony I did for Anthony’s birthday. That was a lot of fun constructing something visually representative of a person.
Any goals/plans/ideas for next year?
Fucking get some headway on my MU fic so I can stop being so annoying by just talking about it, and fucking start publishing it already - for then it then it would EXIST in the word. LOL. Ugh. That’s the only big plan, that’s all I want to do. Whatever art I will do - I will just find inspiration in the moment to do. No plans, other than the L’Rell piece and a couple other WIPs - maybe.
Honestly just that and trying to keep improving, both in writing and in drawing. I feel like I’ve improved over this past year, so would love to just continue on that trajectory.
Pick your favourite creations! (Post links and tell us why you love them!)
The Cosmic and Celestial Series
I just love how these turned out, especially because it was such a surprise how it turned out originally. But being able portray this cosmic divinity of which I uphold them both to be in my mind was really awesome to pull off. The colours, and dramatic light, this whole thing was so fucking fun. The whole painting with colours as highlights / shadows / dual light source was a huge experiment for me and it taught me a huge amount, so I really love it for many reasons.
The Song of Achilles
I started sketching this while I was listening to the audio book and while I fell in love with these two. Please, again, do go read this book. But the detailing on the spear, the auras and Achilles hair were my favourite bits. Oh and the gold blood. Of course, lol. Loved doing the symbolic imagery
Anthony Rapp’s Birthday Portrait
Because this man means a whole lot to me, and it was nice really nice for a change of pace to try and depict him and things that are important to him. Also really proud of that shoe, ngl.
& And MU Stamets and his Mycelium Sun
Huge experiment in terms of colour and lighting for me, and I love love love how it turned out. Even if it’s a little rough. This one was so much fun, and I also printed this out on metal actually lol. Looks pretty cool.
& First MU Culmets Work
Still in my heart, even though it’s a earlier work, because it was the first exploitation of this duo for me, and how they might be together. Also where I came up with the HC for his facial scar, which I always will include in any MU Hugh depiction of mine. But I still really like how their characterisation translates in this one.
Writing
Nomenclature.
The archaeology AU story I wrote for 30MinuteLoop. Also well, this is the only one that’s safe for viewing that’s published, lol, but I am genuinely really proud of this and seeing it through to completion.
But also the MU story is a fave, but this is the only published section so far:
MU Snippet
(These next couple of questions are directly from @drstrangewillseeyounow sorry I’ll be so literal in their structure, lmao)
How you decide on which style to use for individual pieces?
Unless it’s something very specific in mind (like the holiday pieces) I just kind of let it take a life of its own. See what it evolves into. I might have one idea to where I want it to go before I export it to PS, but once in PS it might take a whole new life (prime example if the original Cosmic/Celestial Paul. The original was very flat, and pretty boring lol but really became something else in PS. Actually it was supposed to be originally a visual piece to accompany my Vampire fic - and Vampire Hugh picture. But that changed entirely once I got it into PS.)
(It’s hard to see but there’s a bite mark on the original side.)
I'd also know more about your literal process, as in: what's your hardware set-up, what software do you use?
I have a weird all over the place set up. Lol.
So I do the majority of the work on my iPad, up until a stage where I don’t think I can go any further with it (or need more than 6 layers at my disposal) and then export it to my PC (either work or home) and then work on it further in Photoshop. Of which it then gains infinite amount of layers, lmao. Oh god.
As for the file on the iPad, when I’m working on that I can only have 6 layers. So usually will do sketch/line-work on one (or two, if I have to work a problematic bit but then merge it with the rest) and same with the colour/painting. That’s always on one layer, which I’ve grown to really like working like that. I might do skin on one, then clothes on another, but eventually will merge them.
If it’s a full paint (or even half paint maybe), the colour and line layer will eventually be merged as I erase the lines I no longer need as I go and blend that layer more seamlessly into the painted layer. It just ending up a purely painted file without the original lines. Another layer may be added for more delicate details such as eyelashes and eyebrows, things like that.
Everything I do once exported to Photoshop is just with a mouse, I have a Wacom tablet… But I don’t use it, because I haven’t been bothered calibrating it with my dual monitor setup, and am happy doing most of the work on the iPad anyway as it kinda acts like a Cintiq in that regard. But localised. (Plus I can take it anywhere with me, interstate, overseas, to work, to the park, etc. I love that mobility.)
Depending if I need a certain element that’s vector based, I’ll make it in Corel Draw or Illustrator, too. I also have Corel painter....buuuuuuuuut still haven’t used it. That’s a goal for 2019 for sure, lmao.
Very occasionally I will physically sketch out the idea (like the holiday pieces) scan, and rework, redraw, line it, or whatever in the iPad then go forth with all of the above processes.
How long does it usually take you from start to finish?
Art: How long a piece takes really varies lol. Sketches can be between 1 - 4 hours on average, sometimes more. Flat colours will be a couple hours more. Half paints usually 4-8 more hours. Full paints and more realism stuff like the Cosmic/Celestial is total of 18hours+ but those times are just a rough idea, sometimes something just works out a lot quicker. Sometimes longer.
Writing: FOR FUYCKING EVER. I’m the slowest writer ever.
Do you have art WIPs and what do you think keeps you from finishing them?
I have a lot of art WIPs lol I think just losing drive or inspiration to finish them is what mainly kills them, or me getting frustrated that it isn’t working out like I wanted. Sometimes I just forget they exist.
Probably same goes for writing, too. Lol. Also it could be that I’ll dream up the entire (or mostly) of the story, but then getting it onto the page is hard. I want to work at getting better at that.
Do you do any non-fanart, too?
Sure. Although not often anymore, I’m honestly just inhumanly obsessed with Hugh and Paul.. Even when I start a project that isn’t centric to either or both of them… Often it will kind of morph into them. oops.
I want to say yes to fic too...but That’s a project I haven’t worked on in fucking years and years, so I doubt that really counts anymore.
//end
Wow I am so sorry that was me just rambling on. Anyway, cool. Hi to anyone who made it this far.
I’ll also parrot the line of: Everyone who created/posted art, fic, gif-sets, vids, cosplay, etc., consider yourself tagged if you’d like to be. I’m curious! (I’m fucking serious, P L E A S E D O.)
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I headed for the apartment. Not far from the University.
Rose would be recuperating, hopefully, while grabbing and researching the various books pertaining to diabolic bargains. My job would be figuring out how to draw up a quick, effective circle, using the tools I had at hand. I’d also need a way to protect myself.
If Rose isn’t there it would bode very badly for Blake. I do wonder where the hell she went.
No way was I letting this radiation get worse.
Thinking about tattoos gave me other ideas.
I debated the ideas until I’d reached the apartment. I let myself in, and made my way up to my place.
With the walls being somewhat thin, I didn’t want to shout, so I did a patrol, walking around the perimeter, my eyes on the various mirrors.
No. She wasn’t here.
Okay, that wasn’t a huge shock. What were the rules? She could only be around me or be in the Hillsglade House.
I checked the time. The idea was to be there ‘tonight’. Our deadline was midnight.
We still had to take the bound being to Conquest.
Rose and I had hours to get ready. Hours to hammer out a good contract. But too much of it was up in the air.
I fished in my pockets for the subway tickets I’d bought, placing them on the dining room table.
I’d been on the subway at eight fifty, I’d arrived at nine forty. Thirty minute walk factored in…
Roughly an hour and a half, once I added additional walk time or other distractions.
Get this show on the road Blake.
What was the latest I could possibly leave? How long would the negotiation over the contract and the following ritual take? How long would it take to get to Conquest afterward, with Pauz in tow, without having him declare the deadline past?
I ran through the numbers in my head as I pulled off my sweatshirt and t-shirt.
I got bleach from under the kitchen sink.
Zero idea if this would work, but I was operating without books. Rose was the one with the reading material, and she was AWOL.
I laid out the shirt flat, smoothed out the wrinkles, and set to work. A droplet of bleach on the underside of a glass, a nail, and gentle scratching of the fabric.
The bleach marked lighter lines in the fabric. Lighter lines were joined by other lines, carefully measured, geometric patterns, shapes…
Bleach is a great idea! Opposite of stagnation and dirty things.
Pauz was an imp of things foul and feral. A being of wanton chaos, of overturned order. He was weak enough that he could be subdued by ‘like’ elements – fur, blood, and shit, in his case. It was why the rabbit circle had worked. But Rose had told me, essentially, that the preferred way to go was to fight with opposing qualities.
Bleach, I hoped, or the aftermath of bleach, was ideally a material that opposed him. Man made to contrast the focus on the natural, purifying, to contrast the focus on rot, foulness and stagnation.
I stuck with triangles bounded by circles, to lay out the design across the shirt.
Exactly.
It took time, but that was okay. Time meant Rose could get back to me, find me and give me the lowdown. If she wrote up a contract to bind Pauz, I’d have to copy it over, which was more time.
When did I start worrying? Seven thirty seemed like a safe time to leave, but how long did I have to take to copy the contract?
I didn’t really want to think about what happened if Rose didn’t show up.
I was starting to regret not figuring out more about the mirror world, or Rose’s interaction with it.
He just doesn’t have the time to research everything he needs to. That is why he really needs Rose. Jesus he isn’t gonna last without Rose at all.
I finished etching lines in the shirt, bullshitting something that looked like a magic circle, then started on a pair of black slacks. The clock ticked on. An early lunch with Tiffany and a short walk back had put the clock at twelve thirty as I’d made my way back.
I watched the clock hit two as I put the slacks down, the inside of the pants etched with an even denser image. The coarser, thicker surface gave me more freedom, and I was getting a hang of the task.
I had no idea if it mattered or if it did any good. I’d imagined that the framing of it and the way that the lines and triangles pointed towards the openings at the bottom of each leg would make it stronger, but now I wondered if it would only serve as a weak point.
When building a bridge, was it better to simply use the strongest elements available, or did one try to anticipate the stresses, accommodate the terrain?
No. I was overthinking it. Besides, it was done.
My hands hurt. My knuckles were white and standing up against the skin where I’d been holding my hand in the same position, clutching the nail.
I clenched my fist, and felt the joints pop. Still shirtless, chilled where the cool air had touched the sweat on my back, I headed for the bathroom, cranking the shower to ‘hot’.
Still no Rose huh. She could at least check up on him...
While it heated up, I grabbed my one dress shirt from the closet and hung it up by the shower. Humidity, steam, heat.
Hot water didn’t really kill germs. Water hot enough to kill bacteria would generally be scalding. But hot water could be symbolic, and as long as I was pulling countermeasures out of my ass for the upcoming confrontation with Pauz, I was going to treat myself to a second hot shower for the day. Wash away the filth and radiation.
Maybe.
A hot shower helps mentally, if nothing else.
When I was done the shower, I shaved for a second time. I took my time grooming, trimming my nails and body hair, brushing my teeth, flossing, then taking far too long trying to tame my generally uncooperative hair. The mop.
For long moments, I debated just shaving it off.
I reconsidered.
My enemy was all about challenging the natural order. I embraced the trappings of civilization. I used the file on the back of the nail clippers to fix up the rough edges of my nails as I paced nervously to the back of the apartment, then returned to the kitchen.
Grooming was baseline.
But the rest of the trappings of civilization would have to wait. In boxer-briefs only, I headed for the toolbox.
Here comes Blake’s new look.
Acrylic paint, watercolor?
No. I didn’t trust the effects of the paint, didn’t trust that I wouldn’t have an allergic reaction.
I gathered up every pen in my place. The clock on The Shitty Little Stove, as I’d come to unfondly regard it, told me it was three.
Some sort of markings or makeup esque thing? Makeup would do well I think actually. Go get some concealer and eyeliner.
Keep it simple.
The pens in a pile, I drew a series of lines beside the still-angry wound on my hand, working around the chains of the locket. One line for each pen. I very carefully laid the pens down in order.
I waited a minute, taking the time to sketch out what I wanted to do. My figures were horrible, but I only needed a basic sketch.
No time for anything complex…
Have to work in physical limitations…
Wetting my thumb-tip with my tongue, I ran it along each of the lines.
I picked out the winning pen. The one that had dried most effectively, streaking the least. Bold black lines.
Compass, protractor, some finangling to get the pen into the compass, and a pink nub of eraser ripped off a pencil
I drew a circle around my heart, off-center in my chest, using the eraser-nub with the compass so the little needle wouldn’t prick me.
Liver, pancreas, bellybutton…
Lines joined it, helped by a set-square, and each line was subsequently joined by an impression of cold metal against skin.
Three twenty in the afternoon.
Still no Rose.
She’d shattered two windows.
One frozen pond had taken the strength out of her.
Two windows, though… one after the other…
Basic circles but better than nothing.
Ah yes, Rose has done something like shattering windows before. Thank you for the reminder. Geeeez. You could have just shattered one, you show off.
I hadn’t seen anything suggesting she was still there. And if she’d destroyed the windows, she’d destroyed the very reflection that was allowing her to be there. The way she’d described shattering the pond’s ice, she’d been shunted to another location. Forced to the nearest safe ground.
So… why hadn’t she found her way back to me?
The nearest reflection was in enemy territory, and she is trapped?
A triangle, carefully measured, not with right angles, but still very carefully drawn. The lines didn’t match up, forcing me to make the ensuing line thicker and avoid it being broken up.
The line across the small of my back was harder, slower. I cheated, leaning against the dining room table until I’d left an impression in my skin, then using the set-square to keep it straight. Spent far too long trying to get the ruler in place again when the line wasn’t a hundred percent there, after I moved it.
The diagram called for a triangle across my back, pointing up at the nape of my neck. I debated if I’d have time…
Then, seeing the residual ink on the set-square, I gutted the pen and soaked the edge of the metal ‘L’. Very carefully, I pressed it against my back, rolling it back and forth to get it into the grooves and recesses. I checked the end result, then did it again.
Four o’clock.
Legs, arms, hands, feet, including the soles. Faster due to their location, but my speed at figuring out the process was balanced by the awkwardness of some of the angles, and the fact that I needed the use of the very limbs I was working on.
Rose hadn’t appeared to demand to know what the fuck I was doing to myself.
She hadn’t shown up, shrieked at seeing me in my underwear, drawing on myself.
I was now well past the point where I was worried.
You might have to do this alone Blake. Good luck, you’re gonna need a hell of a lot of it.
Clothing…
I donned the t-shirt, smoothed out the wrinkles on the button-up shirt, and buttoned it up over the t-shirt.
No horrible burning. Good.
I put on the hatchet-holster, then pulled the slacks on. I’d placed open spaces at the knees, so I wouldn’t rub away the image or transfer too much bleach on my skin, but I still worried about the other areas where it might rub.
Not exactly top notch, but it felt like a step in the right direction.
Tie, yes. I picked a red one.
Going out for another date Blake? Date with a demon?
But this is a good presentation to fight a demon of chaos and wildness and rot.
I wished I had the goblin flute and the paper goblins, but they hadn’t been mine to keep.
I had to be selective in terms of what I brought, this time. Only so many pockets. I chose the basics. Pens, cord, the hook-screws.
Five o’clock. Five o’clock and I would take action.
I cooked some pork chops, brussel sprouts, and grilled up thick slices of sweet potato, more to keep myself busy than anything else. Healthy body, covering all of the bases, to counteract the demon that upset the natural balance of things.
Four twenty. I’d hoped it would take longer.
I fidgeted, then decided to bite the bullet.
The drawer in my bedroom whisked open. I collected the book. The only one I had.
Black Lamb’s Blood.
Fuck.
You were gonna have to read it anyway.
This is fine! Probably. Probably not...
I opened it, and I started reading, book open in my hands while I paced.
Halfway through the introduction, I stopped to go to the fridge and rescue another cupcake from the plastic container within.
I resumed reading, finishing the introduction.
I didn’t read the rest of the book. I skimmed, looking, hoping for charts, for something concrete.
But it wasn’t a magical tome. Not really. There were no rituals within. No charts, nor ingredients or diagrams. No proper terminology for bullshitting contracts in an hour.
Not what I needed, even in the slightest.
I needed Rose. I needed her help to establish a game plan.
Then what the hell is in it??????
I watched the last few minutes tick forward on the analogue clock of The Shitty Little Stove.
It ticked past five o’clock. I watched until five oh one.
“Rose Thorburn,” I intoned. “I summon you.”
Nothing, not even a flicker.
That disquieted me.
A vestige was fragile.
Not sure that would have worked anyway.
But yea this is scary. I really do not think she is gone for good though. Maybe for the rest of the arc?
Rose had already been abused, hauled into a strange Conquest dimension, chained…
I fidgeted briefly, messing with the chain on my locket-hand.
“Rose Thorburn, by the tie that binds you to me and vice versa, I call you.”
Nothing.
“Rose Thorburn, you are me and I am you, one step apart, I call you.”
I’d had more luck with Leonard, my drunk ghost in a bottle.
“Rose Thorburn, by all your frustration with me, by the oaths I have sworn to you and the oaths you have sworn to me, I bid you to return to my side.
“Rose Thorburn…”
I didn’t know how to finish.
“God damn it, Rose, I need your help. Don’t leave me hanging.”
I picked up the tome, started reading it again, then put it down. Ten minutes later, nervous, I picked it up again.
I debated calling the lawyers for help.
Had they expected this? Had they helped it happen?
Try google?
I know nothing will be on google. But he could bs something maybe from like. Quotes from other texts. Come on Blake you are super resourceful you can do this.
It would be so fitting if they were somehow in league with Conquest, if they were orchestrating this entire thing to put me on this road.
I had to obey Conquest or he’d murder me and Rose.
Obeying Conquest put me on this road, forced me into a situation where I had to beg for help, accept the deal. Working for another diabolist.
Where would that path take me?
But if I didn’t take the offer of help? Where did I wind up?
Dead, probably.
Would the diabolists step in to save me? They wanted me on board. They were going to lengths.
I pulled on my gloves with care, the ink and locket in mind, alongside the cuts and gouge that hadn’t yet healed.
The coat was next. Not quite a suit, but the coat was meant to be worn with a suit, and it looked good. Suitlike, only it hung longer. Only closer inspection would see the absence of the suit jacket underneath, or the t-shirt beneath the dress shirt.
I smoothed down some of the curls of blond hair that were escaping their prison of hair styling glue, knowing they wouldn’t stay down. I moved my mouth around, stretching my skin to make sure I didn’t have any patches of hair where I’d missed shaving. Never mind that I’d shaved twice today.
Don’t panic now Blake, you’ve done well so far. And damn he is going all out. Next hes gonna pull out a top hat.
If I was going to armor myself in my own self and identity, I’d damn well stick to my preference of being clean shaven. I’d spent too many weeks with wispy teenaged beard growth while I’d been on the streets. I was going to be the best Blake Thorburn I could imagine. The sort of Blake who could look good in an almost-suit, but still pull off his button-up shirt and start working on framing a new art installation, or do prop work for the theater, or something. I’d armor myself in my personal ideal, hold it up to give myself courage in a situation where I had very, very little.
The inked out magic diagrams across my skin couldn’t hurt either, as armor went.
Probably couldn’t hurt.
So much he doesn’t know. Poor Blake.
I adjusted my tie.
I was procrastinating. It was seven. I had no idea what the evening had in store for me, now.
Rose had removed herself from the picture, Conquest was fucking with me by using that chain to remove her from my company, or something else entirely.
I filled my nicer backpack with essential supplies – the tome, the papers, some of the working pens, and other basic tools that it didn’t hurt to keep, slung it over one shoulder, and left.
You;re not gonna draft something now???? Okayyyy....
No dogs barked at me while I made my way to the subway. I heard crows caw, but I couldn’t say if they were taunting me or just being ordinary crows.
On the subway itself, no fights broke out. No disasters happened as a result of the radiation. There was only the crowd, the late rush of people who had been working until dinnertime.
I hesitated as long as I could, waiting for the telltale Blake in Rose’s voice.
When the doors started to slide shut, I hurried through them.
I walked down suburb streets until I started seeing the telltale signs of Pauz’s influence. Crows, and watching animals. Every house had curtains drawn, every light on, otherwise.
The Dowghty house was the only one that had no lights at all. Flocks of crows took off as I approached, but they didn’t attack me.
I reached into the backpack for the yellow lined paper and the tome, drew out a pen, and then tossed it aside before stepping onto the driveway.
Very cinematic prose here. The lack of conflict is ominous within a story that has so much of it.
I’d say final boss time, but this is just a miniboss.
The door opened as I knocked. The inside was as cold as the outside.
Filthier, oddly more wilderness.
Stray branches, dirt, trekked in mud and snow, frozen in tracks. Dung and offal, bones.
The smell was enough to make me want to gag. Cloying, animal, dominating the senses until it felt like throwing up would be a relief, cleaner and less gross than enduring this.
I used the back of the tome as a surface to rest the paper on, making my way through the house. Store-bought meat and the packaging for meat littered the floor in adjacent rooms. Cats and rodents hissed and growled as I passed too close to their food.
He was in the room opposite the front door, at the far end of the house.
A broken old man, clearly malnourished to the point that he should be in a hospital. His reactions were delayed as a cat hopped up into his lap to nibble at something that really didn’t look like it belonged on a dinner plate. Not cooked, barely taken care of. His arms were pocked with injuries where animals had nibbled on him and he’d been too slow to react. Some looked infected.
He smelled like he’d shit himself, sitting there.
A table laid out for a banquet, except the banquet had gone to rot. The guests remained, lurking at the edges of the room, on and under furniture, staring.
Pauz perched on the back of the chair, just behind Dowghty’s shoulder.
“It looks like it’ll be just me today,” I said.
“I know,” Pauz responded, confirming suspicions I hadn’t even allowed myself to voice.
What the hell did Pauz do to Rose? :(
I am excited to see how this will turn out. Also this poor fuckin dude omg.
See you next weekend, or maybe earlier.
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