#given that I don’t know how to draw or color anything other than sketching silly little doodles

[hinaliix]

𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓗𝓲𝓼 𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓻 🪽

#trigun #trigun maximum #trigun maximum spoilers #vashwood #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #I spent 20 hours on this entire piece and I lost 5 braincells in the process of making this please don’t flop #this is literally one of the only drawings that I put a lot of effort in and wow of course it’s a vashwood drawing #I consider this my renaissance painting for the trigun community #I like how this came out though #given that I don’t know how to draw or color anything other than sketching silly little doodles #the whole time I drew this I kept on thinking about the finale of stampede and I don’t think I’m emotionally ready for the couch #anyways! READ TRIGUN MAXIMUM

[korissideblog]

ohhh i'm lowkey very proud of this one <333

sillie little characters: Hiroharu [@compoundhero ] Michiko [@residentquirksupport ] and Ikuto [@the-heartbeat-hero ] <3

i didn't finish all the sketches i wanted for this fic, but i also wanted to get it out today, so maybe i'll reblog it or edit it later with the drawings <3 there are like two that i finished on time, but ahugghieisdifs whatever. it's officially midnight and i have work tomorrow <3

(also, if heartbeat-hero is reading this, thxs for reading over it for me, and i changed the ending a tiny bit so you could have something new to read <3)

“And then he’s going to put the ring on you-”

“But the ring is poisoned.” “Yes, we’re not gonna let it touch you. We’ll be there before anything happens.”

“Alright and- you can go tighter than that Mich.” Aito said, looking over his shoulder to Michiko, who was busy tying Aito’s corset.

“Any tighter and you won’t be able to breathe. You’re gonna be wearing this for longer than you think.” Michiko warned, tying the knot as flatly as she could. “Plus the dress is already fitted, if your waist gets smaller the fabric would look baggy.” Aito fought the urge to roll his eyes and turned back to Hiroharu.

“You know Jeje, I thought you would have brought me a gift.” She said, crossing her arms. “New silverware or something.”

Hiroharu closed the file in his hands as he looked at Aito in confusion. “Why would we have done that?”

“Because!” Aito said, walking to the other side of the dressing room, passing Ikuto- who’s been nervously rearranging Aito’s bouquet for the last 20 minutes- and unzipping a huge dress bag. A short but fluffy white dress spilled from it, and Aito unhooked it from the hanger.

“I’m getting married!”

______________________________________________________________

Aito was kinda spacing out a bit.

In his defense! He’d already done the walking-down-the-aisle-over-pretty-rose-petals bit, and that’s all he was really looking forward to at his wedding.

He knew Haru and Michi and Iku would be here any moment to break up the arrangement, but he had to play it cool, smiling and giggling at her groom as he read his vows.

Haruto Suzuki, better known as the White Phantom, was Aito’s target. He was cunning and malicious and a hopeless romantic to anyone who could get ahold of his list of ebooks. Aito spent almost half a year in this role-Ichika Yokoyama, for the time being- and worked a bit harder than necessary to get close to Suzuki. She just liked her cases ending with a bang, and what was more exciting than a wedding?

______________________________________________________________

Hiroharu listened intently to the wiretap under Aito’s dress, trying to time the ambush while the support team rounded the back, ready to catch any of the villains in attendance. The support team was being led by Michiko over radio as Haru focused on Suzuki.

“-I promise to always remember that you are indeed human. That you may sometimes make questionable decisions, decisions I don't agree with, like when you got a red velvet wedding cake when I asked for vanilla”

The reception laughed and Haru could hear Aito smack Suzuki’s hand playfully. At least she was staying in character.

“But that’s just it, isn’t it? You’ve always been like that, headstrong and sure of yourself in ways I could never be. You’re always right in the end- red velvet is my favorite flavor, I was just worried about other people’s opinions.- and… and I think that’s why I love you, Ichika.”

“I don’t think I would poison someone if I loved them.” Ikuto huffed, trying his best to stay in his chair in case pacing would alert anyone to the ambush.

Hiroharu remembered the call well. The one where Aito told him that he found messages between Suzuki and another villain, messages describing how Suzuki knew that Aito was speaking to someone behind his back. Secret calls to Michiko and Ikuto about the mission turned into hidden calls from a lover in Suzuki’s eyes, and he was going to take his revenge. Hiroharu was ready to pull Aito out of the mission then and there but… Aito wanted to continue.

“He didn’t tell me that he knew.” she reasoned. “If the wedding goes as planned, there’ll be at least 3 villains in attendance, as well as a few people who might have information that we need! He’s not gonna kill me before the wedding, so let’s keep going!” Hiroharu hated this plan, but Aito was stubborn enough to get her way.

Hiruharu noticed a slight change in Suzuki’s voice, silently getting Michiko’s attention with a wave of his hand. The vows were about to end.

“And that’s what today is all about… it’s not about arguments over cakes or venues or honeymoons… it’s about getting past all those arguments and realizing that… that I would go through a thousand more if it means I get to wake up next to you tomorrow.”

And Aito laughs, tears threatening her makeup as she gives the signal that the ring is in his hand- it’s time to go.

______________________________________________________________

The small reception turned to face the doors of the building as the heroes crashed through it, but the entire room stood still as the scene settled.

There he was, Aito Takao, Ichika Yokoyama, the blushing bride… with a golden band on her finger.

Aito’s eyes drooped a bit, as if she couldn’t figure out what she was looking at. Her hands clutched weakly at Suzuki’s lapels as she tried to regain her balance, his breathing getting heavy as he tried to stand up straight. “H-Haru…?” she asked just above a whisper, nobody sure of which one she was talking to as her body leaned back and she fell to the floor, limp as a corpse.

… a corpse…

Hiroharu could… he could feel Michiko’s hand clutching his wrist, but it was like he was remembering it, not like it was happening currently. Like he was asked to describe what happened as he watched his friend collapse into a pile of lace and satin, white and cold like a dead dove. Asked to describe the feeling of loss as he felt Ikuto slump onto his shoulder, holding onto his sleeve as if he couldn’t stay upright, like his body told him to meet Aito on the floor. Asked to describe Aito, her breath shaky and pained, the last one leaving her chest like a deadly flower wilting.

Something wicked… but also delicate in it’s own way.

What Hiroharu couldn’t describe was the sound. He knew there was silence, the telltale ringing of the room as no one dared inhale, as if Aito’s death would proceed all of their own, but there was also something else.

There was laughter.

Laughter Hiroharu recognized well. Notes and melody that he could recall from his high school years, a finger pointed at him as his friend laughed at whatever trick she had just pulled.

And oh what a trick he had pulled.

Aito sat up lazily, looking up at her groom- the villain shocked and nearly shaking as he looked down at his corpse bride- laughter spilling from her lips like blood as he gazed at the man in black through her eyelashes, batting them playfully as he finally calmed down enough to speak.

“Oh, you think I’m stupid, right?” He asked, one hand sneaking under her skirt. “Thought you could just kill me- didn’t wanna talk out our issues, baby?” He spat, his teeth pearly white and dangerously sharp as she smiled. From under her garter she produced a short poll, which when swung extended into his iconic golden colored staff. Aito took the ring off his finger as he stood, holding it up to Suzuki like a prize.

“I switched the rings~”

______________________________________________________________

“I can’t believe you did that.” Ikuto sighed with exhaustion, the fight was finally over, looking over the party as Michiko and the support team made quick work of arresting everyone involved. “I was so scared- I thought you died.”

Aito shrugged and continued eating the small slice of red velvet cake he somehow managed to salvage after Haru threw a guy into it. “That happens sometimes. Who’s feeding Jiji while I’m away?” He asked, as Ikuto realized that Aito really didn’t know what he did wrong, and also realized that he didn’t have the energy to explain.

“One of your neighbors. She’s like 2 doors down-“

“You got Hasegawa to feed Jiji!?” And now it was Ikuto’s turn to roll his eyes at something he saw as minuscule. “I hate her! You know that!”

“You don’t have to like her for her to feed Jiji.” Ikuto responded, his dismissal similar to Aito’s. Aito responded with her usual dramatics, shoving his plate into Ikuto’s hands as he turned to the gift table, sorting through the things that could be evidence (all of it) and the things he wanted to keep (also all of it). He held up a little envelope, and read the words on the front aloud. “Suzuki, for you and your new wife- and two bodyguards.” He tore it open with curiosity and four tickets fell into his hand. “Oh they‘re for-“ Aito gasped quietly as he read the name on the ticket, immediately holding it out to Ikuto. Before Ikuto could actually read the tickets, Aito stepped away and jogged over to Michiko.

“Mich~” Aito sang, holding up the tickets, but failing to catch Michiko’s eyes as she watched through the open doors, Suzuki in handcuffs being escorted into a large black SUV. “guess what?”

“Do you… Aito?” Michiko started, as if she was unsure about whether she wanted the answer to her question or not. “He… I know he’s a villain and he’s done terrible things but…” she leaned her head so she could see the SUV drive away. “He thought… I mean… he really thought he was going to kill the love of his life today.” she held herself, as if just the thought of it brought a coldness that would make her shiver. “I mean could you even imagine-” and then… she looked at Aito. Aito, with his droopy yellow eyes, completely unfazed by what Michiko was describing.

She knew Aito could love. She knew that Aito loved his mama, and Ikuto like a brother, and she knew that Aito loved her and Haru like best friends but… given the blank stare… she wasn’t sure if Aito…

“You dated him for half a year- Aito, he even asked you to marry him.” Michiko said, trying her best to describe her ideas in a way that Aito could understand. “That whole entire time did you ever… you know…?” Aito seemed as though he was about to respond, but paused, as if he really wanted to think about his answer.

“He… he really had a thing for poker.” she started, watching as the last of the SUV slipped behind the horizon line. “He’d play with his friends and… if he won big he’d…” Aito raised her hands gently, as if holding something delicate. “He’d buy me a dozen roses… and he’d tell me I was on his mind. That I was his good luck charm.” he laughed, recalling how silly it all sounded. “And… for just a moment… I’d forget it was all a job.”

“Hope I’m not interrupting.” Both of the women jumped a bit as Haru came up from behind them, quickly turning to face him and forget their prior conversation. “Ikuto said Aito found something and she wanted to show us.”

“Ohh Boss!” Aito chirped, immediately snapping out of whatever mournful spell him and Michi were under. “You’d never guess!” she then held out the four tickets for them to examine. “Pack your bags! I know where we’re going next!!!”

#scrap book page took so much longer than expected </3 wowie #anywho #aito almost got married <3 #and then almost died <3 #if you see spelling mistakes no you don't <3 #if you need a little guide for the scrapbook page: aito is purple. haru is blue. michi is pink. and iku is red <3 #i just think they deserve a little vacation <3 #aito takao #ikuto maekawa #aki hiroharu #michiko wantanabe #bnha oc comeback #Kori stories

[guqin-and-flute]

In Your Hands--Ch. 2 [Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[Chapter 1]

[This whole fic is the second chronological installment of the Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[First Installment] [Ao3 Series]

Yanli is determined to set about evening the exchange of their gifts after she finds a little chest full of her favorite floral incense on his pillow next to her when she wakes. She would like to collect information as he does, sifting through conversation to remember errant tidbits about interests but he is as frustratingly tightlipped on the subject of himself as he ever is. Agreeable to any attempt to draw out his preferences to the point of obfuscation. “Don’t you love this color, A-Yao?” elicits a kindly, “It’s very lovely,” no matter the color in question. She thinks it might be his way of not being a bother, because he certainly isn’t doing anything intentionally. Little does he know that, in reality, it’s making things more difficult on her.

I will know you, she thinks, watching him with keen eyes as they all eat breakfast together and talk. I will give you what you want, if only I could find out what that is.

He catches her watching and tilts his head, smiling in question.

“How are your dumplings?” She asks as an excuse, gesturing. 

“Oh, very good. Would you like some more?”

This man. 

His plate holds a bit of everything on the table, including one of A-Xian’s favored spicy dishes--while it’s something, she already knows he had grown up in Yunmeng and can tolerate spice. She just doesn’t know whether he likes it or not.  

It has almost become a game, to her, if not to him--though she thinks it might be, at least a little, for she sees the flash of satisfaction in his eyes when he lets her take his arm and breathes deeply, taking in the scent of the incense she had let envelop her as she dressed that morning. “You smell wonderful,” he murmurs and she feels herself flush up her neck, even though it had been the whole point of steeping herself in it to begin with.

“Thanks to you.” When she lays her head on his shoulder--partially in thanks, partially to hide her pink cheeks--she feels him lean closer.

She wants to delight him, to see him pleased and surprised into a genuine smile. But more than anything, she truly wants to know more about him. 

There is an inkling of a clue when she buys a guan for him made of graceful silver arches that form a lotus that seems to sit upon water that is reminiscent of the hair pin he had gotten her. When she presents it to him at bedtime, he seems surprised. He lets loose a soft, “oh,” turning it this way and that in his hands. Watching him, triumphant, she slides out her own pin and twirls it next to the guan, allowing her hair to begin its tumble down. “We’ll match.”

For a moment, he simply looks between the two ornaments, one hand coming out to slide his fingertips down the beaded chain of hers. Then, he smiles at her, and it’s wide and very nearly new. “We will.” 

“You like it?”

“Of course, it’s beautiful! I will like everything that you choose to give me.”

She scrunches her nose and tweaks his cheek. “Well, that’s hardly fair! How will I know if you truly do and aren’t just pretending for my sake?”

Turning, he picks her hand up from the bed and chastely brushes his lips across her knuckles. “I will like them because you are the one who gave them, A-Li.”

And at long last, it’s something! Because she thinks it’s true. Perhaps, for him, like it is for her, it is not the usefulness, or the beauty of the thing, but the loving it was given from. She has kept the little drawings A-Xian has given her since he was young, the little carved creatures of wood and soap that A-Cheng used to whittle her (though, realistically, they are little more than blobs she was told are bears and the like. Whatever they look like, they are blobs of love.) She has them lined up on a shelf in her old room, and has brought a few over to the room shared by A-Yao. They make her smile to see because they were made for her; love in a little scene she can revisit through touch again and again. Sometimes, she simply holds them and remembers how it used to be.

This, she decides, is probably what she should focus on for A-Yao--a shelf of happy memories and the knowledge he is loved. 

So, when she is sitting in her favorite pavilion one bright and breezy morning and He Si, one of the servants, delivers a gorgeous new calligraphy set to her and informs her with a barely contained grin that her husband has sent it, Yanli sets to work. After she unpacks and marvels over shiny new things, of course. It’s all sleek and beautiful and of the highest quality.

All morning, she uses his new gift to write him notes that she spends the afternoon ferreting away into places he will find them--like in his pockets or his desk drawers or under his spare boots. Some of them are little lines of poems she cherishes, one or two are shy sketches of the butterflies that had visited and twined through the fluttering, gauzy green curtains as she wrote, and more, still, are idle little thoughts she thinks will warm him. ‘I will be pleased to see you at dinner.’ ‘Remember not to work too hard.’ ‘Have a good day.’

She even gets the joy of seeing him find one while on a walkway, tucked in between 2 delivered missives with the help of He Si’s sleight of hand. The brisk, dutiful stride to business pauses and Yanli watches his slightly bowed head as he reads, the sunlight sliding down his hair like silk. When he looks up and around, she slips behind a delicately carved pillar on impulse so that he can’t see her. Then, she peeks back around. He’s looking back down at the slip of paper in his hand, his mouth a small curl of aching fondness. This one had said, ‘thinking of you.’ Warmth spreads through her when he folds it, neatly and carefully, into his fingers and presses his knuckles to his lips, closing his eyes. It is a moment of him with no mask in sight and she would feel sheepish for intruding if it didn’t bring her such happiness just to see his own. Even after he resumes his purposeful stride and disappears indoors, she is grinning, glowing, and allows herself a moment to seek out He Si to review the heist. “Did it please him?” the girl demands, excited. “What did it say?”

“It’s a secret,” Yanli teases. “And oh yes it did.”

It continues in this manner almost daily, when his gifts allow it; he gives her a parasol and she invites him on a walk under it with her; he buys rich embroidery thread and she weaves a delicate braid for him to wear or display a pendant from. He presents her with a fine silken handkerchief that she returns only days later, embroidered and thoroughly infused with the incense he had given her, draped over his pillow. Sadly, she didn’t get to witness this discovery, but she does see him slip it from his inner pocket as he removes his outer robes, that evening. As she watches him from the bed, Yanli resists the most absurd urge to bashfully pull the covers up over her nose and asks, “You...found it, then?”

Instead of answering, he slowly sits on her side instead of his and spreads it between them on the covers with deliberate care, one side of his mouth tucked up, that dimple pressed in sweetly in the lantern-light. “A pair of mandarin ducks,” he observes, voice quiet, eyes on the handkerchief as he runs his fingertips over it.

“I stitched them myself.”

“They are masterfully done and the colors are beautiful.”

“It was the thread you gave me. I wanted....” The intentions, the symbolism gets caught on her tongue and she blushes. Husband, she has to remind herself. It’s allowed! It’s expected! A long and happy marriage is what one is supposed to want. He makes the prospect of closeness and affection all at once so mysterious and alluring, almost a forbidden thing (though the thought is a ridiculous one, she admits.) “Do you like it?”

He raises his eyes to her and they are night soft. “A-Li, may I kiss you?”

Yanli’s heart jumps to her throat in an anticipatory sort of apprehension and her hands twist in her lap. Anxious without fear; she trusts this and him. “You may.”

Though she had kissed his mouth once before, he had been still, accepting the simple press and nothing more. Now, as he leans in, his hands settle lightly on her jaw, tilting her face up to him, his lips are a sure, gentle slide over hers. It’s odd to have someone so close to her face, and it’s  warmer than she would have thought--not to mention wetter. But not bad. 

Oh no, definitely not bad. 

A-Yao kisses her with the same keen attention he gives everything else; controlled and intent. It feels as if he is slowly sampling her, sometimes the pressure feather-like and almost tickling, and other times an earnest press, inviting her along. The entirety of her skin grows hot at the realization she is being experienced and she can feel her heartbeat as if her entire chest is a drum. He makes it easy, a song that sounds vaguely familiar without completely knowing the next step. She doesn’t feel lost or stupid or silly. She feels wanted. Precious.

When he draws back, her lips are tingling--who would have thought such an ordinary part of her face could produce that much sensation? One would think she would have noticed this before!--and he is watching her carefully. His own lips are slightly pinker and without thinking, she reaches out to touch them, wonderingly. His watchfulness melts at her touch and he smiles against her fingertips--his mouth is warm, like her own when she lifts her other hand to compare. 

“That was….”

“Good?”

“Oh, it was strange but I think I liked it. I--can we try again?”

A-Yao laughs and reaches out as she eagerly shuffles forward on her knees. Yanli allows him to draw her onto his lap sideways but, this time, she reaches out and draws him down. And being the good, patient man that he is, he lets her try again and again as she wishes, moving as she does.

There is no sudden revelation or awakening as she had secretly hoped there might be with such a kiss, (how easy that would have been, if all the whispers and stories and songs had all aligned with ultimate clarity and understanding within her, if it was all at once as easy as everyone else made it seem). But it is new and oddly pleasant to simply be in his arms, closer than she has ever been before, sharing with him. He pulls away and takes her wrist, eyebrows pinched. “You’re shaking. Are you alright?”

Oh. It seems she is. It isn’t fear, but instead a sort of deep trembling that seems to originate from her core, almost like excitement or the kind of giddy terror of a friend chasing you in a game of tag. She smiles up at him. “It’s...new. I think I’m just getting used to it. You’re my first kiss.” 

Something she can’t define as positive or negative before it’s gone passes over his face and he gathers her up, burying his face in her neck, squeezing. She curls back around him, hands stroking his soft hair. “I’m so glad it’s you,” she murmurs, the ghosts of the kisses still shimmering on her lips. “You’re so sweet and kind to me. How did I get so lucky?”

Against her throat, he sucks in a deep, shaking breath before pulling back to deliver an almost perfect smile, the slight tremble in the corner of his mouth the only thing betraying whatever depth of emotion he is feeling. “Jiang-furen,” he says with playful reproach. “You simply can’t steal my lines like that. What will I be left with?”

In response, she clasps his face and leans up to rub the tips of their noses together. "Oh, you're so very clever. I'm sure you'll think of something."

#peony to lotus #yaoli #UPDATE CORNER HELL YEAH #This one is much less angsty than the first chapter (and that's saying something) but in planning...this has grown a proto plot #(I mean we have 2 maladjusted people pleasers trying to make each other happy there's bound to be a few bumps in the road) #So there's going to be a bit of sadness and a dash of angst in the future but I'm going to keep with the theme #This is primarily just going to be me giving them nice things because I can #And there isn't going to be any dumb and avoidable misunderstandings #There's going to be at LEAST 1 more chapter. Maybe 2. We'll see how much they wanna be all gushy and shit #my stuff #my fic

[wheres-sam]

I binge-watched the spn anime because of the brain rot

It’s bad except for the parts that are good, and it’s pretty to look at. Here’s a comprehensive list of pros and cons. Spoilers ahead!

Pros:

- more psychic kid backstories: Max (Nightmare), Lily (Darkness Calling), Jake (Loser)

- more psychic Sam

- more Azazel

- basically if you want more about the psychic/demon kids, watch the anime

- more young Winchesters

- the monsters, the superhuman abilities, the fight scenes, it all looks really cool animated. (But PSA it’s violent. It doesn’t shy away from blood and gore.)

- Sam and Jessica backstory

- more of the brothers being cute and funny together

- Missouri isn’t forgotten

- includes some Japanese legends/mythology

- the impala looks great in every scene. They did Baby good

- the “Supernatural” intro title

- the outro sketches of the boys hanging out with Baby

- Episodes adapted from the original show are different, but I like some of the changes? It’d be boring if it was an exact retelling and the visual medium wasn’t utilized. (I know I said spoilers before, but this is when they get detailed. If you wanna skip over, I’ll tell you where they STOP.)

Nightmare goes more into the abuse Max has suffered. Instead of locking Sam in a closet, Max sends Sam through the floor and covers the hole by breaking his bed in half, and it’s extremely sexy how Sam shoves the 2 halves apart with his mind. Later on Dean puts bandaids on Sam and they talk about demons loudly in front of a fast food intercom.

In My Time of Dying highlights the guilt Sam feels over Dean. In both the og and the anime John verbally blames Sam for not shooting Azazel, but where in the og Sam goes right on arguing, in the anime he reels back for a moment like he was slapped. Dean’s spirit touches Sam’s shoulder, and Sam knows immediately that it’s Dean. He doesn’t even question it. Instead of “Are you here?” it’s “I know you’re with me. I can feel it.” And I love that. Dean figures out right away he’s dealing with a reaper, and the reaper takes on the appearance of Mary to convince Dean to move on to the afterlife. Instead of a Ouija board, Sam uses a laptop to talk to Dean, and the first word Dean types is “Sammy!” Dean is so fond of his little brother and Sam is so baby.

Rising Son is an anime only episode, but it draws inspiration from John’s journal. Dean has a proper breakdown over his dad’s death and the possibility of having to kill Sam. Ms. Lyle, Sam’s favorite teacher who turns out to be possessed, is explored. John takes Dean hunting, and in the journal Dean hesitates to shoot a buck, and little Sam shoots it thinking it was endangering Dean. In the anime, Dean’s cornered by a moose and Sam makes it explode with his mind and it’s so !!! How little Sam’s first words are, “I’m glad you’re okay. It didn’t hurt you?” The boys are covered in blood and guts and Dean’s like 👁👄👁 “Why are you here? Did you do this?” And then Sam starts freaking out a little, the shock sets in. “I don’t know. I don’t know, honest.” And he’s staring at his hands, and I am a big fan of Sam showing superhuman signs as a kid. Like in the journal, Ms. Lyle tries to take Sam. She gives Sam the illusion of a choice to come with her or stay with Dean, and Sam chooses Dean. This ep is pretty much when John figures out Sam has demon blood. He kills another hunter that wants to kill Sam.

Crossroad is based on Crossroad Blues, and I love how the crossroads demon shows up. It’s hard to describe, but it’s so neat, like she’s walking underneath Dean in this mirror world, and then the mirror world takes over the regular world, so you really get this sense of otherworldly seclusion, existing outside of time.

What Is and Should Never Be shows Dean is a firefighter in his ‘Mary never died’ world, and Sam got to play soccer growing up like he wanted. The brothers hold each other after Dean is saved from the Djinn.

AHBL part 1. When Azazel shows Sam that he fed Sam his blood, Sam gags and slaps a hand over his mouth, and I like that reaction more than the live action. The psychic kids get to go more anime with their powers, and that’s a lot of fun. They don’t need weapons. Ava slams Sam into the brick side of a building and cuts him without touching him. Jake snaps Ava’s neck with one hand and then catches Sam in his arms. When Jake attacks Sam, there’s no gun or knife. He’s relying on his super strength, his fists. Sam throws his arms up to protect himself, and (accidentally?) pushes Jake back with his mind, and the collision creates a crater in the ground. Jake puts his fist through Sam’s chest to kill him. It’s brutal and it’s rad as fuck. These kids are terrifyingly powerful.

The Sam and Dean reunion before Sam is killed is not as emotional as the live action imo, but what the anime does intrigues me. Hurts in a different way. Because Sam is stunned after he uses telekinesis again, on Jake, and when he hears Dean behind him Sam freezes. He doesn’t look relieved to see Dean, but wary and weary. It’s Dean taking steps towards him, not the other way around, and it has to be because Sam doesn’t know if Dean saw him push Jake back. Sam doesn’t know how Dean’s going to respond to all this, to him, having powers that come from a demon, the demon, Azazel. Sam hasn’t had a chance to process anything. He’s scared. He’s tired. And the way the anime focuses on Sam’s eyes here. Gah. “Dean. Dean, I’m...” I’m sorry. I’m all right. I’m glad you’re okay. I’m a monster. There’s also this one shot between Sam and Azazel that sends me because of how anime it is.

AHBL part 2. I love how Sam brought back to life is animated, with all the color returning to his face and a light wind rustling his hair and his lips parting to indicate his soul returning to his body. Jake attacks Dean, and, a lot like how Sam activates telekinesis to save Dean from Max in Nightmare, Sam gets a burst of superhuman strength. He rips Jake’s arm off and tackles him to the ground and beats him to death, punches holes into his body, and it’s so savage and bloody and scary, and I love it. The Devil’s Gate opening looks so cool animated. Same goes for Dean shooting Azazel with the Colt.

Not to turn this into a meta post, but I also noticed how the last couple times Sam uses his powers they’re colored green-yellow, the same colors as Mary’s ghost when she reveals herself in the anime’s Home, and I don’t know if that’s intentional, but it’s neat how it draws a connection to Sam’s biological family instead of Azazel’s blood.

The Spirit of Vegas is like Bad Day at Black Rock, but Dean has all the bad luck instead, and it shows off the silly cartoony physics that make animation fun. The boys sleep outside and split a chunk of bread for dinner. Also this lil bit of Dean’s hair tied in a bow.

- (STOP) the brothers are pretty. I am not immune to animated Sam and Dean Winchester.

Cons:

- Jensen doesn’t voice Dean until the last 2 episodes

- The English dialogue is really bad sometimes. I wish I could’ve watched the sub, but I couldn’t figure out how to change the language

- Some character designs are really different from the live action, and maybe that’s petty, but if you’re gonna change the characters diversify them? Don’t just make them unrecognizable white people

- Missouri’s design as a stereotypical witch doctor is racist

- Gordon is replaced by some British guy named Jason?? Why

- There’s an LGBT character who is not accepted by her family and, while that bigotry is always shown to be negative and she dies the hero of the episode, she still dies ://

- In the English dub Lily’s gf is made into her roommate instead. Idk about the sub

- Bobby’s pretty much a totally different character

- Sam and Dean are OOC sometimes

- Dean’s hair usually looks darker than Sam’s and it drives me crazy

- The storytelling is, overall, not nearly as good as the live action

- The non-Japanese lore in some episodes makes no sense. Sometimes it’s just plain ridiculous?? Like there’s a giant robot made of cars and scrap metal controlled by a demon? ? I wish I was making this up

- Meg’s role is severely reduced

- No Harvelles or Roadhouse

- Shadows are overused, but maybe that’s because the og show is so dark?

- I don’t mind the art style. I like the aesthetic, but I wish it was a little more expressive. It doesn’t do Sam’s puppy eyes justice.

- AZAZEL’S SHADOW?? PROPORTIONS?? PEA SIZED HEAD

- Idk why they mashed season 1 and 2 together? The story feels rushed

- there’s not as much chemistry between Sam and Dean, but that’s a given without J2 on screen

- Nobody tells you!! That there’s scenes after the credits!! And some of them are important! Why are important scenes after the credits??

The anime would not be good on its own, without the heart and depth the live action brings, but it works as supplementary material you can cherry pick from. I would watch more if there were more episodes.

It hasn’t turned me off from wanting an spn anime. I’d like to see it continued or redone, with updated animation and better scripts. There’s a lot of potential in exploring more about the psychic kids and Sam’s powers, storylines that were cut short in the og show. Animation is a great medium for showing off the supernatural, getting creative and creepier with the designs, dramatic with the fight scenes, without having to worry about bad CGI. I don’t want a live action reboot, but I think a redone animated series could be a lot of fun! (As long as it’s not an excuse to make any romantic ships take over. SPN is a platonic love story, and I like it that way.)

If you made it to the end here and are interested in watching the spn anime, you can watch it for free on the CW Seed app! You can probably stream it elsewhere, but idk where!

#spn anime #supernatural #supernatural the anime #my detailed pros is pretty much me letting you know what episodes are worth watching #and why #its bad but I kind of like it #I like what they were going for. the potential it has #I like sam and there's lots of sam

[starrynite7114]

Headcanon: Art Day

A/N: A headacanon! This idea was given to me by @carlaangel86​ and @justahopelessssromantic​ . We were watching some Tiktoks and well, here it is. Hope you all enjoy this update!

Laughter and Snapshots will be posted next!

Hope you guys had a good week!

Masterlist

Request tagged list: @justahopelessssromantic​ : @ifoundmyhappythought​ : @carlaangel86​ : @woahitslucyylu​ : @encounterthepast​ : @enamoured-x​ : @thewarriorprincessxo​ : @briana-mishell24​ : @bribri-82​ : @chibsytelford​ : @agirllovespasta​ : @twistnet​ : @everyhowlmarksthedead​ : @trulysuccubus​ : @jadert15​ : @sammskellington​ : @cind-in-real-life​ :  @claytoncardenasbabymama​ : @sadeyesgf​ : @thickemadame​ : @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass​ : @gemini0410​ : @elcococruz​ : @samcrobae​ : @sesamepancakes​​ : @iambabyharry​ : @blackmissfrizzle​ : @soamayansfangirl​ : @1-800-imagines​​ : @phoenixhalliwell​​ : @lady-pswrld​​ : @dazzledamazon​​  : @getyourcrayoncas​​ : @fvckthisbxtchup​​ : @lukealvxz​​ : @scuzmunkie​​ : @lilac-tea-time​​ : @danie1432​​ : @cocotheclown​​ : @soaronmywings​​ : @my-rosegold-soul​​ : @buttercup812​​ : @itskiranbitch​​ : @angelreyesgirl​​ : @sheeshgivemeabreak​​ : @vicmackeybullshxt​​ : @bigcreatorwombatdreamer​​ : @khyharah​​ : @strawberrywritings​​ : @cherry-icetea​​ : @fuzzy-jellyfish​​ : @losolvidad0s​​ : @brownsugarcoffy​​ : @courtrae89​​ : @prdsdjarin​​ : @blessedboo​​ : @marvelmaree​​ : @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat​​ : @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​​ : @thesandbeneathmytoes​​ : @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind​​ : @maddie-georges​​ : 

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please let me know!

CREDITS TO THE ORIGINAL GIF MAKER!

You and Angel have had a good quarantine so far.

Meaning you two didn’t kill one another and actually enjoyed one another’s company. 

Maybe the reason you two have yet to kill one another was due to the fact Angel locking himself in the third bedroom in your house, painting. 

Which you two recently purchased at the end of last year and now, you two were able to renovate as you two had planned. 

With the quarantine, your days were spent either painting a room, placing the hardwood floors in the kitchen and living room, or changing the cabinets in the kitchen. 

Overall, it’s been a productive first two months of quarantine

Now, the Santo Padre head was seeping in and you were not a happy camper. 

Though, another reason quarantine didn’t make you two hate one another, was because you and Angel love being in each other’s company. 

You two appreciated the days you two have together since you were always at work and he was always on a run. 

Living apart the first three, living together the last three, six years together in total, you and Angel knew how to avoid killing one another. 

Also, it helped that you were a respiratory therapist and worked almost six days a week. They tried to push you for more hours, but there was so much your body could take. 

Now, after being on for six, you were off for four. 

On your first day, you were nursing a margarite that Angel made for you while you watched a 90s Romcom on Netflix while he was in his art room.

You loved coming in Angel’s art room since his masterpieces gave you glimpses of how he was feeling.

When the whole thing with EZ went down? Everything was dark, upsetting, but you knew he had to let it out. 

It lasted for a few months, but eventually the colors came back. 

You didn’t know how to help him, you knew Angel was hurting then, but the best thing to do for him was to be here and you were. 

Angel never changed towards you, he was always silly, loving, and your Angel. 

But you knew he missed his family as well.

Your glad EZ manned up and spoke to Angel. 

You were in your room, waiting for glasses to break, but you didn’t hear anything. When you came out after EZ left, Angel held you, sleeping on the couch that night. 

And you also loved the artwork you inspired for Angel. 

It always made you smile shyly at him when he would tell you about the artwork you inspired him to do.

They were vibrant, so full of life. They varied as well.

Some were sketches of you that you knew he was doing since he asked you to model for him.

Others were candid sketches he took of you. Some of them you don’t even remember him doing since there was no sketchbook in his hand then.

“It’s from memory baby, EZ isn’t the only one with photographic memory. Though, you’re the most prominent image in my mind, it isn’t hard.”

You would blush and kiss him. 

Angel was too sweet for his own good. 

He didn’t draw often since the club took him away often.

So when he could, he dedicated a day for his artwork

And today was that day. 

While you enjoyed your margarita, Angel was enjoying his beer in his room. 

You wanted to take a peek since he’s been in there since eight this morning and it was already one in the afternoon. 

You figured you should think of making lunch soon, but you weren’t hungry since you and Angel had a big breakfast. 

“Babe!” You called out to Angel who left his door slightly ajar in case you needed him. 

“Yeah?” He answered.

“You hungry?”

There was no response and just as you were about to get up, you felt Angel hold your shoulders down and kiss you. 

“Jesus Christ Angel!” You placed your hand on your chest. 

He sat down next to you, your shirt was now dirty with the paint he was using. 

“Babe, you got my shirt dirty.” You pouted, not really caring, but you loved to give Angel flack every once in a while.

“You mean my shirt?” He teased.

“We’re partners, what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours.” You paused. “Except for the GT, that’s all mine.”

Angel laughed. “I swear, you love that car more than me.”

“No, of course not,” you looked at him. “Maybe just a little bit, but you’re still the number person to me.” 

Angel rolled his eyes. “Yeah okay.” He looked at what you were watching before taking a sip of your margarita. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really, but I know you’re a bottomless pit.” 

“I’m not that hungry yet, we can swing by Pop’s store and get a few steaks.”

“We do need some meat, we might as well stock up so we don’t have to go out again.”

“Great idea.” Angel kissed your cheek. “But, before we go, can we do something real quick?”

“Sure.” 

He took your hand and pulled you up. You two made your way towards his art room where there was a plastic table at the center and a LunaBean in the middle. You looked over at Angel who smiled at you.

“Oh god, are you sculpting me again?” 

Angel chuckled. “No, and you literally we’re not complaining the two times we did.”

“Angel, we ended up fucking both times.”

“Like I said, no complaints.”

You laughed. 

You stopped in front of the table, Angel letting go of your hand so he could stand across from you. 

Looking inside the bucket, your nose scrunched up at the mixture below. You weren’t sure what the material was, but it was light pink in color. 

“Um, I’m not sure I want to know what we’re going to do.” You eyed him suspiciously.

Angel chuckled. “Come mi corazon, you trust me?” 

“Um, that’s a hit or miss.” You stuck out your tongue playfully. “Alright, I do, what are we doing baby?”

You love being a part of Angel’s art process. It wasn’t rare you were able to do it, but you were glad you could do it now. 

“Give me your hand.” You gave him your left hand, his right hand intertwining with yours. He dipped your hands inside the bucket till it was on the bottom. “Stay still.” He instructed you.

For five minutes, you and Angel remained still, Angel watching your hands, while you watched him. He was a perfectionist with his art. Everything else, he was laid back, but when it came to art, he was a perfectionist. 

He pulled your hands out, wiping your hands, he handed the cloth to you so he could pour the casting stone mix inside. Once he filled it, he placed the second bucket down and smiled at you.

“Let’s go.”

“Is that supposed to create a mold?”

“Maybe, you kind of moved, so you might have fucked it up.” He teased. 

“You’re so lucky I love you.” 

You two went to Carniceria Reyes, and kept your social distancing as instructed along with your mask. You missed Felipe and the stories he told you about Angel.

How much of a pain of the ass Angel was, but how he was such a sweet kid who always looked out of his younger brother. 

He also told you how much Angel loved drawing more than he did sports, but Angel also liked popularity and art wouldn’t win girls over.

EZ was at the store helping their father as well. 

It’s been a rough year between EZ and Angel, but you were glad that things were better.

“So, am I getting a quarantine niece or nephew?” EZ called out before you two exited the story.

You blushed while Angel just laughed, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. 

When you two arrived home, Angel put the groceries you two decided to get since you two were out anyway. 

You sat back down on the couch, resuming your movie.

Angel eventually joined you and soon, you two fell asleep. 

Angel woke up first, watching you as you slept. His favorite sketches of you were of ones while you were sleeping. You looked so peaceful and carefree. 

He carefully maneuvered you, so he could lay your head on the pillow. 

Once he was certain you wouldn’t wake up, he took his sketchbook, sat on the armchair and began to sketch you. 

A few hours later, you woke up to Angel banging around the kitchen. 

“Babe, if you were trying to wake me up, you’ve succeeded.”

“Good, dinner is ready.”

Angel was a tremendous cook and one of the things you two picked up whenever you were off work was cooking together. It was definitely fun. 

And you may or may not have started painting with Angel, though, he was a strict teacher, sort of. 

You two always ended up naked. 

After dinner, you washed the dishes as Angel busied himself in his art room again. 

His art ventures were usually an all day thing, so you were surprised you two even went out.

But with quarantine, he had more opportunity to work on his art. 

He always told you, art was a process, so you never went inside his room unless there was an emergency.

When you were done, you sat back on the couch and browsed through your phone, seeing what you missed in the social media world while you were asleep. 

“Mi dulce, can you come over here?” You heard Angel call for you.

“Sure babe.” 

You entered the room and found Angel standing beside the plastic table. You joined him, looking down at the molding of your hands together. 

“Babe, this looks amazing.” You studied the molding. Your hands were perfectly intertwined, the details were absolutely amazing. 

You then noticed there was a sketching of you in front of it. Curiously, you picked it up.

You took in the details, always in awe of Angel’s work. 

You loved it when he shared his work with you whenever he finished.

Self-esteem issues were a bitch, but every time you saw a piece Angel did of you, you felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.

Turning it over, there was a note behind it. 

‘Every time I look at you, I’m reminded of our meeting at the carniceria years ago. How you gave me that shy smile, tucking your hair behind your ear, thanking me for the suggestions I made. I began to look forward to your visits, trying to work at my pops’ shop as often as I could just so I could get a glimpse of you. After our first date, I knew this was it for me, which was fucking insane. These past six years have been the happiest I’ve been since my mother passed away. I’m not really certain what I did to deserve your presence, but I’m thankful every day. We’ve had our ups and down, but this quarantine made me realize that you’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, especially since you haven’t killed me. I love you, mi vida, mi alma, mi sol, mi todo, will you marry me?’

You looked over at Angel, and he was on his knee, a black velvet box in his hand. 

“Will you marry me, Y/N?” He asked, the nervousness clearly evident on his face. 

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

Angel stood up, picked you up and kissed you. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling away so you could bury your face on the crook of his neck.

You couldn’t believe it, it was finally happening. Angel proposed to you. 

Placing you back down on the floor, you smiled up at him, looking back down at your left hand. 

“Fuck, babe, I can’t believe it.” 

“You better, because once this quarantine is done, we’re getting married.”

You laughed.

“Guess we gotta make a new molding once we’re married.” 

“No babe, this can be our memorabilia of the day we got engaged.” 

Angel took one of his thin brushes, writing the date on your hand molding. 

“This is the beginning of our forever.”

Angel smiled. “It’s been us since the first day we met at the carniceria.” He softly began kissing your neck, making you moan. “What do you say we end this day like how we always do during art days?”

You two always ended Angel’s art days with sex. 

You never asked questions, you were a willing participant.

And you were a willing participant again. 

#angel reyes #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes fic #angel reyes fanfic #Mayans MC #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc fic #mayans mc fanfic

[nitannichionne]

Luna IV, Chapter 13: The Tournament (A Cavill Syverson Fan Fic)

Chapter 13: The Tournament

CHAPTER 13: The Tournament

The marketplace was in excited upheaval. It had been for the last few weeks. The Luna Women’s competition was drawing close.

Any woman could participate, though single and claimed had their own tournaments. There were ten competitions: artisanship, cooking, cleaning, beauty, hand to hand combat, intelligence, archery, athleticism, gardening and riding.

You had never heard of it before, and for that alone, you are excited. You and Helena take your usual table and watch women and merchants haggling more than usual.

“You’re really into this!” Helena smiles at you.

“I know I can win the rough stuff,” you say excitedly. “Did you see those medals?”

“Yes, but there is some serious competition,” Helena warns softly. “The outlanders, the ones who live on the outside of the cities, their women are pretty rough, too.”

You sigh, “Hopefully my practicing will earn a place, at least.” You smile at Helena. “You’re a shoe-in for beauty, by the way.”

Helena smiles at that, chuckling as she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, with the little pouch here.” She raises an eyebrow. “You should try to enter it. You’re really exotic looking.”

You laugh out loud. “No, thanks!”

“Hi!” Gabrielle smiles, clutching sheets to her breast.

You smile. You honestly have never seen such change in a woman before. Gabrielle was still afraid of most men except Lysander, but she was no longer afraid to smile, look people in the eye. She simply was not the same woman she was three months ago.

               “Where have you been?” you ask her.

               “Lysander,” she says sheepishly. “I honestly don’t understand it. You’d think he’d be tired of me.”

               “Are you?” Helena asks knowingly.

               Gabrielle leaned forward and grinned girlishly. “No!” They all laughed at that. “What did I miss?”

               “I chose my fabric,” You push swatches toward her.

               “I brought my sketches for you two,” Gabrielle smiles. “Let me know what you think, okay? I’ll get some drinks…for you, too, Kane!” She scratches his ears and goes for refreshments.

               You and Helena frown over the sketches.

               “She is good, you know that?” you nod.

               “I know. That’s why we’re going to enter our costumes into the artisan’s competition in Gabrielle’s name!” Helena whispers.

               You gasp softly, “She’s in the gardening competition already. You’re going to put her in another?”

               “She signed the sketches,” Helena taps the sheets. “See? All we have to do is wear the number on our costumes, that’s all.”

               “She might be embarrassed.”

“And Lysander will be there for her,” Helena says with no remorse. “He’s even thinking about entering his outfit for that day. She finished it yesterday.” She pauses, changing the subject. “Are you sure you don’t want to try for the beauty competition?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Zenobia nods, rolling her eyes. “The archery and athleticism events are enough, thank you.”

“Hhmph,” Helena pouts. “I thought you were doing hand to hand.”

“Your brother said no, that’s why I’m doing athleticism instead.” You roll your eyes. “He really gets on my nerves sometimes.”

Helen arches her eyebrow, her smile disbelieving. “Yeah, right.”

*****

The Luna Women’s competition came on a beautiful but hot day. Colors were posted everywhere and merchants sold cool drinks and shade. There was public shade but it was crowded.

You are grateful to find that Sy has not only reserved shade for some of his people, but got you a two room private tent with a cooling system inside. You are relieved to see it as you complete the events of the athleticism competition.

“I saw you in the footrace,” Sy smiles, handing you a drink when you come inside the tent. “I had no idea you were so fast.”

               You raise an eyebrow brow at him. “You never asked.”

               “They should be doing archery soon,” he nods. “Anything you want to tell me about that?”

“I was one of the best on my father’s property,” you beam. “I trained with his archers, but not with arrows. I trained with bullet tips.”

               “That man, rest his soul, gave you way too much advantage.”

               “Ha!” You have become used to his little ribs, but most of the time, you just liked the way his mouth went a little lopsided when he did. “You’ll be there, won’t you?” You watch him sit as if trying to decide and you pounce on him. He laughs up at you as you grab his shirt front and shake him slightly. “You will be there, right?”

“I will be there,” he chuckles, grabbing your wrists and turning your bodies so that he was over you. He brings his lips down on yours, nibbling and teasing your mouth to open to him.

“Sy…” you sigh, and then scramble to your feet when she saw the look in his eyes. “Uh-uh, I need all my strength for today!”

“Before we leave, I will have you in this tent,” he assures, his smile completely suggestive.

Your stomach does flip-flops as you smile back. “Just not now.”

He lunges for you and you duck out, hearing his laughter. Ah, that man…

“It’s true, then!”

You turn to Gabrielle’s gasp. “What?” She looked down at the number. “Oh, you like?”

Gabrielle looks upset, to the point of tears. “I’m not that good!”

“Brielle.” Lysander calls softly, catching up to her. “I told her to.”

“But, but why?!” Gabrielle shakes her head as tears well up in her eyes.

“Because we know talent when we see it,” he nods. “I have been getting compliments on this outfit since we got here.” She opens her mouth to protest and he kisses her forehead, immediately quieting and calming her. “Trust me?”

She looked up at him, nodding. “Always, but--” She sighs as he kissed her soundly.

Lysander raises his head just in time to recognize the man coming toward them. “Oh, hey, Theron!”

Theron was all smiles and a bit excited.  “Let’s go to the beauty competition,” he suggested. “Helena’s one of the finalists.”

“I can only stay a little while,” you say apologetically. “I have a few more things to do.”

“I thought the archery contest was at the end of the day,” Lysander frowns slightly.

“It is,” you nod. “But I have a few more athletic categories too.”

The group went to watch Helena compete. You can’t believe how pretty some of the women were, and how many boldly stared at Sy. It was as if you weren’t there. They smiled at Theron, but Helena was more than their equal in beauty. You look down at your form fitting halter and brown chaps with underlying shorts. You like the outfit; it hugs your curves and you can do just about anything in it, but these women floated across the floor.

Sy’s arms close around you. “What?”

“Hmmm?” you nod, picking at the beadwork on the arm braces Gabrielle made for you.  “Nothing.”

He bends down and nuzzles your ear. “Come on.”

“Nothing.”

“And the winner is…Helena Cavanaugh!”

Helena was tearful as she accepted her crown with three silver moons on it. She smiled at the crowd, and then at her husband.

“I love you,” Theron mouths the words.

“I love you,” Helena mouths back, blowing him a kiss.

It slams into you. You want Sy’s love, and to keep it, more than anything. You kiss him on the cheek and leave to complete your competition.

The rest of the afternoon wears at your nerves. You place second in athletics because you truly didn’t climb walls a lot, nor did you swim. You are thankful that running and agility helped your scores. You hope to win the archery competition.

The archery competition is grueling. You get down to the finals, and it comes down to you and last year’s winner, Gloria Crieger. It comes down to one arrow at twice the distance than before. You shoot within the bullseye but Gloria shoots dead center, leaving you with second place again.

You swallow hard. You can’t believe you lost the archery competition. You’d never lost against a woman. Your pride is crippled. You stand stiffly as you are given the medal, and step off the stand as soon as she can. You see Sy  come toward you, and you can’t look at him.

“Hey,” he lifts your chin so he can look at you. He looks surprised to find tears in your usually bright eyes. “Zen?” He pulls you into his embrace, sighing as your tears come. “Aw, sweetheart…”

“I’m sorry.” You sniff into his shirt, and manage to look at him. “I really tried, Sy. I wanted to make you proud! I wanted to bring glory to your house!”

Sy pulls you closer. He tilts your chin up and wipes your tears. “But sweetheart, I am proud of you. You lost to a woman who has won this competition for years. You just entered, and you placed second. Don’t cry, baby, don’t cry.” He rubs your back comfortingly.

“I don’t care!” How could you hope to keep him? You aren’t an exceptional beauty like Helena, or artistic and sweetly soft like Brielle. Your father once spoke of your mother’s warrior skills like she was unparallel to any other woman, that she was special. “I’m sorry, Sy. I really am. I’ll do—“

He laughs at you, and speaks to you as if you are a child. ��I am proud of you—“ He rains kisses on your face as you begin to shake your head, not wanting pity. “No, no, listen to me.” He frames your face in his hands, wiping your tears with his thumbs. “I am proud of you, I am proud you are mine, with me.” He kisses you again, and holds you tightly, and you felt the tightness in your sobbing chest melt as  you begin to snuggle under his chin. He rubs your back. “You’re such a silly girl sometimes, you know that?”

“Oh!” You realize you’ve made a spectacle of herself. Some people are actually watching you, but you were too upset to pay attention. You are mortified.

He laughs down at you. “What?” You snuggle closer to him, hiding to regain the rest of your composure. “Aw, just realized some people are watching?” He laughed louder, kissing the top of your head. “Look around.” He nudges your temple. “Go on, look around.”

You peek around his bicep. You see most people barely paying attention, but some smiled at you. Gabrielle is still marveling at her medal in the artisan’s competition as Lysander holds her. Then you see Gloria with her mate. There is no holding, no kissing, no congratulations from him. He collects her winnings, and gives her a small portion of it. Then he gives her the trophy with a pat on the back. She nods her thanks. He didn’t even hold her hand as they walked away from the crowds. You lock eyes with Gloria, and see the longing and loneliness of the woman. “Sy…”

               “I know, I know. We won.”

                You snuggle closer to him, taking a deep but shaky breath. “Yes. We won.”

@fckdeusername @maan24  @rn7rocks @kaatelyyynn  @october505​ @absentmindedreader @introvertedmouse​

#henry cavill #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fluff #syverson #superaman #geralt

[fanfic-inator795]

I’ve been thinking a lot about Michika and my “A New Slice of Life” fic (and it’s sorta sequel-oneshot) lately, so screw it. Headcanon time

Warning: this got SUUUUUPER long

Michika:

Despite being semi-aquatic, Michi doesn’t really care for seafood. She’d rather have cucumbers/other veggies or noodles. She also just LOVES fruit and baked goods, but strangely enough also enjoys black licorice

Along with being friends with Mikey, she runs into Piebald during one of her swims on the surface, and the two become fast friends. While she’s not super into horror movies, they definitely bond over their love of pranks

One day when they were bored, Mikey taught Michi about splatter paint art, and now it’s one of her fave things to do

Prefers lakes over oceans, and will hang out in parks on the Surface because of this

Has excellent aim and is great at long range attacks, thanks to her water gun and a decent throwing arm, but is below-average when it comes to close combat, and will resort to scratching/biting if she can’t get away

Despite her trickster personality, she’s loyal enough to keep a promise (sort of a Kappa’s thing) though only for friends. For anyone else, they have to get her to somehow spill her bowl water in order to ‘earn’ a promise from her

First few times she slept over at the Lair, she just slept in that moat they have in the atrium. Though, as she and Mikey got closer and she was more okay with sleepover cuddle piles with the others in the tv room, she was willing to pour her head water into another bowl and sleep somewhere dry

If she comes over when Mikey’s in the middle of doing art, she’ll just grab a bowl of chips or salad and sit on his hammock, munching away and watching, occasionally giving a comment. Mikey likes having the company and the extra perspective

She only steals food. Everything else she has, from her clothes to her water gun, she found abandoned or in the trash. She doesn’t have any morals about stealing non-food items, it’s just that she doesn’t feel like she needs to. She needs to eat, not wear fancy clothes or glittery jewelry

TV is kind of a novelty for her, since I don’t think there’s a ton of it in the Hidden City. She enjoys watching Cutthroat Kitchen with Mikey and gets a mild kick out of Lou Jitsu movies. She’s also a huge fan of comedies

Speaking of Cutthroat Kitchen, she and Mikey love to egg each other on into doing these sorts of challenges when they feel like cooking together

*Raph, walking into the kitchen to see Mikey and Michi doing a sort of three-legged thing, half-laughing and half-yelling at each other* “Uhh, are you two angry or havin’ fun?” “YES!”

After hearing enough of it from Mikey and Hueso Jr., she develops a mild love of rap/hip hop and Spanish music

She and Junior take a while to find common ground, but they do get along pretty well. They like to sass each other at times, and while Michi likes to make herself laugh, she appreciates that Junior can make her laugh with his jokes and comebacks

Hueso Jr.:

He’s autistic and finds it really hard to be social at times, but can be very talkative and expressive around his father and his friends, and when comfortable, he can be a bit mischievous and silly/loud. He also has anxiety, though is able to work through it for the most part

Has a dry sense of wit, just like his dad

Is actually quite skilled at cooking technically, he just doesn’t have any passion or drive for it

Likes playing sports ball/soccer/baseball with Mikey and the Turtles when he’s in the mood. Is also good at fencing, thanks to lessons from his dad

Through the events of ‘A New Slice of Pizza’, he ends up discovering a love of flower arrangement and table setting/making centerpieces, and while it starts out as just a hobby, he can’t deny it’s his love and makes a decent career out of it

That being said, he sometimes helps with the management stuff at Run of the Mill when Senor Hueso needs him to

Given that the Turtles have already paid his way for it (lol, love that line in ‘Portal Jacked!’), Junior does go to college for two years. He gets an associate’s degree in Literature

Through his love of wordplay and skeleton puns, he also ends up sort of getting into poetry. It’s more comedic and clever, though it’s still embarrassing for him to share. He sometimes help Mikey with rap lyrics as well

Likes music (classical, easy listening, alt. rock) and usually listens to Spanish artists

While being the same age as Mikey - 13 years old - he’s a few months younger (the opposite of Michi, who proudly reminds others that she’s 13 and a half, thank you very much)

While he may literally be all bones, he still enjoys hardy and filling foods. Lots of meat, lots of spices and heat, and (naturally) enjoys Italian and Mexican cuisine

He’s good at avoiding Michi’s pranks, which both impresses and annoys her

He’s not very good at art in terms of drawing or painting, but will still sometimes doodle and color with Mikey when Mikey’s in the mood for it and will still enjoy himself

Will watch anything and be okay/mildly entertained, but specifically likes watching sports

Mikey:

Works at Run of the Mill from age 13 to age 18, coming up with no less than a dozen one-of-a-kind dishes while there, becoming friends with all of his co-workers and earning plenty of fans through his awesome cooking skills and table service

When he starts traveling the world for a few years, both above and below the surface, to learn even more about food and cooking techniques, Michi comes along for the heck of it, and they both make sure to keep in contact with Junior as well as the Turtles/April/Splinter

When he does eventually open up his own restaurant in his late 20s/early 30s, he only had one name in mind for it: “Razz-ma-Tazz” A mix of Italian/American/Mexican/Asian cooking. Pretty much any delicious dish any human, mutant or yokai could ask for!

Enjoys cuddle sessions with his friends as much as he enjoys having fun and getting into shenanigans with them

Often sketches out candid moments he remembers (Michi catching a snooze under water, Junior smiling to himself as he’s writing out a poem, stuff like that)

As soon as he’s old enough for them, he switches from covering himself with paint and stickers to covering himself with tattoos, and is VERY proud of them

Takes care of the stray animals that hang out behind his restaurant, feeding them leftovers and giving them names

In his early-20s, after seeing April and his bros get into romantic relationships (April with Sunita, Leo with Usagi, and Raph and Donnie with two of my best friend’s OCs, heh), he starts to realize “Hey, you know what? I think I like Michi and Junior that way too!” He never really thought or cared about his sexuality too much beforehand, so realizing he’s bi and polyamorous isn’t too big of a deal for him

Unlike his brothers, who were absolute DISASTERS when it came to romance, Mikey ironically was the most mature and straight-forward about it despite being the second-youngest in the Jitsu fam. He just sat them both down, told him how he felt about them - BOTH of them - and was honest, along with telling them that he loved them just as much as friends, so if they didn’t feel the same or weren’t comfortable with the poly idea, that was totally cool.

As such, Michi and Junior both took some time - first thinking about it alone, then discussing it with each other. Eventually, they came to the conclusion that they loved Mikey too, and that they were close enough to each other that they didn’t mind being co-partners and having the same boyfriend along with being friends with each other

Everyone but Splinter was surprised with this outcome, but the entire fam (Senor Hueso included) was totally happy and supportive of them ^v^

Isn’t totally sure about being a parent with how busy his restaurant and his art keeps him, but in the meantime he volunteers with programs like Big Brothers/Big Sisters and mentorship programs, and occasionally fosters kids for several weeks

Two decades or so and hundreds of dishes later... and his favorite food is (and always WILL BE) pizza or pizza-esque dishes

Aaaaaand that’s all I have for now! If you made it this far - thanks for reading!! ^v^

#rottmnt #michelangelo tmnt #headcanons #my oc's #my fanfics #long post #lgbt headcanons

[whereistheonepiece]

The Colors of You

Note: Have a Lusona, feat. the rest of the Straw Hats because this crew interacting and being friends makes me happy. 

And let me just take a moment to get all sentimental on you guys, ‘kay? I remember being hesitant to talk about this polyamorous ship at first because I didn’t think I’d get much support for it, but the reception’s been surprising and warm, just like the rest of this blog. And it just means a lot to me.

-

“Hey, Usopp.”

“Yes, Nami?”

Nami glanced at Usopp over her shoulder, smiling gently as she saw the practiced movements of his pencil gliding across his sketchbook in the corner of her eye. They were taking advantage of a peaceful day on the Grand Line, sitting back to back in the sun. Usopp was sketching a shell he’d picked up on the beach of the island the ship had most recently visited and Nami was reading a book Robin had loaned her.

She leaned her head back against his, looking up at the sky. “Tell me something,” she continued.

“Sure, Nami,” Usopp responded. Even if she couldn’t see his face, she could hear the smile in his voice.

“What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?”

Usopp hesitated, sitting up straighter against her. Nami marked her place and shut her book, waiting for Usopp to speak. His hesitation told her that this was something he’d spent some time thinking about and that made his interest all the more personal, which made it all the more important for her to hear.

“Well, it’s... You know... It’s kind of silly,” Usopp stammered. 

Nami set her book down and repositioned herself so she was sitting directly next to him, taking one of his hands in both of hers. He looked at her, uncertainty furrowing his brow, and she smiled patiently at him. “Go on,” she said softly, rubbing her thumb against the back of his hand. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Usopp stared off into the distance, his back hunched. “Do you remember that festival we attended a few islands back?”

“Mm.”

“Well.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Right around the time you and Robin and Chopper wandered off, Luffy and I saw these performers who had paint all over their bodies. And it got me thinking...”

“You want to try it yourself?” Nami asked, prompting him to elaborate.

He smiled sheepishly. “I asked them where I could buy some paint and, well... What do you think? Is it something you’d ever like to try? I-I thought it might be something you, Luffy, and I could try together.”

“What kind of paint job are we talking about?” Nami asked, wanting to encourage him to speak more about something that had clearly interested him. Given that he’d held onto the paint without saying anything about it, maybe he needed that extra push. 

Nami loved the way Usopp’s face lit up when he told her about his personal projects, whether that was looking after his garden, getting a new invention to work, or the notebook stuffed full of poems and sonnets he held close to his chest, afraid to show anyone else other than her and sometimes Luffy. She remembered the relief and then elation on Usopp’s face when he first showed her one of his poems and he saw that she was moved by his words. Now she wanted to encourage this artistic endeavor. Usopp had displayed an artistic flair with his sketches and had recently taken up painting with Robin, and this simply was just a different kind of canvas.

“W-well...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “These performers were doing something that was more complicated than what I had in mind. I was just...thinking about how it would be fun to paint something on someone’s back.”

“I think it sounds lovely, Usopp.”

Usopp finally looked at her, his lips curling in a nervous smile. “You mean that, Nami?”

“Of course I do,” Nami said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Usopp shot up and threw his arms around her, his sketchbook and pencil falling out of his lap. He hummed in delight as he squeezed her, lightly rocking her in his arms. Nami laughed softly as she hugged him, rubbing small circles on his back. Usopp pulled back, hands clasping her shoulders. “Did you have any plans this evening?” he asked her. “We could probably do it after dinner.”

“That works for me.”

“Great!” He hurriedly got his feet. “Don’t go anywhere; I’m just going to find Luffy and let him know.”

Nami giggled, nodding at him.

“I–I think Luffy’s only going to sit still long enough to get his face done,” he muttered, talking to himself as much as he was to her.

“Yeah,” she agreed, picking up her book and opening it back up to where she’d left off. “You can probably paint his face like a tiger and he’ll be happy.”

Usopp laughed, rubbing the back of his head, eyes closed in contentment. Nami smiled up at him, her heart warm to see him so happy. “Yeah,” Usopp agreed. “Yeah, you got that right.”

-

Usopp went all out after dinner, setting out a tarp for the three of them to spread out on, setting it up with the supplies they’d need. He caught the attention of the rest of the crew, who wanted to know what he planned on doing on Sunny’s lawn.

“Usopp, Nami, and I are going to paint each other!” Luffy responded, answering for Usopp.

“You’re going to paint each other’s portraits?” Robin asked, blue eyes glittering with interest.

“Nope!” Luffy laughed. 

“We’re literally painting on each other, Robin,” Nami explained. “Body art.”

“Usopp got the idea from a festival!” Luffy continued, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “He’s gonna paint my face!”

“You’re actually interested in this, Nami-san?” Sanji asked, plucking his cigarette out of his mouth, a hint of disbelief in his tone.

“Yep,” Nami confirmed. “Usopp’s really excited.”

“Well, I think it’s a SUPER idea!” Franky said, giving them a thumbs up.

“You guys wanna join?” Luffy asked.

Usopp looked up from his task, peering nervously at the rest of the crew.

“I’ll go grab some more paintbrushes,” Robin said, walking off and taking Franky with her.

“Put on something you don’t mind getting dirty,” Nami called after her, sending Usopp a reassuring smile.

Sanji smirked at Zoro impishly. “What do you think, Marimo? Would you let me paint on you?”

“I don’t trust you not to draw something stupid on my back, shit-cook,” Zoro said bluntly, crossing his arms.

Sanji snickered and slipped his hands into his pockets, not disputing Zoro’s accusation.

“What about you, Chopper, Brook?” Luffy asked, eager to get more people in on the fun.

“Ah, I’m afraid I don’t have enough skin for you to work on, Luffy-san. Because I don’t have any.” Brook laughed. “But I’m happy to provide mood music,” he said, pulling out his violin and settling down in the grass.

“I have fur, Luffy!” Chopper grumbled. He toddled over to Usopp, asking him if he was using paints safe for human skin, to which Usopp vehemently replied that he’d triple checked at the store that it was the same kind of paint the performers used.

Nami watched the crew while they waited. Robin and Franky came back with more paintbrushes, cups of water to clean said brushes, extra towels, and an extra tarp. Brook played a pleasant melody, filling the late afternoon with his music. Sanji excused himself and came back with sake to keep Zoro occupied and wine for the rest of them, insisting that it was the proper drink for an activity such as painting. Chopper and Luffy wrestled nearby while Usopp started mixing paints. Usopp and Nami’s eyes met. They smiled at each other.

Robin and Franky paired up, the first to start, Robin’s job of painting on Franky’s enormous back made easier by her Fruit. “Make it SUPER, Robin!”

“Of course, Franky.”

Nami watched the two lovebirds, watching Robin’s picture begin to take shape until she heard Usopp’s exasperated voice: “Hold still, Luffy!”

Nami looked and saw Usopp pushing forcefully on Luffy’s shoulders, willing his boyfriend to remain seated. Luffy, his hair pulled back with some of Nami’s hair ties, squeezed his closed eyes tighter and pouted. “At least tell me what you’re painting!”

“Luffy, don’t you want it to be a surprise?” Usopp asked enticingly, coating Luffy’s face with white paint.

“Hmmm...” Luffy paused, seeming to actually weigh his options between delayed and instant gratification. “Okay...”

Nami scooted closer to Usopp, laying her head against his shoulder. “Are you going to tell me what you’re going to paint on me, Usopp?” she asked, using the sweet voice she used on him and Sanji when she wanted to get her way.

He turned his head only slightly, just enough to look at her out of the corner of his eye. “You’re just going to have to wait like Luffy, Nami,” he said cheerfully.

“Yeah!” Luffy agreed. “If I have to wait, you do, too!”

Nami chuckled. “Fine. Fine.” She sat up straight, considering Usopp’s back. “Do you think I could get started on you, Usopp?”

He paused. “If you don’t mind working with a little movement,” he replied.

“I don’t,” she replied, grabbing a paintbrush and a cup of water.

“Okay,” Usopp said, pausing his work on Luffy to pull off his t-shirt, tossing it to the side. Luffy cracked his eyes open. “Eyes closed, Luffy!”

“It’s not like I can see what you’re doing on my face!”

“No, but you can reach for that mirror over there!”

Luffy grumbled but complied.

Usopp moved the palette closer to Nami and she set to work. Paint was not a medium she dabbled in like Robin and Usopp, so she’d keep it simple. Her first instinct was to draw the ocean on a sunny, peaceful day, much like the one she and Usopp had enjoyed, given Usopp’s dreams of becoming a brave warrior of the sea, but they were pirates: they spent almost all day, every day surrounded by the ocean.

Nami watched Usopp as he painted Luffy’s face, his own set in concentration. She hadn’t even begun painting and still he was trying his best to keep still for her. He was so considerate, it filled her with warmth.

Warmth. 

Home.

Nami began mixing paint, trying to find the right shade before she could begin. Just as she put the paintbrush to his back, Usopp spoke. “Okay, Luffy. Now you can look.”

Luffy stretched his arm out across the tarp to where the nearest hand mirror lay, pulling it to him with a snap. He grinned as soon as he saw himself, face painted like a white tiger. Luffy laughed joyfully, scrambling to his feet and running to each crew member, demanding that each of them look and see what a good job Usopp had done.

Usopp carefully looked at Nami over his shoulder, smiling at her. She smiled back, pausing her work to lean close and place a kiss on his cheek. “I’m glad you got me to do this, Nami,” he said, turning his head back. “Luffy’s so happy. And it looks like everyone else is having a good time.”

“It was a good idea, Usopp,” Nami replied. “I’m happy you shared it with me.”

Luffy ran back to where Usopp and Nami sat, plopping himself down next to him. “Usopp! You gotta let me do your face next!”

“Sure, Luffy,” Usopp said, in that gentle tone of voice that Nami loved so much. “Why don’t we wait until after Nami is done?”

“‘Kay.” Luffy turned his attention to Nami. “Can I do your face, too, Nami?”

Nami considered the grin on Luffy’s face, the mischievous gleam in his eye. She didn’t trust it. “I don’t think so,” she said tersely. Knowing Luffy, he’d paint her face so she looked like a circus clown.

Luffy wilted. “Please, Nami?” he whined. “I’ll do something cute.”

“No.”

Usopp laughed. “Come on, Nami,” he coaxed, glancing over his shoulder. He winked at her. “A cute painting for a cute girl.”

“I am pretty cute,” Nami agreed. They both continued to stare at her until she relented. “Fine, fine. But you make sure he doesn’t pull anything.”

“You have my word,” Usopp said, saluting her.

-

Nami stared at herself in the mirror, holding her hand under chin and smoldering seductively at her reflection. She didn’t know what it was, but there was something appealing about the pink hearts on her cheeks. “I have to hand it to Luffy,” she said, looking into the eyes of Usopp’s reflection next to hers. “He meant it when he said he’d do something cute.”

Usopp laughed, his face done up like Sogeking’s. “Well, you make anything cute, Nami.”

Smiling still, Nami turned and stared at her back in the mirror, holding her arms up like she was about to flex them. It had taken Usopp a long time, but he’d painted a multitude of feathers on her upper back and triceps. A dazzling array of oranges, reds, yellows, and a couple spots of brilliant blue, green, and purple. It reminded her of the exotic birds they’d seen on a jungle island once. She felt like a creature out of mythology: powerful, beautiful, and deadly. She felt sorry that she would have to wash it off eventually.

“This is beautiful, Usopp,” she said, admiring his work. “You make me feel bad about my painting.”

“Aw, shucks, Nami,” he said, turning and staring at his back in the mirror. She’d painted a tangerine tree on his back, a small slingshot that resembled his older model leaning against its trunk. “I love what you painted for me.”

“You really mean it?” she asked softly, turning so she faced him properly. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re not just saying that because I’m your girlfriend?”

He pulled her close, placing his hands on her waist. “I love it because it comes from you,” he explained. “I’m honored that you would choose to paint something so precious to you on me.”

Nami wondered if the pink hearts did anything to hide the blush blooming on her face. At a loss for words, she simply chose to kiss him, letting her actions speak for her.

#lusona #luffy #usopp #nami #fanfic

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 5: Askew

This episode: We meet some very strange people, and go to a very strange place.

Contractor Darius firmly escorts Valeria and Gral out of the Baroness’s hall, but he’s chill about it. Nothing personal, we’re just trying to keep the talk about this madman on the down low. We’ve had some suspicious activity around here lately, see. We Cursebreakers got our hands on some important books recently, and Witness Beatrice was just getting started on translating some of the more suspect tomes. Two days later, the library mysteriously burned to the ground. Now I’m not sayin’ it was the Penitents. We don’t have proof. But...well, you see why we’re being careful with news of anyone touched by the Curse.

Gral and Valeria are quite understanding, but they’d also like to take Darius up on his offer to meet this “madman.” Why not go right now?

Meanwhile, Clem goes armor shopping and meets some nice lesbian weaponsmiths at Hammerstein and Sons - Ms. Hammerstein, and her business partner Ms. Sons. Sadly, she finds out that armor and silvered weapons are ‘spensive. Shoshana is wandering the city, noticing that while people give her funny looks, nobody really gives her any crap about her mildly cursed appearance. Clearly, this is an opportunity to hang out in bookstores and impulse-buy unhealthy food. Nobody invites them to come interrogate the madman. Ahem. Anyway.

Darius brings the two adventurers into a narrow hallway in the repurposed mining office that the Cursebreakers took over after the library burned down. Several offices have been converted into sturdy jail cells. Only one of them is occupied. There’s a bed, and there’s easels everywhere, holding half-finished paintings, ink drawings, and charcoal sketches. Pots of paint and other art supplies are scattered around haphazardly.

“He’s weird but we’re pretty sure he’s harmless,” Darius tells them. “Bea comes in to cast Detect Magic once a day to see if he’s up to something, but she’s never found anything.”

Valeria inspects the various half-finished paintings. They’re mostly landscapes. She sees:

-a frozen ocean crashing up against bright purple cliffs, under a sky with five moons

-an owl that turns into a lizard partway through, casting a human shadow. The ground beneath it is breaking apart, opening a pit to darkness.

-a cavernous landscape filled with bones, a grim city looming in the darkness above

-the biggest canvas is full of nothing but very finely-detailed abstract shapes in a psychedelic swirl of colors. Only a small patch of the huge canvas is filled. There is no overarching pattern, just random but elaborate shapes and lines.

Sitting at the big canvas, there is a gaunt elf in ragged clothes. Fresh clothing is folded nearby within his reach, but he hasn’t touched it. Gral notices that there’s something weird about him - the elf’s proportions are juuuust slightly off, pushing him slightly into the uncanny valley. He turns to face them. His eyes are very, very wide, and they are all-black and full of stars.

He notices the group and politely inquires: “Hello. Is the key here?”

“The key?”

“Yes, I think I could be ready to leave soon.”

The adventurers ask if he knows why he’s in here.

“The very nice knights gave me this room to work on my paintings. They’re things I saw when I was elsewhere. I like to refresh my memory.” He points at the grim city. “I’m missing something here….”

Gral politely introduces himself and Valeria.

“Hello, I am the painter. Well, a painter. I’m the only painter here so I might as well be The. Unless one of you paints? No? Very well, the Painter I am!”

Gral inquires of Darius how long ago this odd gentleman was found. Darius says it’s been maybe two or three months? Not long after the mists started happening. The Condotierri found him wandering in a farmer’s field.

Gral turns to the Painter: “Do you know about the lake nearby?"

“Oh yes!  I’m very familiar with it!”

“Have you seen the mists?”

“No. Although it makes sense that there would be mists, that’s where mists should happen.”

Valeria brings us back on topic. “How did you get to ‘elsewhere?’”

“Oh, the Key brought me.”

Gral: “...What, or who, is the Key?”

“That is a very complicated question. I’ve asked the Astronomer that many times, and he was always frustratingly vague.”

“The Astronomer?”

“Yes, the Astronomer, he’s the one who told me about the Key. I’m working on a portrait of it!” He gestures to the huge abstract canvas. “I can only remember it sometimes.”

“Where did you meet this Astronomer?”

“In his house by the lake, that’s an awfully silly question.”

Valeria: “...Tell me more about your paintings. This one is super nice, tell me about it!” She points to the ocean landscape.

“Oh yes! That was beautiful, one of the first places I went from the Astronomer’s house. I don’t know if the others made it through in time. I lost my sketchbook somewhere. Unfortunately I didn’t have my paints with me.”

“...you went to these other places with others?

“Oh, well, that was the idea, but I ended up alone. The Astronomer, The Musicians, The Alchemist, the Sculptor, the other Painter – frankly he’s hideous and the world is better that he was left behind, or stuck between – I didn’t look back, there was too much to see in front of me.”

Valeria elbows Gral. “You’re a musician.”

“So I am! Did these musicians happen to be orcs?”

The painter doesn’t know what “orc” means, so Gral takes off his mask and asks if the musicians looked like him. Nope. Glancing between the orc Gral, the dragonborn Valeria, and the human Darius, he decides the musicians looked like - well, nobody here, but Darius more than anybody.

Moving on to the next painting, Valeria points at the owl-lizard creature. “What kind of creature is this?”

The Painter looks angry. “That’s the Destroyer. We had worked so hard for so long, and at the last moment, the triumph of success, it interrupted us.”

“What did it do?”

“I was on the other side, so I was only able to see, but not warn the others. It destroyed our art, our collaboration. What was to be a bridge is now trapped between the two, between here and there. Sometimes there’s a bit of a connection, but… that’s when I’m able to work on the portrait. I remember the Key.”

Valeria: "...Is the Key a physical object?”

“Are you?”

“…Generally speaking, yes?”

“Not entirely, no, but less than you are.”

“Is the key alive?”

“Partially. Partially. It was killed, but it’s alive. Maybe. It should be more. These are some very odd questions!”

Valeria is pretty frustrated by all the riddles. “It doesn’t sound like your key is entirely anything!”

“Well, it might have been one day. If there’s any of it left. That’s why we tried so hard to reach it. The Astronomer especially. He was the first to see it. He organized the collaboration. I was the only one to make it through. 

It hasn’t been so bad since I’ve been back. The small one comes to play chess with me, but she’s really bad at it. Doesn’t know any of the rules.”

“What happened to the Astronomer?”

"He is where the house is. I don’t know which side of the house he’s on, this one or the other side.”

Next painting. What’s up with this city of bones?

“The Key wasn’t WITH me, but it helped me. It sent me places. And yes, it was a rather gloomy place, I did not care for it. Impressive visual, but poor lighting.”

“Was anything there alive and moving?”

“Alive no, moving yes. I’ve left those bits out, it’s more of a landscape. What’s the opposite of still life? Moving dead? I’m sure the OTHER painter would have loved it. But I capture sublime beauty, thank you very much. Is that all? Thanks for the appreciation, but I must get back to work on the portrait. I remembered some of it last night, and those memories don’t stay.”

Gral: “Where are the other collaborators now?”

“Some of them might be in the house, some might be wandering. I barely know why I’m here! I doubt the Astronomer left the house, he loves it. It was his place.”

Valeria asks whether the Astronomer would mind if we paid the house a visit.

“Oh, he loves guests!” An insight check reveals the painter is entirely sincere, and madder than a box of rabbits

He turns away from our heroes and gets back to work, almost trance-like in his movements.

Darius is pretty impressed. “You caught him on a good day. Usually he’s worse, you can’t get him away from painting at all. The paints keep him calm. Me or Quentin will try to talk to him, but this is the most we’ve gotten in a while. He’s usually better after the mists come, which is NOT a comforting thought.”

Gral is fixated on the idea of other worlds. When the terrible creature came upon his expedition, Gral saw a kind of warping in space. “The painter’s madness resembles some of the whisperings upon the air when that creature growled. I think there is truth to what he’s saying, just not our truth. And we know there’s something at the lake. Have you found the Astronomer?” 

They haven’t. In fact, this is the first time he’s ever been mentioned. The guy hasn’t really given us anything about what he saw in the mists. You might want to talk to Bea about the astronomer? She used to be local record-keeper. She has a shrine to Torme in the basement - all the books she could recover from the library fire. Don’t spook her, please.  Also, Quentin’s gonna want an answer about the Mornheim expedition sooner rather than later. 

It’s roughly around here that Clem and Shoshana’s players insist on Showing Back Up. Shoshana is eating some sort of absurd ice cream wrapped in fried dough, because no one was there to stop her.

Gral recounts the audience with the Baroness and the meeting with the Painter, and tells Shoshana and Clem the harrowing story of the Curse’s Champion. “I know the Champion’s in the painter’s story somewhere – not sure if it’s the Key, or the Destroyer. But I don’t like any of it. He has probably seen the Champion.”

We ruminate on the idea of this Key taking things Elsewhere. “When the Champion attacked, it ripped the space around it. Maybe it took the encampment’s tents somewhere else instead of destroying them?”

Maybe this Key is a connection to other dimensions. If that’s the case, Gral contends, the connection is sentient. And sometimes mean. Perhaps, if he had followed the beckoning whispers that accompanied the fearsome beast, maybe he would have ended up in the fantastical places in the paintings.

Our problem: CAN we do anything? We’re low-level, dimensional portals are probably not weak to “being hit with sword,” and we have to face the possibility that, like in a Fantasy HP Lovecraft novel (he’s very racist toward orcs), we will be exposed to Weird Shit Man Was Not Meant To Know and end up as nutty as the painter. Also, like, the dead rising in Mornheim might be a priority?

Gral holds firm. “I can’t overstate how important this is. Sooner or later – I don’t know the agenda of this champion, but everyone in this town will die at its hands.”

He bows his head. “I’ve been living for a long time to just see this thing dead, but when I heard its growl last night I just wanted to run and hide. Still. I’ve heard it speak, so I believe it has a body. And if we can find out what that body is - if we know what it is, and where it is, we can figure out what its weakness is.”

Undecided if or when to investigate the Astronomer’s lake house in regards to this mystery, we decide to first take Darius’s suggestion and speak to Witness Beatrice, the cleric of Torme who rescued books from the library fire.

As we go down towards the basement, Clem pulls Gral aside. “Gral, I’m so sorry – I didn’t know that any of that happened to you. I kind of understand where you’re coming from, back with your unit. So if you ever feel like you need to talk, please know that I’m here for you.”

Gral shrugs. “It’s not something I like to remember. Part of me’s scared, part is mad, part is excited I can finally kill this thing. But I have to know what it is first if I’m going to have any hope of killing it..”

Clem nods grimly. “Believe me, I would LOVE to help you kill this thing.”

We head down to the basement. It’s cluttered with bookshelves - some carry old mining records, but most are groaning under a haphazard collection of singed books. There is a small shrine to Torme, the god of knowledge and law, in the corner. It takes a moment amidst the clutter, but Gral spots a small halfling woman muttering to herself and organizing one of the shelves. Gral takes his mask off, knowing that most non-orcs find it unsettling, and calls out a cheery, “Hello!”

She looks up at us from behind big ol coke-bottle glasses. We are all super visually intimidating and armed, because adventurers. She eeps! and hides behind a shelf. “DARIUS!”

Darius scolds us for frightening her after he specifically told us not to, and tells her it’s okay, these guys came and brought Morozov a dead body and an animal skin - wow, okay, that doesn’t actually help make them less scary. Anyhow they’re allies.

She insists he leave his bird, Daikon, down here with her if we’re gonna be large and scary and stuff.

Turns out that when the library burned, she had just begun a research project on several rare texts that might have clues to the Curse: “The Song of Druids,” “The Temptation of Fiends,” and a gruesome collection of essays on undead compiled by a mad necromancer.

Gral asks if any of the texts mentioned keys or gateways.

Bea: “Portals to the Abyss, maybe? I didn’t get very far before the fire.” She shows us a glass case. There are several fragile books inside, badly burned. 

She also tells us the Painter’s name is Johann. “I don’t think he knows how the rules of chess work? He picked up a pawn and started painting on it and said that it was a fish. Then he put it in my water glass. Which makes sense, in a way? But I was drinking that.”

When we mention an Astronomer with a lake house, though, something rings a bell. She hunts through the shelves for an old book of maps, left over from when this was a mining office. One of us tall folks kindly gets it off the top shelf.

There! On one of the islands in the lake. There’s supposed to be a home here – right over the cave system they were mapping. A manor house, belonging to one Artyom Vlemisk. A land grant from the old baron to his friend. Bea thinks back: “Yeah, astronomer Artyom! I remember when he came to town, just when I was starting out – he had a bit of an artists’ colony out in his observatory. I mean, we assumed the artists’ colony died a long time ago. Daikon did a sweep, over the entire lake, and we didn’t see the house anymore. When mists first came, we assumed they all got Got. A lot of the people close to the lake have died in the mists, especially down in the fishing village.”

Bea uses a neat magic trick to instantly transcribe us a copy of the map. She was up by the lake not long ago -  she stopped by when Darius was surveying the lake bed (using Daikon, who was an octopus at the time) & Quentin was off with Ser Balderich. There’s some guys from Sturmhearst College who set up on edge of lake. They say they’re here to “study the anomalies,” and they’ve set up shop in an abandoned church, calling it a “staging ground.” It might be easier to get them to take us across to the island - the fishermen probably won’t want to risk their boats. They’re led by a Professor Quercus, who specializes in “aberrant biology.” Bea marks the church on the map for us.

With business out of the way, Valeria can’t help but feel a Powerful Need to do something nice for Bea, and produces her book of tales of the Peacock Knight to help Bea rebuild her library. Bea has a copy of the same tales, but it’s a singed and battered old one, and Valeria happily swaps it for her pristine illustrated copy so the library can have something nice. 

We decide to go down to the lake to check it out. We still have five days before we have to give Ser Quentin an answer about Mornheim, and since the mists just came last night, we are maybe less likely to get caught in them again if we go soon. Also, we’re just gonna take a casual look around for an afternoon; we don’t have to get into anything too crazy. Right? 

We bop on down to the lake. Sure enough, there’s a damaged old stone churchy building, patched with leather tarps. Lights are flashing behind the windows. Someone has put a wooden sign up out front, reading “Sturmhearst College of the Natural Sciences, Holzog Annex. est. [last Tuesday]” 

A pair of hulking dudes all in black leather, with big hats and owl masks stand impassively at the gate, armed with big ol’ clubs. They eerily turn in weird unison to look at us as we walk down the path towards them. Clem waves. Valeria waves. Shoshana finger guns. One of them awkwardly tries to finger gun back.

There’s a bell on a pole near the front gate, labeled “please ring for entrance.” Shosha theatrically pulls the ding dong. A figure in a long-beaked bird mask peeks out of the door. “Um, yes, we’re not buying any, go away.”

“Hey, can we use one of your boats?”

“Uh. You’d have to talk to the professor, I guess. I’m just a researcher”

“Oh, is the professor the one in the bird mask?”

“Is this a joke? ...No, really, is that a joke? I’m studying humor. Well, the humors. I’ve been theorizing that maybe comedy affects the balance.”

Behind him, through the door, there is a cacophony of noise. Growl, clatter, crash, explosion! The researcher goes to check, we wait a moment, and then the door opens. “The professor is now available.”

The researcher, who we dub Frederick, leads us into a decently sized church. Folks in bird masks are hurriedly dragging something into basement. It’s under  a tarp. It’s vaguely dog shaped, but big. It also looks like a buncha stuff just got crashed over. There’s another owl guard standing there, holding a weird contraption. It’s vaguely smoking, crossbowlike, and smells of ozone? Whatever it is, I want one the next time we go in the woods.

We are approached by a fellow in a white leather coat, wearing a fancier bird mask than the others. He walks up to Valeria. “Ah! Hello there! Mister…mis…are you a boy or a girl?”

“Um, Kyr Valeria Argent, she/her pronouns?”

“Ah, good. My usual method of determining gender of reptilian organisms would be quite rude!”

IT SURE WOULD, I BET.

“Anyway, why do you want a boat?”

“For science?” we try. Before he can call us on the cliche, he distractedly dives under a table and grabs at a rolling object. 

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t want to lose the orb! It got knocked down during a…football game. That we were having. Yes. I don’t want it to accidentally take root, it would be an awful waste!”

We inform him that we are investigating what used to be a manor built on the lake. An artist colony, disturbed by the mist. Perhaps even movement between dimensions! Have you ever heard of anything like that?”

“Oh, how fascinating! Have I heard of such a…transference? WHAT NO OF COURSE I HAVEN’T. BUT IT WOULD BE QUITE SOMETHING.”

Insight check: he’s lying through his beak. He IS super fascinated by a transference on that scale, but yes, there is super shady shit happening here. We don’t push further, but he bustles over to a table of various strange objects.

“A quest as worthy as this must be done post haste! And I should give you some assistance! That is what one does when asking a group of valiant heroes to quest for knowledge, yes? Take one of these things, they’re magic. Student inventions, you see.” He offers us three options:

1: A rectangular wooden box with a weird putty inside. The putty apparently works similarly to the Mending cantrip, but is especially intended to repair things that have been burned.

2: A ceramic tile with a hole in the middle and a tortoiseshell on the back. It’s a method of acquiring fresh water – it absorbs water from air, or uses a form of the Create Water spell. He’s not really sure! Boop the shell button and you get a stream of fresh water.

3: A weird misshapen orb of plant matter they found in woods. If you throw it to the ground, it makes vines happen. Frederick got stuck in it! You could use it to make rope, or climb a wall. It grows quite quickly if planted or thrown! 

We choose the burn repair gel, hoping it might help Witness Beatrice.

He also insists on giving us a red journal in which to record our notes. We all acknowledge he is definitely using us as unpaid research assistants.

“Oh, by the way. Standard procedure for sending out expeditions: do you know what a homunculus is?” (Valeria does. It’s like a familiar, but crafted out of alchemy. They’re not necessarily evil? Super weird, tho.) 

“I have one named Gray. Though he’s really rather more of a blue color. He’s got quite a keen sense of smell, so in case you do not return, please let him sniff you so we can track you and recover your research notes. What’s that, Frederick? Oh. Oh dear! To shreds, you say?” 

Frederick nods.

“Well! Please leave an article of clothing, perhaps a sock? He will have to smell you later, when he’s a bit more put together.” Gral gives him a bit of sleeve. He tells us to stick together, so they can find all of us if they track Gral. Splitting the party is not university policy!

As we’re merrily heading out, the DM admits he’s surprised he kept a straight face for the whole scene. And then slyly tells us to google the meaning of the name “Quercus.”

The Professor’s name. Is Oak. 

...the laughing DM narrowly avoids being pummeled, by virtue of being several hundred miles away. Valeria’s player is revealed to have been a willing accomplice in the whole gag. 

For the record, the three items he offered us? A Char Mender, a Squirt Tile, and a Bulbous Orb.

Revenge will be had, DM. When you least expect it.

Aaaaaanyway.

They let us borrow a dinghy, which we all pile into - nobody has boat proficiency, but we do fine on the basis of nobody wants to spend an hour doing a “did anyone fall overboard and get wet” sidequest. A fish looks at us. It has three eyes. It is not a chess pawn.

We can see houses with docks on the edge of lake. They’re badly damaged and falling apart. There were never many people on the lake islands, but when the mists first rose, everyone on islands got real dead, real quick.

The middle of largest island is where the astronomer’s house was. This is not a particularly deep tangle of wood. The whole place seems pretty tame. The trees aren’t too thick, and there’s a paved road right to a large clearing.

According to the map, there should be a large house here. There is not. Instead, there is a giant hole in ground. We peer into it and see the splintered but surprisingly intact remains of the manor house – like a sinkhole opened up directly under it. Valeria throws a rock in the hole, as an experiment. We observe normal rock in hole behavior, and write it down, for science. It’s about a 50ft deep hole. Seems like there was a cave down there? The house is awkwardly sitting in it, looking weirdly intact for a house that fell in a sinkhole.

We rappel down into the pit. It’s weirdly quiet. Closer up, we can see the house has been painted all over with weird geometric patterns and lines. There are bits of carved stone nailed to house in a big massive design of shifting colors and shapes. The designs are broken up a good deal by the collapse of house. Seems like even the house itself was a giant weird abstract art project? We wonder if it’s the same pattern as the Painter’s “portrait,” but we don’t roll well enough to figure out if it is.

Heading in, we find ourselves in a crumpled hallway. The weird patterns continue along the walls. There are 4 doors; 2 on each side. The end of hallway is rubble.

We open the closest door on left: it’s a painter’s studio. There are easels and spilled paint, and there’s a human skull on floor. There’s sketches. Looks like this painter was painting the skull. Shosha takes a sketch, for souvenir reasons. The art is all really macabre, lots of battle scenes There’s a rack of weapons and a mirror, clearly for art references. One wall has a crazy mural of impossible battle scene. Knights are fighting weird monsters. There’s fire and shooty glowing lights. The characters don’t have the cultural context to describe wtf it is, but the players are told it’s very King Arthur vs. Flash Gordon. There’s also a nice, if cliché, Rack in Chains painting.

Next up is the sculptor’s studio. Lots of big marble blocks. The pattern on the walls has continued through both rooms. In the middle of the room there’s an unfinished sculpture of...something weird? It’s clearly unfinished, but there’s, like, an arm and torso stickin’ out. Wtf is that supposed to be? Also, there’s a bunch of symbols and shapes carved into the wall and into blocks of marble, as if the sculptor was practicing them. They get more regular. Some are carved on statue. Shoshana tries to copy them into our Pokedex journal, but starts getting headache staring at them for so long. Roll initiative. Wait, what?

Wait. That shape wasn’t there before...is it moving? A carved fold in sculpture opens up to reveal a maw of stony teeth. A blue-purple tendril emerges from the mouth and the whole thing kind of inverts itself into a big teeth-and-eyes-everywhere guy. WELP. SCP jokes are made.

It proceeds to smack Shoshana with a pseudopod. Hissss! She instinctually swats back, Primal Savagery giving her unnatural claws. But it’s immune to acid damage, which her claws do for some weird mechanics reason. RUDE. Gral fails to insult it. Then, a clatter of metal - the swords from previous room flying through the air! There is a crackling as lightning comes out of the pattern along the walls. The lightning grabs the swords and pulls them through the air along the lines of the pattern, like a Mag-lev train, and attack Valeria and Gral. Clem smacks a mimic with a sword, which is very helpful, since it has just reduced Shoshana to 0 hp. Gral Healing Words her up, though. Shosha MAX DMGs Burning Hands, killing the mimic. A dozen mouths open as if to scream, and what comes out is a weird discordant song. It burns and starts to shrivel up in front of us. Valeria snaps one of the swords, Shoshana flames another, and the final one rolls a natural -3 and self-destructs in shame.

We decide we no longer want to be in the sculptor’s studio.

The door across the hall opens into a large lounge. There’s a bar, bookshelves, and tables. We flip through the books. Most are about art history. They’re super moldy, though. We also find a book of cocktails, written in Kevan, and immediately start making puns. The Boozenomicon. The Negroni-nomicon? By the Mixologist of Minsk. Miska-TONICS? Mixa-tonics? Obviously by Sturmhearst University press. Clem also finds 2 bottles of fancy high-elven vodka, worth 25gp each. Valeria finds scattered sheet music for 2 songs: one is called “Requiem for the Prisoner;” the other is “The Opening of the Ways.” Naturally, she gives the music to the bard.

Next up is the kitchen. The scattered mess and wall patterns continue through it. Chained to the wall, we find a heavily annotated cookbook. Clem takes it and decides to flip through. It’s written like an eldritch recipe blog, and we definitely gotta have it. Loot!

An awful, acrid chemical scent is coming from the next room. It appears to be the alchemist’s lab, which is definitely not a thing you put next to a kitchen, home designers. We all roll Con saves versus being sickened by the fumes. In the middle of the room lies a decaying body - the alchemist herself. A medicine check reveals a head injury - she was likely concussed or knocked out when the house fell, preventing her from escaping the toxic chemical fumes of her shattered laboratory. 

Gral finds a notebook labeled “Property of Dr. Alicia Keene”. It describes certain paints that she was inspired to create – formulas for various pigments and art materials. “While I do not have a direct role in the collaboration, I was inspired to create the wondrous pigments Johann and Musalt will need for their parts, though some of the ingredients for the pigments must be acquired from Beyond. Artyoum has assured me that the Lurker and his Hounds will not bother me as I gather them.”

We also gather three potions, labeled A, B, and Q. The DM has not decided what they are yet, but he’ll stat them at some point, if we ever remember we looted them. Shosha also finds a sealed tin labeled “Paint: Reserved for Collaboration.”

Clem, as we loot evidence, notices a weird puddle. Drip. Drip. She looks up and a slimy mass is clinging to the ceiling. It drops onto us and tries to eat us, but we skedaddle outside the room, far outpacing its slow oozing speed.

As we climb upstairs, we start to hear faint music. It echoes down a long hallway filled with doors. Like dumb teens in a horror movie, we go directly toward it.

Inside the conservatory, the painted patterns swirl in complex detail across the floor, centering on a single music stand. The walls are lined with mirrors, but we notice with unease that we don’t reflect in them. The reflection seems to show the room we’re in, but instead of us there are two women, distorted and lanky with unnaturally long fingers, surrounded by floating musical instruments. One is playing a violin, the other a flute. Gral, having read the sheet music, recognizes they are playing “Requiem for the Prisoner.” 

As we enter the room, they look at us and stop playing. They spare a glance at each other, raise their instruments once more, and continue playing. But this time, it’s a different song. We hear the opening bars of “The Opening of the Ways,” and the patterns across the floor begin to glow faintly. Cracks in the mirrors begin to emit the same soft glow, and the odd colorful light begins to extend past the edges of the mirror. Mist begins to pour from the cracks.

A sensible adventuring party would have fled, escaping the house before things could go very, very sideways. The DM explicitly gave us the option. But since when has “sensible” ever described an adventuring party? We wanna see what’s gonna happen. 

We are declared certified Dumbasses by the DM, and we are about to go on a very strange journey through the looking-glass.

All PCs are now level 4.

#session recap #holzog #the key #shoshana bat chaya #valeria argent #clem haxan #gral omokk'duu #quentin morozov #contractor darius #witness beatrice #professor quercus #sturmhearst university

[shogetsus]

Stripes of Auburn, Eye of Sapphire

22. Mai

Read on Ao3 | Read on FFN |  Masterlist

Summary: “I wasn’t the only isolated case of smallpox, back in the day. But I’ve been lucky to only lose an eye from it, that’s for sure…”

The harsh truth from the reality they live in weighs heavily on her. Masamune speaks as if somewhat detached from the horrible fact he lost his bride, of all people. However, to some extent she comes to understand a commander and head of a clan like him must have spent his entire life getting acquainted with death. May it be due to war, a disease, or just birth, the prospect of losing a loved one must be just that inevitable for people in that era.

Perhaps that’s why he goes by living life to the fullest, not missing a single moment.

Spoilers: Masamune’s route Warning for slight sexual themes.

Mai

“I came for a tryst.”

What? Did she hear him right? It wouldn’t be surprising otherwise, considering the very loud way her heartbeat begins to throb in her ears.

When at first Masamune had partially trapped her against the wall of her room, then he makes sure to let her know the new attempt isn’t going to end up as the former. Leaning an elbow beside her head, he cradles her cheek with his other hand, drawing Mai’s face up to meet his.

She’d previously thought she’d heard a purr, and turns out, it’d come from her all along. “Taking things a little faster, now?”

“What can I say, I do like turning up the speed on things,” His smirk widens, turning wicked and impossibly more alluring, “And you don’t seem to have any troubles catching up with me so far…”

Ever so temptingly and locking her in place with his gaze only, he slowly pulls the tie on her hair loose, her long copper locks falling over her shoulders like droplets. Somehow he manages to make such a simple gesture so erotic her breath catches, muscles going taut with anticipation.

“I left Kojuro in charge of Shogetsu for tonight. I thought you’d appreciate that,”

“I’m pretty sure I still see a large, imprudent kit in front of me,” Mai can’t help the small banter, visibly shivering at the feeling of his index finger sliding down the column of her throat.

Is she truly ready for a ‘tryst’ with ancient Japan’s most casual kisser, though?

Nah, he’s not really serious though.

With that in mind, her former hesitation takes a turn into a more playful mood, feeling up for indulging him in a little teasing game. And so, tiptoeing just slightly and holding onto his shoulders, she drops an open-mouthed kiss on Masamune’s cheekbone, right below his eyepatch. That side of his face feels a tad bit rougher to the touch, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive; in fact, rather the opposite.

“Tempting, but I think I’ll pass…” She breathes close to his ear, feeling more than glimpsing the way he worries his lower lip and sighs, low and deep.

“You keep saying that, kitten. It breaks my heart,” Leaning back, he fakes a pout while casually tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “I was kidding, though. Actually, I have a request for you,” Without further ado, Masamune properly enters her room, unfurling a large piece of blank paper on her desk—precisely in the same place when a certain letter was, mere moments ago.

The sight brings her back to the former source of her concerns, scratching the back of her head in an uneasy manner. Should she bring the Shingen Takeda subject up with Masamune? Truth be told, he doesn’t truly seem like the appropriate guy to confide such delicate topic on, all the more considering Shingen is technically his enemy by proxy, given Masamune’s alliance with Nobunaga.

It’s probably better if I meet with this envoy first, and then decide on what to do from then on, though. Besides, tonight doesn’t look like a good night to bring up something like that.

“Is something the matter?”

“Oh, no. It’s just… what gorgeous handmade paper!” Mai quickly brings up an excuse, “I guess since we are in the 16th century I can’t say its antique, but still!”

He quirks a brow, snorting, “Somehow that makes me feel old…”

“Haha, don’t be silly. But what’s it for?”

“I’d like you to draw me a picture,” Masamune says simply, “Something like what I saw in your sketchbook. I want to use it as a hanging scroll.”

A little confused, she tilts her head. What? He’s not meaning one of my clothing designs? That’s not really art, though. And come to think of it, he hasn’t yet returned the dress design he’d snatched from her sketchbook. “Why would you want that from me? I can’t really do calligraphy or landscapes…”

“Because I like your art. I can see the effort in it.” He replies in such a straightforward, matter-of-factly way it kind of stuns her for a moment. “It’s flawed in a rough, energetic way that makes it beautiful.”

Is he talking about her designs or himself just then? “Um, Masamune, they’re rough because they’re rough sketches…”

He shrugs, “I still think they’re impressive, and clearly something I haven’t seen before in my life,” His face softens, dropping a hand on her shoulder, “I really do appreciate the way you draw, Mai.”

The genuine, easygoing smile narrowing his face touches her heart, but most of it, his complete sincerity. It’s not just a vague praise, Masamune truly does mean every word he says.

“Thank you for that…” She can’t help beaming at him, a nice and warm feeling settling in, “Is that all you needed from me, though?”

“Yeah. And don’t worry if you mess up. I can always bring more paper,”

Plopping down on the floor beside her, Masamune’s eye is bright and vivid, and her cheeks start to hurt with how hard she smiles back at him. In reality, he’s the first person who’d thought of her drawings as actual art, and that mention alone makes her all the more joyful inside.

After looking down at the piece of blank paper before her, Mai summons the resolve to start. This will be my first time drawing a hanging scroll. I thought the pressure would block me, but I’m actually inspired!

Taking the closest brush and preparing some ink, first she settles for starting with a female figure, opting to figuring the rest out as she goes. It’s been some time ever since she doodled anything—a little more than a month, in fact—but doing something as menial as sitting down and draw something puts her more at ease than most things in the world.

Glancing fleetingly at him from time to time, Masamune remains quiet, resting a hand behind him and slipping into a relaxed position as he watches her draw. The metallic, golden crescent moon hanging on his belt and the curved patterns of his kimono catch her eye, bringing some inspiration from his ever so present moon theme.

It gets to be so easy for her mind to prone on thoughts of him lately, but she can’t truly help it. What are his favorite colors? Which patterns would suit him best? The first thing that comes to mind is that Masamune Date reminds her of a spring season—fresh, vivid, pleasantly warm and lively. The most colorful time of the year and, to some extent, the most positive in her opinion.

Struck with a nice idea, Mai continues her design in peaceful, companionable silence. “Hey, you. Still awake?” She says softly after a while.

“Mm-hm…” It’s a pretty relaxed response coming from a wordy guy like him.  

Lifting her brush, she gives him a good once over look, but he doesn’t look sleepy at all. However, he seems to be not quite here or there, watching her undisturbed yet most likely with his mind elsewhere.

It makes her smile regardless, content to have that comfortable moment between them. “Just so you know, I’m really happy you chose me for this. It means a lot you coming to me with this request.”

“Really, now?” A sort of realization dawns on his face just then, his eye widening, “Well, I’m glad.” Hesitantly, Masamune gives her the sweetest smile she’s so far seen in him, looking very much like a picture himself.

Man, if only I could frame that look on his face, so I could watch it every morning…

A soft, longing sigh appears to escape him, crawling closer. “I really do love seeing you smile, kitten…” Quite smoothly, he slips his arm around her, and her world suddenly shifts.

Huh? They’d moved so gently it takes her a moment to register she’s on the floor and Masamune’s over her. Out of the corner of her eye, Mai can see the brush rolling across the floor, ink trailing over the mat.

“Mai…” His fingers turn her face back up to his all too easily, warm breath fanning her lips. There’s something so incredibly tender in the way he stares at her, as if admiring a work of art.

The sight becomes impossible to resist, tilting her head up and dusting his lips with a fleeting kiss, barely touching. His hand travels up to cradle the back of her head, holding her so carefully, so lovingly, her heart feels like about to burst.

His chestnut bangs fall loosely over his face, close enough they tickle her cheek. “Just look at me…”

I am looking at you. You’re gorgeous, as always, and—

That train of thought doesn’t go further than that as Masamune returns to brush his mouth against hers; softly, seeming to take his precious time into savoring the texture of her lips, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of her.

She can’t remember the last time she’d been kissed like that, if ever—the sort of kiss one could only see in the movies. That perfect and blissful kind, the one that comes former to a declaration of—

Tensing, only slowly she pries herself out of the moment. “I… think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

Masamune’s eye flutters open, looking somewhat drowsy. “You think so? On whose part?”

“Perhaps on both,” Her voice comes off hoarse, and that makes him laugh, not minding as much and bringing his lips to her neck, breath hot in her ear.

When he nips at her earlobe, her treacherous body lets her know it doesn’t think there’s a misunderstanding at all, acting on its own accord and reflexively grinding against his thigh. His hair is incredibly soft as it brushes against the crook of her neck, prompting her to wind her hands through his locks.

Damn, damn! What are we doing?

Catching the collar of her juban in his teeth, Masamune pulls it down wolfishly, baring her skin down to her collarbone. A particular well placed nip sends her eyes rolling backwards, a groan escaping her.

You’re a flirt, and this isn’t going to mean anything, and we have to stop before it does. Because it’s going to get worse if we don’t…

“Masamune…” A hand sneaks its way up her thigh ever so teasingly. Come on, you’re not 15 anymore, keep it together! “P-please, let’s hold up.”

To her relief, he does so right away, “For what?”

Looking up at her, Mai has a moment to think straight. “I was still in the middle of drawing your picture for one. Now there’s ink all over the floor.”

“Well, that’s a problem.” Not making a big deal about it, Masamune moves away to lay beside the futon, watching her with clear amusement.

“I mean it, though,” Even when toying with a strand of her hair, instant regret courses though her, missing his passionate touch the very moment she’s reprieved of it. No. no, I need to focus. “Look, I think you’re mistaken about something, Masamune. You and I aren’t a couple, or an item, or a ‘thing’.”

Those alluring fingers of his stop midway. “I… don’t know what any of that means.” He deadpans.

She straightens up a little. “We’re not dating? We’re not lovers? I mean, as nice and fun this is, I’m not quite okay with sleeping with you on the spur of the moment.”

“… Who’s saying anything about sleep?” What? Oh no. Oh, no, no. Cultural AND language barrier alert!

“Okay, what I mean by that is, uh, bedding me. The sleeping part comes afterwards.” Mai struggles to make her point as best as she can, hoping it’s enough, “And those other things? That’s someone you might be ‘sleeping with’.”

Oddly so, Masamune keeps shooting her a confused look. “Why would you do that, though? I have my own futon if I want to rest…”

“What?” That takes her aback, not quite getting where he’s going. “You’re not trying to say you never—“

But just then, “… Hey, Mai, it’s the middle of the night. Keep it down.”

Her face goes white as a ghost. And things just got worse! It’s Hideyoshi! He wouldn’t barge in, would he? He’d better not!

Masamune appears very skeptical of that, however. “I think we should hide.”

“You too?” Apparently, Masamune’s first instinct is to grab the futon cover in a rush, bringing her with it. Clutching her close to his chest, he lies down and throws the cover over both of them.

There’s no way Hideyoshi’s going to fall for this!

Pressed tight against him, she can’t see anything but hears the door slide open. “Mai? Did you already fall asleep?”

Dozens of unmentionable things to say cross her mind at that, putting an effort into biting the inside of her cheek to keep as quiet as possible. Masamune, I’m going to kill you AND Hideyoshi if he finds us!

An awfully tense moment goes by, and Mai looks up into his face, watching her partner in crime putting a finger against his lips—still amused to no end. Staring at him in awe, it’s hard to believe how her evening went from a lonely and almost depressing one, to so many gears up as that.

Every moment with him seems to feel like a whole new exciting experience to unfold. I feel like such a kid. Honestly, though, this is fun.

Pressing herself a little closer to Masamune, she can’t help giving him a conspiratorial smile. The only air around them is their breaths, making both their faces flushed. “He’ll never stop lecturing if he sees us…” He mouths.

“Shut it—!“ They whisper to each other, their quiet breathing heating the air even more, noses touching. And yet, every moment she spends staring into Masamune’s eye—the brightest light around—the more their bodies seem to mold around one another, something more than just mere heat growing below the covers of her futon.

Hideyoshi, hurry up and go already!

After a long, tense moment, Hideyoshi sighs. “I guess she was sleeping? She makes a lot of noise in her sleep. Her breathing sounds a little labored too. Maybe I’ll ask Ieyasu if there’s a sleep aid for her.”

Masamune purses his lips, starting to snicker. “Don’t you dare—“ She warns him with gritted teeth.

He shakes in her arms, trying his best to restrain himself. “I can’t help it…“

“Suck it up!” An eternity later, they finally hear the door shut close and the sound of footsteps retreating back down the hall. Mai is the first to take a peek from below the covers. “Is he gone?”

A quite disheveled chestnut head makes his appearance as well. “Looks like it.” As the two of them leave the futon, Masamune can’t seem to hold back his laughter any longer. “Hah—hahaha!”

“Don’t laugh, you’ll draw him back!”

It doesn’t seem easy at all for him to contain his fit now that it’s started, but at least he tries to muffle it by sticking his face into her pillow, dropping unceremoniously onto his back. “You can be expecting some medicine for your labored breathing soon.”

She snorts, “If it’s from Ieyasu it’ll probably taste really bitter!”

“Still, I’m impressed with Hideyoshi’s mind. ‘Mai, you’re talking too loud… in your sleep!’” A small snicker escapes her at his attempt imitating his voice, “I kind of feel for his wife, to be honest…”

Soon, Mai can’t hold her laughter in either, plopping down on the futon once again next to Masamune. “Wow! I can’t remember the last time I did anything like that, if ever. I’m exhausted.” Turning on their sides and facing each other, his gorgeous eye is full of mirth, and she’s certain she must be looking the very same as him.

“Me too. All that good energy spent on nothing.”

“If you hadn’t started this, we wouldn’t have had to hide. That’ll teach you to interrupt people when they’re drawing…”

He quirks a brow, “In my defense, you were smiling so cutely, I just couldn’t resist,” As if to make a point, he shoots her a toothy grin, not bothering to wait any longer and cradling her close once again.

To be completely honest, there’s something about their undeniable chemistry that makes it somewhat hard to understand. Mai hadn’t had that instant connection with anyone before, and regardless of how they’re both admittedly playing around and basking in the moment, she can’t deny that inescapable feeling of being drawn to Masamune.

It’s as if they’re bound by invisible strings. It would be silly to call it fate, yet it’s hard to describe it otherwise.

Climbing down from their mirth, Masamune idly traces soothing circles on her lower back, sharing a blissful moment of peace and quiet. She sighs contentedly at his ministrations, burying her face in the crook of his neck, breathing on his masculine scent.

An endearing chuckle escapes him. “You look tired, but not tired enough to poke your cheeks, kitten.”

“You endless tease…” She snaps her teeth in a mock show of threatening to bite his approaching finger, managing to crawl even further into his arms. “Want to stay the night?”

“… Is that the way in the future to propose ‘sleeping together’?”

At that, it takes her a moment to register what she just said, her growing slumbering mind seeming to have made the decisions for her. Turns out, though, it’s a near impossible effort to let him go back to his manor at that point, so she doesn’t regret her words quite as much.

“In fact, I meant actual sleeping,” That train of thought brings her back to a former comment, turning up to search into his gorgeous blue eye. “Riddle me curious, though, but why do I get the feeling you never, um, spent the night cuddling up with anyone before?”

Propping himself on his elbow, he snorts. “I think I know where you’re going with that, and no, I didn’t,” He says, “I don’t know your future time customs, but in here, only wives and concubines are there to warm up a man’s bed,”

“Oh, right. But now that you mention it, how are you still single?” She can’t help but wonder. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m just guessing a guy like you surely must have had a lot of prospects…”

“Hah, not really.” He shakes his head, “But I do appreciate the sentiment, kitten,” He adds up sultrily.

“Seriously?” Maybe she’s biased—Who am I kidding, I totally am—but she finds that hard to believe, “Huh, I just figured, as the head of a clan, taking a wife would be a sort of a priority to you,”

“Well, I do was set up to be wed once, with a pretty lady from a northern clan,” Masamune goes on, relaxing further into her futon, “My cousin Shigezane married her sister, though, so the clan got into my fief in the end,”

“And why didn’t you?” As far as she knew about, Masamune seems to be to some extent the highest figure in the northern provinces, “Wasn’t a good match or something like that?”

“Quite the opposite. My bride and I were childhood friends actually,” As lenient as he seems to be with talking about it, his smile doesn’t look truly sincere then.

“So? May I ask what happened?”

Something in the way his gaze wavers just slightly makes her suspect there’s more to it. Is it he doesn’t want to allow himself having a partner? Or is it just him not looking forward to leaving another widow to mourn in the world, considering his job?

“Well, Mego died.”

She breathes, eyes widening in shock. “What?” He lays that out so simply and in a straightforward manner, for a moment she can’t bring herself to believe him. But he has no reason to make up a lie, “I’m… I’m so sorry, Masamune.”

“What for? It’s not your fault,” He pats her hand in reassurance, looking painfully honest. “I wasn’t the only isolated case of smallpox, back in the day. But I’ve been lucky to only lose an eye from it, that’s for sure…”

The harsh truth from the reality they live in weighs heavily on her. Masamune speaks as if somewhat detached from the horrible fact he lost his bride, of all people. However, to some extent she comes to understand a commander and head of a clan like him must have spent his entire life getting acquainted with death. May it be due to war, a disease, or just birth, the prospect of losing a loved one must be just that inevitable for people in that era.

Perhaps that’s why he goes by living life to the fullest, not missing a single moment. Oh, Masamune. And here I thought my life sucked. My troubles seem so small and pointless in comparison to all he must have gone through.

Struck with a sudden urge to just touch him, Mai reaches out and takes his hand in hers, “I wouldn’t call it just luck, though. I think, above that, it was your strong will what got you through,” Now aware of his admitted weakness, she puts an effort into smiling her most genuine smile, “I really like that about you…”

His face softens, taking the effect she’d been looking forward to, “Aside from my good looks, right?”

“What do you think?” Shooting him a sultry look, she opts onto changing the mood, “But you know what? Considering you just admitted you never experienced the pleasure of cuddling up, allow me to show you what you’ve been missing,”

“You’ve got my attention, kitten…”

She’d be a fool to think she’s only leaning forward and kissing him for other reasons aside of an all-consuming need to do so. Truth is, she wants him as close as humanly possible, craving for the warmth of his lips like a thirsty man in the desert.

If Masamune believes it’s selfish of her, he doesn’t seem to mind at all, eagerly following and going down atop the futon together in a messy bundle of arms and legs. “Now, lay down, tiger,” She advises after they part for breath.

Straddling him, Mai then proceeds to slowly and gently disrobe him, all the time under the scrutiny of his very intense gaze. His black cape goes off first, then the white belt holding his hakama in place, and so until he’s just down to his under kimono, leaving both in a matching state of dressing.

A teasing hand snakes up her thigh, and as tempted as she is to turn things more spicy, miraculously she finds the strength to refrain herself just so, dropping at Masamune’s side on the pillow. “Hey, I said just sleeping, remember?”

“Alright, alright…” Faking a pout, he seems rather more curious to see where she’s getting at than anything else, his eye fluttering close as her hands thread into his locks.

Turning off the lantern, the moonlight coming from the slit of the doors to her veranda haloes Masamune’s figure in breathtaking silver hues; his eye, half-lidded, still staring at her, seeming to enjoy her ministrations on his hair. Her fingers find the tie of his eyepatch, and after waiting for his explicit approval, the cloth goes off as well, dropped next to his pair of katana and rest of his clothing at the side of the futon.

Still massaging his scalp in soothing strokes, he hums contentedly. “Mmh, this is nice,” He manages to use whatever strength is left in him to pull her flush against his torso, legs tangling together under the covers.

Soon, his hums turn into quiet breaths, finally falling into a slumber, leaving Mai to bask upon the adorable view. All her worries appear to not matter as much anymore then, preferring to watch over him, not minding for what may come tomorrow.

For now, the world resumes to just the two of them, cuddled in each other’s arms. And she can only hope for the night to never end.

#Cassie writes #Stripes fic #Ikesen #Ikemen Sengoku #Ikesen Masamune x MC #Ikesen Shingen x MC #Mai Mizusaki #Ikesen fanfiction #SPOILERS: Masamune's route

[thelittlestspider]

get to know the writer tag

tagged by @the-color-of-roseblood, @ghost-possum, and @thevajunglebook. thank you for tagging me and i’m sorry it took this long.

i’m bad at coming up with questions so i’m not going to do the 10 questions. but i am going to answer the questions that were listed. also this is an open tag, so anyone who wants to do it can do it.

rules: answer 10 questions, create 10 new questions, and then tag 10 people

from the-color-of-roseblood:

1) We always talk about favorites. What’s your least favorite book?

hmmm. one book i’ve always hated is the scarlett letter. we read it in school and it was awful.

2) Do you have a favorite place to write? What’s it like there?

i didn’t really have a favorite place to write until recently. a few months ago i finally got a desk and i’ve been in love with it ever since. 

very, very cluttered. there’s all kinds of stuff piled on it. on one side i’ve got soda cans, plastic bottles, my phone; the other side is junk food, my glasses case, a couple of necklaces. i have an old sugar plum fairie barbie on the top shelf that i tried to sell, that nobody wanted even though i had it for like $5 (i might post a picture of it later bc it’s super pretty).

3) Do you have any artistic endeavors other than writing? If not, what else would you most like to learn to do?

back before the writing bug really bit me, i used to draw all the time. now i barely ever draw unless i get really inspired. 

hmmm, i don’t know. maybe sign up for duolingo and learn other languages?? other than that i don’t know.

4) What’s your favorite holiday? Why? Have you ever written a story involving that holiday?

halloween is my favorite, followed closely by christmas just bc i love the tacky decorations and the music and the movies and pretty much everything about it. 

looool i have tried to write fics involving these holidays, but they never come out how i want them to and i’ve kind of given up on it. 

5) How do you fight writer’s block?

silly answer: drink so much caffeine i ascend to the astral plane to get advice from the writing gods.

actual answer: there’s not really an easy way to answer this. sometimes i see writing posts that are like, “you have to write every day!!” and i’m thinking y’know that’s not always possible. whether i’m out of inspiration/ideas, or i’m in a depression spiral, or i’m tired from work, or maybe i’m just not feeling that particular project. it’s not a sin to need a break from your wips, bc even though it’s happy work it’s still work. and there’s no shame in needing to take a breather to get yourself sorted out. 

on days when i’m ready to write, i do different things to get myself pumped up for my wips. i’ll make playlists, make aesthetic boards, sometimes i torture my mutuals with rambles about my ocs or tag them with little excerpts from the project. i really like making an aesthetic tag so i can go and look at all the pretty stuff that makes me think of the wip, so i can remind myself why i want to write it in the first place.

6) At what point in a WIP do you decide to send it to your first beta readers/reviewers?

probably not until i’m at least done with a second draft. the first draft needs to have all those plot holes filled, all those loose threads woven back together, characters need developing. showing a beta reader my first draft would be like taking a person to a room filled with beginning sketches of people where they’re still just shapes instead of having any defining features. 

7) What’s your greatest inspiration?

i don’t think i have one lol.

8) A lot of writers have certain things they like to describe - food, clothes, fights, party scenes. What’s your favorite thing to describe?

emotional scenes where characters talk about their problems and they hug and maybe even cry. i’m a terrible person.

9) What’s your approximate ratio of reading to writing? How do you find time for both? Do you do both on the same day, or split it up?

you’re going to judge me for this, but i haven’t been reading actual books lol. the last few months i’ve just been reading fanfic oneshots with like the occasional multichapter fic thrown in. my attention span has been terrible.

10) What books would you recommend to someone to get them into reading?

i think it depends on the person. what i might find compelling, someone else might find super boring. 

from ghost-possum:

1. What is your favorite book in a genre that you don’t tend to write? If you do fantasy/sci-fi, what’s your favorite romance? If you write literary, what’s your favorite paranormal YA?

i don’t really like writing stuff that doesn’t have some kind of paranormal element. so i guess i’d say my writing enemy that i like reading is real world drama. 

my favorite books that are like idk period pieces i guess?? are Anne of Green Gables and Pride and Prejudice. 

as for stuff that’s based in more recent times, there’s a ya series i really like called tiny pretty things that’s about a group of ballerinas competing against each other for spots for prima ballerina?? and there’s a lot of drama and backstabbing. it’s kind of a dark series. 

2. What book would you love to see turned into a movie or tv show? Any particular reasons why?

i can’t think of anything right now. maybe green angel by alice hoffman?

3. Have you ever written a character with a certain real-life person in mind. Was it someone you know in real life or someone famous?

some of my ocs were originally based off acquaintances, but as i kept writing them the characters changed so much that they became pretty much unrecognizable. 

4. If your latest WIP had a color scheme, what would it be?

paper heart would be red, orange, pink, and purple. the colors of a sunset with the threat of darkness falling over everything. 

5. What do you eat or drink while writing (if anything)?

s’mores poptarts if i’m too lazy to get up and fix myself something. chips. different sodas: cherry coke, sunkist, grape fanta. 

6. What do you do to restore your inspiration when you’re not writing?

watch movies/tv shows. listen to podcasts or music. look at cool pictures. 

7. Coffee, Tea, Booze, or ALL THREE?

coffee and booze. i’m not a big fan of tea. 

8. Who is your favorite visual artist?

uhhhh, does studio ghibli count? their artwork is so appealing to look at.

9. Do you have any other creative pursuits outside of writing? What are they?

maybe learning other languages??

10. What is your favorite trope, the one you will always fall for and never get enough of?

AAAAAAAAAAA, ENEMIES TO FRIENDS TO LOVERS. 

from thevajunglebook: 

1. Describe your WIP as a cross between two movies.

i’m trying to think of what paper heart would be, but i’m drawing a blank. this needs to be its own game where someone else guesses what movies your wip is the lovechild of.

2. What’s your favorite part of writing communities?

cheering on and also being cheered on during the writing process. getting to read all these wonderful stories written by wonderful people. knowing other people are suffering just as much as i am lol. 

3. If you could collaborate with any writer (whether friend or idol), who would it be and what would you work on together?

i am terrible at collaborating with other people lol. 

4. Do you prefer reading/writing standalones or series? 

i love reading series, but i’m not good at writing them lol. yet somehow i always end up writing series.

5. Who is your ultimate OC otp(+)?

canon: for the next three days verse it’s between leana/yvonne and jason/bella for otp status. my ot5 is carter/matteo/violet/tiffany/nina. 

for defect i’d say my otp is joe/alec. also ethan/noah later on down the line.

ot3: ned/alec/sage 

ot4: ned/alec/joe/ray.

au: joe/ned/carter

.

for the graveyard of the forgotten it’s definitely orrinaz/eliya/amnayel. 

6. If your OC(s) joined tumblr, what type of blog would they run?

i wish i could answer this question with the dedication it deserves. i feel like their blogs would have a lot of memes and shitposts with some aesthetic stuff thrown in. 

7. If you could write an adaptation of any story, which would it be?   

while i have zero desire to write an adaptation for a story, i’ve always liked the idea of a movie version of Green Angel by Alice Hoffman. mostly bc it’s surreal, a little weird, post apocalyptic, and it would just look really cool.

8. What common writing tips never work for you? And/or what uncommon advice do you swear by? 

anything that’s like, “if you don’t write everyday, you’re not a real writer!!” like chill dude. just bc i’m not cranking out 1,000 words a day like some lean, mean, writing machine doesn’t mean i’m not dedicated to what i’m doing. 

9. Do you research before, during, or after writing sessions? 

it depends. sometimes i get to a point in a fic where i’m like, “uh oh” and i go into a research spiral trying to find this one specific thing. thinking ah yes, this is the specific thing i need at this very moment that i probably could do without.

10. Have you had a writing epiphany that totally revamped your WIP?

if only. there were a few game changers in the next three days series that changed things for the better:

- the way carter and matteo first met lmao. 

- violet’s existence. 

- sage rescuing and then leaving violet and carter. 

- carter and nina’s bromance. 

- alec and carter, and also joe and matteo being siblings.

- tiffany seeing ghosts.

#writing tag game

[snarkiara]

Moon Chosen by PC Cast: About the Book + Chapter 1

First Thing’s First: Why did I buy this book?

I really like PC Cast’s earlier work, The Goddess Summoning Series and Tales of Parthelon, they’re well written, witty, and fun. They’re also Romance Novels. (The one’s I have most issue with are the second in Parthelon (Divine by Choice) and the last in Goddess Summoning (Goddess of Legend)) I started disliking her work when she and her daughter wrote The House of Night Series which is . . . disgusting.

Here’s a short list of wrongs from Fandom Hates People of Color

The MC killed two black men for no reason

Another link

Something people always applaud it for is that it doesn’t slut-shame because the main character has a whole bunch of partners and that is just . . . wrong. It does slut-shame other characters via the MC’s misogyny. Also the main character having multiple partners isn’t a good thing because she’s CHEATING on all of them.

Case in point: her ex almost died and ended up in the hospital so she lost her virginity to her teacher (this is statutory rape btw, he was also manipulating her but somehow she still agreed to it while thinking the man she loved was dying???) who she’d been cheating on said ex with and then later when she gets back together with her ex and he’s paranoid the narrative treats it like he’s being paranoid and jealous for no reason despite the fact she cheated on him with three different guys

just. yikes.

So when that series ended and I saw PC Cast was going to do a book alone I wondered “Is everything bad in House of Night from her daughter? How much is from her?” I was also curious because Moon Chosen would be PC Cast’s first solo YA novel. 

Let me tell you right here and now that’s it was not all her daughter.

Moon Chosen is a YA novel published by St. Martin's Griffin in 2016 and it has one sequel entitled Sun Warrior (2017).

The Cover:

It’s not bad. One of the reasons I got it was because of the cover. I especially like the sun-like o (I think it’s supposed to be moon-like but . . .)

Goodreads Summary:

Chosen to embrace her true identity. Chosen to follow her destiny. Chosen to change her world.

Mari is an Earth Walker, heir to the unique healing powers of her Clan, but she has been forced to turn from her duties, until she is chosen by a special animal ally, altering her destiny forever. When a deadly attack tears her world apart, Mari reveals the strength of her powers and the forbidden secret of her dual nature as she embarks on a mission to save herself and her people. It is not until Nik, the son of the leader from a rival, dominating Tribe, strays across her path that Mari experiences something she has never felt before…

Now evil is coming, and with it, a force more terrible and destructive than the world has ever seen, leaving Mari to cast the shadows from the earth. By breaking Clan Law and forming an alliance with Nik, she must make herself ready. Ready to save her people. Ready to save herself and Nik. Ready to embrace her true destiny…and battle the forces that threaten to destroy them all.

Now, there’s a lot to unpack here. PC Cast always uses mythology in her books, focusing on European mythologies such as Greek, Celtic, and Roman. Since the MC in House of Night’s Native American heritage was NOT handled well I was already worried when I realized this story almost definitely took place in a fantasy North America (Hint: The series title is Tales of a New World).

I also want everyone to know that the top two reviews on Goodreads were both 1 stars. XD Here and here.

Now, reminder that when I first got this book like 2 years ago I couldn’t even get past PAGE 2

Without Further Ado: Chapter 1

There’s a lot to unpack here so I’m literally going to transcribe the entire first 2 pages to ya’ll because it is physically painful to read and I want all of you to share my pain.

The contagious sound of women’s laughter filled the warm, tidy burrow.

“Oh, Mari! That is not an illustration from the myth I just told you.”

Mari’s mother held the sheet of handmade paper in one hand and pressed the other hand against her mouth, unsuccessfully trying to hold back another bout of laughter.

“Mama, your job is to tell the stories. My job is to sketch them. That’s our game, right? Our favorite game.”

“Well, yes,” Leda said, still trying to fix her expression to a more sober one. “I do tell the stories, but you tend to sketch what you think you hear.”

“I don’t see the problem with that.” Mari moved to stand beside her mother and studied the newly finished sketch with her. “This is exactly what I saw as you were telling the story of Narcissus and Echo.”

If they’re in North America . . . why are they talking about Greek gods? This tells me that at least Mari’s mother Leda isn’t Native American. (As also evidenced from their names.)

“Mari, you made Narcissus look like a young man turning into a flower. Awkwardly.  He has one hand that is a leaf and the other that is still a hand. The same with his--” Leda stifled a giggle. “Well, with several other parts of his anatomy. And he has a mustache and a silly look on his face--though I do admit it is an amazing talent you have that can bring a silly-looking half flower, half man, to life.” Leda pointed to the sketch and the ghostly nymph who Mari had somehow made to look bored and annoyed as she watched the transformation of Narcissus. “You made Echo look--” Leda hesitated, obviously searching for the right words.

“Fed up with Narcissus and his ego?” Mari offered.

Leda gave up all pretense of admonishment and laughed out loud. “Yes, that is exactly how you made Echo look, though that is not the story I told.”

“Well, Leda.” Mari used her mother’s given name as she waggled her brows at her. “I was listening to your story and as I was drawing I decided that something was definitely left out of the ending.”

Even I know this is too much telling instead of showing.

“The ending? Really?” Leda bumped her daughter with her shoulder. “And stop calling me Leda.”

“But, Leda, that’s your name.”

“To the rest of the world. To you my name is Mother.”

“Mother? Really? It’s so--”

“Respectful and traditional?” This time Leda offered to finish her daughter’s thought.

“More like boring and old,” Mari said, eyes shining as she waited for her mother’s predictable response.

“Boring and old? Did you just call me boring and old?”

“What? Me? Call you boring and old? Never, Mama, never!” Mari giggled and held her hand up in surrender.

This is not how mothers and daughters talk to each other? Gods I miss when PC wrote Romance novels. She is obviously not in her element in YA novels and doesn’t understand that - considering I started reading her work back in middle school and never had any trouble understanding it - she doesn’t need to change her writing style to apply to teenagers. I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening because it reads more like House of Night than anything else I’ve read of hers so I don’t think it’s devolving I think it’s a deliberate choice.

“All fixed,” She said, holding up the sketch for Leda to inspect.

“Mari, his eyes are crossed,” Leda said.

“The rest of the story made me think he wasn’t too smart. So I made him look not very smart.”

I’ve not even gone half a page and already there’s this ableist crap and Mari shaming her mother for having been a teen mother.

Okay so Mari just named 4 Clans: Clan Weaver, Clan Fisher, Clan Miller, and Clan Wood. How many clans are there and do they all have specializations which give them their names?

[Mari] “Blueberries! Really, Mama? That would be wonderful. I love the color of ink I make with them. It’s a nice change from the black stain I get from walnuts.”

What?

[Leda] “I do, and I��m looking forward to dyeing a new cloak for you this spring, but I admit freely that I would rather eat a blueberry pie!”

WHAT?

So Mari brings up that Leda’s name is from a story and then mentions that her grandmother Cassandra did not name things sensibly. Then . . .

“You know very well that Moon Women always name their daughters whatever is whispered to them on the wind by the Great Earth Mother. My mother, Cassandra, was named by her mother, Penelope. I heard your lovely name whispered by our Earth Mother the full moon night before you were born.”

“My name is boring.” Mari sighed. “Does that mean the Earth Mother thinks I’m boring?”

“No, that means the Earth Mother thinks we should make up a story to go with your name--a story all your own.”

This reads like Mari’s 10 years old. She’s 16-17. So their clan is the Moon Clan and so far they’ve only mentioned Moon Women, no Moon Men and Mari’s father is not from the Moon Clan.

Woah okay here we go.

“Mari, sweet girl, I cannot tell another story tonight, though I wish I could, sunset is not far off, and tonight the moon will be full and brilliant. The needs of the Clan will be great.”

Mari opened her mouth to plead with Leda to stay just for a few moments more, to put her needs before those of the Clan, but before she could speak her small, selfish desire her mother’s body twitched spasmodically, shoulders trembling, head jerking painfully and uncontrollably. Though she had already turned from her daughter, as always trying to shield her from the change night brought with it. Mari knew all too well what was happening.

. . . She took her mother’s hand, holding it in both of hers, hating how cold it had become--hating the pale silver-gray tinge that was beginning to spread across her skin. And wishing, always wishing, that she could soothe the pain that visited her mother with the setting of the sun every night of her life.

Or . . . not? I’m . . . very confused because Mari’s sad she took up her mother’s time till after sunset which causes her mother pain but then . . . continues taking up her time??? Like after her mother goes through this pain they start . . . exchanging gifts? Her mother made her a flower crown that’s called a Maiden . . . Moon . . . Crown. What? 

[I didn’t transcribe this part but I want you all to know that the words “glowmoss” and “glowshrooms” (“which suspended . . . like organic chandeliers”) were actually used.]

Men have finally been mentioned and it doesn’t look good.

“. . . I’m afraid this spring moon won’t be as festive as usual. Not after so many Earth Walkers have been recently captured by the Companions. The Earth Mother feels unusually restless to me, as if uncomfortable changes are coming. Our women have been filled with more sorrow than usual, and our men--well, we know the anger the Night Fever brews within our men.”

“They won’t just be angry, they’ll be dangerous. Damn Scratchers!

“Mari, don’t call your people that. It makes them sound like monsters.”

“They’re only half my people, Mother, and at night they are monsters. [wow wtf] Or at least the men are. What would happen if you didn’t wash them of the Night fever every three days? Wait, I know what would happen. It’s why a Moon Woman’s burrow has to always be hidden, even from her own Clan.” [WTF. btb they live in an actual burrow underground] Frustration and fear caused her words to be harsh, and as soon as she’d spoken them the sadness that filled her mother’s eyes made her regret such harshness.

“Mari, you must never forget that at night, even I have within me the capacity to be a monster.”

“Not you! I didn’t mean you. I’d never mean you!

“But the moon is all that keeps me from becoming more Scratcher than Earth Walker. Sadly, our people cannot call down the moon as I can, so I must do it for them as least once every three nights. Tonight is a Third Night, as well as the spring full moon. Our Clan will gather, and I will Wash [why is this capitalized?] them so that their lives may be open to accept love and joy instead of mired in melancholy and anger . . .”

I have no doubt this is going to be another Native American werewolves story. Seriously? SERIOUSLY? It goes into Mari being self-deprecating after this because she wants more than to be a part of her Clan and then talks about how Leda’s been hiding the truth about Mari her whole life. Presumably, that Mari is only half Moon Clan.

Okay so they talk about Mari’s power and how she keeps failing to do what her mother does but her mother assures her that nothing’s wrong because she “sane” with no sign of “madness or pain.” Leda needs to choose and apprentice but Mari’s wavering because she doesn’t think she’s good enough. Leda wants Mari to join her for the ceremony that night.

So apparently Mari has a choice to-be or not-to-be a Moon Woman?

Leda goes into pain again and Mari agrees to go with her.

Oh. oh no.

“Let me touch up your face. We’ll need to dye your hair again soon, but not tonight.”

Mari stifled a sigh and tilted her face up so that her mother could reapply the muddy mixture that kept their secret.

Leda worked in silence, thickening her daughter’s brow, flattening her cheekbones, and then, lastly, smearing the dirty, sticky clay substance down her neck and arms.

Brownface. Wow. I can’t even.

In other news Mari accidentally touched sunlight which caused a filigree pattern and a rush of power to spread over the skin on her hand even through the brownface.

So. Mari’s lighter skinned than the rest of her clan and she has an affinity for the sun instead of the moon. (btw that’s the opposite of how it should be genetically but whatever) Her mother and her have been hiding this for 17 years by keeping her locked up in the burrow during the day and hidden under clothing and brownface while she’s out at night. Wow.

This chapter was only 10 pages.

#moon chosen #moon chosen 1 #long post #my snarks #kiara snarks moon chosen

[doodlewash]

My name is Jenny Kroik. I was born in Russia, grew up in Israel, and now live in New York City. I started painting very young. I always felt that painting was a great tool to communicate my point of view with the world. I think the biggest struggle I had (and still have) is to find a meaning or purpose in what I do. When I was younger, I felt that you should only do things if they benefit society in some large, heroic and long-lasting way. That idea brought a lot of aggravation into my work.

It also took the joy out of it to some extent, because no matter how I looked at it, my paintings seemed smallish in the great scheme of things. I went to grad school hoping to resolve some of these conflicts relating to my work, but even though my degree was in Painting, I found that I was making art that I didn’t like to please others. Lately, I’ve found that, ironically, as an illustrator, I was making art that was more pleasing to me, and felt more like it was for myself (even though there is a clear “client” and “market” involved). It was an important re-discovery, and I became more confident about the things that I produce now.

I started to take painting lessons when I was about 13, and I started with watercolors (because my mom deemed all other paints too toxic). I’ve used watercolors a lot, and it is still my go-to medium. I think that as a kid, I felt that the watercolors were missing a bit of solidity to them, so when I tried gouache paint years later, it all clicked. With gouache, I could use the paint in the watery-style that I am used to, while adding opaque tones and solid layers. I think it fits how I feel now, that I’d like the painting to be more like a statement rather than a suggestion, or something in between those two.

I use Yarka St. Petersburg for watercolors. This was the first set I used, and my mom actually brought it with her from St. Petersburg. Sometimes, when I run out of a color in my set, I squeeze some M. Graham watercolors or Winsor & Newton, whatever I happen to have around. The most important colors for me to have are sepia, cad orange and ultramarine blue. Besides all the basic colors, these complete my color palette and I have trouble painting without these.

For gouache paints, I use Holbein, they are my favorite. Their colors are very solid. I found with some other brands, when you open the tube for the first time and squeeze out the paint, lots of liquid comes out, this doesn’t happen with Holbein. If you pre-mix them in little tubes with a few spritzes of water (like I was taught by my art mentor) then they last for a long time.

I like to use brushes that are on the cheaper side, because they are usually stiffer. They are not quite as stiff as acrylic brushes, but not as soft as the nicer watercolor brushes. The softer ones are not as precise for me. Maybe I used crappy brushes for so long that I got used to them, and when I paint with a fancy sable I just don’t like it.

I can’t really name any particular brand of brush. I used to love these Princeton Art Advantage brushes that I would always get at the $2 bin at the university bookstore in Oregon, but I haven’t been able to find a good substitute yet, I’ll let you know when I do.

My current favorite for paper is Fluid 100 paper, hot press, 140lb. I also use Arches hot press paper a lot, and sometimes Arches cold press for portraits and quicker paintings. (the cold press absorbs too much, and for longer paintings it just eats all my paint).

I also like to use “mystery paper”- I have a stack of paper I’ve collected throughout the years, and I have no idea where it’s from or what it does. some of it is for printmaking, some for markers, some of it rice paper.I pick a sheet from the stack and paint on it, and see what happens. It’s always most stressful when it works out really great, because then I don’t know what this paper was and where to find it again. But it’s good to be a little bit stressed about your art sometimes.

I use palette paper (any brand) and the paint tub with two sides – one with a scrubby side. That is perfect for cleaning the brush and avoiding running to the sink every 4 minutes. Also, a cotton rag is crucial. If I forget my rag I feel lost. Paper towels absorb too much and I don’t like to pollute the planet.

I used to use a lot of waterproof pens, like the Winsor & Newton pens or Microns for sketching and doing a wash on top, but I haven’t been working with line in a while. Maybe I should go back to it a bit. I also like Pentalic sketchbooks.

Learning meditation really helped me and my work as well. It’s similar in many ways to the artistic process, and learning and reading about mindful meditation helped put into words the things I was always struggling with at the studio. For instance: how can I sit down every day and make painting after painting, and still find new possibilities in the work? Or how can I reconcile the painting I planned to make with what actually came out (including spills and dirty fingerprints)? And one of the hardest things: how can I sit down to paint when my mind is constantly filled with noise, judging voices, criticisms, endless comparisons to other artists and their successes, and just random static?

Meditation definitely made my time in the studio not only less torturous, but also more productive: It gave me the framework to study unpleasant emotions like an objective observer, and I find many treasures in the icky moments that I would normally try to push away.

After moving around a lot in my life, I now live in New York City. This is probably the favorite place I’ve lived in so far, and also the least comfortable, dirtiest, cramped with jerks, and most aggravating at times. But I feel most comfortable in the city, and I feel like being around so much creativity and energy has really given me an artistic push. I can let my inner jerkness out and be pushy and demanding. Things that were absolutely not allowed in Oregon, where I lived for 8 years.

Oregon was quite the opposite of New York. it was quiet and calm on the outside. There was one museum in the town I lived in, and the art scene was fairly small. I developed a practice of mining for inspiration in daily life. Going out and looking for interesting things, applying a “filter” on the world, trying to see everything as an interesting or funny painting. Instead of museums, I roamed around thrift stores and antique shops, sketching what I saw. Finding visual interest in an army of white older ladies that all wore the same khaki pants and Patagonia fleeces. Going back to the same place or person, and painting them over and over again.

Oregon was maybe a quiet, and lets face it, boring place, but it was an awesome place to really figure out what I’m into as an artist. It’s a great place in general where one can fall apart and reconstruct oneself. (If you’re looking for such a place, I recommend it.)

The way I developed my practice came from all the time I spent thinking about what “inspiration” is. It started from this damaging idea I had that inspiration is something that comes to you like a vision from outer-space: I had a vague memory from some time in my past, maybe high school or when I was working on my BFA, that art ideas would just float into my life like a religious experience, and I would see the painting in its entirety in my mind, accompanied by a strong emotion that made it feel like it’s going to be the most important painting that ever existed.

This was my idea of what inspiration is, and I had no way to go back to this magical past memory and confirm or deny that this is actually what I felt, but I was left with a strong belief that, at one point, I was inspired, and painting was easy, and now I’m all tapped out. It was a very upsetting feeling. There’s nothing more damaging to your practice than to become convinced that once upon a time you had a sack of magic art beans, and now that they’re gone, you have to live out the rest of your life being uninspired.

Finally I’ve decided that, even if I did have magnificent magic art beans and now they are gone forever, then those beans were bullshit, and I didn’t need them anyway. They were crap scam beans. Instead I’m going to develop a sustainable practice that won’t fail me. It’s going to be with me on good days and bad days, when my art is pretty and loved, and when it’s just an undefinable mess. When I’m in the middle of New York surrounded by hordes of amazing drawable people, or if I’m in a deserted industrial truck-depot.

And, honestly, without such a practice, I wouldn’t have known what to do with all the amazing visuals I encounter. I probably would have “saved them for later”, too intimidated to approach them.

My practice consists of doing something hands-on, art related on a daily basis. Ideally, I would paint/draw at least an hour a day. It could be anything from sketching or doodling from life, drawing silly cartoons, mixing colors, cutting papers into little compositions (I haven’t done that in a while, that sounds like fun right about now!) .

Sometimes on an unproductive kind of day, I count collecting imagery as part of my daily practice, but I don’t think it exercises the same parts of my brain that keep it playful. Taking photos or looking for reference material online is important to plan a solid illustration and keep concepts sophisticated and fresh, but this process can become too mechanical if you make that your only prep work before a painting.

Doodling and playing with actual materials brings the lightness and fun into my work for sure. That said, I work from photos and think it’s very important for my paintings to have a variety of really solid photo reference. Sometimes, one blurry photo is all I have, so then I have to supplement it with studies of my own anatomy, or search for pictures online of someone holding a certain pose, a material, a detail, a machine or animal I don’t quite know how to paint, etc.

While working from photos, the biggest challenge is to stop it from becoming flat, or just a copy. There should be a point to why this is better as a painting, something that you’re trying to show with it. A lot of it is about editing and color. I want to stop the world, remove everything that isn’t important, and shine a spotlight on a little moment, a beautiful expression, a funny juxtaposition, or something that tickled me in the right way, but I’m not sure why.

The painting process for me is definitely a way to reexamine a fast-moving life and slow down time in order for me to think about my experiences, but do it in a form of indirect conversation with whoever looks at my work.

I think I have been slowly bringing together all my styles and interest, and distilling them. All my interest: abstraction, figurative art, concept, color and a journal-style practice, where I draw very fast what I see that day, I have been cooking these down into a nice reduction of all the sauces of my previous practices. The test of what a “successful” painting is to me is that I actually love looking back at my work over and over, and I feel like it’s “me”.

In this past year of living in New York City, I realized that painting people was something I really love doing more that other subjects. A big part of my work has been loitering around town. This is a practice I revived back form when I lived alone in Boston when I was working on my BFA.

I used to spend a lot of time walking around thinking about what I should paint. Now that I’m older and bolder, and also shameless, I incorporate into these walks taking pictures of strangers and also sketching them, when I can.

One of the things I felt most deprived of in Oregon are museums. I made it a point to go to all of the museums in New York City. (So far I haven’t even seen half! There are so many!) One thing that I discovered is that museums are a great place to look at people. Not only do they walk slowly, they are also usually well-lit.

I can sketch and photograph them, and if I miss a cool person, I can snake around the displays and catch up with them in the next gallery! (I’m not creepy at all). There are also a ton of tourists in museums who take a thousand pictures of everything, so I blend it well.

There are a few museums that I found people dress up for more than others, for instance the MOMA. I love it when people dress up for a museum, it makes me hopeful that art means something to people. It’s almost like the artists themselves were there, and people want to honor them with their best clothes. The recent fashion exhibit at the MET (Rei Kawakubo/ Comme des Garcons: art of the in-between) brought out the most amazing people. My head almost exploded trying to capture everyone I saw. So many interesting people!

I still have a huge backlog of ideas for paintings on my to-do list. Since moving to NYC I probably shot about a Terabyte of photos. I probably did about 70 paintings of people in museums so far. I really enjoy it, so I hope that people aren’t sick of seeing them! This is a fun project, and maybe it will evolve into something more in the future.

In the next step in my art, I would love to continue evolving my composition style, making it more sophisticated, and also developing concept further in my work. I would also love to work in animation again.

Jenny Kroik Website Instagram Facebook Twitter Society6 Store

EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the second feature from Jenny Kroik who was one of the very first guest artists on Doodlewash back in August 2015. The format has changed a lot since that time. If you’re a former guest and would like to share your latest story with the community, please contact me!

Don’t Miss World Watercolor Month In July! 

GUEST ARTIST: Aimless Strolling, Kind Trolling by Jenny Kroik - #WorldWatercolorGroup @jkroik My name is Jenny Kroik. I was born in Russia, grew up in Israel, and now live in New York City.

#WorldWatercolorGroup #conceptual #doodlewash #featured #gouache #illustration #museum #New York #painting #watercolor #watercolour

[tegwin]

The Counterfeit - Chapter Five

The stranger seems to be rather handy, when it comes down to drawing. And he seems not so in love with that painting anymore, if you look what´s inside his bag. So he might be a kind of painter after all? Let´s see.

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

"You must think me really obsessed." he said over the rim of his cup. "Always in front of the same image, day after day.". He grinned. "Well, as I said, you are just an art lover. Or a student." I objected as a possible explanation for his behavior. Probably also to stop that nagging voice inside of me and to relieve my doubts by his answer. But he said nothing. "So, you  are a student?" I asked. After a long silence he said, "Yes. I am.". But his voice was rough as he said it and I couldn´t help but wonder why that had taken him so long. We looked at each other for a while. He had a broad face with a nearly square forehead. Strong eyebrows. His chin graced by a three-day beard. And that boyish grin that lit his green eyes and that was so contagious. Without even noticing it I began to smile back at him. "I'm James by the way." he introduced himself. And again he flickered another smile at me. "James, the Manet man," I said. He tilted his head. While I just gave a wave of my hand. "The Manet man?". "Yes, that is the nickname Hannah, the lady from the Museum staff, has given you." I hastened to explain myself. "James the Manet man.". He laughed. Deep and melodic. "That's good. That's really good. I think I'll write that into my CV. That could be good for my reputation.". Then he was suddenly serious again. "Some day maybe." he said. "And now, who and what are you, when you´re not bound to play the kindergarten teacher?". "Grace. My name is Grace. And I'm museum educator. I'm doing tours for visitors and for special occasions." I explained. He took a sip of coffee. "That sounds like a responsible position." he said. I nodded slightly. "Then you have studied art?". "History of art." I answered. He looked at me admiringly. "History of art. That's ..." "A rather unprofitable study field, yes." I interrupted and laughed. He joined in. "Thats not what I wanted to say." he hastened to say. "That would have been rather impolite, if I would have said so.". "Yes." I meant. "It would have been.". We laughed for a few minutes more.

 "What drove you towards the art?" I asked. He choked on his coffee. "I .." he trailed off. "You really have to have a story." I insisted as he made ​​no attempt to answer. "Do I?". Now he seemed reluctant and I regretted it almost to have been asking the question. "Yes, everyone has one. I mean, no one does simply decide out of thin air one day to study such a thing like art. If you decide to study something so philosophical, so non profit, then there is always a story behind that decision." When he still gave no answer I added: "At least in my experience. I think its a bit the same with all of us. Isn´t it? After all one must have a good reason for straying of the path and to give to the rest of the world, that will surely ask why someone would study anything so useless, a good explanation."  He nodded and replied: "Yes, that's true.". "So, what's yours?". "You're not curious at all?" he replied, but his eyes flashed now coltish again. I knew he wasn´t mad at for me asking such questions anymore.  "Let's make a deal." he offered. "Show me yours and I´ll show you mine.". He waited for my reaction. "Good, o.k." I relented. "I mean, although I have nothing exciting to say, but if you want to hear it.".

 "My grandmother was an artist. When I was little. And I loved the smell that always hung in her house. From the colors and solvents. ". He looked dreamily. Then he laughed without forewarning. "Most people would have probably said it stank like the plague. But that's like the smell of petrol.". He paused and then said, and I fell in: ". Either you like it or you hate it." We both laughed. "I love the smell of petrol." I said cheerfully. "No wonder. Otherwise you would have hardly survived your study years." he thought. "Oh, it really has nothing to do with painting. It's more about the how, as for real painting.". He was surprised. "That means you have not painted while studying?". "No." I said. "I always thought that you would have to do that.". Now he was really confused. "How are you able to understand what you see and to cherish what you see, if you know nothing about how it was made and with what kind of problems the artist had to deals? How will you understand, if you do not know what it meant to the master?". I laughed. "Pretty sure you where the professors pet then.". He swallowed. "Yes sure." he said gruffly. Somehow I could not shake the feeling that it was unpleasant to him to talk about his studies. That's why I came back to the story he´d just begun telling me. "And your grandmother was a great artist. She lived alone in a romantic house, that was canary with green shutters. You were with her ​​every summer when the poppies bloomed all  around and admired her for her wonderful pictures." I teased him. He twisted his mouth. "No. I hated her for what she painted and how she did it.". He wrinkled his nose. "I found that it wasn´t doing justice to art. Besides painting she had in fact a soft spot for baby animals. And she then painted those in all possible poses and with all sorts of backgrounds. Do you know those terribly sweet kittens? That are set among balls of wool and such stuff? ". I laughed. "You can not be serious!". "Yes. Unfortunately I am." he sighed. He looked at me with big sad eyes. "Oh you poor thing." I gave him a wide smile  and made a decision. About him, about me,us and about that portrait and us having a coffee. So I reached out across the table to him. He winced when I fleetingly touched his arm and laid my hand on it. But he did not pull it away.

 "So that's how I got my first lessons about art.". He nodded and took a sip of coffee. "But, in hindsight it was not so bad. After all, I already knew something I did not want to do.". "Not bad.". "Oh, and she neither had a house surrounded by poppies." he informed me. "She lived in a social housing. Dirty and run down. Her pension was just enough to pay the rent.". "Oh." was all I could say. "Yes, that's why I have long struggled with whether I should really start studying art and start painting or not. People have always said I had a talent for it and a good eye. And those are known to be the most important, or at least some of the key pre-requisites for it. But my family did not like that I´d take that route. Like you said earlier. Why would anyone in his right mind make a job that´s not making any money?". He shrugged his shoulders and looked at me apologetically. "I know that one too." I reassured him.

 "Well, that's why I started with a real profession. In the Insurance business.". Now I was stunned. "Insurance business? Really? And that´s worth it? Do you actually make money with that one?". "Yes, well not in the beginning. But once you have enough experience and are specialized then you can find a job in the higher ranks. With the important people and the important stuff. Which is good paid as well as interesting.". A smirk graced his face as if he had won the lottery. And I felt a sudden heat on the back of my hand. When I looked down, I saw his fingers gently sweep over mine. "I didn´t know that." I said uncertainly. I watched him how he was on fire for something that was such a bleak job to me. "Is it not it rather boring and much paperwork?". "Not if you are dealing with the right people and the right insurance objects." he suggested. Now he´d hooked me. "I'm sorry, but I can not give details of prices. Just this, art is much valubale to a lot of people. And some sleep better if they knows that his stuff is in good hands." he said mysteriously. "You insured paintings?" I blurrted out. "Amongst other things.". "Well, now it is clear to me, why are you raving about your job that way.". I thought about it. "And so you can make that much money with that that you dont have to work anymore?" I remembered when I asked that he spent more time at my working place than rather at his. He laughed. "You have no idea, do you?" he said, and now I felt a little silly. "Of course, you can live well by the commission. So I did what I had to do." He winked at me. "I've worked good, like my family wanted me too. I managed to save a good deal for bad days or for projects. In order to pursue my own plans, my studies.". He laughed again and squeezed my hand. I looked puzzled. "Oh." I said in amazement. "You should see your face right now. What do you think I've done? Do you think I made an insurance first in order to steal and sell them. later on after having gained some insight into the security measures they'd taken? And that I'm rich right now? A millionaire, made by stealing?". He burst out laughing,his green eyes shining like a lake in full sunlight. He loosened his grip on my hand and let go of it. In one fluid motion he bent down, grabbed his sketch block and pencil from his pencil case. And before I could count to three he was busy scribbling. "Stop it." I said a little upset because I had a vague idea what he outlined there. It was enough to me that he thought I was naive. But I thought it unnecessary to put it forever on paper. It was more than I could bare. "Don't worry. You're not the only and first one to make that kind of face when you're told about what I'm doing for a living." he just joked and scribbled on.

[elevatorupcompany]

Sketch, draw, doodle: just do it

Drawing, sketching, doodling: the act of making an idea or thought visual. These are tools we’ve known our whole life and I argue valuable enough to be revisited. Put aside the intimidation of being good at “art”. Forget the preconceived notions that doodling is equivalent to being bored. Rethink how drawing can be used as a tool across all aspects of your team, not just the creatives. ~ Emily, Designer The act of making something visual is a part of every human’s make up since the beginning of time. As children, we constantly created. Meander back to the freeing mindset of early days and forget any notions that only artists draw. Throughout this, I’ll be jumping back and forth between a few methods of making things visual: doodling, sketching, and drawing. By definition, they are all different. Sketching and drawing are typically differentiated by the level of fidelity. Drawing is thought of as the polished form whereas sketching is often referred to as the preliminary stage of drawing. Doodling is the red-headed stepchild, unlovingly defined as “to draw or scribble idly” or better yet, “to waste (time) in aimless or foolish activity.” In defense of doodling and in support of all three, we’ll explore how they benefit us in our day-to-day.

Thinking visually is a powerful tool in connecting, creating, communicating and comprehending the world around us. In an article highlighting cognitive benefits of doodling, Sunni Brown, author of “The Doodle Revolution”, warns us of the mindset which stops people from creating,

“To make the practice (of doodling) into something that requires savvy would be as dangerous as suggesting that only people who excel at writing should ever compose sentences.”

With that, consider these as tools in the following ways:

Getting visual an icebreaker: Because of our apprehension to create, it can be awkward. Relating to others over something universally discomforting can be oddly comforting. 

Getting visual as a way to come up with new ideas: Drawing fast and loose allows us to have half-formulated ideas with room to grow. 

Getting visual as a communication tool: We connect to images we recognize; let your ability to rough out forms help people relate to your ideas. 

Getting visual to better comprehend and understand your learnings: Making things visual is tool for comprehension, reinforcing what we hear.

Connecting

The very thought of creating something and then showing it to others heightens a sense of vulnerability. With vulnerability comes great opportunity to smash down walls. Use sketching as an icebreaker to connect with new teams and new clients. It’s a great way to unleash a little silliness and level the playing field of any room you’re in. 

Imagine if you can, you’re to plan the menu for your best friend’s wedding...with Gordon Ramsay. The thought is actually quite terrifying. “He’s going to make me cry and we haven’t even met yet”, you think to yourself. You’re well aware of what your friend likes and you have heaps of ideas. As the planning begins, shaking in your boots, you’re feeling inferior and you don’t speak up. This is a problem.

In far less hypothetical scenarios, people feel this level of doubt and fear within new groups all the time. Do these people know more than me? Are my ideas valuable? What if the topic was already covered? The very thought of being wrong or making mistakes is enough to silence meaningful voices. There is plenty of merit in telling people there is no right answer and to embrace just doing. Sketching is an interactive way to reinforce that notion. When you take time to recognize no matter who you are in that room, your different skillsets and different point of views, we remember that we all share a common language. 

Icebreaker activity: Everyone is given a blank piece of paper and a pen or pencil. At random, a letter is drawn. If the letter drawn is a “P” everyone is to take two to three minutes to draw everything they can possibly think of that starts with the letter “P”. When the time is up, pair up with someone and compare. There are a few lessons bundled in this activity:

First, we recognize the quickness of the activity. Rest easy knowing in under five minutes, everything is going to be unpolished.Next, we realize even our chicken scratch can be understood. It might be two ovals and a triangle, but every person recognizes it’s a penguin. Patterns will surface of the things people automatically gravitate toward, multiple people drawing the same object from one letter.The walls of uncertainty and self doubt fall as we laugh together and find we all can find common ground. 

Shout to to Lori over at Mutually Human for telling us about this.

Creating

Getting the wheels spinning and kicking off the creative process can be an overwhelming feat. When the world is your oyster it’s hard to know where to begin. Often we have ideas but the inability to express what we have churning in our mind stops us in our tracks. Engaging with our visual language helps us gain access to parts of our brain not easily accessible when we’re operating in linguistic mode. Sunni Brown speaks to this block: “Most of us use reading, writing, and talking to brainstorm, but the human mind is very habit forming. To break that habit, you have to think in an unfamiliar medium, a visual medium.” Breaking our habits helps up break the mold of old thoughts and discover new ideas. 

Much like creating a mind map, drawing (sketching and doodling) helps us build on ideas and find connections. Your teammate might draw something but you see it from a different angle and build on it in a new light. Drawings, like actions, often speak louder than words could ever do. The world is full of complexities and emotions without definitions. Making it visual allows us to speak in words the English language has not yet formalized.

Ideation activity We call this the bad idea blitz. Sometimes it takes clearing your mind of its crazy to unveil a shiny nugget of brilliance. This works alone or with a team. Do this at the beginning of ideation or when your team is feeling low on creative juices and ideas. First step is to know what you’re ideating for; is it an overall solution or the springboard of where to begin? Take a piece of paper and fold it so you have six rectangles. Give yourself one minute to come up with six terribly wonderful ideas. At the end, you likely didn’t come up with your final solution but you have pushed yourself to think outside of the box and loosened up those creative thinking muscles.

Communicating

Stick figures, scribbles, arrows, these are visual marks predating anything our verbal language could say. Drawing is a communication mechanism used by artists, architects, mathematicians, and careers spanning far and wide. Drawing can be a tool for communication when there isn’t a common language. Where words fail, imagery prevails.

Examples from many moons ago. My dad was in Paris when he was approached by a French man hoping to send his love letters to his girlfriend in New York. Their language barrier was much less of a barrier once they began drawing.

Comprehension

Comprehension is where doodling takes the stage. Doodling has been widely researched in its relation to comprehend and remember information. Published in the Journal of Applied Cognitive Psychology, researchers found people that doodle find it upwards of 29% easier to recall dull information, than people that do not doodle. There is much more time to daydream when you’re not doodling. In class, during lectures, or in meetings are great times to doodle.

“Few of us can effectively take point-by-point linguistic notes while listening to people talk, because the auditory information competes with the written information. But visual attention is like a learning loophole; it doesn’t compete with what we hear. That’s why doodling in school can actually help you learn.” -Sunni Brown

Comprehension activity: Sketchnoting can be thought of as purposeful doodling or as a method of note taking. At the core, it is just that: taking notes though a series of synthesized thoughts using doodles of shapes, words, and connectors to help remember information later down the road. An article in Core77 wonderfully breaks down the parts of sketchnoting and is a great jumping off point for your first sketchnote experience.

Core 77 breaks sketchnoting down into 7 elements:

Text: meaningful points, quotes, and quips. Use typographic treatments to make important information pop.

Containers: enclosing ideas, words, icons, into one structure. This helps identify grouped information.

Connectors: Lines, arrows, visual indicators to show linked information.

Frameworks: Some presentations might have an obvious structure. Frameworks help you synthesize into your own underlying structure.

Icons: Icons help represent an idea as simply as possible.

Shading: Add emphasis and contrast to your notes with shading. Color: Once you’re ready, add color. This helps distinguish different information.

From EU’s first go at sketchnoting to a Ted Talk.

Drawing, sketching, doodling: the act of making an idea or thought visual. These are tools we’ve known our whole life and I argue valuable enough to be revisited. Put aside the intimidation of being good at “art”. Forget the preconceived notions that doodling is equivalent to being bored. Rethink how drawing can be used as a tool across all aspects of your team, not just the creatives.

~ Emily, Designer

[literatelobstersareliterate]

When Pixels Collide

sudoscript

Last weekend, a fascinating act in the history of humanity played out on Reddit.

For April Fool's Day, Reddit launched a little experiment. It gave its users, who are all anonymous, a blank canvas called Place.

The rules were simple. Each user could choose one pixel from 16 colors to place anywhere on the canvas. They could place as many pixels of as many colors as they wanted, but they had to wait a few minutes between placing each one.

Over the following 72 hours, what emerged was nothing short of miraculous. A collaborative artwork that shocked even its inventors.

From a single blank canvas, a couple simple rules and no plan, came this:

Each pixel you see was placed by hand. Each icon, each flag, each meme created painstakingly by millions of people who had nothing in common except an Internet connection. Somehow, someway, what happened in Reddit over those 72 hours was the birth of Art.

How did this happen?

While I followed Place closely, I cannot do justice to the story behind it in the few words here. There were countless dramas -- countless ideas, and fights, and battles, and wars -- that I don't even know about. They happened in small forums and private Discord chats, with too much happening at once, all the time, to keep track of everything. And, of course, I had to sleep.

But at its core, the story of Place is an eternal story, about the three forces that humanity needs to make art, creation, and technology possible.

The Creators

First came the Creators. They were the artists to whom the blank canvas was an irresistible opportunity.

When Place was launched, with no warning, the first users started placing pixels willy-nilly, just to see what they could do. Within minutes, the first sketches appeared on Place. Crude and immature, they resembled cavemen paintings, the work of artists just stretching their wings.

Even from that humble beginning, the Creators quickly saw that the pixels held power, and lots of potential. But working alone, they could only place one pixel every 5 or 10 minutes. Making anything more meaningful would take forever -- if someone didn't mess up their work as they were doing it. To make something bigger, they would have to work together.

That's when someone hit on the brilliant notion of a gridmap. They took a simple idea -- a drawing overlaid on a grid, that showed where each of the pixels should go -- and combined it with an image that resonated with the adolescent humor of Redditors. They proposed drawing Dickbutt.

The Placetions (denizens of r/place) quickly got to work. It didn't take long -- Dickbutt materialized within minutes in the lower left part of the canvas. The Place had its first collaborative Art.

But Creators didn't stop there. They added more appendages to the creature, they added colors, and then they attempted to metamorphize their creation into Dickbutterfly. Behind its silliness was the hint of a creative tsunami about to come.

But it didn't happen all at once. Creators started to get a little drunk on their power. Across the canvas from Dickbutt, a small Charmander came to life. But once the Pokemon character was brought to life, it started growing a large male member where once had been a leg. Then came two more.

This was not by design. Some Creators frantically tried to remove the offending additions, putting out calls to "purify" the art, but others kept the additions going.

Suddenly, it looked like Place would be a short-lived experiment that took the path of least surprise. Left to their own devices, Creators threatened to turn the Place into a phallic fantasy. Of course.

The problem was less one of immaturity, and more of the fundamental complexity of the creative process. What the Creators were starting to face was something that would become the defining theme of Place: too much freedom leads to chaos. Creativity needs constraint as much as it needs freedom.

When anyone could put any pixel anywhere, how does it not lead immediately to mayhem?

The Protectors

Another set of users emerged, who would soon address this very problem.

But like the primitive Creators, they weren't yet self-aware of their purpose on the great white canvas. Instead, they began by simplifying the experiment into a single goal: world conquest.

They formed Factions around colors, that they used to take over the Place with. The Blue Corner was among the first, and by far the largest. It began in the bottom right corner and spread like a plague. Its followers self-identified with the color, claiming that its manifest destiny was to take over Place. Pixel by pixel, they started turning it into reality, in a mad land grab over the wide open space.

The Blue Corner wasn't alone. Another group started a Red Corner on the other side of the canvas. Their users claimed a leftist political leaning. Yet another started the Green Lattice, which went for a polka-dot design with interspersing green pixels and white. They championed their superior efficiency, since they only had to color half as many pixels as the other Factions.

It wasn't long before the Factions ran head-on into the Creators. Charmander was among the first battle sites. As the Blue Corner began to overwrite the Pokemon with blue pixels, the Creators turned from their internecine phallic wars to the bigger threat now on their doorstep.

They fought back, replacing each blue pixel with their own. But the numbers were against them. With its single-minded focus on expansion, the Blue Corner commanded a much larger army than the Creators could muster. So they did the only thing they could do. They pled for their lives.

Somehow, it struck a chord. It ignited a debate within the Blue Corner. What was their role in relation to Art? A member asked: "As our tide inevitably covers the world from edge to edge, should we show mercy to other art we come across?"

This was a question each Faction faced in turn. With all the power given to them by their expansionary zeal, what were they to do about the art that stood in their path?

They all decided to save it. One by one, each of the Factions began flowing around the artwork, rather than through them.

This was a turning point. The mindless Factions had turned into beneficent Protectors.

Still No Happy Ending

Finally at peace with the ravenous color horde, the Creators turned back to their creations. They started making them more complex, adding one element after another.

They started using 3-pixel fonts to write text. A Star Wars prequel meme that had been sputtering along took a more defined shape, becoming one of the most prominent pieces of art in Place.

Others formed Creator collectives around common projects. Organizing in smaller subreddits that they created just for this purpose, they planned strategies and shared templates.

One of the most successful was a group that added a Windows 95-esque taskbar along the bottom, replete with Start button in the corner.

Another were a block of hearts. They started with only a few, mimicking hearts of life in old bitmap video games, like Zelda, before their collective took off with the idea. By the end they stretched across half the canvas, in a dazzling array of flags and designs.

And of course, there was Van Gogh.

But not all was well. The Protectors who they had once welcomed with relief had become tyrants dictating fashion. They decided what could and couldn't be made. It wasn't long before Creators started chafing under their rule.

Meanwhile, with the issue of artwork resolved, the Factions had turned their sights on each other, forcing followers to choose sides in epic battles. They had little time to pay attention to the pathetic pleas of Creators who wanted approval for ideas of new art.

The fights between the Protectors got nasty. A Twitch live-streamer exhorted his followers to attack the Blue Corner with Purple. There were battle plans. There were appeals to emotion. There were even false-flag attacks, where the followers of one color placed pixels of the opposing side inside their own, just so they could cry foul and attack in return.

But the biggest problem of all was one of the only hard rules of Place -- it couldn't grow. With the Factions engaged in a massive battle among themselves, the Creators started realizing there wasn't space to make new Art.

Country flags had started emerging pretty much from the beginning. But as they grew and grew, they started bumping into each other.

Out in the unclaimed territory of the middle of the canvas, with no Protector to mediate between them, Germany and France engaged in an epic battle that sent shockwaves through Place.

Suddenly, a world that had been saved from its primitive beginnings looked like it would succumb to war. There were frantic attempts at diplomacy between all sides. Leaders form the Protectors and the Creators and met each other in chat rooms, but mostly they just pointed fingers at each other.

What Place needed was a villain that everyone could agree upon.

The Destroyers

Enter the Void.

They started on 4chan, Reddit's mangled, red-headed step-brother. It wasn't long before the pranksters on the Internet's most notorious imageboard took notice of what was happening on Reddit. It was too good an opportunity for them to pass up. And so they turned to the color closest to their heart -- black. They became the Void.

Like a tear spreading slowly across the canvas, black pixels started emerging near the center of Place.

At first, other Factions tried to form an alliance with them, foolishly assuming that diplomacy would work. But they failed, because the Void was different.

The Void was no Protector. Unlike the Factions, it professed no loyalty to Art. Followers of the Void championed its destructive egalitarianism, chanting only that "the Void will consume." They took no sides. They only wanted to paint the world black.

This was exactly the kick in the ass that Place needed. While Creators had been busy fighting each other, and Protectors still measured themselves by the extent of canvas they controlled, a new threat -- a real threat -- had emerged under their nose.

Against the face of extinction, they banded together to fight the Void and save their Art.

But the Void was not easy to vanquish, because the Place needed it. It needed destruction so that new Art, better Art, would emerge from the ashes. Without the Void, there was no force to clean up the old Art.

And so, by design or not, the Void gave birth to some of the largest Art in the Place.

Take, for example, the part of the canvas right in the center. Almost since the very beginning, it had been one of the most contested areas on the map. Time and again, Creators had tried to claim the territory for their own. First with icons. Then with a coordinated attempt at a prism.

But the Void ate them all. Art after art succumbed to its ravenous appetite for chaos.

And yet, this was exactly what Place needed. By destroying art, the Void forced Placetions to come up with something better. They knew they could overcome the sourge. They just needed an idea good enough, with enough momentum and enough followers, to beat the black monster.

That idea was the American flag.

In the last day of Place, a most unlikely coalition came together to beat back the Void, once and for all.

They were people who otherwise tear each other apart every day -- Trump supporters and Trump resisters, Democrats and Republicans, Americans and Europeans. And here they were coming together to build something together, on a little corner of the Internet, proving in an age when such cooperation seems impossible, that they still can.

The Ancients Were Right

Reddit's experiment ended soon after. There are so many more stories hidden deep in the dozens of subreddits and chat rooms that cropped up around Place. For every piece of artwork I mentioned, there are hundreds more on the final canvas. Perhaps the most amazing thing is that on an anonymous, no-holds-barred space on the Internet, there were no hate or racist symbols at all.

It is a beautiful circle of art, life and death. And it isn't the first time in our history that we've seen it.

Many millenia before Place, when humanity itself was still in its infancy (the real one, not the one on Reddit), Hindu philosophers theorized that the Heavens were made of three competing, but necessary, deities that they called the Trimurti. They were Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Protector, and Shiva the Destroyer.

Without any single one of them, the Universe would not work. For there to be light, there needed to be dark. For there to be life, there needed to be death. For there to be creation and art, there needed to be destruction.

Over the last few days, their vision proved prescient. In the most uncanny way, Reddit proved that human creation requires all three.

The Final Canvas

sudoscript

04 Apr 2017

(via When Pixels Collide)