#I used reference for the second sketch from the artist on X

[strudeljell]

release me

[marvelstoriesepic]

Wear My Heart

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky x Reader (Soulmate Au)

Summary: Bucky discovers his long-lost match in a client. But is he even meant to have you with the mark erased from his own body?

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: angst; loss of limb (non-graphic); prosthesis; PTSD; lots of self-worth issues; insecurities; mild reference to past violence (non-graphic); mentions of self-isolation; chronic loneliness; Bucky is going through some feels

Author’s Note: We had him as a tattoo artist yesterday and we have him as one today haha. This sweet request comes from my beloved tumblr husband! I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

He sees you before you walk in.

A blur of reflection in the glass door, sunlight making your hair beam, fingers adjusting the strap of your bag.

The door opens.

He doesn’t look up right away.

Steve has booked this appointment under your name, and Sam had dropped too many hints over the past few weeks that you’d be coming in soon. Nat had rolled her eyes and told him flatly, that either he’d speak to you or they’d all die of secondhand tension.

So now you are here.

And he’s pretending not to care. Pretending to hear the buzz of the needle. The only thing that grounds him anymore. Pain turned into art. Wounds etched into skin like a creation. And he’s great at this because he’s better at translating pain than he is at speaking.

He prefers ink to people. Needles to names. He prefers silence.

“Bucky?” You’re saying his name as if it’s a question, like maybe you’re still not sure you’re in the right place.

He looks up.

And the moment your eyes meet, there is something inside him that flickers. Like a lightbulb that hasn’t been touched in years. Dusty. Forgotten. Still warm.

He nods. Just once.

You smile. Small. Polite. Nervous.

He doesn’t return it. Can’t.

Because your smile, although timid, is the kind of thing that stays with you - like smoke in his lungs. It fills the spaces where oxygen used to be.

He’s never properly spoken to you, but he’s seen you before - at Steve’s apartment, at Sam’s cookouts, in Nat’s too-casual Instagram stories where he already acknowledged how beautiful your smile is. How beautiful you are.

He remembers thinking you got a laugh like a sunrise, making darkness irrelevant.

He remembers thinking you’d never look at someone like him.

He remembers looking away.

He never said more than a word to you. Never trusted himself to.

You’re too good. Too light. And he’s not.

He knows you are out of his league. And maybe you didn’t even notice him. Maybe all the times he saw you - laughing in Steve’s kitchen, sitting cross-legged on Sam’s couch, reading some ancient paperback by the window - he was just a background blur in your story.

So he kept his distance.

It’s easier that way.

“Uhm, hey,” you start a little nervously, and he could kick himself. “I have a design I've been working on for a while. Steve said you might be the right artist for it.”

You hand him a sketch. He barely glances at it. His fingers don’t fumble but something in his chest does.

And then you move. Rolling your sleeve up. Exposing skin.

And Bucky stops breathing.

It takes a second for his mind to catch up. Another second to realize what he’s looking at.

But when it hits him - it hits.

Like an avalanche in his throat.

There, inked into the soft skin of your upper arm, is a mark he hasn’t seen in over a decade.

His mark.

The same symbol. The same twisted loops of black that curved into his skin when he was six years old. The same mark he stared at for years like it might offer answers. As though it could explain why he always felt like a half-finished sentence. As though it might lead him to someone whole.

It used to be on his left arm. Right over the muscle. He remembers tracing it absently during lectures, during subway rides, during troubled nights when he couldn’t sleep.

It disappeared the day he lost his arm. Gone. Stolen. Scrubbed clean as if he never had a soulmate at all.

He remembers crying - not for the pain, nor for the loss, but because the one thing that tethered him to hope, to someone, was just gone.

He decided then that he was meant to be alone. That fate had made a mistake. That maybe his soulmate was already dead. Or that she had moved on. Married someone else. Tattooed over the mark. Or worse, that the person meant for him would never find him, spending her life thinking she was alone. Marked for no one.

He wonders if you ever felt that way.

He wonders if you still do.

He keeps his face neutral. Professional. He’s good at this. But inside he is crumbling like never before. Collapsing. Splintering into a thousand broken pieces of before and after.

You are talking. He hears the cadence, the warmth, but the words are fog. All he can focus on is the mark. The one thing he never thought he’d see again.

And now you are standing in front of him. And you are real. And the mark is right there on your arm, the exact shape and size of the one that used to be his.

You don’t know.

You can’t know.

You’re here. You’re real. You’re his.

And he says nothing.

He stares at it as if it’s a hallucination. But it’s not.

His lungs are tight, cold, hollow. He feels his prosthesis twitch, the phantom ghost of muscle memory in the one he lost.

“This is where I was thinking it would go,” you say, pointing gently to the space around the mark - your mark, his mark, both your marks - “I think it’s one of those soulmate mark things. I got it when I was six. My mom said she always believed in them, that one day I’d meet someone with the same mark. You know, something about being made to match.” You laugh a little awkwardly, tugging your hair behind your ear, probably wondering why you told him this.

He doesn’t say anything. Just keeps staring.

You let out another awkward, breathless laugh. “I’ve never actually seen it on anyone else, though. Guess it’s just one of those things.”

Your words bruise him deeply.

He wants to scream. Wants to tell you everything. That you’re walking around unknowingly wearing his heart. That once, when he was a different man, that mark was the only beautiful thing left of him.

But his mouth doesn’t move. It’s dry.

Because how do you tell someone you lost the piece of yourself that was meant to find them?

What do you say to someone who doesn’t know they’ve been saving your life just by existing?

So he nods. Again. Always nodding. Always hiding.

He’s just the weird guy with the metal arm and the bad temper. The broody dude with a shop sitting behind a laundromat and too many shadows in his eyes. You don’t know that he’s been dreaming of you since he was a kid - before he lost everything but the pieces he could still carry in his chest.

You don’t know that he’s already met you in a hundred quiet ways.

Every time you laughed from another room. Every time he caught you humming while helping Steve cook. Every time Sam made a joke and you leaned in toward the warmth of it instead of away.

He almost speaks. Almost. But the words stick.

You don’t push. You sit. You trust.

And he works.

He sets up the station. Puts his gloves on, machine humming. He doesn’t make eye contact again for the rest of the session.

His fingers don’t shake but his soul does. He lets you sit close, lets you talk about what the design means to you and how long you’ve waited.

And all he wants to do is scream.

What do you say to someone who might run, if you told them the truth?

He tattoos the design carefully.

You wince once and his heart jumps like it wants to protect you from everything. He places his metal hand lightly on your shoulder. Usually, he avoids touch, but you don’t flinch.

That alone nearly destroys him.

You’re so close. Your heartbeat. Your breath. And he keeps thinking about the mark, about the fact that it once lived on his body. About how it had to be removed, torn away, for you to finally appear.

Maybe that’s what fate is.

Maybe it’s not a gentle thing.

Maybe it breaks you before it brings you what you need.

He is memorizing you.

Every breath. Every glance. Every shift.

It feels like something long buried is waking up inside of him. Something ancient. Something inevitable.

When it’s over, you thank him. You say it’s perfect. You pay and leave and smile and wave and tell him that you hope to see him at Steve’s soon and he stands there like a ghost.

He can’t tell you.

Maybe he isn’t even meant to tell you. Maybe fate’s hands were clumsy with him. Maybe it’s not that he lost the arm, or the mark, but that he was always meant to. Maybe that’s part of the story.

Maybe the universe never meant for him to find you. Only to know you exist. Only to touch what he could never keep.

Because what if he tells you?

You might look at him with those lovely wide eyes and smile, say finally, say yes.

But you might also tell him no, look at him with disgust, with disbelief, with disappointment that he is the one you get when you could have gotten someone so much better.

He can’t survive that. He knows it. The heart he stitched back together with flayed rope is easily able to snap when pulled too tight. He’s been holding it together with black thread and stubborn silence and ink. Ink. Always ink. The only thing that doesn’t lie.

He breathes as if he’s drowning. He thinks of your hand on his. The way you smiled. The way you trusted him without knowing why.

He didn’t see the way your eyes softened when he touched your arm. As though his hands were made of something other than metal and self-hatred.

He didn’t see how you leaned in a little closer when he spoke, how you tilted your head as if memorizing the sound of his voice.

He doesn’t see your hesitation at the door. The way you linger. The way you open your mouth to say more but then close it again.

He doesn’t see any of it because his mind is too loud. Too cruel. Too consuming.

It’s whispering to him, claiming that he’s not the man you were meant for. He lost his mark. He lost his right. This isn’t his story anymore.

Maybe the universe gave you the mark and took his, on purpose. Maybe it’s symbolic. Maybe it’s a warning.

Maybe you’re supposed to move on.

Maybe he is supposed to stay behind.

So he watches you go.

Only after the door clicks shut does he exhale.

He peels off his gloves with trembling hands. Walks to the back room. Opens the drawer he hasn’t touched in years.

There, under a stack of unused stencils and crumpled paper towels, is a single sheet. A sketch. Faded. Old. Drawn by hand.

The mark.

He lays it flat on the counter.

His chest feels like it’s holding a thunderstorm. Not lightning. No, that would be beautiful. There only are clouds that never break. Rain that never comes.

His eyes close.

And for the first time in years, Bucky lets himself feel it. Everything. Hope. Fear. Longing. Grief. Wonder.

He presses his palm over the place where his mark used to be. Where his flesh used to be.

He found you. It’s you.

And you don’t know.

But he does.

He brushes his thumb over the lines of his sketch and thinks that he could love you.

That he already does.

And then he thinks, that maybe he was never supposed to.

[anjelicawrites]

Paring: Armand x reader

Synopsis: you're sitting in a pub, you start drawing the mysterious stranger sitting not far away from you. When he discovers you, you don’t realize you’ve picked the attention of a dangerous creature.

Warnings: reference to past injury, self doubt, allusion to past trauma.

A/N: reader is AFAB. They/them pronouns used.

The wind is howling outside the thick windows of the pub, dark clouds promising heavy rain and violent waves against the jagged coast not too far from the narrow road where the pub is built. The fire is roaring in the huge hearth, shadowed by too many people huddling there to nurse their drinks; the lights are dim against the old wooden panels, giving the overcrowded room a homely air.

You beer sits next to the small case full of your pencils as you draw in the dim lights of the overcrowded room.

Your head sits lightly on your free hand as the other rushes to finish the quick sketch you’re working on, before your, unintentional, muse decides to leave; you’re hoping the promise of heavy rain will convince the man to stay a little longer. Who knows if he will or he will try his luck, now that the wind has picked up even more violently.

You focus again on the black lines on the sheet of paper, finishing the outline to start working on the elegant sweater he’s wearing; you’re no expert but it looks expensive, and warm, and soft. A real nightmare to draw using only a charcoal pencil, since you are planning to add colors and you don’t want to put too many shadows that aren’t there.

“It has been a long time since anyone ever painted me. I was given the chance to pose back then, for hours, I have to admit.”

The soft voice makes you lift your head in surprise; dimly you think that there is an accent you can’t truly pinpoint, his words almost neutral in their intonation.

“It’s actually a drawing, not a painting.”

You want to drown in your own sweater at how stupid your response sounds.

“May I sit?”

You can’t see his eyes, hidden behind his wraparounds sunglasses and his expression is hard to read: you’d hate to cause a scene, not everyone appreciates being portrayed in secret.

“Please, do.”

Carefully you move your beer more on the side of the small round table, the too long sleeve of your sweater uncovering partially the black burn glove on your left hand, despite you racing to hide it again.

The man sits down, gracefully and only now you notice he has no drink with him: he must have entered the pub to escape the oncoming storm. He only lays an elegant cigarette case on the battered table, the ornate, intricate designs catch your attention from the rowdy crowd of the pub.

He is stunningly beautiful, but this you realized when you eyes had landed on him, whilst you were sipping your beer and wondering what, or who, you could sketch to pass the time; what truly draw your attention was his aura, so calm, yet it gave you the sense of someone who keeps a tight lid on their emotions, like a summer evening when you know it’s going to rain soon.

“Are you an artist?”

Again, his soft voice drags you back from your thoughts, the musicality of it makes you want to listen to him reading his grocery shop list, if that meant just hearing it.

“No, not really, it’s just a hobby.”

“You have a great deal of sketches in your book, and in your little case.”

Almost on instinct you want to grab your work and curl around it in protection; it’s the gut reaction of a second, you aren’t in that position anymore, this man will not tear your works into shreds for no reason.

“It’s something I haven’t done for a while and then I had decided to pick it up again. We can’t only work all the time, can’t we? We need to treat ourselves.” You say with a smile.

“I am acquainted with that meme.”

It surprises you that he feels the need to convey his knowledge: what a strange man.

“This is my way to treat myself.”

“By drawing unsuspecting strangers?”

There’s no heath in his words, no rage, perhaps a bit of curiosity.

“By drawing what, or who, catches my eyes.” You answer, parroting his words. “I love to hang somewhere and just let my eyes wander. I can stop sketching you, if you want, I know it’s disconcerting for some people.”

You can truly feel the weight of his gaze, still hidden by the sunglasses, even now that the pub is bathed in the dark light from outside. This stranger is not simply looking at you, you feel as if he’s taking you apart to catalog every single piece of yourself he can find, like an entomologist does with a pinned butterfly.

You know you shouldn't feel so calm under his scrutiny, that you should bid your farewell and go home, but you can’t help yourself: you want this stranger to keep looking at you like he would the pieces of a puzzle he desperately needs to put together. No matter how dangerous the consequences.

A shiver runs down the damaged nerves on your left arm, and you decide to ignore the warning.

“Why should you? You’re very talented.”

All of his nervousness now shows itself in the way his index fingers fiddles with the cigarette case, his hidden gaze fixed upon you.

“It’s a shame it’s not possible to smoke in public places such as this one anymore.”

How strange! You think. The law passed here in 2004 and he talks about it as if he had experienced how it was before. He can’t be that old!

He seems to have made his mind as his hand gently grasps the sunglasses, as if ready to remove them.

“Please, don’t!” In your haste you lift your hand, almost to stop him. “The most interesting part is to guess and imagine. Do keep wearing them.”

There’s a slew of small expressions playing on his face, all to hide his surprise and, perhaps, curiosity?

You grab the charcoal pencil in a tighter grip and go back to your work, losing yourself in the quick, almost nervous motions of your hand on the paper: you don’t know why you feel like you have to rush, to capture the fleeting essence of this nameless man, but you do.

With every ticking second you believe you’re going to lose the feeble hold you have on the ideas crowding your mind, with every stroke you fear you’re drifting far away from the first image of sadness and loneliness that lighted up in your mind, as soon as you saw him, sitting alone in the pub, under lights that enhanced his otherworldly beauty, the very thing that set him apart from all the other men present.

You only need to glance at him sparsely, to make sure to capture the texture of his hair and the folds of his sweater, the long lines of his fingers against the battered wood of the table.

Only when you’re finished, you realize you have been holding your breathe for most of the sketching and you have to force yourself to take a big gulp of air, before turning your sketchbook to him, while grabbing your beer again.

You’re learning not to be shy, when it comes to your creations, to share them with the world, to accept the criticism and the compliments; not now. Now you’re crawling out of your shell again, trying to draw while being filled with self doubts and hating every single piece you created, those past months disappearing in your mind, along with the strength you built for yourself.

His piercing gaze is now turned on your drawing, that analytical stare that cut you into layers and layers, now is doing the same to your work, and to himself: you’d do anything to know his thoughts, now that his face shows nothing.

Under the stillness a maelstrom rages. The man looking back at him from the page is a knot of everything he’s always felt and never told. Through the fast strokes of his eyes, he can see all his hardships, all he’s done and lost for centuries, pain and desperation, in a way a simple mirror would never show him: how a simple mortal like you could read him so deeply after staring at him, comes as a surprise. You’re nothing but a child, compared to him, yet you have the understanding of a much older person, as if you’ve experienced the depths of hell, only to expose it in your art, and to him.

It takes a lot of restrain for Armand to show nothing of his internal turmoil: it has been so long since someone managed to pin him down so precisely, so perfectly, he has to fight the instinct to stand up and storm out, away from you and your keen eyes; he wonders if you have done the same to other people, read them so perfectly and bluntly putting them in front of their own soul, like his fledgling had done to him. Do you know how dangerous you are? Do you have any inkling of how easily you could destroy a person’s life? Would you do that in the name of the truth?

“It’s awful, isn’t it? It’s not worth keeping.”

You reach with your good hand to slip the sketchbook away from his grasp and he stops you with elegant fingers on your wrist. His grasp is not strong, it doesn’t hurt, but holds a secret strength you can feel traveling up your arm and makes you shiver with the need for more.

“It’s beautiful.” He says, after a heartbeat, still holding you in place. “The one who painted me wasn’t as good an artist as you are, he lacked the depth you hold.”

His face is now turned back to you, his hidden, piercing stare focused on your features, analyzing you again, as if wanting to explore the hidden crevices of your soul.

“Thank you.” You stammer. “I’m glad you like it.”

Still, he says nothing, making you feel self-conscious of your own existence in this small pub on the coast.

“Would it be too forward of me to ask you to gift me this sketch?”

You’re too dazzled yourself to notice the small quiver in his soft voice.

“Oh! That’s the first time anyone has asked me that.”

Right now the people around you two don’t exist, nor is the wind beating down the old windows and stones of the building. There are no passing cars outside, nor are the waves crashing against the high cliffs, just a handful of miles from here.

“I thought I wanted to color it.”

“I think it’s perfect this way.”

He knows a finished work will incinerate him on the spot, because he will never be able not to stare at it, at himself, like Dorian Gray, to face all his centuries on this Earth.

“You’re too good to me. It’s really just a small sketch.”

“You’re selling yourself short. You have something many professional artists lack.”

When his big hand releases yours, the spell you were under breaks and all the sounds around you attack you again, adding to the fog you’re still feeling clouding your brain.

Almost through a dream, you take the sketchbook from his hand and cut the page off with the small pocket knife you keep in your pouch to sharpen some of your thicker pencils.

“It’s yours, my personal thank you for appreciating my work.”

His fingers touch yours again on the thin piece of paper and only now you notice how cold they are, despite the heath in the pub.

“Thank you.” There’s no calculation in his words, he feels real gratitude, the feeling burning brightly in the scorched desert of his soul. “I don’t even know your name.”

When you answer his question, you feel like he’s got a hold on your soul, like in the stories about the fairies.

“My name is Armand.”

A french name to someone who hasn’t a french accent, but nowadays people call their children anything, you think.

“Are you here on holiday?”

You can see the cheeky way his mouth turns when he smiles at your question.

“I thought I was simply passing through, but I am fascinated with how this area has changed, I think I am going to stay, for a while.”

You almost don’t notice the way he refers to this place as if he’s visited it years and years ago. Almost.

“Do you have somewhere to carry it? My sketch I mean. It has just started to rain.”

“Unfortunately I don’t. And I don’t wish to ruin it.”

“Here, use this!”

With much too haste, you empty the case where you carry your bigger pieces and hand it over to him.

“I can’t possibly accept it. Your other works will be destroyed by the rain.”

“I can roll them up and keep them in my bag, it’s big enough. Besides, that one is fresh, if you do the same to it, it will get ruined.”

“I still need to refund you yours.”

“There’s no need. If you’re staying, you’ll give it back whenever you can. There aren’t many meeting places here.”

The old trick always works: you are all so easy to manipulate.

“Then I shall give it back as soon is possible.”

His hands don’t tremble when they take the case from you, touching the sketch again doesn’t burn him the same way the first time did, but he knows he’s still affected, and needs to understand why.

“Regrettably, I need to go now.”

He lies, a part of him wants to stay to take your brain apart until he knows all the ways the mechanisms work there, but it’s too early for that.

“It’s raining pretty hard.”

“My car is parked nearby and your lovely sketch is safe.”

He doesn’t have a car, but he has faster means of transportation that defy such a small thing as rain.

Before you can stand up, he gracefully takes your hand to kiss the palm, ignoring the smudges of charcoal. He does it the classy way: his lips don’t touch your skin.

“Thank you again for your gift.”

“No, thank you for humoring me. I hope I’ll see you soon!”

Oh, he thinks, you have no idea how ‘soon’ can become ‘now’.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 1: You Shouldn't Have Answered The Door

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter one of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (once or twice), Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC,

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2

Present Day

Your head rests against your forearms on your desk, jerking upwards as a loud rhythmic knocking assaults the front door of your apartment.

What?

You think to yourself, rubbing your face with your hands. Your sketchpad was laid open on your desk beneath your head, the rough sketch of an egret bowing its head along the bank of a small pond splayed over the page in shades of gray. It would be the first in your new series of nature paintings that you would be unveiling in a month.

At least I didn't poke my eye out with the pencil. You think eyeing the sharpened point of the pencil that was dangerously close to your face a few seconds ago.

You turn your wrist to glance at your watch and note the time. It was an antique, square faced and strung on a simple black band, a reminder of a past life that you couldn't bear to part with.

Who would come see me at 8:00 am on a Monday?

For a minute you try to remember if you'd received a call from the curator of the gallery downtown, or if there had been a meeting or a lunch with your agent to discuss your next installment of work, but nothing comes to mind.

When you officially retired from being a hero you decided to become a full time artist, a hobby you had since you were a child. You hadn't expected it explode. You had enough money from your heroing career to live several lifetimes, not unwelcome given the fact that you couldn't die, not in the traditional sense at least, so art was supposed to just be a way for you to off steam. But you were happy with your life now, a lot happier than you had been when you were a hero on Payback. The thought of your previous employment with Vought sours in your mouth followed by the unavoidable thought of Ben that you push down with a well practiced sigh.

You didn't feel like reliving all that over again right now, though you knew it would probably happen later. It came in waves, especially at night when you found it difficult to sleep, the melatonin wasn't working, and all you really wanted was a hard drink.

Sobriety sucked.

The knocking persists, rattling around in your head like a bee trying to get out of a plastic cup.

"Fine. I'm coming." You shout standing up from your desk and making your way from the wall that serves as your studio towards the front door of your apartment, while trying to rub away the line the page made on your cheek.

Your apartment was the one extravagance you allowed yourself. Despite the amount of money you had, flashing it had never been a priority even in your hero days. The apartment was open concept with exposed brick walls, tall North facing windows that angled away from the inside and jutted outward over a raised wooden floored area that served as your studio. A large modern kitchen sat just to the right of the front door with stainless steel appliances, on another wall a tv hung above a leather couch and held a dark hallway that lead to your bedroom and the guest bedroom, the other walls were covered in your work, and the final wall held several bookshelves with art supplies and your vinyl record collection. A collection you started forever ago and that continued to grow with each passing year.

Need to get another bookshelf. You note looking at the limited space that remained.

You look through the peep hole in the solid metal apartment door. A tall dark haired man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a black duster and a thin younger guy with brown curly hair stare back at you.

"I don't want to buy any girl scout cookies." You shout through the heavy metal of the door.

The younger guy snorts.

"y/f/n y/l/n?" The dark haired man asks an accent tilting the ends of his words.

"Who's asking?"

He pulls out a badge, holding it up to the peep hole. "I'm Agent Butcher, this is Agent Campbell. We’re from the CIA, here to ask you a couple of questions about Soldier Boy."

At the mention of Ben's hero name you pause. You had avoided thinking about your former best friend as much as possible over the past forty years. Your relationship with Ben was complicated, the final few days you spent together even more complicated than the early years.

It hurt to compare what your life with him was like before you both became supes to the life you had together after. You had grown up together, forced into close proximity because your parents were friends and then became best friends yourselves. You stayed friends, before you both got injected with Compound V and a few years later moved on to Payback together. You were the only person able to keep Ben in check and as violent as his temper was, he didn't like to cross you. You were the only person who knew the real him, had been with him longer than anyone else. Not that he ever admitted that to you or admitted that he cared about you, but you thought somewhere deep down that he had to, felt at least something for you.

That was the problem. You were in love with him, cared deeply about him, cared more about him than anyone else you'd ever had in your life. On the night you finally slept together you were happy, you thought he felt the same way, and then the next day at his premiere you found him in the bathroom with Countess bent over a sink. The fight that followed had been your resignation from Payback and also the reason why you weren't there when Ben died.

Your jaw clenches together at the memory, followed by guilt. You were always there for him, you had his back just as he had yours, but the one time you hadn't been there-

You open the door to look at them. "The singer?"

"What?" Agent Butcher looks confused.

"The artist? Soulja Boy-" You arch a brow feigning confusion. "Because honestly I don't understand why the CIA would be asking me about that."

“No.” Agent Butcher holds up a photo.

You keep your face impassive. It’s a photo of Ben and you at a movie premiere the week before he left to go to Nicaragua. Both of you were standing in your supe suits, your own was a sleeveless black one piece suit with purple embellishments that traced from the sides of your ankles and stretched up under your armpits, while a dark hood covered your head and a black mask hid the bottom of your face. You always thought you looked more like a supervillain in it, but you were thankful that it hid your identity. It was so long ago, but you still remember that night clearly. The ridiculous movie, the afterparty where everyone was so tipsy and the smell of alcohol burned against your nose, and finally when you went to the bathroom and found Ben and Countess together, the immeasurable rage followed by heartbreak that you felt when you saw them.  Not to mention the fight that followed when Ben trampled all over your heart and stated that you meant nothing to him.

“You’re here to talk to me about my mom?” You flit your eyes back to the two men standing in the doorway, easily slipping into the lie that you and Legend invented.

“Your mom?” Agent Campbell looks confused.

“Yeah. Indigo? I mean y’all can come in if you want-“ You open the door wider, understanding that they won't leave, before you begin to move towards the kitchen. “I apologize in advance. I’m not quite myself, I was up late working.” You pause halfway into the kitchen. “I’m going to make some coffee, you guys want some?” You eye the man in the black coat. "Or tea?"

“Coffee is fine."

You find the coffee filters and shuffle through the cupboards to find a bag of coffee, still trying to wake up. Staying up late wasn't unusual for you. You tended to find the urge to create in the wee hours of the morning, not to mention everything that happened in the past kept you up.

You open the bag of coffee to smell the grounds, thinking that it will wake you up, but as soon as you do the smell of Agent Butcher and Agent Campbell washes over you.

You could smell the compound V in their veins pumping through their bodies with every beat of their hearts.

So, they're supes. You think to yourself, pouring the grounds into the coffeemaker. Which means they probably aren't from the CIA.

Despite the realization, you weren't worried. Your particular ability was a well-kept secret, a secret that only Ben knew despite you being on Payback. Stan Edgar and the others had believed that "Indigo," the hero name assigned to you, had enhanced strength and senses, but it was more than that. You had an ability that, if brought to the public, would probably land you in a government facility. Laying low had it's perks, your freedom was one of them.

You watch them begin to walk around your living room examining the artifacts of your new life, the one you crafted when everything fell apart. There wasn't anything in the living room to arouse suspicion that you were the original Indigo. The only remnants of your past life that remained were in a wooden trunk at the back of your walk in closet, hidden behind a collection of paint splattered overalls almost identical to the pair you were wearing right now.

"You've got a nice place." The younger guy says looking around.

"Thanks. It's rent controlled. I got lucky-" You fiddle with the coffeemaker to buy yourself some time.

Why were they here to ask me about Ben? It had been 40 years, hardly seems relevant now. And why were they pretending to be CIA?

"You're an artist?" Agent Butcher asks, staring at the canvas sitting on an easel by your desk. It was a collection of multicolored dark greens that swirled together, flecked with pieces of gold that shone in the brilliant sunlight from the wall of windows where your studio was.

"Yeah. And I tend to paint my best at night. Hence the coffee" You turn, placing your hands on the island to face the two men.

“You’re really good.” Agent Campbell says examining some of the canvases on the wall.

“Thanks.”

“So your mum eh?” Agent Butcher turns to look at you. You note the smirk on his face and incredulous raising of his brow.

He doesn't believe me. Hard not to. I don't age.

“Yes?” You raise an eyebrow to challenge him

“You look a lot like her.”

“Thanks. I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere.” You look from Butcher to the younger guy who has moved on to look at your vinyl collection. "And I'm pretty sure that most kids look like their parents. But I'm not a geneticist."

"NO WAY! You have a signed copy of Billy Joel's Glass House!" Agent Campbell shouts holding up the vinyl cover in awe.

"Yeah." You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

"How did you-“

"Hughie." Agent Butcher sighs.

The younger guy now identified as Hughie puts the record back with a frown, before turning back to the collection.

“But you have the same name.” Agent Butcher's eyes flit to yours.

“She named me after herself. I’m sure the CIA can locate my birth certificate."

“Right.” Agent Butcher smiles, but it’s tight lipped.

You stand there for another minute looking from Agent Butcher to Hughie, trying to think of why they're here. "So what do you want to know?”

“Well is your mum around-“

You allow your shoulders to droop and take in a shaky breath. "She died about a year ago. Cancer."

They weren't the first to come here and accuse you of being Indigo. Legend and you had come up with the farce to protect you, help you start over, but you hadn't wanted to part with your name. So other precautions were put in place: a funeral plot was purchased and a death certificate was issued as was a fake passport, I.D, and birth certificate that made you thirty two rather than over one hundred.

“Really? I thought Indigo-“ It’s enough to make Hughie turn around and look at you.

“Don’t read everything Vought says." You interrupt. "That experimental shit they put in her veins may have made her powerful, but it couldn’t protect her from that.” You sigh again to sell the lie, before turning to the coffee maker, to pour them and yourself a cup. "There should be some milk in there, sugar's in the bowl." You gesture to the refrigerator and the small blown glass sugar bowl on the counter next to the coffee maker.

Hughie moves into the kitchen to pour himself a cup, but Agent Butcher continues to eye you suspiciously.

“It wasn’t in the news.” He grunts.

“They covered it up pretty well. I mean do you blame them? One of the first supes gets killed by something like cancer. Can’t be good for Vought given they pride themselves on showcasing unstoppable heroes. I mean can you imagine if Homelander or Queen Maeve died of something like cancer? Doesn’t look good.” You shrug your shoulders and take a sip from the coffee in your hands. “What did you want to talk to her about?”

“Soldier Boy.” Butcher moves to the coffeemaker and it takes a strong amount of willpower to stop the urge to turn towards him, but you know that you need to act indifferent.

“Did she talk to you at all about him?” Hughie moves to one of the bar stools on the opposite side of the island with his coffee in front of him.

“Yeah.” You look down at the mug with a sigh, rolling the warm glass between your hands. “He really did a number on her. Plus towards the end she started seeing him everywhere."

The emotion that you summon is not fake. You allow a small amount to trickle over the dam you built to protect yourself from falling back into the pit you fell into when Ben broke your heart and then died. When you broke every piece of glass in your apartment and threw your couch through the wall.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Hughie looks sincere when he says it.

Why is someone like him hanging out with this guy? You think to yourself eyeing Agent Butcher again.

“It’s been hard. But I took care of her, sometimes it was only me. It’s kind of hard to restrain an 103 year old with super strength.” You smile to yourself at the joke.

“So you’re a supe?” Hughie takes a sip from his coffee mug.

“No I was just able to talk her down. Guess that first batch of Compound V doesn’t work the same way. Never transferred. Plus my dad wasn’t a supe so maybe it just diluted.” You shrug, the lies weaving easily through the air. 

“But she did talk to you about him?” Agent Butcher presses. He's leaning against the counter to your left.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I mean what do you want to hear? There’s a lot.” The mug sends a pleasant warmth through your hands as you hold it, but does little to stop the chill of the past from creeping up your spine.

“Start at the beginning.”

“Well.” You take another sip of coffee. “I don’t know details-details but- I just know that she grew up with him, they were from the same neighborhood in Philadelphia.  All that shit they made up about Soldier Boy being from a poor family was just propaganda. His dad owned half the steel mills in the state of Pennsylvania. Used to invest in property with my grandfather. Soldier Boy and my mom were friends. When he got the Compound V shot, she did too. They were looking for female and male volunteers. I think he asked her to? Or-“ You shrug your shoulders to push away the memory of the day Ben told you about the experiments. When he told you he was finally going to make something of himself and convinced you to go with him.

“They were dating?” Agent Butcher asks.

The question makes you pause. It was difficult to think about that, difficult to relive the memories of Ben continuing to push you away and his final refusal to admit he loved you. Ben never did say that to you. You had been through so much together, so many years as friends and then after the night you finally were together he threw you away like you meant nothing.

“No, but he really hurt her-“ You avoid their gaze.

“What did he do?” Hughie asks leaning forward on the counter.

“They had been through a lot together and I think when their friendship began to transfer to relationship he pushed her away. My mother said something about him refusing to admit he loved her. I think the last straw when she caught him with Countess.”

“Do you know anything about how he died?”

The memory of the phone call strikes you in the chest, when Stan Edgar himself called to tell you Ben was dead. When the darkness swallowed you whole and all you felt was guilt and heart break over the fight you had and how you left him alone when he needed you most.

“It hurt my mother a lot. Broke her. She never really got over him, no one was good enough, not even my dad. She drove him away too and then it was just us.”

“Was she there when Soldier Boy died?” Hughie spins the coffee mug in his hands.

“No. She left Payback  before that mission. It was right after she caught Countess and him together.” You force a shrug. “I think she regretted not being there. She was almost as indestructible as him, but I think she felt worse because they had a big fight right before.”

“So she didn’t know about Nicaragua or the thing that killed him?” Agent Butcher raises an eyebrow.

You cock your head to the side feigning confusion. “What are you talking about? Soldier Boy got vaporized in a nuclear explosion.”

“Well I think we’ve wasted enough of your time.”

They get up to leave.

“Wait-“

 Agent Butcher turns to look at you. 

“Why are you asking me about him? It's been what? Forty years since he died-"

"That's classified love. Thank you for your time."

You watch them leave, but listen to them as they walk down the hallway.

“So do you believe her?” Hughie’s voice echoes in your ears.

“Not a bit. Maybe we trail her for a day. See if she really is an artist." Agent Butcher grunts. "At least until we go to Russia."

Russia? Why would they go to Russia?

You stand there for a second, holding the coffee mug in your hands. As you do the memories of the past 90 years wash across your mind, breaking through the damn that you built to protect yourself.

You were friends for years. You loved him since the moment you met. There were good times before the serum and then the bad, when he got famous and you were there to keep him in check. Sure you may have annoyed him, but he liked that about you, that you were able to bring him back from the edge. The day you finally had sex you remembered it, it was special, or you thought it was. You were excited that finally he loved you as much as you loved him. But then it all fell apart. That fight hadn’t been pretty. When you left him you felt yourself begin to slip, you didn’t eat or drink for days and when you finally got the phone call you thought it was him trying to apologize, but it was Stan.

You think again about Russia and finally your mind drifts to Countess.

She was the one that said that the Russians killed Ben, she saw it happen, saw his body get taken away-

Your jaw clenches together in anger and frustration as you remember the last time you saw her, when she taunted you and you almost ripped off her head. You never heard it directly from her that Ben was dead, only heard it from Stan. Of course the ridiculous funeral for Ben that you were expected to go to would mean that you saw her, but you hadn't gone, didn't want to keep up the charade. Instead you went to Philadelphia and walked the streets aimlessly with a bottle of whiskey in your hand, remembering what it was like when you were kids. Sometimes you think it all would have been different if you never got the injection, if you said no when he showed up in your bedroom and asked you to come with him. He was your oldest friend. The only real person you'd ever loved or cared about. The memory of the fight rings in your ears but you push it down.

You think again about Countess.  She was the reason why Ben and you had the fight. The reason you weren't there in Nicaragua. Regret spikes in your chest. You should have been there that day, should have tried to save him. You always had each others backs and the one time you weren't there he died.

Maybe it was time to pay her a visit.

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373

[thwd4510]

rafayel x gn!reader who’s also an artist.

꧂꧂꧂

(not proof read, so i hope it’s sufficient. sorry~!)

summary: you come to rafayel's studio to borrow some of his art supplies. you end up getting a new and very willing muse...

It’s rather late into the morning when you find yourself heading to Rafayel’s studio, bringing along a sketchbook. In a spur-of-the-moment burst of creativity, you jumped at the chance to make some art. You’ve been having art block for a few weeks now, so of course you’re delighted to have ideas to put on that forlorn looking sketchbook page. It was almost looking back at you, waiting to be used.

Mid sketch, you realized you didn’t have the materials you needed. What should you do? This creativity juice can only last so long–you gotta make the most of it!

When your phone lights up with a random social media notification, your eyes linger on your lockscreen for a moment. It’s a picture of you and Rafayel, where he’s kissing your cheek. You smile, giggling to yourself, even.

He’s so cute… I miss him.

Looking back onto your half-finished sketch, it finally clicks in your head. You can just go to your ARTIST boyfriend’s studio for some supplies. Genius.

Now, here you are at his door, opening it. You shake your head at how he never locks it. Sure, it’s nice that it’s always open to you, but that means it’s always open to other things as well. That’s a different topic for later…

“Raf?” You call out gently. “Rafayel? You home?”

Upon not receiving a response, you wander into his room only to find him asleep. He had spent long hours, not eating or sleeping, finishing a painting or two. Shaking your head, you place a hand over his forehead, simply checking for any signs of sickness. Thankfully, his skin is as cool as ever and you pull his blanket up to fully cover his shoulders.

Leaving him to rest, you take it upon yourself to rummage through his art supplies yourself. You put your sketchbook down on his bedside table, getting up to check his closet filled to the brim with materials and miscellaneous things. Pausing for a moment, you inhale deeply, preparing to carefully open the doors.

“Please don’t come crashing down like last time…” You whisper to yourself, brows furrowed while you cautiously lay a gentle hand on the handle.

The last time you opened this storage closet, everything came toppling over, making an incoherent mess of pencils, pastels, sketchbooks, paintbrushes, etc. Of course, you took the time to organize everything and cleaned out the things that were no longer needed. Rafayel did his best to help as well – it was his mess, after all. Then again, that was months ago. He could’ve very well made another mess again since then.

To your surprise (and body braced for impact), the closet was just as organized as before. He kept it clean, mostly for you and the next time you opened it. With a smile, you walk inside, carefully skimming through the supplies to find what you need.

Minutes later, you find yourself sitting comfortably in bed beside Rafayel while he sleeps. Your previous sketch was long forgotten, left unfinished, as you began drawing out your peacefully resting boyfriend.

The tip of your pencil etched into the paper with quick, calculated strokes of your hand. Periodically looking up at him for reference, you pause after a few more looks. The purple and pink hues of his irises met your gaze, startling you for a second.

“What the hell… You scared me, Raf,” you gasped, barely above a whisper. Your voice was a little hoarse from not speaking for a while, lips pursed while you concentrated on drawing.

Rafayel smiles mischievously, sleep still somewhat evident on his features when he takes your sketchbook in his hand, snatching it away from your hold.

“Whatcha making, cutie? Let me see.” You fumble a little, taken aback by how quickly he took it from you.

“Uh- well, good morning to you, too..!”

He looks at the page intently, eyes focused on your work-in-progress. The way he studies it so intensely causes your face to blow up into a tomato, feeling the (non-existent) scrutiny in his gaze. Rafayel smiles fondly at your little doodles of him on other pages as well, admiring how good-looking you made him seem. He wasn’t accustomed to being a muse as he was usually the artist here. He could get used to this.

Your face grew impossibly hotter, embarrassment creeping up throughout your body while he continued to soak in your drawings. Try as you might, you couldn’t swipe your sketchbook away from his grasp. He caught your wrists, holding them firmly in his hand as he finally tears his eyes away from the page to meet your eyes.

“Is this how you see me?” He almost swooned, eyes twinkling with the light of a thousand stars reflected on the sea’s surface. “I’m flattered.”

You huff in exasperation, tired from trying to pry the sketchbook away from him. Rafayel pulls your hands closer to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on them.

“These are some talented hands you have here,” he kisses them again, lips brushing against your knuckles. “Would be a shame to let them go to waste. Keep drawing, yeah?”

You scoffed lightly at him, your lungs practically being robbed of air to inflate his ego. He gives you your sketchbook back and gets into a relaxed pose, eyes never straying from your own. He hoists his head on his hand, elbow nestled into his pillow as he lays sideways.

Sighing, you shake your head and get to sketching once more. The blush never leaves your cheeks each time your eyes come back up to glance at your Lemurian boyfriend.

He is really handsome, after all.

You wonder if he has ever been anyone’s muse before you, knowing that he’s quite the beautiful man. Your thoughts and sketching comes to a pause when interrupted by Rafayel’s words.

“Draw me like one of your French gir- err, boys,” he says, boasting with pride at how you look at him. “Except I’m the only boy.”

“Ugh.”

However, you wish never to get caught drawing his likeness again. You love him so, but he becomes too insufferable.

…

Bonus-

“Oh, Raf?” You gently patted his back. You two are now cuddled together in bed.

“Hm?” He hummed, voice muffled because his face is nuzzled in the crook of your neck.

“You kept the storage closet tidy. Thank you, my love.”

Rafayel simply huffed a small chuckle, lips stretching into a smile at your praise. The peaceful silence is broken by the abrupt sound of his phone ringing. Thomas’ name flashes on the screen as it rings. Rafayel makes no move to pick it up and you feel his lips curl into an irritated frown.

You sigh, deciding to take pity on poor Thomas and pick up.

“Hello?” You began, voice low, before being cut off by a frantic voice on the other side of the line.

“Rafayel, how many times have I reminded you that you have a meeting with the gallery’s owner today?! Are your pieces ready to go yet?!” Thomas drones on and on, a tinge of tiredness in his voice.

“If not, get to painting! And if you don’t have any inspiration, just- just call (Y/N) for gods’ sake..!”

Rafayel groans, hastily taking and bringing the phone to his ear.

“Thomas, tell them I’m busy being drawn by my talented bodyguard! Let me be a muse for once!”

Poor, poor Thomas lets out a string of confused noises, but before he can protest, Rafayel hangs up. He immediately buries his nose back into the crook of your neck, basking in the comfortable warmth. His (very expensive) phone is tossed somewhere across the room, causing you to wince and shake your head upon hearing it hit the floor.

“I deserve a few more drawings after this, cutie. I like them a lot…”

You only hum in response, fingers carding through his hair with one hand while the other gently caresses his back. You look down, placing a soft kiss at the crown on his head, earning a satisfied hum from him, a smile forming on his lips again. Rafayel peppers your neck with open-mouthed kisses, his heart bubbling with love and contentment that you share the same interest as him. Maybe he’ll surprise you by building you your own studio right next to his, he thought.

hope i satisfied the artsy rafayel girlies w this one ( ͡ ͜ʖ ͡ )

[hoshinasblade]

For real, the animator had ri have been a Hoshina loyalists. Cause no way he looks that bad. For a Narumi prompt it could be funny that he gets with someone that doesn't know him. Someone who doesn't believe he is the 1st division captain because they only see him as the "wet cat" version of himself. And we have Narumi losing his mind over the fact you don't believe him

(not sure where tumblr took my post again because i cant find it lol) the budget went to hoshina and his tight shirt and there was nothing left to animate narumi properly. anyway, this is such a cute and interesting prompt because because yes, he is losing his mind over you not believing he is the cool first division captain 😆

pairing: gen narumi x f!reader trigger warnings: narumi gen is a trigger warning himself, just super short because im not used to writing anything narumi-related yet. hopefully you don't get mad at me anon for not going exactly per the ask lol my brain is a mush right now, i'll try harder on my next fics

the rich man is here, shouted the kids from the hallway. you can hear their hurrying footsteps - excited little taps that in turn triggered your heartbeat to race as well. you shut your eyes, calming yourself down.

narumi gen is not exactly a rich man; the children in the orphanage just calls him that fondly. apparently he has been dropping by for years, way back when you weren't working as a teacher yet. the older orphans refer to him as nii-san.

narumi would bring toys snd snacks for the kids, and would spend time with them until the early evening before he has to say goodbye. last time, he played video games with everyone; he brought crayons and sketch boobs for his visit today, and within an hour, it was eerily quiet - the little girls and boys holding their pencils, drawing all sorts of things.

the youngest in your herd, a six-year old boy with a missing front tooth ran to you when he saw you by the door, showing you his drawing - a stick-man figure with a knife in its hand, and an animal beside it which you were not sure whether it's an oversized dog or a giraffe.

"it's a kaiju, and narumi nii-san is fighting it", the boy explained, and you patted him in the head. "he's a captain of his team, i'm gonna be like him when i grow up!"

you looked at narumi who is sitting on the floor, but he was already looking at you. you shifted your gaze. "this is so pretty, we should display it in the art wall", you suggested to the boy who grinned at you, clapping.

"you know that it's not a good thing to do, lying to kids, right?" the children had bid narumi goodbye just past 7pm, and although some of them cried, narumi was quick to promise he would be back next weekend. you were surprised, he used to only be here once a month.

"huh?" he responded to you with confusion. you walked him out the orphanage to the parking lot outside. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"look, i know you are trying to be nice. and i thank you for that. what you've done for these kids is more than anyone else have done for them. but telling them you're some guy who kills kaiju is wrong. and telling them they can be like you?" you scoffed.

narumi's mouth was wide open before he realized you have finished your speech. "but i am a guy who kills kaiju", he replied, his hand on his chest as if he is swearing on his life. "really, i'm not lying. i'm the captain of my team -"

"right, and you fight kaiju on the daily," you finished his sentence for him.

"yes, i am a real badass, i promise!" he exclaimed when he sensed you do not believe him in the slightest. it looks comical how he looks close to panicking over the fact that you are not buying whatever he's selling. he frowned at you, and you stared at him, the eye contact lasting for a few seconds.

maybe this guy is a con-artist and he makes his living manipulating people, you said to yourself. this would make a lot of sense considering you think he has the good looks to lure people in. narumi had flirted at you once or twice before - or you wish he was flirting and you were not just reading too much on his actions.

"you know if you meet my friends, they would tell you the truth," he suggested, his voice cheerful.

"why would i meet your friends?" you asked, equally confused.

"so they can tell you that i am the coolest captain of the anti-kaiju defense force. they would also tell you i am a good man and a dependable friend," narumi said, reciting maybe the contents of his curriculum vitae to you. is he in a job interview? you wanted to ask but didn't.

you sighed in defeat. "are your friends as exasperating as you are?" you asked in jest.

"come on, let me impress you", he told you with sincerity that is almost startling. you were not expecting him to sound so genuine, so adamant at proving himself to you.

the kids will have their dinner in a few minutes and you will be needed to help out. you gave narumi one last glance before strolling back to the orphanage. "i'm off on fridays", you said.

narumi's smile could have lighted the entire street.

[ziyuanyuan1113]

I am in love with your art style. I love all your jjk art, it’s like stitching back the pieces of my shattered heart. Your art is so soothing and has such a warm feel, I love it. Also if you don’t mind me asking what program do you use for your art, and do you have any tips? I strive to someday create art that gives the same feeling of comfort as yours. Thank you <3

Thank you so much for the kind message! I'm actually in the middle of making another jjk piece but it's been a while so I've been trying to remember and consolidate my process. This ask came at a great time hehe

I use photoshop for most of my art pieces but I think there are a lot of cheaper alternatives (procreate on Ipad, clipstudio paint, medibang etc) that would work just as well. As for tips, I have a technical and an emotional one:

My technical tip would be to use references!! Especially if you're just starting out, it's SO IMPORTANT imo for catching mistakes especially with anatomy, lighting and perspective. And by reference I mean real life photos. I think you can be inspired by other artists' work, but there is the danger of picking up their bad habits if you only use their work for reference. I would recommend sticking mainly to real life and looking to other artists only for resolving specific stylistic details once you have a solid grasp of your fundamentals.

I would start with a rough sketch first of whatever you want to draw and then look for refs that match the mood and tone you want to go for. Get the idea down first and draw from the heart. Then the refs come in to help with the specifics (ex. what a window looks like, how someone would hold a cigarette) The jump from the rough to the clean line version is an amalgamation of all the little things you learn along the way. For example, on one day, I learned that clothing folds usually start at one point and spread out. Then another day, I learned how to do 1 point perspective and so on and so forth. Then all those tidbits slowly add up to help you get better and better.

2. My second tip would be to understand what you want to convey with your artwork. If it's fanart, what about the media that you're interacting with draws you in? It doesn't always need to be a complex answer, sometimes you just want to draw a character because you think they're hot and that's totally valid imo.

I occasionally tutor very young artists and oftentimes, they will tell me that they want to draw like X artist or X painting/piece of media. I always try to encourage them to go deeper. What about that drawing resonates with them and what specifics are occurring in the picture to make them feel that way? For example, I recently realized I love environment heavy drawings not for the background itself but because they ground the characters and seeing them do mundane things makes them feel more real to me.

For the example below, the whole set was to explore friendship and mental health. Sometimes just having someone there who listens and is willing to talk with you can make a huge difference.

Once you know the purpose of your art, then I think it makes the decision making for the rest of the process much easier. What type of lighting scenario conveys support and comfort? I went with dusk. Then I started searching up references for dusk lighting. Couldn't find the ref I actually used for colour but a quick google will show you lots of similar options.

What kind of poses feel in character for Shoko vs Geto? What is the focus of the picture? As much as I love details, I think sometimes they can actually take away from the main message. For example, if I had rendered the lamp on the right a lot more, it would've distracted from the main point of the picture so I tried to keep that and the background in general simple (still something I need to improve on haha).

Then those extra technical things (value structure, cool vs warm light, reflective lighting, connotations behind colours) you pick up along the way are all there to help you better communicate what you want to convey with your art.

Okay I lied one more tip, be patient and learn to appreciate the process. Like with any skill, there are a lot of technical aspects that you have to study and practice. I think because the end result is so visual and easily accessible in comparison to other hobbies/jobs, it really cripples beginners. Even with writing, you won't realize a book is good until you learn how to read. With art, you can resonate with a painting without having drawn a single line yourself.

I think beginners and even professionals see a lot of beautiful finished artwork and get enticed by that only to be discouraged when they find their process/finished work didn't end up the way they wanted it to look. Treat it like you would learning how to write. The fundamentals can be tedious and do take time to drill into your head, but learning them will help you SO MUCH with the creative fun parts. You can't write a poem without first taking the time to learn the alphabet, spelling and grammar. You're also probably going to write a bunch of shitty poems before you write that one good one, but that's okay because each piece lets you experiment and exercise your voice. Art is the same thing, don't rush it! Enjoy the process and celebrate your improvements.

[wellnoe]

do you think a lot of jean’s costumes having padded/armoured shoulders is a deliberate design choice or just something a lot of artists think is cool? I’ve always found it funny considering she’s a psychic, and I think characters with mental powers make designing costumes harder/ more interesting. 

impossible to say with any certainty but i think it is deliberate. first i want to point out that when we first start getting a lot of shoulder pads and armor in jean's design its the 90s, and everyone is getting that treatment. its the fashion of the era. her costumes share similarities with wolverine, domino, cable, etc. i also want to point out that a really consistent design element in jean suits is this triangular design on her body, often emphasized by the armor/shoulder pads:

(using my own sketches for easiness' sake)

i think there are basically 2 reasons for this.

one is that triangles are a sexy shape, which is why you see them across so many superheroes

the second reason is the most interesting to me. and it basically comes down to artists trying to create a design that fits the character's brand through reference, and the struggle of doing that with a character like jean. when you're designing a character's new look, and you want to make sure it still scans as them, i think you tend to look at the classics:

things you immediately notice: big triangle shape emphasizing the shoulders (this is even true of the green mini dress, which was off-the shoulder)! you get this really neat straight across line. looking at the student x-men suit and dark phoenix, you also get this triangle shape over a full-body suit. this will be replicated in a lot of later costumes.

looking at these classic costumes i think you can identify a problem, which is that only one of these is really jean's. her first recognizable suit pretty much becomes the standard x-training uniform, and dark phoenix, while classic, carries a lot of implication. which begs the question of how do you make her distinct from the rest of the team and from her turn as dark phoenix? well, her 90's yellow and blue is almost an inverted version of the team suits from the 60s (and from the era immediately preceding it). you use the clear triangle neckline from phoenix but different colors. and hey, make that shape even bigger, throw in some shoulder pads.

the end result is that jean is often someone draped in x-men or phoenix iconography, even in eras that individualize her and other members of the team. and i think that's cool. it reinforces her connection to those two things in a really subtle way.

tldr: i think the shoulder pads are a way to reference iconic jean costumes' shapes without replicating them too closely (and sometimes matching them more closely to the trends of other costumes).

[samglyph]

Hi there! I love your artwork and your page. I see that you do commissions and have reblogged other artists who also do them. I’ve always wanted to commission an artist but I just.. have a LOT of social anxiety. I’m irrationally worried that by messaging an artist for work I’ll bother them or do something wrong. So my question for you: do you have any advice for people who’re getting commissions for the first time? Does or don’t in your opinion? I’d appreciate your input :)

Totally understandable, I appreciate you asking me! I know for my anxiety, sometimes it helps to have a script. Here’s some examples of fake/semi real commission messages that are super solid. I’ll specify key points at the end.

[importantly, this message would be sent through the proper channel, which in this case would be my ko-fi but for some might be a linked google form or simply an email. If you can’t figure out where to send your message for someone advertising open comms, just ask. They will be happy you’re interested]

Hi! I was interested in getting a commission from you of my dnd character Y. This would be an original design. Y is a [physical description]. He is [ story context with a focus on personality]. I’ve included some moodboards and a little stick figure comp doodle, but feel free to play around with the pose. Also, I’m sorry, my background idea is Z, but I wasn’t sure if that fell under simple or complex background. I selected simple, but I’m happy to redo the order or pay the additional cost separately.

-

Hi Artist. I’d like to commission you for an image of my oc in this funny pose. I’ve attached both the oc and the funny pose below. Thank you.

-

Hiiiii artist! I love your work! I was hoping you could draw this character from x media. I was recently looking at your [specific poster design] and would love if you could replicate that stylization! I was thinking [specific pose idea]. I think I’ve seen you talk about X before, but just in case, here is the character I’m talking about! Thanks again!

[and finally, not an example of an order, but a message you might find yourself sending]

“Hi! I have a question about your commissions! In your guidelines, it says you’re ok with A, but uncomfortable with C. Is B ok? No worries if not, thanks!”

These are all good! Key takeaways:

- Be nice. Be polite. I know this is the internet, but you are asking a stranger to do business with you. Being friendly is totally acceptable (see the third example) or being blunt (see second) but just remember that they are viewing you as a client asking for a service. If you’re rude to me you get no hotdog. But don’t worry. Asking questions, making mistakes, no one is gonna get you. Frankly, if you’re worried about coming across wrong, saying “this is my first time commissioning someone and I’m a bit nervous about it lol” is totally acceptable.

- always include reference. If a character doesn’t have existing reference, (i personally really like designing characters in comms so reference often doesn’t exist) send moodboards! They don’t need to be nice fancy aesthetic moodboards! Slap some similar characters and ideas for fashion, setting, etc. on there. Give the artist a good place to start from.

- clear communication! If you’re unsure about something, ask! Please! Ask questions! Even before handing us money to draw you something, asking questions shows your interest, and artists will usually be very quick to answer any queries. The first person is kind of an amalgamation of a couple orders I’ve gotten and it’s practically perfect, the only thing they maybe could’ve done is dm’ed me their question about backgrounds beforehand. But even then, it’s not a problem at all, since they’ve clearly communicated, and offered a solution that respects the artist immediately.

- you do not need to have everything figured out. I often provide multiple pose, design, and comp sketches depending on the order, so it’s totally fine to not know EXACTLY what you want, but still be ready to provide basic guidelines and answer questions if your artist asks for clarification on anything.

I’m not really focusing on “don’ts” because frankly, if you’re asking specifically how to commission someone correctly, that probably means that you’re already not going to disrespect the artists time and skill, but just for fun I’ll add a few: don’t ask for discounts, or ask if an artist can do something free if it’s clearly stated that their commissions are paid. Don’t rush someone (you’re a person on the internet not Epic Games) HOWEVER do communicate clearly if you have a deadline before ordering to see if they can accommodate you, and even if you don’t, ask about their timeline if they don’t provide one. Don’t complain about their timeline. Follow up, politely, if that timeline isn’t followed. It might seem nerve wracking, but again, most artists are going to want to communicate clearly with you if they’re experiencing any delays.

Final note: while I think a lot of artists will probably feel similarly to me, these are things that I focus on, so they’re not necessarily universal. Just remember, artists advertising commissions want you to commission them! You will never be bothering someone because you bought a service from them, or you asked a question about HOW to support them. They want you to do that. Also a lot of artists are also anxious awkward kinda weird human beings. You’ll be fine.

[krylljoy]

Muse - Loki x Artist! Reader (Part 2)

For so long, the love of art has been lost on Reader, but it is rediscovered through the form of Asgard’s second prince, Loki.

For the continuing weeks, you followed the same path you took. It was hopeful thinking that made you take the same journey, hopeful you would see the prince again and his wonderful magic. Each day was fruitless but you were nonetheless content to sketch the All-Mother’s flower beds, even if they weren’t as whimsical as Prince Loki’s lights, the flowers still evoked beauty, something that could never be taken away from them.

It was strange. You had come to gardens more times than you’d ever done in the last couple centuries and all for what? The second prince? As an Asgardian it was your duty to revere the royal family, however, it was the first time within your life that you’d ever caught yourself actively admiring the second prince. Even though he stood out amongst his family with his darker demeanour, you found no reason to look his way, a sentiment shared by many Asgardians. Now, you found this sentiment unfortunate. How could anyone overlook such a wonderful creature? The man who had the imagination to evoke constellations even in daylight. It was a tragedy—a slight! You found yourself hastened to rectify the centuries worth of admiration lost and your sketchbook was beginning to suffer the weight of your appreciation, every other page overtaken with the image of Prince Loki amongst his lights. The sight had truly bewitched you. It left your mind wondering what other sorts of magic was possible. What kind of art could spring and innovate with the use of magic?

You were back in the garden, as you were the day before and days before then. Walking the routine path, you idly took in the same trees, same bushes, and same flower beds, a sight that you’ve become well acquainted with.

You pause at the slightest sliver of movement in the corner of your eye.

It was a black snake slithering into the bushes. Seemed your presence had startled it into hiding for its pace quickened with your approach.

“Why, hello,” you greeted quietly, as to not startle the creature, and kneeled down to get a better look at the scales. The snake’s scales glistened in the sun, revealing a green chromatic glint. “Aren’t you a pretty thing?“

The snake’s retreat slowed and lifted its head to your direction. You took your pencil and sketchbook out, eager.

“The All-Mother’s garden is certainly home to the loveliest things,” you said, pencil gliding across the page to replicate the snake’s elegant curvature.

The snake seemed to somehow preen under the praise. In fact, it felt as though the snake had begun posing under your careful gaze, curling from one pose into another whenever you finished one sketch.

You laughed to yourself and the snake looked up at you with what could only be referred to as offense, however, you weren’t entirely sure if snakes could feel that sort of thing. Well, if they do then this one seemed to be intelligent enough to express it.

The snake pressed you with an unfixed glance, almost demanding an answer for your sudden amusement.

“I wasn’t laughing at you. Well, not precisely.” The snake flicked its tongue, agitated. You hurried to elaborate even though it was silly to entertain a conversation with an animal. “I was only thinking about how cute you are. I have never met a snake as expressive as you.”

The explanation seemed to soothe the snake, it taking its pose once more. It perked its head back at you, looking to see if you were drawing again. You stifled a laugh and returned to sketching the vain creature.

As you finished up your sketch you noticed something peculiar, a detail that reminded you why the garden has become a part of your routine. The snake’s eyes were the loveliest hue of green, greener than spring. They were the same as Prince Loki’s. That gave you pause.

The snake peered up at you, noticing the lack of pencil scratching against parchment. It jerked at your intense stare, breaking your trance. You smiled.

“You have such beautiful eyes. They remind me of the second prince. I met him here, you know. His eyes were radiant with magic.” The snake blinked up at you, still. You huff a laugh at the snake’s stiff posture. “Don’t worry, friend. Yours are just as wonderful, if not more. If only I brought my coloured pencils. I’d have captured your eyes better.”

Together, you and your new serpentine friend stayed, content to play artist and muse. It was when the sun was at its highest in the sky that the snake finally slinked away. You went home satisfied. Despite not having found Prince Loki, there was something rewarding in befriending a creature of the All-Mother’s garden.

—————

1 2

[kairiscorner]

OMGG HII THIS IS MY FIRST TIME DOING A REQUEST I’M SO EXCITEDD

my idea isn’t good I’m sorry, it’s just so cliche

soo I had this idea where Miles 1610 and the reader are assigned as partners in some homework from the school (all of it can be in between itsv and atsv) and they just act like, you know, awkward teenagers. Reader is shy (and the fact that they have a little crush on Miles doesn’t really help the situation) but then the reader needed to take out some books of their backpack and Miles sees that they have an sketchbook and he’s “Oh you like to draw?” And reader is like “it’s probably the only thing I like to do😭” and then just have a cute conversation

sorry all the grammar mistakes, thanks for reading😭😭😭

OH HELLO ANON !! AWW, THAT'S SO SWEET ⁉️ you sound like such a dear, i'd love to do your req !! i hope you like this !!

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

shared hobbies. – miles 1610 x artist!reader

"morales, and..." your teacher was dictating the names of the partners assigned for a joint art project, and they turned their gaze to you, speaking out your name, finalizing the partnership between you and... him, miles morales. this would've been amazing news to you, because you were extremely familiar with this kid, mainly because of how cute his artworks were and how emotionally impactful his graffiti was.

you felt a shiver travel up your spine and caused you to sit up straight and look up from your sketchbook for the first time in a while. as the teacher dismissed everyone to find their partner to talk about their project, you froze the second you heard his sweet, languid voice and saw his big, pretty chestnut eyes looking into yours. "hey, partner." he told you with a grin as you smiled widely like a dork and nodded, extending your hand out to him for a handshake, initially, but then reverting to a high five, then choosing to just give him a fist bump when he held his palm out for a high five.

'why are you so indecisive?!'

"u-um, yeah, yeah, i..." you stuttered, moving your arms and hands away from your sketchbook–exposing your doodles, sketches, drawings, and concepts out into the world–after taking out several books to find the references you both needed for the project. it fluttered open when it hit the ground, and it remained on a page of a sketch you weren't very proud of. miles' eyes drifted from your face to your sketchbook, and his smile only got wider when he noted how creative you were. he looked away, though, when you realized he was staring; you were soon shielding your works that you promised would never see the light of day by anybody else, grabbing it and closing it shut immediately. miles chuckled and looked back at your now wide open eyes. "they look really pretty, sorry i stared, that was rude, um... i didn't realize you liked art, too." he said with an awkward yet excited laugh that made you laugh, too, out of embarrassment and intrigue.

"yeah, i, um... i don't really use just one technique, i... i use all kinds of materials, art styles, ah, it... might be easier if i just show you. th-this is all i do, really," you blurt out as you shyly flip through some pages of your sketchbook, all your designs and ideas just poured out onto every page; with nothing but pure soulful, emotional, and loving interest for the world, people, and life itself out on every once blank spot on the pages of your sketchbook. "i... can't really see myself doing anything but just picturing out like, how the world would look like in a different lens, how people would like to me, how the sky, sea, land and–" and then you realized, you were rambling.

miles listened to you eagerly as his eyes and heart took in every wonderful bit of the art you made; the unconventional aspects of your self-expression just made him even more interested in you, and grateful that, with the way things turned out, he might be able to get to know you more as not just your partner, class or schoolmate–but as a new friend; a friend that you... happen to like as more than just a friend.

"listen, you are so creative, it's inspiring me right now to think of some doodle and graffiti concepts that've been simmering in my head for a while–whaddya say to maybe having a drawing session with me at my dorm and just think of how to do this project with something more eye-catching, y'know? sorry, my dorm mate ganke might be there, though, but we can chill, too, if you want!" he offered with a smile as you blurted out in the heat of the moment: "i'd love to!" "w-well, that's sone enthusiasm... great! i-i'll see you around... 6?" he stuttered out all flustered, not expecting you to say yes, let alone immediately.

you nodded and smiled gently at him, causing him to smile back at you and stammer a lot more. 'wow, they're... really pretty when they're smiling, how come i just noticed this now?" he thought to himself as you got a little self-conscious from his involuntary staring and smiling at you, hiding from behind your sketchbook with wide eyes that stared back at him. miles realized he was staring and apologized, but you apologized for your staring, and you both got into this back and forth apology game that ended up with zero progress being done on your project, and a hundred and ten percent of progress on getting to know each other. it was gonna be the start of something, something really, really lovely between you two.

tags !! @ii01vq @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @k4tsu3 @solecitoszn @toneystank-3000 @popeheywardssecretgf @lovefrominaya @onginlove @meowmoraless

[feyspeaker]

Hii me again. I'm not sure if I sent the ask I'm talking about on anon, so maybe that's why you didn't see it? It partially got answered with a recent ask you got anyway so no worries. I was just wondering if you use 3d in your process and if so, how? I've seen other illustrators use it to varying degrees and it seems like a really helpful tool to push your work.

Oh that's so weird! No I periodically go through my asks in chunks and I didn't see anything like that. I've had a few people in the past few months send me asks that looked like the second half of something else with no context, so maybe it's Tumblr fuckery. Sorry!!

I recommend learning Blender so you can help sculpt shapes and render lighting onto them in order to get the weirder/more complex shadows right. You can also apply colors onto the things you sculpt in order to see how the colors act in different lighting. It's pretty much an invaluable tool to me as it keeps me from having to problem-solve too much. I did a lot of digging around in my house to build references to photograph but it was just impractical to achieve the things I want to a lot of the time. I still do that, and you would not believe how many goofy photos I have of my husband in the poses you've seen me paint Astarion in lmao...

I do think that it needs to be used in moderation if you are a more beginner artist- I think that using 3D is DANGEROUSLY close to becoming a massive crutch for a newer artist and improper usage or over reliance on it can lead to stiffness or artificial looking colors. You need to be able to train your eye to create compelling compositions by bashing things together, and train your hand to replicate/add/subtract as needed from your references with an organic feel.

I will say this as a total committer of this crime myself in the past, it's VERY easy to tell when an artist relies too much on, for example, Clip Studio Paint posed models as bases for pieces without a good enough grasp on their fundamentals. And I also used to prickle when I saw more advanced artists warn of this, so I do think maybe it just has to run its course sometimes, because I know that using 3D for reference seems like an easy-button.

I've taken a lot of in-person classes for live figure drawing and painting, as well as just totally done drills, basically, on sketching and painting from life before relying too much on static imagery/3D/etc.

I often fret over every piece I do looking too stiff even still.

You have to do a LOT of the boring hard stuff the old fashioned way. And I regularly go back to it over and over when needed.

For example, I recently did a stupid amount of rose petal/flower studies deconstructing and painting ugly little paintings/doodles over and over because I know that I've been horribly weak at painting flowers for years (actively avoiding them). And I've been doing a lot of floral stuff lately due to that.

Whenever I start a new piece in new territory, I know it's going to mean several 3AM nighters where I have two other tabs open on Photoshop where I test out different textures or do a couple of studies. I'm working on a piece of my OC right now that has a lot of gore/medical instruments and I've been working on testing out different methods for shiny metal painting and some anatomical studies. I'll come to a snag in a painting and go "here we go" and work through it one piece at a time.

My Halsin piece, "Secret Spot" in the hot spring, was a massive undertaking with a lot of these moments. The Karlach x Dammon piece took 3 times longer than it should have due to me just having to go back and fix things knowing I could do better after doing some studies.

Ultimately I personally find art tutorials to be quite useless overall once you get to a certain point, unless they are teaching the use of a tool/software because you HAVE to figure out what works for you. And even then I use Blender like a monkey with a keyboard, I suspect, because I've just bruteforced through it, so I could probably use a tuneup from a good teacher on that haha. I hope this helps some, and sorry if I overstepped if I sound preachy.

[mynameiskan]

Different anon, but I got a similar question. I'm a newbie artist, so I want to ask if you go any particular site or use a certain software program (that's either free or super cheap but is still excellent) to get access to a wide array of different brushes and color palettes? Any recs is appreciated!

Hi anon ❤

I only use ibis paint so I can provide what I know about this app only.

Ibis paint is basically free. You can unlock some brushes for 4 hours just by watching a 60 second ad. It's still a pretty great deal in my opinion.

The default brushes of ibis paint are very great and there are a lot for you to try out. I like using the dip pen, fade pen and especially the genius pen.

I also posted here some brushes I found on Facebook or Pinterest. You can use the hashtag #ibis paint in my blog to find them.

I don't know anything about color theory so I don't pay any attention to color palettes at the moment. I only focus on getting used to digital sketching first.

If you don't dislike doing digital art on your phone or ipad/tablet, you should give ibis paint a try 👌✨ It's free and it's super good. Many artists from Japan I'm following on X also use ibis paint.

Btw, if you want to do a simple 3D model as a reference to draw a pose, you can use the website call justsketchme -> here.

I have just found three cute brushes for ibis paint and I'll leave them under the cut.

[most-normal-eccles-cake-ignorer]

Darkness Lane by Joan Hassall [ x ] - the piece that most inspired my recent woodcut-style piece.

When I found out I was drawing for @gorgeousundertow's regency AU fic, Half Agony, Half Hope, as part of the @ineffableidiotsbigbang, I started looking up Jane Austen novel illustrations for inspiration and ended up finding some really cool art and websites! I'm posting about some of the images and resources I found because I think it may be interesting to others too (and even if it isn't, I'll have gotten the infodump out of my system haha).

Illustrations from Mansfield Park by Joan Hassall [ x ]

The link above points to a gallery on pemberley.com which has deliciously old-school DIY website HTML and a wealth of Jane Austen illustrations, as well as references for regency clothing. This was where I discovered Joan Hassall's work and decided I wanted to do a woodcut style piece (and then subsequently regretted it many times during the process of making it because I had no idea what I was doing). The detail, visual texture and dramatic lighting in her work is so cool and I just got more obsessed the more I saw.

See more Joan Hassall on tumblr via @uwmspeccoll (a very cool account!) here, here, and here.

The gallery on pemberley.com also had a bunch of Charles Edmund Brock illustrations, which I could not get enough of and so returned to the searchpage and found Molland's Circulating-Library. SO COOL! Jane Austen fans have bought illustrated editions of her novels and uploaded scans of them and oh my gosh they are all so beautiful.

Northanger Abbey watercolour illustrations by C.E. Brock [ x ]

Side note about Henry Tilney (Catherines' love interest in NA), I also came across this old fan page for him from a mostly-broken-links-now site called THE CULT OF DA MAN and um it's great haha, check it out. (reviews of artists representations of him, more delicious HTML, and pixel art (!) of da aforementioned man)

There's also an article on Molland's about Charles and Henry Brock and their Jane Austen works that I found interesting. Charles is better known and did far more JA illustrations, but I do really enjoy Henry's tinted line pieces! (the article also dunks on some bad reproductions of them haha)

Pride & Prejudice tinted line illustrations by H.M. Brock [ x ]

C.E. Brock also did really cool title pages and when I found out that fic banners were a thing I knew what I wanted to do! (with the help of the symmetry tool and undo haha, so much respect for traditional art)

Title pages illustrated by C.E. Brock [ x ] and my banner - the banner design uses elements of both of the Brock images.

So, research in hand/bookmarks folder and banner completed, I decided on a scene from Chapter 10 where our beloveds are standing beside the Thames in the moonlight after walking around London for hours together and talking (CUTE). I wasn't sure what buildings to include in the background, so @gorgeousundertow gave me a few suggestions: Old Southwark Bridge, London Bridge, Southwark Cathedral, and Clink Prison. I realized after a bit of sketching that bridges would be hard to show with the straight-on view I wanted to do, so I decided on the Cathedral, partially because I had also considered drawing a scene that takes place in Salisbury Cathedral in Ch. 7.

OK BUT HOW? I struggled finding reference images for a while until I realized this was LONDON and would be very Google Earth-able. Big ups to Frank Cosgrove, whoever they are, for uploading this haha. This was also where I found out that all the suggestions were from a very small area!

View of Borough High Street, London, 1830, by George Scharf [ x ]

The building in front of the cathedral looked too new, so I went searching for an older image and found the second image. It's a completely different angle but it was enough to get me past the 'oh no idk what do'.

the much brighter concept vs the much darker finished product, featuring a barely-visible Southwark Cathedral

While looking for images of the Thames pre-Google Earth, I also found this website called Dictionary Of Victorian London which has a whole bunch of old images and excerpts from newspapers, etc on a variety of topics. One of the categories, Sex > 'unnatural offences', had this excerpt from The Times (1863), which reads:

Thomas Lane, a coffeehouse keeper, No.9, Love-lane, Eastcheap, city, and James Mortimer, a seaman, were charged with unlawfully meeting each other to commit an unnatural offence. ... The Magistrate committed both prisoners for trial.

Ugh. I hate that so much. Some sexy stuff happens right after the moment I'd chosen, and reading that reminded me that such things would be much more comfortable and safe in darkness (or if ppl just stopped being homophobic, but barring that). I wanted them to feel alone, like the whole world was asleep and it was just them, outside of time.

With that in mind, the iconic Thames Walk Lamp had to go bye bye, and when rendering the background I tried to minimize any light - it's just the suggestion of buildings. I also added tree cover! I tried to imitate how Joan Hassall does trees in some of her artwork, but when she rendered trees like this they were usually farther away/smaller, so my version looks more stylized with how prominent they are.

The ribbon border and book quote presentation is of course more Brock, but by making it black and having the interior image use it as a border instead of a fade-out inside it, I made it a bit of a reference to the very cool foliage edges you see in the very first Hassall image at the top.

I used the procreate brushes from this post on the Procreate Folio forums if anyone wants to try them!

Also fun fact! The font for the quote is called Chanson D'Amour <3 (I initially downloaded it when making the banner before changing the banner font to one called Dark & Black)

------

That's all I have to say about the process for the piece, but here's a comic from Dictionary Of Victorian London, Thames > Sanitary condition that I thought was cute (and gross ig? but also cute):

a Punch comic from 1850, I can't link the page due to how the website URL system works but it's from the Thames > Sanitary condition page

[dbh-bb]

Yet More Questions

As we come up to the final sign up deadline for Artists we've been receiving a lot of questions about how much we expect by June 1st, so we wanted clarify some information for both artists and writers

ARTISTS

Oh my god, how much do I have to have ready to submit by 01 June? What will the form ask for?

The form will ask you to submit the following things:

Identifying info (obvs), including whether you are a minor

Your willingness to be paired with a minor

A sketch, layout, or concept of your art

The premise of your concept for the story

Ratings you’d be happy with on the story

Things you really don’t want to see in the story

Let’s break down a few of those.

Sketch, layout, or concept of your art: 

This should be substantial enough to get your idea across to the writer. It does not have to be finished or near-finished (although it can be if you’re there). If you work in a medium that takes significant time to generate, or where the concept of a “sketch” is hard to apply (such as 3D render art, gifs, or fanvids), do your best to express what the idea is. This could include a storyboard, a rough sketch, stick figures, and/or references/examples to show what you mean. We want the writers to get the general idea of what the final art will look like.

We will ask these submissions to be in standard formats (i.e. .png, .jpg, .gif, etc) that can be accessed on anyone’s computer without the use of special software. Your final art can be in your preferred format.

There will also be a text box where you can describe what the final art will be, like you might for an alt-text.

Premise of your concept for the story:

Artists aren’t just sharing a sketch, they’re sharing the concept behind that sketch. The concept of your story should be enough to give your writer a good direction to head in, without being so limiting that you’re ‘ordering’ a story rather than planting an idea. Yes, you can give ideas for bits of dialogue, and scenes, and major story beats and character dynamics. We want you to be either providing a jumping off point that a writer can build from, or full on working with the writer to tell a story. You need to give them enough that they can write ten thousand words from it, so we want more than the idea for the scene you are depicting yourself and a pairing.

That being said, this isn’t an opportunity to demand a very specific story out of a writer; that’s called a commission. There should still be room for the author to help shape the story as well. As Atro said, you’re giving them the blueprints; they’re building the house.

Things you don’t want to see in the story:

This is where you can let writers know anything you really don’t want added to the story. Including your personal specific do-not-wants is a way to help writers pick which stories they want to bid for. For example: “No X/Y, I prefer X and Y as platonic,” or “Please no background A/B.”

Keep two things in mind: first, writers are not allowed to add any of the AO3 Big Four to a story unless the artist suggests it first. Second, we do expect writers to work with the artist’s concept. So you don’t need to list out every single possible thing you don’t want.

What if my idea is risque, or even extreme?

We’ll make sure you get into the version not provided to minors, and you’ll have the same space to explain your concept as everyone else. Sometimes having a more extreme concept makes it harder to find a writer …but sometimes, you find that one person who does see your vision! All we ask is that you remain flexible in case the idea has to evolve to find you a match.

I’m not a writer. How much do they need for 10,000 words?

In writing terms, 10k and up is a novelette or a novella — either way, a short novel. Significantly, this will introduce plot. Now sometimes people think “plot means an entire movie” and it might not — sometimes the plot is “X and Y on a date.” Sometimes the plot is porn. But 10,000 words gives you both room to play with moving pieces. 

Example for artists who don’t write: Let’s use a very generic concept: a heist fic. You want the Jericrew on a heist. THESE ARE ESTIMATES DONT COME AT ME based on mods being old enough to remember when a drabble was 100 words exactly, but in general:

~3000 words will get you a scene. A dramatic scene or a confrontation! Cool! But a single scene.

5000-7000 words is a bit of the plot. Maybe the heist itself. Or a bit after the heist. More details, some repercussions.

~10,000 words will cover… let’s say planning the heist, executing it, and a bit of what comes after. 

A full mystery novel is usually 70,000-90,000 words. 

I’ve seen heist fics that break 200K.

This is why the minimum is 10,000 words — we want to generate deeper works where things happen. And the artists get to start the process this year. For those of you who wanted to make multiple arts and are limited by our writer count: this is your chance to think of other artworks you’d like to make within this concept!

WRITERS

How much information / freedom am I going to have?

First: We ask that writers do not add any of the AO3 Big Four to a story unless the artist suggests it. 

Second, see above for the information artists are being invited to share, to get a feel for it.

Third: There will be a variety of offers to choose from. Some artists might have a much more vague concept, while others might have a lot of the story in their head already. Remember that writers get to pick in this scenario. So if you prefer jumping into a fully-formed idea, look for those. If you prefer a less-firm idea where you can really collaborate with your partner to flesh it out, look for those. 

Artists are expected to understand that their concept is a suggestion, not a commission. So even if an artist sounds like they have a narrow view of the story they want, they know that they need to work with their writer to make it belong to both of you. Even at low levels of collaboration, we’ve seen this work out so that both contributors can be happy. So if there’s an idea you love but/and have suggestions for, go for it — there’s a good chance your artist will be happy with all your enthusiasm.

[lulu2992]

From the Inquisitor to the Baptist: The Evolution of John Seed

Part 6: Sources, references, and further reading

(There are links under all the pictures in this post)

1: Concept art posted by Nick Arnett on Instagram

"Here is some more concept art I got to be in, that never made it." https://www.instagram.com/p/BvwpicenXHg/

And many thanks to @minilev for originally sharing the picture on Tumblr here!

2: “Last-Supper-like” images

The first picture was used to promote the game, for example during E3 2017 where it was on display outside the Los Angeles Convention Center (it briefly appears in this video).

I couldn’t find who exactly made it, but you can see/download it in very high definition (12,500 x 2,000 pixels) here:

The second is the “Key Art”, made by an entire team (and some of the people below most likely also worked on the previous one):

Creative Director: Michael Hammond Art Director: Brian Tippie Lead Artist: Wil Wells Assisting Artist: Camille Fache Assisting Artist: One Pixel Brush - Shaddy Safadi, Matteo Marjoram Character Art: Petur Arnorsson Brand Management: Dilip Priyanath, Ann Hamilton, Bailey McAndrews, Thomas Seris Project Management: Alicia Ruiz, Sam Nielsen Authenticity Coordinator: Travis Getz Reference photography: Ryan Flynn with Brick & Chrome Additional work by Blur Studio (they usually make the CGI trailers), Helix, and Studio Mtl.

See/download it in HD (7,000 x 4,054 pixels) here:

3: AmCo Studio

See development sketches for the “Last-Supper-like” images here.

4: Fire Without Smoke

Find development sketches and details about the creation of the “Last-Supper-like” images here.

5: The symbols on John’s fingers

This mystery was finally solved in February 2022 by @commonant (deactivated account; if you see this, thank you) here!

6: “Taolennoù Ar Mission” by François-Marie Balanant

See the scans here on the website of the Bibliothèques de l’Université Rennes 2 (Libraries of the University of Rennes 2, France).

7: Seven deadly sins (Wikipedia)

The page that most likely inspired the developers a lot.

8: Infantry tattoo

An example by Garrett Tankersley (@tat2garrett) on Instagram:

"Infantry tattoo" https://www.instagram.com/p/66MheiDlc8/

9: Old Far Cry 5 official website

Still visible thanks to the Wayback Machine here.

10: PlayAsia blog

They posted information about Far Cry 5 and its characters here. I still have no idea if the pictures are official or not...

11: Promotional picture for Far Cry Absolution

Posted on X (Twitter) by the Official Far Cry account here.

12: Inside Eden’s Gate

The short film is available for free on Ubisoft North America’s official YouTube channel here.

13: Rob Evors’ actual tattoo

Visible in this picture (the three letters on his left wrist):

14: John’s tattoos in Inside Eden’s Gate

Casey Lynn Stuckey’s Instagram post (3 pictures):

"Check out these sweet detail shots of the tattoos I hand painted on @foreversevors for Far Cry 5: Inside Eden’s Gate." https://www.instagram.com/p/Bf1q09eFJ1K/

And another Instagram post by Nina Shyne Alviar showing Casey Lynn and Sandra Stuckey painting tattoos on Rob Evors:

"My amazing MUFX/HMU team members Casey and Sandra, hand painting tats on Rob Sevors’ hands for his role as John Seed in Far Cry 5: Inside Edens Gate! Casey did it the first time all on her own, carefully matching the designs to the gameplay. Have you seen it yet? On Amazon Prime Video right now. And the game is out on 3/27." https://www.instagram.com/p/BgeuadJnNHj/

15: “Anything Can Happen, Everything Will” live-action TV spot

Watch it on Ubisoft North America’s official YouTube channel here.

16: Jon Oswald’s Instagram post about the Far Cry 5 TV spot

"New Far Cry commercial out today! Keep your eye out for me at the end. I'm the asshole in the GUCCI TRENCH COAT." https://www.instagram.com/p/BgRoavQhgcP/

17: Kenz Lawrén’s Instagram post about Inside Eden’s Gate and the TV spot (8 pictures)

"✨✨ I am so excited to announce the release of The FarCry5 short film: EDEN’S GATE on amazon prime!! ✨✨I had such an awesome time shooting in Montana and just wanted to take a moment to thank the production, the cast and the fans of Far Cry for all their love and support." https://www.instagram.com/p/BgpYTCojq7x/

18: Jon Oswald’s tattoos

In this picture (right wrist):

And this one (dog on his left forearm):

19: Storyboards for the TV spot

Drawn by Anthony Winn and shared on ArtStation.

20: The Book of Joseph

Rare promotional item given as a pre-order bonus for Far Cry 5. It’s never been available for sale (officially) but you can find several options to read it in this post.

21: “Far Cry 5: Why John Seed Is Your Charmingly Deadly Enemy”

Watch the video on IGN’s YouTube channel here.

22: John’s “You have been Marked” video

The source file (which doesn’t have sound) of the final in-game version was extracted by @hopecountyradio here.

As for the audio, you can go here to listen to John only, here for the background noise and voices, and here for the original, full version of the music.

23: “Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” concept art

The artwork was based on a painting by Viktor Vasnetsov (1887). It’s official but I don’t know the name of the artist(s).

Find it in HD (5,000 x 2,672 pixels) here:

24: Official screenshot(s)

Created by Screenshot Artist Jayden Bell and posted on ArtStation.

There are more here, here, and here.

25: Poster

Official picture you can find here (3,276 x 3,276 pixels), for example. I don’t know the artist(s) who created it.

26: “John Seed - The Inquisitor | Character Spotlight”

Watch this trailer on Ubisoft’s official YouTube channel here.

27: John’s vest

Its secret was exposed by @inafieldofdaisies here. Again, great find!

28: John’s 3D model and textures

They were extracted by HeliosAl and are available for download on DeviantArt here and here.

29: John and Sloth

Just in case anyone is interested, I posted my opinion and analysis here back in September 2020.

30: Pictures in the Holmes Residence

Extracted by @vls-gamingscrapbook here.

31: Seed family portrait

Extracted by @vls-gamingscrapbook here.

32: Picture in Dutch’s bunker

Extracted by @vls-gamingscrapbook here, as well as the source files for the poster and billboard (even though the images included in my post were my screenshots).

33: Journal image (The Confession)

Found on the Far Cry Wiki, but made by Graphic Designer David Bouchard-Gagnon.

34: Early version of the “You have been Marked” TV broadcast

The video I posted was recorded in my game, but the source file was also uploaded by @vls-gamingscrapbook here.

35: Pictures from the deleted in-game encyclopedia

Extracted and posted by @xbaebsae here.

36: Render

The picture I posted was my screenshot, but you can find the full, original render here (3,840 x 4,937 pixels):

37: Early icons

Extracted by @vls-gamingscrapbook here.

38: “Seeking Absolution - Interview with Urban Waite”

Watch the video on Ubisoft North America’s official YouTube channel here.

39: Holly in Far Cry 5

NPC line about Holly Pepper:

I remember a girl named Holly used to live here with her girlfriend Charlie. They were the first people I knew to join Eden's Gate.

You can hear it in the game.

40: Drew Holmes interview

It was deleted so the link doesn’t work, but you could read it here:

https://www.gamecrate.com/far-cry-5-lead-writer-villains-cults-and-crafting-story/18396

I posted a screenshot of it here in September 2018.

41: “Far Cry 5 - Inside the intro sequence”

Watch the video on Ubisoft UK’s official YouTube channel here.

An article about it was also published on the now-deleted UbiBlog here (retrieved thanks to the Wayback Machine again).

42: oasisstrings

Available either here (website by Steve Botter a.k.a. Steve64b) or on the Far Cry Wiki here and here (subtitles).

43: John’s deleted lines

Listen to them here on @voices-of-hope-county.

44: Hudson’s comment about John

Posted here by @oh-the-bliss.

45: Seed Ranch concept art

I sadly don’t know who the artist is, but you can find it here (1,398 x 845 pixels):

46: Tennis courts?

Listen to Sharky and Nick talk about John’s tennis courts (which don’t exist in the game) here on @voices-of-hope-county.

I tried to trigger Nick’s comment in the game but couldn’t, so it may have been cut, but Sharky’s line still exists.

47: Seed Ranch

Picture by Environment Artist Brian Harries found on ArtStation.

48: John’s “sex room”

I tried to find more information about this mysterious room here.

49: Survivor’s comment in New Dawn

Find it in oasisstrings here. I know it’s in the game because someone recorded it once, but I couldn’t find the post...

50: Cultists’ lines at Seed Ranch

I recorded two videos and posted them here and here. The comment about John being so busy he barely goes to the ranch is in the second one.

51: “Your Question”

John’s letter for a cultist named Terry. See the screenshot of the complete answer on the Far Cry Wiki:

52: John and Mary May’s secrets

This was originally discovered by @xbaebsae in this great post I recommend reading if you like early/deleted content!

53: Abandoned storylines

Listen to three outdated lines here on @voices-of-hope-county.

54: Kim’s deleted line about John

Listen to it here on @voices-of-hope-county.

55: Joseph’s eulogy for John

Listen to the audio here on @voices-of-hope-county.

56: Joseph’s message for John at Seed Ranch

Listen to it here on @voices-of-hope-county.