#challenging myself to render properly again~

[dottie-n-stripes]

alternative dots 🔵

[fawniswriting]

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: The story of a girl and her fallen flowers, as well as a boy who can't seem to forget either of them.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warning(s): 1940s!Bucky. 1940s!reader. winter-soldier!Bucky. TFATWS!Bucky. non-linear timeline (time-jumps). childhood friends to lovers. kissing. profanities. canon typical violence. bucky in the electric chair. brief mention of suicidal thoughts. fluff. kinda cheesy if you squint. mild angst. implied death (?). platonic sambucky. bittersweet ending I guess?? (you'll see what I mean)

Author's Note: okayyy so this didn't quite turn out the way I thought it would, but I loveeedd the concept as soon as I got it in my head and still wanted to share this story with you guys 🥺 idk why I seem to struggle translating my ideas properly lately 🫠 anywho, this is officially the shortest piece I've ever written, and I'm actually kind of challenging myself to start writing shorter pieces because I always end up blabbering non-stop in my fics (a side effect to being a yapper, I guess 😭). but despite all, I hope you'll still like this one and find it enjoyable! ❤️ and if you do, please don't forget: like, comment, and reblog 💞

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

“This is for you.”

Twelve-year-old Bucky Barnes looked up from the wriggling worm on the ground and squinted his eyes against the blinding sun. The sky of Brooklyn was the color of his eyes today, bright and vast as if someone had splashed a painter's brush across the horizon. Under the stretch of blue, his gaze landed on you—the new girl at school, the one his classmates had been whispering about since Mr. Morris decided to take everyone out to the park for today's PE lesson. 

Johnny Hurst told Bucky that you were the prettiest dame he had ever seen.

And boy, if the punk weren't telling the truth.

Bucky's eyes flitted over you from head to toe—taking in the slight tilt of your head, the subtle curve of your lips, and the worn blouse that clung to you at least half a size too big—before they finally landed on the hand outstretched towards him.

“What's this?” he asked.

“It's a flower.”

“I can see that.”

Abandoning the worm, Bucky rose to his feet and brushed the dust off his slacks. You observed his movements with fervor, your hand still curling around the yellow daffodil as if its petals held the cosmic tethers that kept the entire universe from falling apart.

You extended your palm further, positioning the flower directly under his nose until he could smell the fragrance caressing his cheeks.

“It's for you,” you repeated.

Bucky's eyes flicked twice between your face and the daffodil. “Is this a trick?”

“No.”

“Someone put you up to this?”

“No.”

“Where'd you get the flower?”

“From there.”

Bucky's eyes followed the direction of your finger, spotting the daffodil bushes located just a few paces ahead. Not in full bloom yet, but nearly. A golden oasis in the midst of a playground of gray and trampled grass.

You turned towards him again, your expression remaining unchanged as you told him, “I picked it up from the ground.”

Bucky stared at the daffodil in silence. “You're giving me a wilted flower?”

“It's not wilted.”

There was a shadow appearing in the center of your forehead. Your fingertips twitched where they hovered attentively around the yellow petals, as though the accusation had offended you, as though Bucky had spoken blasphemy against the flower by calling it wilted.

“It's been on the ground,” Bucky pointed out.

“So? It simply fell off. Doesn't mean it's wilted.”

“Ain't that the same thing?”

“No.” You pouted, your forehead creasing deeper as your hand cradled the daffodil closer to your chest. “A wilted flower is dead. It doesn't have any love remaining inside it. This flower is not like that.”

And then, like some kind of switch had been flipped, you angled your head towards him—entwining his eyes with your steadfast gaze, rendering his legs motionless with the sight of a brilliant grin stretching across your beautiful face.

“This flower still has a lot of love to give to the world,” you proclaimed.

Bucky's heart stuttered.

It must have been a premonition from the heavens when Bucky's arm began lifting of its own accord, receiving the daffodil from your hand and relishing in the elated hum that the gesture elicited. The petals were delicate against the skin of his palm, and Bucky suddenly feared the possibility of crushing them due to his overt carelessness.

“She's yours now.” You beamed, swaying slightly on your feet as your hands clapped in infectious joy. “She'll give you all of her love if you promise to take care of her.”

His lips quirked. “It's a she?”

“Of course,” you replied, the sun glinting radiantly in your pupils. “All the beautiful things in life are a she.”

Bucky couldn't find it in himself to argue.

He watched you leave with heart on his sleeve, bewitched by the ribbon of your laughter dancing in the wind. His fingers curled protectively around the yellow daffodil, his heart singing in tandem with the rhythm of your skipping feet echoing through the earth.

“Hey!” Bucky called out. You stopped halfway in your tracks, smiling at him from the distance like his wildest daydreams made into flesh. “Why me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why'd you decide to give the flower to me?”

The grin on your face widened, and Bucky—bless his heart—thought for a moment that his entire limbs might collapse.

A breeze rustled the surrounding trees, cavorting around until it floated across your cheeks. You stumbled back a step upon its intrusion, your eyes peering shyly under the harsh judgment of the sun. And yet, your smile prevailed—still soft as a wisp, still managing to make Bucky's chest alight with something more precarious than a raging flame.

“Cause you're handsome,” you answered at last, the sound of your giggles resonating throughout the air and straight into Bucky's soul. “Take good care of her, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Blue eyes trailed along as you disappeared around the hedge, remnants of your melodic voice still dithering in the sky, a gentle lull against the wild thumping of his heart. As the world settled into its insipid normal, Bucky Barnes knew that there were two things of which he was absolutely certain.

One: the flower in his hand had now become the most prized possession in his otherwise monotone life.

And two: he had actually never told you his name.

Somehow, Bucky found that he didn't quite mind both.

“Say, handsome. Any chance you could tell a girl where to find a good time around here?”

Bucky hadn't even turned when the smile broke across his lips. 

His soul meandered towards your voice, his heart leaping out of its cage as he took in your entire figure for the first time that night—flowy dress and red lipstick, platform heels and a pair of lips that looked like they held whispers of a secret he would spend a lifetime trying to unravel. Your own smile blinded him as you approached closer, the cadence of your steps a harmonious symmetry with the surrounding ruckus of the carnival. 

“I'd show you a good time, doll.” He smirked once you stood in front of him, your chin tilting up in a way that made Bucky want to drop to his knees and worship the ground you had walked on. “All you gotta do is ask.”

“Really? Just ask?” You hummed, fluttering your lashes and sending a whole swing band loose in Bucky’s gut. “Shame. Here I thought I'd bargain a smooch for your company. Guess I'll just have to give it to someone else, then.”

You didn't have a chance to turn before Bucky yanked you back towards him, firm fingers curling around your wrist like a ship finally mooring to land. He swallowed your surprised yelp with a kiss, devouring your gasps as if the two of you weren't standing under caramel-slicked air and a parade of balloons and shrieks.

“Quit jokin’ about kissing someone else, sweetheart,” he rasped against your lips, fingers resolute where they squeezed around your hip. “Lest you're lookin’ to see me die of a heart attack.”

Your smile bloomed. “Then why don't you kiss me some more, Buck?”

He was more than happy to oblige.

His lips found yours again, slower this time, savoring every second as if he were living on borrowed time. The world around you faded away into an abstract background, centering you in the moment, where everything you yearned and cared for was the hint of sugar you could taste on your boyfriend's lips.

When the two of you parted for the second time, Bucky studied your face as though memorizing a miracle right before his very eyes. It made something stir in the depth of your chest.

“Got you something,” Bucky admitted, excitement and joy spilling out of his skin.

You waited patiently as he reached into his pocket, pulling out an eyeglass case that made your eyebrows pinch in wonder—since when did he wear glasses? But before you could ask, Bucky was already opening the lid, and the view of its content managed to coax a gasp of awe from somewhere within your ribs.

“Bucky, this is amazing.”

You picked up the tiny arrangement between your pointer and middle fingers, admiring the way the flowers were bound together into a miniscule bouquet. They were tethered to one another by a string of stem and twine, a thread of nature and mankind, existing side by side in an eternal waltz that fate had bestowed upon them.

Your chest tapered, bringing the tiny bouquet closer to your heart as you captured the giddy blue of Bucky’s eyes. “You made this yourself?”

“I did.” Bucky nodded, his chest inflating in a pale delight. “Well, Becca helped. Who could've guessed that tying a yarn around flower stems required nimble fingers, huh?”

You laughed along, concealing the way your insides were melting into a puddle as if this weren't the nicest gesture anyone had ever done for you.

“Ma gave me an earful when she saw me in the garden, dirt on my hands and knees, lookin’ for fallen blossoms. Said I'd better get some proper flowers for my girl if I didn't want her runnin’ off with another fella.” Bucky chuckled. “But I told her this was more special. After all, these buds ain't wilted yet, which means—”

“They still got love to give,” you whispered, void of air and yet brimming with boisterous affection. You kissed his chin and rewarded him a grin. “You know who else got love to give, Buck?” 

Bucky laughed, that rare, beautiful sound that always seemed too big for the world to hold. He cupped your cheek like he was holding a precious porcelain, leaning closer until your foreheads rested against one another.

"Yeah, sweetheart." He breathed, nudging his nose to yours. "I sure as hell do.”

“Mission report,” a voice commanded.

In the center of the room, the Soldat sat on a throne made of metal and terror. A cushion designed not for rest, but for bearing witness to the drips of blood pooling beneath restraint-bound limbs. Other soldiers stood all around the room, their cowardice louder than their breathing, their backs refusing to peel from the walls as if it could absolve them of their complicity.

The quiet stretched.

Out of the shadows, the tall, fiendish man emerged, carrying the kind of cruelty that even hell would cower from. He examined the Soldat and raised his eyebrows, noting down the asset's lack of response—an observation for later, an error to repair as if the Soldat had been a mere machine instead of a living soul.

The man stepped closer, repeating himself with a bellowing voice that would beckon the dead from their graves, “Mission report, Soldat.”

Still no answer.

The tension sweltered.

“What's wrong with him?” another man chimed in.

The first one shook his head, his mind already gearing, going through the motions on how he could pick apart and assemble the Soldat into something new, something better. But before he could jot down the evil plan on his notepad, his gaze slid downward, spotting the defensive curl of the Soldat's flesh fist hidden partly by his right thigh.

“There is something in his hand.”

The second man sprung into action, approaching the chair and demanding the frozen man on it to unclench his fingers, now. But the Soldat didn't move, not even a single indication to acknowledge the receival of the command. Even when the smack thundered across his cheek, the Soldat continued to stand his ground, a show of defiance through the very last thing he could still afford.

“Soldat.” The first man attempted again, a cold edge coursing through his words. “Give us what's in your hand before we put you back in the cryo.”

The Soldat didn't say anything, but his fingers flexed—just a tiny bit—though it was enough to help the second man pry the mysterious object out of the Soldat's hand.

“What is it?” the first man asked, a hint of impatience leaking through his practiced image.

“It's, uh… It's…” the second man stammered. 

He turned his palm around, confusion palpable in his eyes as he showed his colleague the mysterious object that the Soldat had guarded with more ferocity than any weapon they’d ever placed in his hands.

A slightly crumpled yellow daffodil.

“It's a flower?” the first man nearly roared. “It was just a fucking wilted flower?”

“It's not wilted.”

The room fell into an instantaneous hush. Every pair of eyes inside ambled towards the center of the room, towards the assassin who had just decided to break his silence over the trivial matter of flowers.

The first man turned towards the Soldat with a menacing stare, his eyes a pair of blades as he stepped closer towards the seat of torture, studying the Soldat who was still sitting stiffly as if awaiting the next round of nightmares. But beneath the blue eyes, usually steely and cold, something else had clawed its way through—something fiery and reckless, something akin to humanity.

The first man sneered, turning to the entire room to bark his orders, “Wipe him. And put him in the ice until further notice.”

People moved in a flurry of limbs as soon as the instruction had settled. Amidst the havoc, everybody failed to notice the silent tick of the Soldat's jaw, the scintillating shift of his pupils as unsolicited hands forced him back against the chair, strapping his entire body with restraints that felt more like burning coals against an expanse of skin.

The Soldat kept his eyes trained on the drab surface of the ceiling, bracing himself for the pain to come, for the same searing agony that had muddled his brain far too many times to count. He wouldn't remember much afterwards—wouldn't remember how desperately he kept wishing for death in those horrifying moments—but he would certainly remember the fear. Thrumming under his skin like lightning against a drowning man's ribs.

At the first descent of the machine upon each side of his head, the Soldat suddenly heard it—the voice. 

The one who wasn't his own but sounded like a missing piece of his soul.

The one who always appeared in times when he needed an anchor and something to hold.

The one who had told him to pick up the daffodil while he was on the field.

“Take it,” the voice had adjured. “Take the flower. It's not wilted yet, it has simply just fallen.”

So he did.

And right now, the voice was returning once more, only this time, it didn't come alone.

It came with flashes—images.

An image of laughter and smiles, of promises and dreams. An image of two bodies tangled beneath the sheets, spent breaths and a humming pleasure rushing through bloodstreams.

It came with an image of you.

“It's gonna be alright,” you told him, so gentle and kind that he almost believed it. “Everything's gonna be alright, honey. I'm right here with you.”

The machine awakened with an ominous snarl, triggering a low whine inside his skull, rising gradually until it split the edges of his mind apart. He tried to hold onto something, anything, but there was nothing left inside him except for scraps of bones and a heart mangled beyond any devastation the world could ever imagine.

He was no one. 

No name. No face. No soul. 

Just a body, wired and broken, as mechanical as the chair he sat upon.

As good as wilted.

“You're not wilted.”

The Soldat blinked.

“You've merely fallen, honey,” you assured, smiling so sweetly he could almost taste it on his tongue. “Fallen things aren't wilted. And fallen things—oh, sweetheart—they still have so much more love to give.”

“You dropped one, Sarah.”

Bucky bent down to pick up the flower on the floor, the one that had fatedly fallen from the bouquet of fragrance and colors that Sam's sister was currently moving to a clear vase. The petals fluttered like silk on the skin of Bucky's palm, and his knees nearly gave out from underneath him when he finally took a proper look at the blossom in his grasp.

A yellow daffodil.

“Just throw it away, Buck,” Sarah said from her place in the kitchen. She crumpled the parchment wrapper of the bouquet before throwing it into the bin, the arrangement of flowers now sitting proudly on the kitchen counter. “It's been on the ground, anyway.”

“Just ‘cause it's fallen, doesn't mean it's wilted yet.” Bucky sauntered towards the kitchen, stopping to position the bud amidst the array of petals and stems. “They still got a whole lot of love left to give, you know?”

Sarah's eyebrows rose.

Before she could comment on Bucky's surprising sentiment, Sam came striding into the house, his dark eyes immediately zeroing on the two people standing by the kitchen counter.

“What's this?” Sam asked, suspicion dripping from his voice. “Yo, man, I told you to stop flirting with my sis.”

“Nobody's flirting, Sam. We were just talking,” Bucky clarified. Then, just to ruffle Sam’s feathers, the super soldier flicked his gaze towards Sarah, tilting his lips in the way he used to do when he wanted to coax something out of you. “Right, Sarah?”

The woman giggled, and Bucky could almost beam in satisfaction at the imaginary smoke coming out of Sam's ears.

“He was just helping me, Sam,” Sarah told him. “One of the flowers fell, so he returned it to me.”

“Nuh uh. I don't believe that's all there is. That must be him tryna make a move. That was you making a move, isn't it?” Sam demanded, his gaze jerking aggressively between his sister and a smug Bucky. “What'd he tell you? Whatever it was, don't listen to it. Don't believe him. It's just a bunch of bullshit.”

“God, Sam, he didn't say anything.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “He just told me something about flowers. About how they aren't wilted if they fell, and… what was it again, Buck?”

The man tensed.

Bucky regained his composure in the blink of an eye, keeping the other two oblivious to the surge of turmoil that the simple question had sent. Keeping them in the dark about the way Bucky's heart had stumbled at the mere memory of your smile flaring across his mind and straight into his soul.

“It was nothing,” Bucky said. “Just a silly saying.”

“Oh, right!” Sarah snapped her fingers. “Fallen flowers still have lots of love to give.” She smiled proudly, eyes flickering towards Bucky with conspicuous excitement. “Was I right?”

Bucky's jaw clenched.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Sam questioned, his forehead knitting, vexation melting into incredulity. “That your game, Buck? Sounds lousy as hell.”

Bucky sighed. “Sam…”

“Did that kinda thing really work in the forties? ‘Cause damn, I could've been a real ladies man back then. Would've been so easy if all it took was one lame shit about flowers, and—hey, where you goin’?”

“Getting the hell away from you!”

Bucky heard Sam's laughter echoing from behind him, mocking and unaware of the wound in the former's chest that was beginning to crack and bleed all over the floor. The sound of your voice lingered in Bucky's mind, a ghost only he could hear, a cursed rapture that broke him apart at the seams before stitching him together all at once.

Before Bucky could exit the house, Sam's voice erupted again, “Hey! At least tell us how you got the idea for such a cheesy saying!”

“I didn't.” Bucky's grip contracted around the front door's handle, a shaky smile stretching his lips before he caught Sam's gaze from the distance. “Someone taught it to me. A long time ago.”

[hulknussen]

@schumi-angel when I first saw this I needed a second to process. absolute genius, thank you for this it was lots of fun to write. Exactly 1.2k words under the cut. some additional kinks beyond what was prompted are marathon sex/multiple orgasms and orgasm denial/edging (simultaneously somehow these guys were going at it for a while) and overstimulation. also scraping the surface of a bunch of other things because I can't help myself

Kevin presses a kiss to the tender skin of Nico’s neck, red and angry with bruises. There’s no way Nico will be able to cover them when he walks into the paddock next Thursday. People will talk—Kevin hopes they don’t hold back, that the shame will be something for Kevin to toy with after.

“Hm?” Kevin hums against Nico’s jaw, teasing, challenging. “No? You want to go again?”

There is a desperate whine out of Nico’s throat, breaking against the edge of his lungs. His eyes are focused on himself just opposite to him, the tall mirror leaned against the dresser.

Kevin roams his hands across Nico’s torso again to feel the flutter of his muscles. Trying to shy away from it, after so much, after so long. Kevin’s touch must be more painful than pleasurable by now.

“Ah- please, please,” Nico brings out. Kevin has heard little else of coherency in the past hour.

With his chin hooked over Nico’s shoulder he gets a good look at Nico’s view. Every place of Nico’s naked body is flushed, neck to collarbones down to his nipples. Kevin nuzzles his head to the side and knows it has to burn, the scratch of his beard against Nico’s skin.

Not a single thing about Nico doesn’t scream Kevin. The gorgeous, gorgeous desperation in his eyes. How his shoulders and arms are strained because Kevin tied them behind his back, high up, with intricate patterns that took time and patience.

Time that Nico had spend complaining and backtalking Kevin as equally as he had spent it trying to rut into the mattress below. Kevin had let him then, by now hours ago. When Nico thought chasing his orgasm blindly would make Kevin angry, not play right into his cards.

Kevin turns to the side to press a slew of soft kisses to the space behind Nico’s ear. It’s taking all his effort to keep it together, Kevin’s own chest pressing against Nico’s back and his cock hard.

But where it’s about to be Nico’s sixth orgasm of the day it’d be Kevin’s second, and some of the same sex haziness he knows has rendered Nico barely half aware has settled into Kevin’s limbs, too. Makes him amicable to the preamble and slows him down, happy to let the neediness fester with the knowledge that he’ll get to quell it later.

All he wants is to make sure they understand each other; make sure that Nico knows how this world works. And that that includes he doesn’t go fucking around with whoever just because he was a bit hurt Kevin decided to do endurance instead of bumbling about for another year in a shitbox.

And it includes knowing that he’s ruined, really, truly by now. Ruined for anyone but Kevin.

That whoever he sweet-talked into his bed wouldn’t be good enough. That after everything there is only Kevin left to hold him, left to make him feel good, left to make him come.

(They’ll talk about it properly eventually. When Kevin isn’t high on the image he has turned Nico into and can’t see his own handprints on Nico’s thighs. No—now, Kevin is here to make up for what Nico took from him.)

Kevin lets his hands drop lower, at agonizingly slow pace. Teases his fingertips just where trimmed hair begins. So close to where Nico wants it.

Nico’s dick is an angry red, slick with lube. He hasn’t been able to produce any sort of substantial amount of come in three orgasms, all that is left pathetic and clear as it dribbles from the slit of his abused cock.

“Come on,” Kevin tries again. He just needs Nico to play along so that Kevin can put him on all fours, replace the memories of Nico’s mouth with the sight of his cock disappearing in Nico’s ass. “You know what to say.”

The next sound out of Nico is an undisputable sob, making his stomach move violently. Kevin shushes him gently, other hand moving up and down his side, until Nico says, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m- yours.”

“Mine,” Kevin affirms proudly.

Nico nods shakily. Stutters out, “Yours.”

Just to hear it again, Kevin says, “Mine. Good boy,” low and drawn out.

Nico gasps, and Kevin wouldn’t be able to tell if from the praise or because Kevin has finally moved his hand further to wrap around the base of Nico’s cock.

For a moment he lets them stay like that, stroking Nico once, twice while his head sags forward, crying quietly.

Then he manoeuvres them backwards on the bed. All the way until he has to consider if he unties Nico’s hands, if he actually puts him on all fours. But, Kevin thinks, Nico deserves this. Deserves it as Kevin pushes him forward until he’s on his chest, ass in the air. It’s degrading. It’s possessive. It’s a punishment.

Nico’s hole is red and puckered when Kevin spreads his cheeks. There is the glint of the sparkling stone at the end of the plug Kevin eased into Nico earlier, after he’d made him ride a dildo in front of the mirror for Kevin’s amusement. At some point Kevin got the impression that Nico was more ashamed about the fact that both the plug and dildo were pink than anything else going on.

It does leave Nico perfectly prepped already, moaning into the cushion below while his hole clenches around nothing. Kevin’s grip on Nico’s hips is tight, strong, familiar when he begins pushing in.

And Nico is easy. He’s slick and wet, thighs trembling and fucked out of his mind. Maybe Kevin calls him a cheap whore for being so loose that Kevin can bottom out without much resistance. Maybe Nico agrees to it in his feverish pleasure delirium.

Kevin doesn’t feel the need to go slow, not anymore. Not after an entire day of foreplay-turned-just-play. The snap of his hips is rough against Nico’s ass, enough to make an obscene sound like taken from a shitty porno.

Before either of them can get ahead of themselves Kevin lifts Nico up again. He’s obviously heavy, requires Kevin to use all of his arms and back when he still has his dick buried in Nico’s ass.

It’s worth it, what with Kevin’s arm spread in front of Nico’s chest to keep him upright and the view it gives them both in the mirror. Kevin can see Nico fight for it. His head is too heavy, leaning back against Kevin’s collarbone before he realizes what he’s missing—why Kevin is going through all this effort in the first place.

And Nico is a sight. Lips wet with his own spit, eyes glassed over and red from crying. The morning stubble he didn’t get to shave because Kevin was too quick, too reckless, not letting Nico go anywhere without doing this before.

“There you are,” Kevin coos quietly, and it wrings the last orgasm of the day out of Nico. The sounds of pain it comes with pushes Kevin over the edge, next, and then they just take some time to breathe, watching the proof of Kevin’s possession play out in the mirror.

[thestarlitmidnight]

🌙A Court Beneath the Silent Nightsky🌙

Summary: Kaela, survivor of the massacre on one of the temples by Hybern. After being the sole survivor, she falls into silence, refusing to speak to anyone. She is lost in haze of overwhelming grief and depression, which rendered her unable to function properly anymore. She is send into the library in Velaris, the safe sanctuary for the survivors as her high priestess can no longer to bare the sight of her suffering in her temple. Kaela is accompanied by ever present Morrigan, who took it as her mission to break this brooding strike of hers. Since the first night spend at the library, she meets bewitching stranger with violet eyes that steals souls with mere look into them, who seems to be ever lasting presence ever since their first encounter, seeming as broken as she feels. Will they be able to be source of strength for each other? Will they overcome the endless dances with theirs demons and be finally happy? Fandom: ACOTAr Pairing: RhysandXFemOC Warnings: This story is dealing with themes of depression, PTSD and heavy subjects like those, please, if you are easily triggered, better to skip this one. Word Count: 13 013 Chapters: 7 Master List

Chapter Four

Another three nights I refused to return to my room to sleep there. The only thing I did was to wash myself, change my clothes and then go back into the open space of the library. 

It was a nightmare to try and get away from Morrigan, who seemed to set accompanying me as her personal goal. No other priestess I saw there was not assaulted by her bubbly personality, not forced to listen to endless talks about anything that crossed her mind. She just always seemed to know where I'm. No matter where I hide, she will pop up and start to speak about another wonderful thing that happened, probably hoping that hearing about positive things would cheer me up.

She came armed with an array of snacks, which she pushed into my pockets of the dress that were packed for me from the temple. Not a priestess uniform, no, just normal dresses, if the gesture said anything, then it was that I was no longer considered as a priestess in waiting or part of the temple. 

It was a smart way how to get rid of me, I will let the high priestess have that. 

I managed to climb to the eighth floor, where I noticed a familiar person sitting by one of the tables, his brows frown over a pile of papers, cold looking tea in front of him. 

After these three days of running away from Morrigan's bright aura, this was a nice change. It felt like her own mood. 

Perhaps it was just that what made me sit down on the opposite side of the table and open the book about mathematics, taking out my notes where I made the calculations which were written inside the book. 

He seemed to notice after a little while and as he raised his violet eyes, they gained a little bit of life back and soon were covered in amusement when he noticed what I was reading.

"I see you managed to find a proper challenge after all," he said with that deep, warm voice, resting his back on the plush sofa, forgetting about the papers in front of him. 

I simply nodded and went to solve another ridiculously difficult mathematical problem, which seemed to be endless, but was soon interrupted by the male's voice again.

"This can last anywhere from a few days to few weeks, depends how quickly you will get the hang of it, then I would recommend astronomy as the next subject to entertain your mind with," the way he eyes my book was the one of recognition, it might have been source of distraction even for him. 

Let's hope that it will last me weeks then. 

"How is your stay here so far? Mor said you didn't choose to interact with anyone yet," his violet eyes traveled from my book to my face, where our eyes met and I felt the strange sensation nestled around my heart all over again. 

I struggled with my shoulders in reply and rolled my eyes.

'Technically I'm interacting with you.'

I thought and went back to solving the mathematics problem written over three papers already and I was not even in the middle of it.

"You know, there is this fine paper and pencil in that hand of yours, if you would want to send me or Mor into specific places for annoying you, you can simply write that down and push the paper to us," he concluded, watching the notebook I was holding with my hand as if it was a lifeline.

I raised my eyebrows at his suggestion and thought for a solid moment to simply send him to hell and walk away. Who was he to think I even want to talk with him? Or to Mor? What does he think, that he is so special that I will break my silence and communicate with him? 

He watched me with amusement all over his handsome face, a smirk on his full lips. That irritated me greatly. I'm not a source of entertainment for anyone, especially not for this cocky prick. 

"Pardon me Kaela darling, for the forward thinking, seeing you roll those pretty eyes and move your above all graceful shoulders to communicate with me, it made me believe that I shall stand the chance in being granted the honor of your mind," he mused, enjoying each word he said. 

I was not sure what to do now. His gaze was intense even if he masked it with amusement. His words were a clever wordplay, which left me watching him with raised eyebrows, giving him another reaction without wishing to give him some. 

Honor to my mind my ass. If he could see what was happening there, he would be glad to not be graced by it. 

"Anyway, that being said, I'm happy you accepted the offer to join me," he kept talking, reminding me now of Morrigan, who always found reason to open that big mouth of hers. 

This time I schooled my face into a mask of indifference. Even though my mind wondered about the ridiculous meaning of his question. 

His offer was to join him in one of the booths on the third floor, this was eight floor. Clearly not relevant at all to his offer. Thinking about it, why was he there and not on the third floor anyway? Avoiding any unwanted interruptions? Probably and that was something I could respect. 

"I heard that you used to be an active person before these things happened to you? That made me think that maybe you can be interested in joining this little group me and my brothers are forming. We will train the priestesses in self defense, so they don't feel vulnerable. It will be held each morning on top of this library, in the House of Winds," he informed me, forcing quite a reaction out of me. 

My breath hitched in my throat as a large intake of air was needed. What did he say? Group activities? Physical activities? With him and his brothers? Males? Can he be more ridiculous? 

"I can promise you that it will be safe and Mor will be there as well, supervising the whole training if that makes you feel better?" His voice sounded hopeful, those bewitching eyes holding excitement for the possibility for me to agree. 

How can I tell this male, that I can't do much moving around? Me joining this ridiculous group will only end in disappointment for all parties involved. 

I stood up, sighing heavily and I started to walk a few times back and forth, showing this male that I indeed have very much real limp and sometimes moving made me flinch when something in my hip squeezed some nerve, sending pinching, stinging pain through the area. 

"First, that is not a problem, second, I will send a healer to you to check on you, maybe she will be able to relieve you from the pain?" He offered another kind gesture, not looking like he minded it at all, leaving me stare at him with disbelief.

Why was he so kind to me? There was no need for him to be patient with me, understanding and now even offering me this kind of help. What was his motive in this? I had nothing to give for such help. 

"Don't look so stunned, I know I'm a pleasure to look at," he cocked and the grin on his lips only grew larger, forcing me to close my eyes in annoyance at his confidence and pinch the bridge of my nose to breath this out. 

Changing the topic would be the best choice now, so I chose the obvious and pointed to the pile of papers in front of him, raising my eyebrows in question. 

"Those deals with the training plans for the group we are forming, I need to make sure that both my brothers will have free mornings and don't need to attend any duties at the time of training, so far it looks like five in the morning will be the only compromise we will be able to reach," he went easily on, talking about what he was working on. 

His dedication to the thing was charming and the fact that they are willing to wake up so early before a day full of duties just to train a bunch of depressed priestesses, it was admirable. I wish I could have the same determination as him. He mentioned that there was a dark past behind him as well, saying he was in the library for the same reason she was. If he could overcome his own traumas and get passionate about new things, then it can be used as inspiration for us, who still struggle. 

I don't know if it was so clearly written over my face, but his next words were said with a gentle voice, clouded by the reminding demons of his own suffering.

"It never goes away. It lingers inside you and it is trying to eat you alive. There are two types of people when it comes to handling our demons. There are the ones, who let the past break them, reduce them into the shell of a person they used to be, they let the past consume them and eventually take them over the point of return. Then there are the ones, who feel through the pain, acknowledge it and then take reign over the ever looming demons, bonding them onto tight leash. You need to learn how to handle those demons, Kaela darling, and perhaps, having some physical activity where you will be able to ventilate the pain out of your system, it could help you," he kept his eyes glued onto mine, a strange vulnerability freely displayed there. 

I was unable to keep my eyes away from his. His words burned deep inside my brain. I never was the one to give up. So what happened to me to became the first kind of person he mentioned? I used to be the second kind of person, fighting and keeping my fear on a tight leash to never take the wheel of my life. 

Yet here I was. Resigned and unable to even fucking wish to see the next day. And damn I was completely alright with that. It was all alright, the pain, the resignation. I was alright. 

Till he let the mask drop and instead of a confident, cocky male there is suddenly someone so similar to myself. What happened to him? How long did it last? How did he overcome it? Or how did he find the strength to fight to keep going? Was he responsible for other's deaths as well? Was he feeling the responsibility for all that happened? Would he understand? 

My mouth opened and closed, almost willing to speak, to ask for guidance, for any kind of advice from this soul, which seemed as broken in those open eyes as my own was. 

Instead of speaking, I was frozen, staring at him as if the mere presence of his existence lit up my world suddenly, giving it some hope. Hope that I might one day find the strength and courage to put on a mask just as he did and go on with my life. 

No more witnessing it from far away, safe distance, no, his presence was shining with promise that I can live and breathe without feeling suffocating. 

"There you are! Sneaky little thing, isn't she?" Mor sat down, joining our table, bringing me back to present time, waking me from the sudden feeling of glims of clarity. 

The vulnerability in his face was gone right the second she showed up, putting back his mask and suddenly I understood him. He was a survivor, just like I was, hiding there in hope of solitude, safety and understanding. Hoping for some rare moments of not being chased by the demons of the past. 

I blinked my own astonishment away, not displaying for the blonde female any false hopes of my improvement. Then she would wish for me to speak with her and that would be just another round of torture. I was sure of that. The thought of speaking was forcing acid from my stomach up.

"We will see how sneaky she can get in the first morning training of the priestesses," he flashed a flawless smile and it took a lot of my concentration to not chuckle. 

He was witty. Just a slight sign of change of heart towards the situation and he immediately took it, not wasting even a second there. 

"Don't you say that she agreed!" She squirted with excitement and then turned to me and in the same high pitched voice exclaimed once again. "You agreed?" 

I agreed? 

The same question popped inside my mind and I swear that the handsome male chuckled as if he heard it. 

"Oh I'm so proud of you!" She hit the table a few times, her bright smile was so sincere, that my heart almost broke from it. 

My own smiles used to be this way. Bright and carefree. Freely given to anyone just to light up their day. These days my smile is nowhere to be seen.

"I'm taking her under my wings there," he added as if it was the most natural thing, winking at me. 

"Why I am not surprised," she laughed and clapped with her hands. "It's in three days, you should practice climbing those stairs to build some stamina," she said with a mischievous smile, but there was a hint of sincerity in her advice. 

Well she noticed a few of my many unsuccessful attempts to climb the stairs in search of good books. She was always watching, as a hawk, keeping track of my movements and where I stayed. As if left unsupervised, I might throw myself off the upper floors down into the black pit to spare myself another day of her bitching about everything unimportant. 

I rolled my eyes at her words and collected my book, wishing for some space to think how badly this day turned out and come to terms that I find myself signed up to some training program of self defense. What a mess. 

"It was a pleasure to be in your company again Kaela darling," the male offered me another warm smile, the one he seemed to be giving to me so naturally and freely. The smile that reached his beautiful eyes. Smile which forced will into my mind to face another dance with my demons, knowing he will dance with his own and both of us will come back victorious, having another one sided conversation, but enjoying it anyway. 

So I offered him the slightest of smiles, as a thank you for the patience, for the willingness to help, the bravery of sharing his own unmasked suffering, the fact he was there and was winning his own fights, proving to me that maybe someday indeed I might win my own. 

The smile seemed to please him, because that warm embrace of his presence seemed to intensify, filling the space around us with strangely comforting darkness that lingered around me all the way back to my own battlefield, my room and didn't leave.

Chapter Five

[herotome]

Finally-official-devlog #112

Also known as FOD112 hi-ho, Wudge here.

Gosh there's just. So much. I'm actually drafting this devlog a few days early so that I'm not suddenly overwhelmed on devlog Tuesday again. But without further ado-

This is the big cheese right here -- each character has their own layer, each character's clothes and expressions have their own layers, and there's a separate layer for the soft orange lighting on top of it all. 😭

On that note, here's most of the individual image files that create the CG with their powers (and my code) combined:

And since this is a cropped version of a BIGGER CG (featuring ALL the love interests sitting together), I had to tinker with the position code a great deal to properly feature these three goons Of course it was worth it of course twas merely at the cost of all my energy and sanity at the prospect of eventually possibly also adding in blinks and expression changes--

Mad props as usual to the sweetwonderfulamazing Remnantation who first completed this CG -checks watch- sometime last year! With some additional edits by me since then~

And, did you happen to notice something new in the lower right?

Tadah... a brand new click-to-continue icon animation! I made (mostly) all by myself! The lil sparkle burst is free from production crate, but I drew the star and added the rotation code... ... Honestly, the hardest and most time-consuming part of this was finalizing the design. Originally I was gonna make it rotate 45 degrees, flip, rotate 45 more degrees, flip, etc-- and messed with that concept for several hours before scrapping it for a simpler, more graceful idea. :| Part of the process, I gots to tell myself, part of the process...

Next up is Jade's powers, as you may have seen in the preview last week. Much like the CTC animation, I did a lot of research on other ideas - various glowing VFX like vertical veins across the cheeks and smoky rising from the eyes, as well as a bigger low opacity character zoom effect - before settling on something simple. Jade's power usage here is... pretty mild in context, and I figure I can always store the more dramatic animations for later in the story.

Here's a still of the effect btw:

Her eyes look like headlights lmaooo. Honk honk!

Do I have more to update with? Believe it or not, yes.

I made some icons, which took a fair amount of trial and error: on the left you'll see an earlier draft, on the right are my more final redesigns from the same day(...night. midnight. I worked on these until midnight).

I had to look up some guidelines because most of my previous icons did NOT look good or legible when sized down to 50x50 pixels. What I learned was, tadah, I had to draw with an unprecedented line width of 200 pixels! (For non-artists: I typically draw with a pen width of 12 pixels at most).

I also studied the icon styles of Persona 5, which saved me a lot of time - they had a cool stylistic choice of diagonally tilted color blocks and thick black outlines.

Here's yet another gif of icons in action...

Did you see them? Did you?? For a split second, in the upper right.... Still gotta adjust some of the text overlap, don't look at that.

Oh and the "How to play" page is brand new. I coded it from scratch... That also took all night...

... Oh. Oh. And remember your MC's phone?

This old thing? Yeah. Visual upgrade:

Also rendered and colored in by Rem <3 Where would I be without them...!

The text, though, can be updated in code!!!! I spliced the phone into layers, with the screen on top and code-generated text just below it, so I can update the caller ID at any point in-game without making any new images.

Took a little while to get it to work... honestly it doesn't look 100% centered... but it's fine. This is fine...

And then... more code. After much tears, blood and strife, I got a musical crossfade to work. It shouldn't have been challenging but it was a nightmare -- when calling the crossfade the second track would either not play at all or its volume wouldn't change and I was starting to develop a preference for eating gravel. But I persisted, found a much simpler code that actually works. After the tearsbloodstrife.

And...... lastly... I simplified this big block of code:

vbox: pos (269, 76) add "sprites/MC/mc[mc_number].png" hbox: if mc_number ==1: text "DEFAULT" style "MC_label_text" elif mc_number ==2: text "LAVENDER" style "MC_label_text" elif mc_number ==3: text "PETUNIA" style "MC_label_text" elif mc_number ==4: text "SUNFLOWER" style "MC_label_text" else: text "TBD" style "MC_label_text"

...(not properly indented bc tumblr is mean 2 me)...

down to these lines, to make my future life easier:

default PrintMC = ["Default", "Lavender", "Petunia", "Sunflower", ""]

text PrintMC[mc_number] style "MC_label_text"

Two!!! lines!!!!!

🎊

Instead of typing out additional if/else lines, I only need to add new names to the PrintMC list. Won't really affect the player at all, but it's a HUGE quality of life update for me!

...Anyway that's it, thank you for checking in. <3

Stay safe and keep warm,

Wudge.

PS screw it I'm gonna queue post this early.

PPS have you listened to our composer's new single yet? No?!?!?!

Every click, every listen helps, and every song of his is a BOP that deserves recognition!

ok that's all for real now xoxoxo,

wudge (again)

[arwainian]

Reading This Week 2025 #1

Happy New Year! And so I welcome the first full year in my life that I will not be a student for part of it. This feels very strange. There will be no one setting my reading list for me at all I have complete and total freedom! A bit terrifying. I want to stay committed to continuing to reading theory and literary analysis beyond university, but doing it entirely on my own and with no set schedule or deadlines like a looming thesis is going to be a challenge. Besides that, my reading goals for the year are to read more indie and self-pub, and to maybe set up a proper non-tumblr blog to share long form writing on the books I read, and other stuff for public viewing. we shall see what I come up with and what methods I pick for setting up a website. okay, NOW i'll tell you about what I've read

Finished:

The Night Guest by Taylor Titmouse This was technically read at the very end of last year but it was still during the week I'm covering. I treated myself to a bundle of Taylor Titmouse's erotica and romance works right at the end of the year and will be slowly working through them when I want to read some fantasy erotica. the night guest was pretty fun though I think I genuinely hated the oni guy in it for most of the time. SO irritating in possibly every way. I am glad that the innkeeper milf had fun with him though

Unpainted by Dani Finn I also will be taking a dive into Dani Finn's work, thanks to a nice holiday bundle that got me most (or maybe all?) of their current work. I think this wasn't the best book of theirs for me to start with tho, because I might have felt a bit less lost and a bit more engaged if I started with a different book from this setting. ah well, it was still a mostly pleasant experience even if I have a few structural gripes

Assassin's Fate by Robin Hobb, audiobook narrated by Elliot Hill at long last.... I have read all of the mainline Realm of the Elderlings books. my reaction to this book took up a full page in my reading journal. i will condense it here for brevity. 1) I love Bee with every ounce of my heart which at times made this book very difficult to read. she is the specialest little girl in the world and has suffered more than Jesus Christ himself. I think she should get to kill anyone she wants forever and no one gets to scold her for anything ever. 2) the journey to Clerres was excrutiating, as it could be labelled Fitz's transmisogyny arc. his hatred toward Amber specifically as a way for him to process his hurt feelings and distrust of Beloved was such a nightmare to get through. 3) the ensemble cast in this book is excellent. Love Ash/Spark, Lant, Per, Motley, getting to see the cast of the bingtown and rain wilds books again! all really well rendered, wonderful characters. 4) oh I LOVE the way prophesy and foresight work in ROTE through dreams. prilkop's hand on bee's foot, explaining how he knew the flame in his dream was her.... that nothing happens to her she happens to the world!! fuck yeah

North Continent Ribbon by Ursula Whitcher What a luck find at the library! I had been considering buying it when I fortuitously ran across it in my library's new purchases section. I think my favorite stories are the final two in the book where the Fishercats and the worldbuilding around engines are properly built out. it made the whole setting snap into focus for me. I like the way it approaches questions of what happens if we let AI/computers make decisions that affect peoples lives, what happens when someone gets hurt, who do we blame it on? this setting answers that all along there are exploited people behind those computers, who might be held to account but those at real fault who created the unjust and exploitative system will hide happily behind those disposable lives

[skylitcreations]

I miss when I felt like I could put my all into my own personal art. Nowadays, I only really post quick sketches cuz if I put more effort into it, I'll feel guilty that I'm not putting that effort towards commissions. I only make warm-ups for myself and then dedicate all my proper rendering to stuff I've been paid to make. The worst part is I know, I KNOW, I have the capability to make art just as good as many people I admire who create absolutely gorgeous pieces. But I don't have the time to do that, and when I get to my normal quality with a comm, I just want to be done with it so I don't take it further. I need to get caught up on comms just so I can start properly challenging myself again and getting better with my work. I feel like I've stagnated because of this predicament. I want to study and improve again, but I can't convince myself to dedicate the time to it because 'if you can draw, you should be working on what you were paid to work on.'

The fact my tablet keeps messing up my pen strokes to make everything take twice as long makes it even worse.

[sukaitsuriarchive]

RAIDOU remaster livetweet thread (1/?)

choosing to suffer like a true megatenist

~

around 2017~2018 I played the first two episodes of the original with my poor PS2 then proceeding to irreversibly break so for quite a while my gameplay on Raidou stayed in limbo. i was PRETTY close to just give up and go for emulation but then the remaster appeared as the second chance to properly experience it just like with Nocturne's

~

i don't have a fully cemented opinion on the saturated graphics since i think the muddy ps2 palette was charming on its own (and there are valid reasons to prefer it) but at the same time we can all agree that the remaster's graphics are comfortably easier for discerning things on a gameplay aspect and well, the remaster also added lots of new renders (and very beautifully made) for the menu and other features so while i absolutely don't think the old should be called 'outdated', there are plenty of unique things to be satisfied with the remaster on a visual aspect

~

BUT ANYWAY LMAO once again our current generation has absolutely the most dull naming menus of the entire gaming timeline

SWITCH KEYBOARD JUMPSCARE

~

so the thing abt raidou is that he doesn't have an official last name so it's up to us to decide (stop making me come up with random shit!!! think about players that only care about canon!!!).

now that i think about it, i should've just done what i did in the ps2 screenshot above and simply "censored" it. i should do this more often

~

THE COMBAT SYSTEM GOT IMPROVED SOOOO MUCH.... they also included new dialogues and exclusive lore notes

to only call this a remaster feels like a disservice.... it's much more than what the nocturne remaster had

~

cute... the game already has a great amount of good fanart but reading how much background info they added to the characters make me wanna doodle something

~

by the way the lore notes are absolutely MASSIVE in raidou like, to the point the smtiva ones feel like child's play. you feel like you're reading the compilation of several decades of writing work from the franchise

when the game has lore

~

oh yeah you can also tell from very early on that they rewrote some of the "risky dialogue" by npcs (which became pretty much a given in rereleases). makes me wanna play the PS2 version alongside it for comparisons but i don't wanna ruin the flow so i'll leave it for later

from my head, the ones they dilutated are essentially the perverted ones (a school girl that had internal thoughts over being wet for raidou and the old guy that lusted over the highschool girls). to be honest the guy still is a pervert (he just words it in a less direct way) while the girl's personality actually became innocent which is a shame

~

adamastor was meowing outside of my door for quite a while because i kept mixing him up with the stray cat npcs of the game

he's in

~

wowie they don't fuck around with the hard difficulty, it's pretty enjoyable that i get to beat the bosses in a challenging way while actually knowing what i'm doing compared to my ps2 raidou accidentally using the gun every 3 seconds like a dojikko and somehow winning

that being said, in the remaster i got killed a gazillion times in the gashadokuro battle (that big skeleton) because i couldn't for the life of me understand how to use safeguarding, like the tutorial just showed the symbol of the L directional but didn't specify you needed to /push/ it (or at least that's how it worked for me), it's hilarious how even with this huge amount of improvement and help for the players i still find myself being an absolute dimwit

~

a big appeal behind raidou's dynamic with demifiend relied on the clash between two boys of different time periods but now i get this more nuanced perspective of raidou being essentially a country kid that stayed isolated in a village his whole life training to be a summoner to the extent that even after being sent to tokyo he's stuck on carrying vigilant duties for the kuzunoha clan so in theory he'd feel alienated with people of his age even in his own era

on that note, i don't think "alienated" equals to "uwu shy boy" considering he's at the same time depicted as someone that often smiles and acts with confidence (in many cases as if taunting the viewer given the shadows in his face).

it's fittingly enough the same "smug but awkward but also intimidating" vibe that yasunori kato (the character his design took cues from) gives. if you aren't familiar with him, let's say, it's how you'd describe gk ogata

anyway i looove these lore notes so much, they literally reduced my anxiety over a future remaster of smt4 because it shows how much they care for not only consistency but also for conveying uniquely fun character traits of raidou to the player instead of making us believe a generic "he's whatever you want him to be" is all a silent protagonist can get to be officially. we want BACKGROUNDS!!!!

[like-likes]

I'm still working on my farmhouse. I've wrecked my body with hard work everyday and it's definitely getting cozier as days go by.

I've never spent money like this in my entire life on upgrades. I've been saving it up just for this I guess.

We've had demos and insulation people and plasterers come finish the worst rooms and now my main job lately has been winterizing old 100+ year old windows to keep the drafts out.

I have so many questions. How did the people who lived here before us never really address these windows? Now that it's in my attention I've had to engineer and macgyver various ways to do my best to make the windows stronger, but many are in really rough shape!

I've been using mostly packing materials from all those deliveries we all get when we order online. Foams just shoved in cracks with a putty knife. If it works, it works and it doesn't look ugly.

Dad always put this awful rope caulking over the cracks and plastic wrapped the entire window sealing up the deepset windows sills I love to use.

I'm plastic wrapping the top and bottom panels of the windows separately so the window sill can still be used.

Each window is a little different and has its own set of challenges I have to figure out. I learn something new almost every time and have evolved the process as I go. There are appx 20 or so windows in this house and I'm almost done with the first floor.

If I could go back in time to the days I lived here and my dad was alive, I would have helped my dad do this properly. I just didn't know better and I don't have a time machine.

I'm so exhausted by the time I settle down, All I want to do is relax, do something fun and creative before sleeping and starting up again the next day.

I've been playing with Ai art renders with Capcut and the character Kosmos from Xenosaga in my downtime. We can't get a remaster of the game series anytime soon anyway, so i'm just doing this to kinda scratch an itch and play around with what it is capable of.

I really wanted to share some of the art online with people. It keeps evolving everyday and surprises me whith what it creates. But I know there's a stigma about AI art and artists which is understandable.

Kosmos is a such great model for testing, though. And I'm aware I'm just a hack artist at best with a broken down body and a vision but no time or energy anymore to put in the time and effort to create art myself.

Anyway. I'll keep thinking about how I want to share the art peices I've made while I continue to make more each morning and night.

Thanks for reading the ramble.

Take care 💖

[abigailbozarthart]

This thing's finally done! I've mostly been doing quick artistic pieces lately and wanted to push myself with something intensive and challenging again. So here's a Rennaissance style wall painting of my character Peregrine that exists in a closet under a cloth on his family's estate somewhere of him after graduating from a naval education program ready to join the military when he was younger. Influenced by Dutch Masters and those classic noble and Revolutionary War era portraits. Much less colorful than my normal style, and I stayed fairly precise instead of wild. Lots of rendering. Rare that I paint indoor scenes atmospherically. There's a few things I see room for improvement on- the hand doesn't look like it's really resting on the globe properly, the attachment of his goatee to his chin and lower lip, the anatomy of his hand on the fancy schmancy cane...but overall I'm very pleased with the composition and colors. Probably open for comissions in this style if anyone wants, DM me for details if you're interested.

Alt: A somewhat short and stocky blond man with a goatee, one hand on a cane, the other on a globe, staring intesely to the right into the distance in a moodily lit brown room. In the background are a small flame chandalier, a passage to a hallways with a flower bouquet on a table in a blue vase by a painting, and a large bookcase with many tomes, an animal skull, a glass, a ship in a bottle, and a model ship with orange fan sails. The table with the globe is covered in a white draping cloth and also carries a pot of ink, a velu or parchment weighted down by a stone, a sextant, a pocket telescope, a stamp for wax seals, and a compass. The nobleman is dressed in fine brown clothes with white gray ruffles and a blue sash. He wears a gold medallion on a red ribbon around his neck, and his brows are furrowed.

[mi5017tomberry]

Animatic and Planning

When I started to work on this final project I knew that I wanted to try and push the brief. I wanted to make something which would challenge my technical animation skills with an end result that was a little more engaging for me than some of my other plans like a baby failing to walk. The link above perfectly encapsulates why I decided to use a flour sack rig for this project, but it also provided the flexibility to attempt more complex movement due to the simplicity of the rig. I have a tendency to overcomplicate the brief which won't happen again once I have finished this assignment because I understand now that keeping things simple and doing things quickly rather than in excess will provide better results because there is more time to tweak and grow if I'm not setting myself a herculean task which can't be properly achieved which I can see in the final assignment of each module.

Storyboard 1 - I made this one to get a sense of some of the timings of the project but I knew that I would have to build my assault course before I could start animating.

This is the final assault course and what it looked like at different stages, I will add some colour to the course so the whole project looks a little less bleak but I'm really happy with the model. I can now go ahead and figure out the timings of everything by rendering a few frames of the sack in the assault course to make an improved storyboard.

I used the stuff above to figure out the layout and obstacles of each course.

[theblueskyphoenix]

Finally this guy appears. 

Dear GERSH it took me awhile to get this design right. I did an initial design back in November of last year that I was... eh... about. Mainly it didn’t feel creepy enough. So I let it sit for a bit and focus on some of the other characters. Finally came back to it today after having a dream and seeing this version of him. 

So, Storm and I sat down, watched some episodes and I sketched while watching. (Fun fact I am still making my way through the series properly. XD I’m in season 3 and having a good time.) And so... we get all this. 

I basically broke Skeleton King into pieces to try and improve the original design I had. Started with his head, then worked towards everything else. Cause truth be told the hardest thing for me to nail down was his head. Mainly in that... I had to allow myself to break way from giving him a realistic skull. Odd thing to say but this is due to the fact of doing things in my style rather than doing as the show did. The show stylized his skull in a way that made sense. I can’t get away with it as well in my style. So hence I had to think of something. The solution being allowing myself to warp his skull into something monster like due to what happened to him. So skull was stretched out, jaw is detached and he has his sharp teeth. Very happy with this skull over the realistic one. Again, I know, odd to say but I really wanted to keep the essence of what it was like in the show since I do like the design. Just a matter of translating. And with the realistic one I just didn’t think he was scary enough. He’s supposed to be the stuff of nightmares for Chiro. This realistic skull wasn’t it. This one? Absolutely. 

Then as for the rest of of him, the body was honestly the easiest part since what I had done initially I was already okay with. Just made minor tweaks like simplifying how much bone we see, how much bone he has, and modifying his outfit, Like giving him full on pants since admittedly, have his leg bones showing came off as a bit goofy to me. Same with the claw feet. Just seemed to silly so he gets full on boots. 

Last piece was his staff and I just decided to redesign the whole thing from the ground up. Kept elements of his canon one but wanted more power to exude from it. 

After all that, we then get the concept art render at the beginning of the post. Where we see his cloak as well and all the pieces put together. 

Tough challenge, but very happy with the end results. I look forward to doing full renders of this guy in the future. 

And yeah. Hope you all enjoy my take on The Skeleton King. 

Catch ya on the next one.

[archies-litterbox]

Home

Summary: Some times when Douxie called the castle his home, and one time Merlin realized his son saw the castle as his home whether he was ready to process that or not (and he wasn’t).

Words: 2000

A/N: I got this done! I actually challenged myself by making sure each little segment of the fic was EXACTLY 500 words, and I had a lot of fun! hope you like it <3

[CW: Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Nightmares (there’s way more softness in this than the CW makes it look I swear-)]

--

The typical chatter of the marketplace was overshadowed by Hisirdoux’s skipping steps, and those were overshadowed by the moppet humming a little tune to himself that Merlin couldn’t make sense of. It was one of many things about the little apprentice that didn’t exactly make sense, but when Merlin brought the boy along to finish an errand, what he truly dreaded was that the boy would be insufferable and get distracted at every turn. So, really, endearing -

- “Endearing to who?” Merlin asked in response to his own internal monologue, because the humming from the boy, a sure sign that his apprentice was content at the very least, was most certainly not endearing to him -

- So, really, definitely-not-endearing humming of silly, nonsensical tunes was a more-than-adequate alternative to that insufferability and distraction, Merlin was sure.

“Getting that potion ingredient was easier than I thought!” Hisirdoux said happily, the spring in his step ever-present, “The merchant wasn’t even cross with me, like usual - like when I come here by myself.”

“Have you considered,” Merlin started, “That she’d been cross because of your notorious slight-of-hand? And your pickpocketing and street tricks has rendered her wary of your possible antics?”

Hisirdoux shrugged, rubbed the back of his head in obvious sheepishness, and turned his gaze elsewhere, “Mayyyybe-”

His face lit up in excitement, his eyes widening as his mouth formed an “O” shape when he saw something off to the street’s side.

“Ooooh! Look!” He turned a little to the side, bringing his hands up as he started to wander to a stand selling some sweet treats, “They’re selling-”

Merlin put a hand on his shoulder to still the boy, who was already a handful without the added hyperactivity of sugar.

“Nothing of importance, Hisirdoux.”

He turned the boy forward again, put his hand on top of Hisirdoux’s head, and turned it forward again as well.

“Awwwh.” Hisirdoux whined.

“We have what we came down here for, and Wizards are many things, but they are not frivolous.” he said as he kept walking, a slightly-pouting moppet walking alongside him, “We’re heading straight back to the castle. There are better pastry bakers there, anyway.”

Hisirdoux’s disappointed pout left his face.

“Right, right.” he said, as if he were reminded of how happy he was just to be out here, on what he probably thought of as a beautiful day, although Merlin was rather impartial to the sunny weather.

 “Let’s go home, Master!”

...Home?

Did he mean the castle?

Though he kept moving physically, putting one armor-plated foot in front of the other, Merlin’s mind froze as he looked down at the joyful, beaming moppet. To hear Hisirdoux refer to the castle as his home… 

Well, Merlin knew he should have expected it at this point, considering the boy’s utter lack of a permanent roof over his head before, but he still didn’t know what to make of it, if there was anything to make of it.

So, he sighed.

“The castle isn’t that far away.”

--

The dark circles under the boy’s eyes looked darker in hue than usual today, but of course, that was only due to the contrast against the unusual paleness of his face. Said eyes looked up at Merlin with a rather lacking amount of cognizance as the Master Wizard stood over the moppet. Stripped of his bulky leather hooded vest in favor of keeping on only his trousers and tunic, so he didn’t overheat, Hisirdoux’s deep breaths through his mouth were only interrupted by a brief, pitiful sniffle of his nose.

“Mathter, ‘th thith… plague?” He was hoarse from coughing and nasally from his awful congestion. To this, Merlin only huffed - of course, leave it to his ever-dramatic apprentice to leap to the most dire conclusion possible, even though he couldn’t even rightly walk down to the throne room in this state.

“Not unless a rather nasty cold has become the new plague of Camelot.” he answered, “you should have come back sooner from your last errand, Hisirdoux, before it started to pour.”

Hisirdoux groaned, either out of his achy, miserable condition, or frustration with hearing the old man lecture him, or both.

“I know, I know-”

A wet cough cut him off, making him curl up before he flopped back down on the bed.

“Ugh, ithn’t there thome…” he swallowed, as if to clear his throat of sickly gunk as best he could without another hacking, “I dunno, “thickness begone-iuth” thpell, or thomething?”

“I won’t use magic to alleviate your sickness, if that’s what you’re implying.” Merlin denied, “Although unpleasant, your condition is far from serious, and your symptoms should alleviate in a few days, at the most. If I use magic on something so mere, your natural immune system will weaken, and a dependence on magic to maintain your health is dangerous, so-”

“But Mathter-”

“Don’t “But Mathter” me.”

Hisirdoux sighed, a shaky, ugly-sounding thing, too exhausted to even spare a laugh at how Merlin imitated him.

“Magic ithn’t a permithible shortcut…” he started, but he trailed off and punctuated the statement with another little sniffle.

It seemed, remarkably, Hisirdoux remembered a few of Merlin���s teachings, despite his low-grade fever.

Which reminded him…

The Master Wizard sighed and conjured a cold, damp rag, enchanted to not dry out or get tepid. Making sure it was properly folded, he laid it right onto Hisirdoux’s forehead.

“Oh, ‘th nithe…” he mumbled, “thank you…”

“Your plans for today are postponed, of course.” Merlin declared, “You’re to stay here and rest.”

“But-” Hisirdoux’s eyebrows furrowed, “I wath thupposed to go out and do that… that thing… and get the thing… from the plathe…”

Of course, it must have been harder for the boy to think sensibly and make sense than usual.

“And that will wait until your condition improves.” Merlin finalized, “Am I clear?”

Hisirdoux, resigned, nodded.

“Yeth, Mathter… thtaying home it ith, then.”

Before Merlin had anywhere near enough time to be surprised at that word, “home”, Hisirdoux fell right to sleep.

--

Merlin couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt like this before; when he couldn’t tell if he was more terrified or furious.

But he couldn’t be bothered to try to figure that out - not when, after hours of Hisirdoux being late coming back to the castle, a shoddily-written ransom note made its way to the desk of the Master Wizard’s study.

Thankfully, Hisirdoux’s familiar could trace it by it’s unpleasant scent. Merlin followed Archibald as the cat-dragon followed the scent trail to some disgusting hovel in a forest clearing, with some deplorable men hanging around it’s outside.

When Merlin laid eyes on them... he leveled them with any spells he could remember through his rage at them all; at their audacity.

Of course, it had been some incompetent group of bandits, but only a fool equated incompetency with harmlessness; just because these idiots didn’t know what they were doing didn’t mean that Hisirdoux was safe.

So, he shifted his focus on finding his apprentice, even if he had to reduce every board of this blasted cabin to splinters.

But it didn’t come to that; the second Merlin stepped in, he saw him.

Hisirdoux was curled up in a corner, sitting on his heels with his hands bound behind him, his arms bound steadfast to his torso, and a piece of cloth tied between his teeth. He was unharmed, but terrified.

Hisirdoux’s muffled cry that came out when he saw Merlin shattered the old man’s heart.

He never ran faster in his life.

A small, very precise blast from Archie made the bonds around Hisirdoux’s wrists and torso come loose, and when Merlin got to him, he pulled the cloth gag out as fast as he could without hurting him, letting it lay around his neck.

The instant his arms were fully free and Merlin was close enough, Hisirdoux hugged him, clinging to the Wizard for dear life and crying his heart out against his armored shoulder.

“Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?”

Merlin felt Hisirdoux shake his head. He could tell he was swallowing to try to get some moisture back in his mouth. It had probably been dried out by that blasted gag, and who knew if they’d given him any water?

“No, just-” he gasped, “Scared.”

Those bandits would soon forget the very meaning of mercy.

For now, Merlin focused on rubbing soothing circles against the boy’s back, seeing that his ankles were bound. Merlin didn’t even notice before, and Hisirdoux was so hasty - so desperate for comfort that he didn’t even wait. He didn’t even seem to care.

Archie started cutting them loose.

“I-” Hisirdoux hiccuped, “I wanna go home.”

The shattered remnants of Merlin’s heart melted.

Home.

His son wanted to go home.

He sighed, moving one of his hands to cradle the back of the poor boy’s head, passing his fingers through his un-bunned hair.

“Please,” he whined, “take me home.”

Merlin nodded, the side of his head rubbing Hisirdoux’s.

“Right… right.”

--

It was long past nightfall, and the castle was quiet, so Merlin tried to tread the corridors lightly so his armored feet wouldn’t clank against the floor and wake anyone; the last thing he wanted was for any particular moppetish apprentices to stir.

That boy… he had already gone through so much he hadn’t deserved, and for what? To what end? Merlin presumed that before he’d found him in that alley, he’d been treated poorly for being not only a street rat, but a magical one at that. And now, even though he was the Wizard’s apprentice, that treatment hadn’t truly gone away; no, it only shifted onto new grounds: the grounds that... he was the Wizard’s apprentice. Now, much of the animosity sent his way was truly meant for Merlin; directing it at Hisirdoux merely amplified it. Strengthened the blow.

And that blow was strengthened today.

Merlin remembered the note’s creases under his fingertips as it trembled in his shaking hand; the door creaking open with a shriek in its hinges and showing Merlin his apprentice, bound and gagged and terrified in the corner of that hovel; Hisirdoux wailing against his shoulder; the trembling of his son in his arms. He remembered it all.

“Hisirdoux…”

He passed the sleeping boy’s door… and sensed magic from behind it. Unusual magic for this hour. In the little gap between the door and the floor, he could see the blue glow of his magic, too. Unmistakeable.

“...Hisirdoux?”’

He stopped at the door and pushed it open, only to be met with a fretful sight before him (not nearly as bad as the last time he’d pushed a door open to find Hisirdoux today, but it was rather close.)

The boy was thrashing in his sleep - tossing and turning in his blankets to the point where they’d started to tangle around him, which only made his obviously-nightmare-induced thrashing worse. Magic thrummed from his hands as he fought back against… something, and even Archibald, who had curled up on his abdomen to soothe him to sleep earlier tonight, couldn’t quell his night terror.

Merlin knelt down at the boy’s bedside and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly, “Hisirdoux!”

“N-no! Stop!” he pleaded, thrashing harder to get the hand off him, “Get away! Leave me ALONE! Let me GO!”

Merlin shook him harder.

“HISIRDOUX!” he shouted.

Finally, the boy’s eyes snapped open, and he gasped.

For a moment, he just breathed as lucidity seeped back into him. After realizing he was in the realm of the conscious, he put his hands to the sides of his head.

“Master…” he squeaked, “Where-”

“It’s alright, Hisirdoux. You’re safe.” he assured, “You’re home.”

Honestly, the words just slipped out, for Merlin, shocked by himself, doubted that he would have ever said them otherwise.

And with now-even-wider eyes, Hisirdoux looked just as shocked.

… Well, no good rescinding it now. How could he, really?

“You’re home.”

Hisirdoux nodded, a shaky smile on his face.

“...Home.”

[drferox]

How to Sedate a Werewolf, really.

So you need to sedate a werewolf.

You unlucky bugger. You poor, unfortunate soul. Your single stroke of luck is that you've somehow managed to hide yourself away in a veterinary clinic which means you have at least Buckley's Chance of getting the job done, and Buckley did manage to survive a good 30 years or so.

Why you need to sedate this werewolf is, frankly, your own business. Maybe they are, in daylight, a friend or companion. Perhaps it's for research. Perhaps you'd really prefer to kill the thing but you don't think you can. Or, I suppose, you might secretly be the werewolf trying to prevent yourself from going on a violent spree and just don't want to tell me. It's alright, I wont snitch.

Good choice picking a vet clinic, one facility with a decent chance of having equipment on hand to sedate a large, opinionated canid with an uncertain chance of death. Now, quickly, what options do you have?

I'm going to assume you're in a bit of a hurry and have nearly no medical knowledge, but are capable of reading a label and figuring out how to use a needle and syringe. (Hint: pointy end goes into the patient) Use the biggest needles (probably pink ones) that you can, they inject faster and will penetrate even cow skin so  unless there's the whole 'only silver can damage them' thing going on, should be fine.

Oh, and tranquilisers don't work like in the movies where the animal blinks twice and falls over. It takes multiple minutes, maybe even up to 20, for an animal to feel the effects and they are capable of resisting some, especially when full of adrenaline. Even two minutes wrestling with a recently injected werewolf I would expect to challenge you.

Opioids: Most clinics do, honestly, have opioid medication. However, it's probably locked away quite securely in a safe so you may or may not be able to access it depending on how resourceful you are. In terms of doses for a werewolf, which we assume is at least human sized, just assume "lots."

You can inject opioids just about anywhere and they will work, you don't have to hit a vein (tricky in an opinionated werewolf) but intravenous works faster.

Fentanyl is very fast acting, sedating, but wears off quickly.

Butorphanol is going to slow them down but not knock out on its own, lasts a couple of hours.

Buprenorphine is mildly sedating

Methadone and morphine are decently sedating. Morphine may cause a bunch of nausea too, which may mean the werewolf is less interested in you if it's primary motivation was hunger

Etorphine is really unlikely to be in most veterinary practices. It's colloquially known as 'elephant juice' because it's for knocking out elephants. It's pretty much guaranteed to knock out a werewolf, but no guarantee on keeping it alive. It should always come packaged with the antidote, 'Revivon' aka 'make alive juice' because it is extremely lethal to you, the human. The rule is you draw up the antidote and have it ready to go first before you touch the elephant juice. Now, just how human is this werewolf you're facing?

Acepromazine: Look, it's a super commonly used sedative in veterinary medicine but in a fit adult animal it's going to be little more than an inconvenience. Comes as tablets and an injection but I wouldn't waste your time. More for 'taking the edge off' than outright sedation and an opinionated werewolf has more than just an edge you need to take off.

Medetomedine & Dexmedetomedine: Ah, the good old 'domitor', a favorite for aggressive dogs. It will knock out basically any canine, but the time it takes to do so can vary. Don't be afraid of big doses in a healthy adult (eg the werewolf) because there is a reversing agent if you go too far.

It can be injected, but it can also be administered orally if you can lay bait for the werewolf. Oral is a little slower but potentially safer for you as you don't have to be actually near the werewolf.

Xylazine is very similar to medetomedine, but comes in two concentrations: 20mg/ml or 100mg/mg. Bigger is obviously better in this situation so just go to town. Can also be reversed if required.

Valium and friends: Benzodiazepines are technically sedating, but a healthy adult would need to chow down on a lot  of these to get that effect, and they're quite likely to get the serious munchies before they fall asleep. Now I'm not privy to your scenario, but I would expect giving a werewolf the munchies without sedation is probably counterproductive to your plans so I probably wouldn't bother with these.

Alfaxalone: I've written before about my love for alfaxalone, and that you can pretty much use it on every exotic species in veterinary medicine, and the usual dogs too. Works fastest intravenously, but you can give it into the muscle or just 'into patient' and it will still work, just slower. It does have to be injected though, and it will sting when injected outside of a vein, but you will end up with a properly anaesthetised patient. And if required, you can then 'top up' intravenously when the patient is more compliant. You can even keep them on a constant dose to induce a coma if required so for the long game when everything is under control, alfaxan is your friend. It is shelf stable but you might find it in the fridge. I would expect a large syringe full to adequately knock out even a big werewolf, and if it doesn't quite then it should at least be slowed down.

You can also use the anaesthetic agent propofol this way, though it requires a larger volume.

Ketamine: Ketamine is your friend in an emergency! It can be absorbed every which way - intravenous, intramuscular, by mouth, sprayed onto eyes even - and at low doses will sedate, at high doses with be anaesthetised and maintains the swallowing reflex so the patient probably wont choke and die. It is, however, probably stashed in the safe with the opioids.

But being able to spray it at a snarling face and still have it partially absorbed is potentially very useful if you're in a tight spot.

Phenobarbitone: You know what's often not in the safe, because despite it's potential for abuse it's classified as an S4 and not a drug of addiction in Australia? Phenobarbitone. We use it for seizures but it's main side effect is sedation, and that's what you want today with that werewolf you have to deal with.

There's also often a lot of it on the shelf in pharmacy, because it comes in bottles of 100-200 tablets. You can hide them in food or powder them and if you can bait the werewolf, that's a very viable option to render it nearly unable to move. And it lasts a long time, easily 8 to 12 hours, aka all night.

I said nearly unable to move because even very sedated dogs on phenobarb can act up if you make a lot of noise or movement around their head, so still be cautious or at least give them a blanket. And it will induce hunger, often mega hunger where patients will scream and thrash until they're given something to eat, or start eating their bedding, bandages on their legs, food bowls, etc.

At least with that sort of hunger you have the potential to get them to eat something else...

Pentobarbitone: Don't confuse this with pheno, this is the death juice. It's in a massive bottle and a bright green liquid in Australia, but may be pink or blue overseas.

It's an extremely potent anaesthetic, is kills by overdose, but if you don't quite give a lethal dose you will have a comatose patient. Potentially comatose for days. And a lower dose than that results in a patient who can't walk straight and is at least easier to handle.

You can inject it anywhere into the animal, but it causes a lot of pain if you get it outside the vein because it's so alkaline, and it will cause a lot of tissue damage if the patient survives. But they can also feel the effects from eating it.

And there's a good chance there will be bodies in the freezer of the vet clinic that were euthanised with pentobarbitone, and those bodies are all poisonous if the werewolf should eat them.

"Okay Ferox, but how would you deal with a werewolf coming to get you at the vet clinic?"

Well I probably have access to the safe, so if I can:

convince it to eat as much phenobarbitone or pentobarbitone as I can before it reaches me

Lace more meat/chicken/canned food with medetomedine

Inject with a combination of ketamine, medetomedine and the strongest opioid I have, ideally through a cage door or some barrier.

"And, uh, if hypothetically you were the werewolf trying to keep yourself out of trouble for the evening, asking for a friend?"

Phenobarbitone tablets, medetomedine and ketamine by mouth before turning.

Secure self in stainless steel cage/run

Bait inside with cage with more meat/chicken/food that has more ketamine and medetomedine in it

This hopefully keeps me asleep for 8 hours or so, causes me to wake up with the munchies, eat more laced food indiscriminately and pass out again shortly after escaping the confines

Food laced with pentobarbitone outside of that, if I've not managed to eat myself to sleep by then.

Hypothetically, you know. Since you're asking for a friend.

This topic was chosen and viewed early by my wonderful Patreon supporters. Thank you for your ongoing support.

[lethendralis-paints]

Hey Lethy,

Hopefully this is the last question for awhile. As I learn the basics of drawing people I’m starting to think about art style. I guess I’m having a hard time finding something I want to model(?) mine after. I see multiple art styles I really love. Some more cartoony and others more realistic like yours. But I’ve also been crazy over the art style in Hades. There are too many I really like. But I’m also worried I might not be able to change it if I don’t like it. That probably sounds crazy though.

I guess I’m asking how do you pick.

Thanks again for so much help!

Heya, anonymous friend!

Oooooh, that’s an awesome question and one I’ve been mulling over myself a lot!

Long-winded answer and ramblings are under the cut.

1) Artistic style musings.

After careful consideration, I came to the conclusion I was being held back in my progress for years due to unconsciously imitating anime style of drawing, just by virtue of me watching a lot of it in my formative years and drawing fan art. I never had formal artistic education, so it was up to me to get a grip, kick my own ass and sit down and study the fundamentals properly.

Which is exactly what I’ve been doing in the last couple of years (you can observe the progression if you skim my blog here btw).

A seasoned professional artist told me, without mincing words, that you should first get a firm understanding of fundamentals - perspective, figure drawing drawing from reference, understanding how light works, values and so on, before attempting stylisation, or else, in their own words, you’ll end up on shit street in terms of style. And I tend to agree with this thought, as no amount of flashy stylisation will be able to hide one’s lack of understanding of basic principles of drawing.

One mistake that me and countless other beginner artists made, was focusing too much on polishing a fundamentally flawed drawing in hopes of making it better. And the harsh truth is, no amount of detailing and hours of blending or shading will make up for botched proportions, lack of perspective or unsorted values. :/

So, personally, I don’t worry much about style yet and just focus on learning the basics. As soon as I started to do that, genuine improvement began and my own recognisable style began to from on its own, which I’m proud of. Have you noticed the same happening in your own studies, I wonder?

2) Hades game - I really like that game’s style as well. But if you look closely, this heavy stylised approach is grounded on solid knowledge of anatomy, composition, colour theory and so on. If you try to copy without knowing why the artists working on that game made these particular stylistic choices, you’ll end up with a blander version of their drawings. Keep in mind, that different stylistic choices apply to different themes. What works for comic book hero art is completely useless in, say, portraiture. So sticking to it will inevitably limit your visual vocabulary. So, again, working on studying drawing fundamentals is key to developing a versatile toolset as an artist (sorry for being boring and hammering this point down).

3) Picking a style - for now, if you noticed, I have 2 or 3 stylistic approaches I switch between while working. Heavily stylised, sketchy/cartoony one for when I doodle for fun, like here:

A detailed and clean storybook illustration style, which is my personal comfort zone, as I find it very pleasurable and relaxing to do character design and render all of the small details:

And a painterly style that’s not dependent on line art, but more on capturing forms, proportions and values right and one that challenges me the most:

Hope that was helpful! Do remember that you can always jump into my DM’s or on Discord to talk art more, as it makes me very happy to share what I’m learning!

[verothelilsparkleghost]

Tranquility of the Heart

A Bleach Fanfic

Ichigo Kurosaki & Rukia Kuchiki

Rating T 

Summary:

He wasn’t fond of rainstorms. Rain always found a way to make him sad, almost nostalgic, certainly emotional about the past and that wasn’t a feeling he appreciated. But her presence alone was enough to get him out of his dark thoughts.

Part of the August Writing Challenge for The Seireitei Discord Server. Prompt used: Rainstorm sounds. Also it could fit the prompt "Surprise" and "I love you" of the IchiRuki Month 2020. (That way I can feel I participated somehow xD)

Special thanks to @ariadnekurosaki​ for taking the time to help this fic make some sense, and answering all my silly questions <3 Thank you, Ari. (I wouldn't have finished this without your help).

Also found on AO3 and FF.net 

Ichigo woke up to the sound of pouring rain and thunder. Sleep still clouded his mind. Unconsciously, he turned over on his side and reached out to the other side of the bed, hoping to find the warmth of his significant other. His hand met the cold sheets. He opened his eyes right when a brilliant shock of white briefly illuminated the room, he didn’t see Rukia anywhere.

Soon enough, the lightning was followed by a loud boom of thunder.

He wasn’t fond of rainstorms. Rain always found a way to make him sad, almost nostalgic, certainly emotional about the past and that wasn’t a feeling he appreciated. He turned in bed, facing the ceiling. Another brilliant shock of white light illuminated the room, once again followed by a long rumble of thunder. A shudder passed over him; he couldn’t help the memories flooding his mind. Rainstorms always rendered him powerless, they made him feel like the scared little boy he once was. That scared little boy who couldn’t protect his mom.

But the world doesn’t stop on rainy days.

Shaking the memories away, he sat up on his side of the bed, took a long breath and stood up. Over the sound of rain, he could hear Rukia in the living room. Ichigo crossed the small hallway, and from where he stood, he could see a lit candle on the small table by the main door. Rukia was on her knees searching for something in the closet by the door, where they usually hung their jackets and left their shoes. All the lights were off. He tried switching on the light, but there was no power, probably due to the storm raging outside. His eyes adjusted to the amount of light provided by the candle, and he could see that Rukia was frantically searching for something in the dark and murmuring to herself.

“What are you doing, midget?” Ichigo asked. She was startled by him and hit her head against the closet when she heard his voice.

“Ouch… Idiot, you scared me!” she replied while patting her head. For a second, he was concerned. It looked like she might’ve hit her head hard. Ichigo approached her.

“Are you ok? Does it hurt?” He asked while helping her stand up.

“It’s fine, I thought you were asleep. Did I wake you up?” Rukia lifted her eyes to see his face. Another bolt of lightning flashed, and for a split second she saw his conflicted eyes.

“No. The rain did. Let me check your head.”

“I told you, I’m fine. It wasn’t that hard.” He gave her a look and she sighed and gave in.

“Fine.”

He used his fingers to caress her silky black hair looking for a bump. He didn’t find anything. “I don’t see any bumps.” She scoffed and he kissed the top of her head.

She looked up at him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up.” she whispered. Rukia touched one side of his face with her hand. He leaned into her touch with his eyes closed. She knew he wasn’t fond of the rain and that many bad memories haunted him. Another roll of thunder could be heard in the distance and she pulled him into an embrace. He always felt at peace in her arms. She had always known how to soothe him. Her presence alone was enough to get him out of his dark thoughts. While his head rested where her shoulder met her neck, she caressed his spiky orange hair with her fingers softly.

He kept holding her, listening to the rhythmic pitter-patter of the rain hitting the windows.

“What were you doing in the closet?” he murmured against her neck.

She gasped. “Oh right! The cat!” She let him go and lowered herself to the floor by the closet again.

“The cat? What cat?” He was confused, they didn’t own a cat.

“Come on kitty, I know you’re scared but you can’t stay in there all night” she mumbled. Stretching her arm, Rukia managed to pull the cat out. Ichigo saw her pull out a small ball of orange fur.

Once she was able to finally grab the orange cat, she cradled it against her chest to help calm it down. It was clear the cat feared the lightning and thunder going on outside.

“It’s okay little one, no need to be afraid” she whispered. One of her fingers caressed the cat’s fur behind its ears. But the cat kept mewling. “I woke up because of the rain too, I couldn’t fall asleep again, so I decided to make myself a cup of tea. Then I heard mewing outside! I opened the door to check and I found this little ball of fur hiding from the rain and shaking. I brought her inside and fed her some left-over chicken.”

Ichigo opened his mouth to say something but she continued before he could speak. “No Ichigo, you can’t feed a cat regular milk, but we don’t have cat food, so I googled it and chicken seemed like a good option, at least until tomorrow.”

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

Rukia gave him a look that clearly said I know you’re lying. “As I was saying, I fed her, but then there was a loud boom of thunder and she ran away from me and hid inside your shoes in the closet. I was trying to lure her out when you scared me” she finished explaining.

The cat in her arms kept mewing.

“How do you know it’s a girl?” He was genuinely curious.

“Because she looks like a girl.” Rukia replied, like it was the most obvious answer. The small orange cat was shaking in her arms, and she cooed at it to try and soothe it.

Ichigo scowled. “That’s not a good enough reason. Let me check.” Carefully he took the ball of fur from her small hands. For a moment the cat stopped the meowing and while cradling the cat he managed to check his gender. “Yeah, it’s not a girl. It’s clearly a boy”.

Ichigo placed the cat back into Rukia’s arms. The small ball of fur settled himself against her chest. Rukia grabbed one of Ichigo’s hand and lowered herself to the floor, next to the couch, pulling him down with her. He sat with his back against the wall and guided Rukia to sit in front of him between his legs.

Ichigo wrapped one hand around her waist and reached with the other to softly pet the orange cat. “Huh…I guess he likes you.”

Even though the rain and thunder continued outside, the cat was no longer visibly shaking, and was now purring, clearly content in his new position.

“Of course he likes me, I’m adorable.”

“Are you really, midget?” he snorted.

She could see from the corner of her eye that he was smiling. “Shut up.” She mockingly kicked one of his legs with her foot.

For a moment they sat in silence, with only the pitter-patter of the rain and some flashes of white light as company.

This was where he felt at peace, with her in his arms. Her presence would always soothe him, and she always provided the perfect distraction from his thoughts.

“Oh, he’s asleep.” She whispered so as not to wake the small animal.

Ichigo looked over her shoulder and confirmed that indeed the cat was asleep. He reached with one hand towards the couch and grabbed one of the small cushions. He placed the cushion right next to them and told Rukia to lay him there. She did so very carefully. The cat stirred as if to wake up, but she continued to softly pet him, and it seemed he felt safe enough to be lured back to sleep.

Rukia adjusted her position in order to be more comfortable. She rested the back of her head on Ichigo’s shoulder and stretched her legs without stopping her petting.

Ichigo moved some of her midnight hair away from her shoulder, he softly kissed her where her shoulder met her neck and tightened his hold on her waist. Rukia automatically moved her head to the side to give him and his kisses more room.

This moment lasted for a while, comfortable in each other’s arms. Both of them lost in their thoughts.

When Ichigo met Rukia, back when they were both 16, he knew he'd met his match. He was lost in a cave, with the ghost of his mother and the guilt he felt for what happened haunting him, and without even trying, she became his flashlight.

After several years of friendship, and a few of love, it was only a matter of time until they arrived at this moment. A moment full of serenity and peacefulness, where no words were needed.

And in that moment, a thought crossed Ichigo’s mind.

“Hey Rukia…”

“Hmm?” she moved her head towards him to properly look at him.

He knew he’d regret it if he didn’t ask her to be his right now.

“Marry me.”

She dried the rain; she changed his world for the better.

“What?” She was dumbfounded.

“I said, marry me.” He nonchalantly repeated.

“Oh. I heard you, I just don’t understand.”

He moved away from her.

“Hey, what are you doing? Where are you going?” Now she was confused.

Ichigo got up and quickly crossed the hallway and went inside the bedroom. From where she was, she couldn’t see what he was doing, but she heard the sound of a drawer opening and closing.

Having found what he was looking for, Ichigo walked out of the bedroom with something inside his right hand.

He lowered himself in front of her. His right hand, now in her line of vision, held a small dark blue box. With both hands he pried the small box open, and inside laid the most beautiful ring Rukia had ever seen. Her eyes shifted from the ring, to her lover’s brown eyes, and vice versa. The ring was simple, yet elegant. A diamond solitaire sat on a white gold band. He knew her like the palm of his hand, he knew she wouldn’t want to wear something extravagant.

“Marry me.” he repeated, taking one of her hands into his own, and rubbing it with his thumb. “We were apart for 17 months, and I don’t want to go through that again. That was an empty life and my life is not complete if I don’t have you here with me. Deep down I’ve always known that all I really need is you.” He confessed to her.

For a moment she didn’t know what to say; he’d caught her by surprise. “Are you… are you seriously asking me to marry you?”

He rolled his eyes. Of course she would ask him if he was serious, and ignore the fact he was kneeling in front of her with a ring in his hand.

“I’m very serious, Rukia. I love you. You’ve shown me something I don’t want to live without. Because of you the rain inside me has stopped. Life will make us face many more challenges, but I know I can get over them if you're willing to face them with me.” He was nervous, he wasn’t the type to go around proclaiming feelings. One of the things he loved about being with Rukia was that she could read him like a book. He didn’t need to tell her things; she already knew them. In any case, he was better at showing her. But she deserved to hear what he felt for her too.

She was quiet, her violet eyes never leaving his. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth for a second but no sound came out.

Ichigo was now worried. He let go of her hand and rubbed the back of his neck. It was his signature nervous gesture that he couldn’t seem to let go of. “Midget, if you’re not ready for this I understand… and we can wait. But I just… Ah, I want you to know where I stand.” A frown took place in his face. Seconds passed in silence. And Rukia hadn’t said anything yet.

A defeated sigh escaped his mouth as he slowly lowered the hand that held the ring in front of her.

She grabbed his hand before it reached the floor. “Wait, wait!” she exclaimed. “You took me by surprise.” One of her hands touched his cheek as she moved a bit closer to him. “Yes, you idiot. I’ll marry you”. She leaned in towards him and kissed his lips softly. It took Ichigo a moment to understand what was happening. He heard her say yes, and she was kissing him. He reacted a second later and responded to the kiss. His hand, the one not holding the ring, found its place between her neck and ear, allowing him some control over the kiss. Their lips moved in sync with a bit more force behind it as their tongues met each other in battle. Kissing her was always a thrilling experience. When air became a necessity, they separated from each other, but just a breath away with their foreheads touching. “You said yes,” he whispered against her lips.

“I did,” Rukia affirmed and gave him another small kiss. “After all, no one else will ever hold my heart the way you do,” she murmured against his lips. Ichigo took her left and brought it up to his lips to lay a kiss there before taking out the white gold ring from the box and sliding it on her ring finger.

Ichigo looked up from the ring on her hand to gaze into her violet eyes. There were tears in them. Rukia couldn’t help the rush of emotion going through her, and a single tear escaped one of her eyes. Ichigo reached with his thumb and wiped it away. “Don’t cry midget.”

After her sister died, she felt empty, alone and unwanted. Her relationship with her brother-in-law Byakuya was affected after Hisana died. They both had different ways of dealing with her death, which made them drift away from each other. For a long time, she felt lonely and empty inside. Nothing really mattered anymore. She didn’t want to try and connect with anyone. Rukia felt like she didn’t have anyone to talk to or turn to, that is until she met Ichigo.

Her eyes found his. She tried keeping her voice steady, “I’m so glad I found you.” Rukia leaned in to kiss him again, her lips finding his and expressing her feelings in ways her words couldn’t.

Back when they first met, he had been going through a similar pain, years of accumulated pain and guilt, after what happened to his mother. But Rukia came into his life out of nowhere and fit in right away. Without even trying, she became his light in the dark, tearing down all his walls.

“I’m glad you gave me no other choice but to love you,” he proclaimed before softly kissing her forehead. She let out a chuckle.

“Come, it’s late. Let’s go back to bed.” Ichigo stood up and offered Rukia a hand to help her get up.

She looked down at the ball of fur sleeping in the cushion in the floor next to them. “What are we going to do with the kitty?” she asked him.

“We can’t do anything right now, it’s almost 4 in the morning and the rain hasn’t stopped for even a minute. Let’s wait until the morning and then I guess we can take him to a veterinary clinic to see if someone is out there looking for him.”

She grabbed Ichigo’s hand before he moved away from her and stopped him from taking a step “Can we keep him? If… he doesn’t have a family already, of course.” Rukia asked timidly. She didn’t move her sight from the sleeping cat. On some level, she felt this kitty was in the same situation she was in years ago before she met Ichigo, alone and scared of the world.

Ichigo turned to face her again, looked down at the orange cat, and then back at her, seeing the concerned expression on her face. He didn’t consider himself a cat person, or a dog person, he just wasn’t much of an animal person in general, he didn’t have anything against them, but he never really thought about having one as a pet. However, there isn’t much in this world he wouldn’t do for Rukia, and if giving this small cat a place to live would make her happy, with joy reflected in her deep violet eyes every day, of course he’d do it.

He reached down to take the cushion off the floor carrying the sleeping cat on top. “Yeah, we can keep him.” He walked inside their bedroom and placed the cushion in the corner near their bed, closer to Rukia’s side. Rukia followed him inside after blowing out the candle, and once he placed the cat down, she stood up on her tiptoes and put her arms around his shoulders. His arms instinctively slipped around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

His lips found hers as they met with passion. The deluge going on outside was long forgotten, despite the flashes of light and the sounds of thunder in the distance. Ichigo moved his hands down to her legs and pulled her up, making it easier for him to carry her towards their bed. Laying Rukia on the bed gently and pulling her close, Ichigo kissed her again. His fingers explored her body with a mind of their own as her hands touched his burning skin. His lips traveled down her neck, as Rukia threw her head back and gasped.

“I love you,” he whispered against her flushed skin. Her body arched up towards him wanting to feel him closer.

Her hands intertwined in his hair, and she pulled him up to meet her eyes, “I love you too,” she proclaimed before crashing her lips against his in a bruising kiss.

Later, they held each other close. Ichigo on his back with Rukia resting her head on his chest and listening to his heartbeat. He softly caressed her back with one hand and the other held her own. They were both staring at the ring in her hand. A bolt of white lightning broke the utter darkness in the room for a moment, highlighting their bare skin and the tranquility of the rain tapping on the windows. There was no need to say anything. As they rested together the only sounds heard were their breaths and the rhythmic pitter-patter of the rain outside that slowly lured them into dreamland.

For Ichigo, rain, lightning and thunder used to be terrifying. A reflection of his own turmoil of feelings… but right now lying here with Rukia, breathing in the musky scent and the tranquility of the rain, he didn’t feel frightened. Oh no. He felt happy, and for the first time it was exhilarating.  

Notes:

Well... that was my first ever fanfiction. Hopefully it wasn't a waste of your time xD Thank you for reading :3 Any comments are highly appreciated :)