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pokèmonize yourself!!!!

spin this wheel to see your pokemon type

spin this one to see how you'll look like

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Happy Holidays

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With you

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Grace finally gets to have a conversation with Dauntless, face to face :D

Written/full version of the scene under the cut

***

Grace opened the door and immediately froze. 

Felix was standing across the room from her in front of an open window. He was dressed in dark clothes with boots that reached up just below the knee. In his hands he was holding a helmet with a dark visor. 

He turned when he heard the door, and for a second their eyes met. It was only for a second.

“Wait! Dauntless!” Grace shouted, taking a step forwards before stopping herself. She didn't want to chase him.

Felix froze halfway out the window.

“Please…” she said gently. “Just stay. Talk to me?”

He made no response, but she watched his shoulders droop before taking his foot down from the sill and turning to face her.

Even with all she'd put into schooling herself to read faces, she couldn't quite tell what he was thinking. His face was mostly blank, was it resigned, maybe sad?

He just looked at her, waiting for her to speak.

“I'm not going to tell anyone, I… haven't told anyone. I've known for a while now actually.”

Felix tensed and confusion crossed his face.

“What-” he started. “How did you know?”

“Well, I didn't know,” Grace took another step into the room and reached to close the door behind her back. “But I had a pretty good guess.”

He spoke his next question by furrowing his brow and tilting his head.

Grace gave a short laugh. “You're a terrible liar, Felix.”

He bit his lip and looked down at the floor.

“I just wanted to know, why… why didn't you tell us?” 

She gave him a moment to stare at his feet before adding on, “and tell me the truth- please?”

He turned and leaned his back against the wall with a defeated sigh.

“The truth? I… I'm not sure I even know the true answer myself. I guess… I was afraid.”

He looked down at his gloved hands and awkwardly slipped his fingers together in front of him.

“I don't know exactly what I was afraid *of*, just that I was. I wasn't afraid of you guys-” he rushed to add, unlacing his hands and lifting one up to gesture. “-but I was afraid of what would happen to you guys if we were friends.”

“And that's why you're planning on leaving?”

“How did you know I was-?”

Grace shrugged.

“You really think you can save the world by yourself?” she added, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No, I can't save the world. I’m just a mechanic wearing a bicycle helmet!”

“Who also has superhuman abilities and a lot of inside knowledge,” Grace pointed out.

Felix didn't respond. He hugged his arms around his chest and looked to the floor again.

Grace sighed and put her back against the door, mirroring Felix’s pose across the room. 

“It’s not like I can stop you,” she said at last. “You could pick up your helmet and jump out that window and I would never see you again no matter how hard I looked. We both know how well that worked for me the last several months. But I guess- you can keep running away from everything you're scared of and everyone who’s gonna call you out and just stay afraid, or you can stop trying to run, and face those fears. The biggest lie you've ever told is the one you're telling yourself right now that you have to be alone.”

Felix’s face remained blank as his mouth drew into a tight line.

“You aren't alone, Felix,” she continued gently. 

“And if I stay, and they find this place, and they kill everyone here- either the government or the [gang]. I don't-” his voice cracked along with the mask on his face and he reached up to scrub his hand over his face before resuming with wavering composure, “I can't let that happen. I'll still be around, like Dauntless has been, but Felix can't stay here anymore.”

“That’s the stupidest thing you've ever said!” Grace stood up from the door and took a step towards him. “What are you going to eat? Where are you going to sleep? You're basically dooming yourself to get caught by all those people looking to kill you. You should stay, and help us fight! You don't have to pull away to protect us from a distance. Let's work together to make this place safe.”

“I don't want my life to come at the cost of anyone else's!” Felix shouted, arms still crossed over his chest, but she could see he immediately regretted it.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled.

Grace groaned and rubbed her hand down her face. “It doesn't have to be your life or all of ours. Do you really think we're so bad at protecting this place that you're the reason we're still here?”

“That's not what I-”

“Yeah, the government's going crazy right now. Yeah, the [gang]s are pressing closer. I'm not saying you haven't been helping a lot, but we could be so much more effective if we worked together. We could save more people, Felix. You don't have to go out there and die like some sacrificial dumb-dumb.”

She shook her head and walked across the room to stand in front of him. A breeze came in through the open window, catching her loose curls and sending them waving across her face.

“I know you know I'm right.” She said gently. “And I know you're scared. I'm just asking you to trust me.”

She held out her hand to Dauntless, and hesitantly, Felix took it.

“On one condition. You guys aren't allowed to die.”

Grace grinned and gave him a firm shake. “You've got yourself a deal.”

After an awkward stretch of silence, Felix spoke again.

“So… when was the point- how did you figure it out? That I was Dauntless?”

Grace tucked her arms behind her back with a chuckle. She felt embarrassed all of a sudden, and she wasn't sure why.

“Well, uh, I was talking to Dauntless, and he laughed. It sounded like how you laugh- like how Felix laughs- and it started me thinking. All of the little inconsistencies between the two identities made sense if they had the same common denominator.”

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Day 186 - 188

Attack for August on ArtFight

WIP Below:

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Felix Rodzic, unofficial guardian of time and space!

also some concept art for what his magic vambrace looks like in action. :D

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Couples that parkour together stay together!!!! 👏

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Why do fools fall in love?

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Twisted Tales — Chapter 2

Ch.2 — A Name And A Burial

Done with her meal, Azalea gently takes the rabbit she spotted earlier from the ground and places it in her basket, nestled in the bedding of nettles and holly. The basket contents are still a tribute to the queen, and shouldn't be sullied with blood, but she knows the queen will understand.

Poor little one. It's so small. The wound on its torso is awfully recent. If Azalea had arrived maybe an hour earlier, she could have saved it. But no "what if"s matter for it now.

"I'm sorry, child."

When Azalea reaches the court, there's hardly a soul around.

Then again, it is winter. All dryads other than the evergreens are asleep, and the evergreens rarely make a peep even on the sunniest of days. The naiads are fully frozen by now, and the other hunters are still out, trying to hunt or scavenge as she would usually still be doing. Most of the others vary between full hibernation to sluggish waves as she passes by.

Except...

"Red, you're back." 

A voice greets when she walks into the queen's chambers. But the queen herself isn't there.

That's the queen's new... distraction. Plaything. Guest, whatever.

They found him bleeding in the woods with enough arrows sticking out of him to make a porcupine jealous, and her majesty seems to have turned healing him into a winter project of sorts. While in any normal occasion this wouldn’t be true, this one human currently has more woodlander magic flowing in his veins than Azalea does.

"You look... Redder than usual?"

"Is that a question?"

"No?"

Sure. Redder than usual. It’s cold, so that accounts for her nose and cheeks. It's not because she doesn't want to talk to him and he keeps talking to her. Absolutely not. 

Azalea tries her ultmost to not huff. He doesn't know her name so he calls her "Red". How unoriginal. As if there's not a hundred other huntresses in the court who wear the same garb as hers.

Then again... She's the only huntress who's allowed to make reports and deliver tributes personally, instead of using a middleman. So she's probably the only “Red” he's seen during his stay.

The man sits up on the bed so that they can talk better, and she pauses to glance at him a moment longer, mildly surprised that he has bothered to do that. Her eyes meet olive brown skin dappled with freckles, and hazel eyes ringed with green. Brown pants. He's thin and reminds Azalea of a little fawn.

She sighs. Good guests are rare to come by, and this one has been attempting to remain respectful up to then — well, other than the fact he's sitting on the queen's bed, but given his poor health it was likely the queen herself who placed him there. It's not in the queen's nature to deny sanctuary, when it’s genuinely asked for.

Azalea understands. But she doesn’t like it. Her majesty left the last knights to her, thanks to which she’s full, and grateful for the meal. But also thanks to that, the rabbit died. The queen would have noticed it being caught by the knights long before Azalea did. The queen would have arrived on time to save it, were she not distracted. But she was distracted, because of this man, and the task fell to Azalea, and now the rabbit is dead in her basket.

The rabbit was one of the forest's children. The man is just a guest. It's clear which one Azalea would prioritize, if given choice.

"Are you hurt?"

"What?"

"You have- uh... on your..." He points towards his own face, not sure how to word it.

Ah.

She blinks slowly. So that's what he meant by "redder than usual". Guess she was a tad messier with her last meal than she'd realized. Then again, she had been pretty hungry. And pretty angry.

She sighs again, taking a moment to lick the blood in the corners of her mouth clean (and gargle some minty water for good measure) before setting the basket down onto the queen's table. The guest looks at the basket and frowns. Yes, yes she knows the queen wouldn't take blood in her offerings, and therefore these are ruined and the actual offerings are going to come late, but the child needed some sort of casket and this was the best she could improvise on short notice—

"Did you kill it?"

Her eyes narrow at him, feeling offended by the very thought.

"I am the queen's huntress. I hunt beasts." She huffs. "Not the forest’s children."

"What sort of beasts?"

Azalea shrugs.

"Wolves that went rabid. Bears. Vipers. Humans."

She tilts her head as she focuses more on his expression, waiting for any hint of indignation or mockery over her statement that humans can be seen as beasts. She can’t find any.

Then she remembers the bandages still wrapping his body and realizes he probably already knows that.

Perhaps, Azalea thinks, the queen has likened the man to the rabbit in her basket. She considered them of equal value. But the man was closer.

And so she saved him because she could. Nothing more, nothing less.

Azalea's going to be sighing a lot that day.

In all honesty, she shouldn't be trying to pick a fight with the queen's guest. It's all fine and well if he takes the bait, she can just tell everyone he was rude to her and it would be in her rights to retaliate accordingly. But it looks like he's not going to be rude, and if that's so then she won't have a proper excuse, and if she hurts him without reason and the queen finds out Azalea will be screwed. She has to calm down. Calm down. Be the leaf, Azalea. Just breathe. Air in and out, in and out.

"Poor thing..."

While she was distracted, the man slid off the bed and walked up to the queen’s table, hands reaching for the tribute basket and the rabbit.

Poor thing.

Azalea snaps. When she takes notice she's already placed herself between the man and the basket, and her hands are on his neck, tight like a vice.

"'Thing'?! It was a child! A child who died because of you!" She growls. "Because those fools who were chasing you decided to pause and go after it instead. It was not given it’s last rites. I'll snap your neck before you can touch it—”

He says something. It's not a word, exactly. It's not a gasping noise either.

It's how the shadows around deepen in a way that seems to smother the room, the way the cold seeps in and frost draws lacy patterns onto the windows and mirrors. It’s in the leaves rustling without wind, in the way thorns rise from the dark corners and yank the girl in red around, holding her aloft by the neck like she held the man a second prior.

Azalea is not privy to the queen's name, and so she cannot hear it, nor read the movement of his lips.

But she can feel it. Black briars tighten around her like a choker, digging into her flesh even before Azalea's eyes can spot the woman in a dark gown that now stands in front of her.

Did- did he seriously just... summon the queen?

The redling's feet dangle in empty air as she struggles to breathe.

How does he know the queen's name?

Her sight’s swimming with spots.

That will...

No.

.

.

.

"My queen, it's fine." His voice is almost a whisper. "She didn’t know."

"So be it."

The briars loosen their grip. Azalea collapses like a puppet with cut strings.

"Let this be the only warning." The queen's voice is frosty. "Ignorance will not excuse you twice.”

Her head down on the ground, the redling is gasping for air.

Ansel coughs once, then sighs, much like the girl in red did a short while ago. At first he wasn't sure what was going on with her. She sort of resembled a rose, so his first guess was that maybe she's just naturally prickly. But now it seems that she was mourning the little rabbit instead. She seriously needs to work on her communication skills, and being strangled really wasn't fun, but he won't have her killed just because she was grieving. Well, as long as she doesn't try to kill him again. But given how she’s still collapsed on the floor, not moving an inch except to shiver, he doesn't think she'll misbehave again. 

No matter how poorly she may think of him.

Once he’s taken a moment to clear his throat and stretch/uncramp his neck, he reapproaches the table and eyes the rabbit alongside the queen:

It’s a pure white rabbit, the kind that would be hard to spot on snowy ground. It seems to have been killed by some sort of piercing projectile that has already been removed. Maybe an arrow or a hunting trap. The red splotch amid its fur kind of resembles a heart.

"A burial is in order." The queen states, the ice in her voice softening into lightly-piled snow. "But I don't know where he would wish to be."

"I saw a large oak before. A few minutes of walking from the clearing.” If his distorted sense of time isn't also distorting his sense of distance in turn, that is. "How about there? Nearby the roots, he’ll nourish them. And the oak will offer him shade in the summer."

The queen nods, the land shifting to where she wills. They could walk, of course, but the woodlands are her garden and it's quicker to let her garden guide them where they must go than traverse the entire way by foot.

Ansel is not even questioning how it works by this point. He's still focusing on the rabbit.

"What was his name?"

"It was still a child." Azalea mutters from her spot on the ground. "It didn't have one.”

“Why don’t you name him?” The queen offers.

Ansel has to think about it. Calling the rabbit a child doesn’t mean much, even age-wise. It certainly wasn't just a baby bunny. Every single woodlander seems to use the word to cover different things and in the time he’s spent here (how long was it?) his best guess has become that any forest creature without a name is considered a "child" of the queen.

That may as well be it. Deep in the woods, one's name is usually taken, traded, or blossoms along its bearer as they grow in power. A name freely given is a rare event, as there are very few things that can warrant such a gift ...like a life returning to the earth.

He threads his fingers through the queen's and she gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

Maybe he's overthinking. The rabbit is already dead, and maybe it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. A few days (weeks? hours? months?) ago he'd have just picked something with no second thoughts. Fluffball. Cotton Tuft. Snowbell. But he can still feel the queen’s — his queen's — name on him like his must be on her, and with it there's an understanding of the weight in her request to name a child, gone as though it may be.

"Can you tell me about him?"

"An eulogy?"

He nods.

"He was very adventurous for someone so small. Born in another country altogether. When the queen there fell and her court dissolved, he came to us.” She smiles. It's bittersweet. "The silly little thing has always had terrible timing. He arrived everywhere late, and now left way too early."

Ansel closes his eyes. The rabbit is like him, in a sense. He can see why Red felt defensive about it. He just happens to have been luckier than the little critter was.

He finally makes up his mind:

"Auriol."

He doesn’t know if it’s a name or a spell. But it’s warm. Trickles of soft sunlight that come from an unseen source. The glow coats the rabbit and its basket, and sinks in the earth as it opens up to receive the little creature. Atop the grave, a tiny yellow flower sprouts like a marker.

The queen seems to approve.

Not daring to move from her spot on the ground, Azalea presses her forehead against the soil nearby the oak, nevermind the conversation that does not involve her and the grains of dirt catching to her hairline. Just staying still. She seems to have been forgiven — or at least forgotten — for the time being, but Ansel must have a bottom line, and she doesn't want to test how close to it she is. There was no actual breach of etiquette on his part, so her act of retaliation earlier was not only out of line, but actually worth punishing. Severely.

A simple guest cannot touch the queen, or call her by name.

The king can.

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Twisted Tales — Chapter 1

Ch.01 — The Girl And The Wolves

Azalea tiptoes through the forest floor, mindful of the rocks and tangling roots hidden beneath the carpet of snow. Her trek is slow, and she’s hungry, but she can already hear the sound of human chatter and metal clattering in the distance.

White clouds escape her mouth as she breathes. Her stomach growls.

She gulps. There'll certainly be something to eat, to drink, once she reaches the knights’ encampment. Once she’s surrounded by people and warmth.

She halts by the treeline once she reaches them, pausing to feel the change from the crisp winter air to the smoky heat of campfires. There are tents set, and a few horses are tied nearby. It's a larger group than she had first guessed. Two dozen men in plated armor are walking about and settling in for the evening, and her eyes focus on one carrying a snow rabbit in his grip. It’s still fresh. Bloody.

Food is food, she decides, and attempts to call for them, though her voice gets muffled by the distance and wind. Not that it makes any difference. Thanks to her dress and coat, Azalea is a stark drop of red in a field of white and black. They would need to be blind to miss her coming.

"-found the dogs?"

"Not a whiff. Guess they ran ahead farther than usual."

"They’re smart. They’ll be back when they find the little rat's trail.”

Snippets of conversations start filling Azalea’s ears about the same time as she makes her way past the trees.

"Is that them?"

"Is that a girl?!"

"Hey little miss, this is pretty deep in the forest. Are you lost?”

Azalea shakes her head, showing them the wicker basket still hooked to her arm.

They peek at its contents and she doesn't stop them. It's half-filled with nettle and holly. Tributes to the queen. Nothing edible. Nothing useful for them, either.

“Well, you're lucky to have found us, you know. There’s a dangerous man roaming these woods. And our hunting dogs too, they’re not back yet and don’t like strangers much.”

"Come on, it’s freezing out there. And you don’t have a furry coat to keep you warm, do you? Come join us by the fire."

She opens her mouth to reply, but doesn’t have time to get any words out before one of them grabs her wrist and pulls her closer.

Azalea recoils, pulling herself free from the unwanted grasp.

"Huh. Aren't you a feisty one, haha."

"The best ones are."

They laugh. She doesn't.

It's the rule of the beasts that there is no crime done if there's no one left to acknowledge it. Perhaps, Azalea realizes one heartbeat too late, she has given them too much credit by expecting a civil conversation before a meal. Despite the pretense of concern and polished, shiny plated armor, they might as well be canned wolves for all she cares.

"You should learn a bit of respect. It would do you good."

"Says who, little miss?"

"The queen."

They give her a second look over, at the strange sight (to them) of her bare feet coupled with the clean fabric of her attire, and the rose fragrance a friend gifted her for her birthday. She’s not particularly high-placed amid the court, but also not low enough that she could be mistaken for the average traveler or farmer's daughter.

Yet even the rich red dyeing her hood and the velvety gloss of her dress don't deter them for long. She's alone, small, slim in a way that on a human would denote frailty, and the hunger in their eyes blinds them to anything else. She can relate to that last part, at least.

Her stomach growls again.

Azalea hates winter.

It’s the emptiest season, where most of the creatures around burrow in their homes to sleep away the cold. There's nothing to eat. She has to ration what strength she's gathered throughout the year just to last through it ...usually.

Not this year, no.

The humans neighboring the woodlands have had deals with her people for generations. Should they need anything from them there are rules for when to take, for where and what and how much. Yet their king — the foolish, most delightful idiot — just sent his troops into her queen’s beloved garden, cutting wood and shooting animals like it's his personal hunting ground. Her queen made quick work of most of the other knight groups already, of course. But being the queen’s favorite huntress has its perks, mainly in that once Her Majesty’s interest switches to anything else, any leftovers are to be left to Azalea.

The hounds earlier made for a nice appetizer.

"What's wrong? Come on now, don't be shy. It'll be fun."

Azalea grins, making their own wolfish smiles freeze on their faces.

"Wh- what sharp teeth you have..."

A compliment she's heard a thousand times before. It does not save them.

She eats.

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"Sorry I," Rhyin rubbed his bandaged arm. "I really am fine, just a bit tired." He tried for a reassuring smile and instead landed on a weak rather not convincing face a lying convalescent makes. — scene here

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easy life hack for becoming a nicer person: get older and more tired. u simply do not have the energy to deal with drama. u do not entertain the bloodthirsty. don't care too sleeby

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Hey, I'mma jump on this because I've been doing digital and traditional art for aaaaaa like 15+years? I dunno. I do digital art more than traditional though.

For transferring traditional lineart to digital for coloring granny has a better idea than me because I don't do this anymore. X'D But when I did I used a scanner. Most copy machines can do scan and email, so you could stop by a library occasionally and just scan a bunch of drawings if you aren't able to afford one for yourself.

After that if you want to color underneath your lineart because you like the way it looks and don't want to cover it up most programs have layer settings and if you drew on white or other pale colored paper if you sent the lineart layer to Multiply you'll keep the dark lines but be able to see everything under the white areas.

For drawing straight to digital this gets a lil more complicated because it's just like traditional art where there's a ton of options that affect your art in different ways. Not bad ways, just different. Like how colored pencil looks different from alcohol markers, and the technique to use them is different. That's where August's comment about experiment with brushes comes in handy. There are a lot of artists that just use the default round brush in programs. But those who want a more traditional art look will need to use textured brushes.

Some program data:

Krita: Free, Windows. - Usually the one I recommend for a free, windows based art program, but honestly I haven't used it much. It's just the one my sis uses

MediBang: Free, iPad - I don't know anything about this one either, but August listed it so it's probably good XD

Paint Tool Sai: 5500JPY (about 36usd), Windows - This is my main program that I've used practically my entire time drawing. If you're someone who thinks lineart is important then I can't recommend any other program 'cause i have yet to see anything top Sai in line art ease and quality.

Adobe Photoshop: ~24usd per month if you pay for a year, Windows/Mac - This is industry standard for a reason, it has a crapload of functions and abilities. I honestly find it more difficult to use for artwork considering it was designs for photo manipulation. But if realism is your desired style, and you love having a specific brush for everything I don't know of a better program. I however think Adobe's subscription based program use is bullshit and therefore refuse to support them. But if you're looking into doing digital art professionally you will have to know this program because that's what most studios have and require

Clip Studio Pro: 54 usd (usually goes on sale for like 25usd), Windows/Mac - Kind of a hybrid between Photoshop and Sai. Clip has a lot more functions than Sai, but is also way easier to use for drawing, especially if you like more of a traditional art kind of look. It comes default loaded with a bunch of brushes that mimic traditional art materials.

General tips:

Your digital art will most likely look different than your traditional art. Partly because the programs can't 100% mimic traditional media, and partly because it feels different, you can zoom in a ridiculous amount, and other things that just means you're gonna draw differently. It's okay, you might think your art looks worse digitally for awhile, but that's because you have a handicap of learning a new media.

use a stabilizer for lineart. Most programs have this, and most tablets are way too sensitive now for clean lineart. If you don't want grandparent tremor lines, use a stabilizer or become the rare godly artists that have ridiculously steady hands. I use stabilizer level 10 in sai.

If you're using a non screen tablet plugged into a PC then make sure the screen mapping is enabled, otherwise you'll draw a circle and it'll translate to an oval on your screen and you'll get frustrated real fast.

Look up soooo many tutorials because everyone does art different. Most artists are okay with sharing their brush settings too, so don't be afraid to ask "Hey what's your brush settings for shading?" or similar questions.

The rest of the stuff I can think of starts getting into semantics related to specific artstyles, so I'll end here. But feel free to ask me anything else =u=b

any tips on art? for the life of me I can't figure out how to draw digital art.

Gonna be straight with you here, chief. Me too. I mostly do digital art for coloring. Sometimes I doodle, but mostly I do traditional.

I like to use MediBang Paint (because I've used it for years now so I don't want to swap) and extract the lineart of my traditional sketches and then add color.

Colored lineart goes a long way

Play with brushes

Put a layer at 50% and pick any dark color you want at that can work for shading too. Doesn't always need to be fancy.

Clipping layers are useful

Honestly, I don't feel like I know what I'm doing enough to give advice. Just mess around! The only big mistake you can make is crash your device somehow. If the art doesn't turn out with something you're happy with you learned! Unfortunately I think it's a lot of trial and error.

But if any of my artist mutuals/followers have any tips feel free to chim in!

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TMNTtober Day three - favorite show!!

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Babe are you okay? Youve barely touched your donnie staring blankly into the distance...

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Nightmares

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Proving a point to my boyfriend.

PLEASE REBLOG if you (male or female) believe it is perfectly okay and natural for a guy of any age to cry