#and my burnt sienna is lasting forever for some reason

[gummy-sharks666]

The underpainting is done now we wait for it to dry 🧍‍♂️

[paputsza]

Hey, I picked up watercolor, but i’m fking awful with it and still in the practice stage, also, it’s makeup expensive, where you want to spend thousands on paper and paints. It’s unlucky.

I started writing slash again so it’s for my transmigration fantasy novel about an engineer going into like fantasy world with fantasy physics. These days online novel writing websites have options to put in pictures so there is a lot of art for my book. I started with gouche, btw.  It’s kind of like a cross acrylic and watercolor. Less layery and additive than watercolor. I still use white gouache with watercolor if I want that creamy look.

I think that was incomplete. Also my scanner cant scan magenta at all.  Well, it scans 2 colors in that range, red and pink. I spent so so long on how to paint crystals. Here’s an inside page.

My journey into pain crystals was a tumultuous one. I needed an optics refresher because I like when muh crystals are clear. The red one isn’t, because I just like rubies for science reasons, bu my fantasy pink and blue crystal can be on transparent and refractive and what not.

This is the obligatory galaxy painting. Everyone should try it. It didn’t really tie into anything else. Now on with the watercolor. I went with watercolor because it’s just so much cleaner to work with. For lines I use acrylic ink, which is significantly less clean, but it doesn’t fkn budge for nobody. Moreso than archival quality india ink imo. That or I keep getting bad batches of india ink or my city is too humid for waterproof ink.

aaaand here goes the rest of my scuffed meaningless watercolor dump, aka, my main intention.

These are all men, but I cannot draw men... I’m kidding. Wow, I think I could get cancelled for that. No, actually, I did struggle in the depiction of men though. Watercolor is very smooth and it’s hard to get shadows Men are generally very dark around the eyes. Their brows are prominent and their eyes are deep set, and there’s a lot of detail in small areas. Btw, I started going sienna, lilac, and green for the white people, and I struggled intensely with black people, because my colors are ez-lift colors, which I thought meant it comes out of the pan faster, but actually means that the colors just lift up easily, so they layer to grey and watercolor magic happens without me wanting it to for skin texture. The main reason I got this palette was for the metallics, that I do not use, and for the neons, which I use all the time I’m one of those people that need to paint in neon. I use neon blue for the eyes, neon pink for the blush, and so on. It comes in the brand SoHo, which I think is a less well-known brand that has a deal with a local art store for me, Jerry’s artarama. It was half off around christmas. But yeah, I’m thinking of getting the mejillo mission gold watercolor set, kuratake watercolors, and the culture hustle palette.

Now here’s some later runs, just because this is an art dump.

I uh, learned to paint naked men, but boi can i just not get the dick right. Also, my black people are purple, a cool brown, and burnt orange with some light spots where I just don’t paint sometimes. Then I go in with any blue, black and the same lilac color I use for non black people. It takes forever because every layer needs to dry completely or that lightening thing that I mentioned earlier happens.

Now to the rest of the disorganized mess of an art dump.

wtf was happening with the last ones eyes? well, I struggle with eyes and I had taken a bit of a break because a lot happened. I got some corona blues, political blues with blm at the exact time my dad got cancer.  Btw my dad is a black police whose entire job is just telling police what to do so my entire relationship with the movement is more complicated than with most people. He’s an infp too so he bakes a lot of cookies and originally went to school for teaching, but couldn’t use the degree in the US. It was something, ok? I’m just not at peace right now so I drew without thinking about where eyes should go.

Well, here’s some random other things that I never made my main art folder on my pc so I had to dig up. No promises on the quality.

There’s like a disney style I heard about, um. It’s horrifying. If have glasses you can take them off here, and stand very far away, and as long as you are nearsighted enough, the paintings with black people will look okay. It’s just *cries* I hate granulation so much. 

[whipplefilter]

what if fillmore died or was killed by something after getting into a really terrible close to friendship ending argument that leaves everyone feeling horrible after with sarge before the two could make up? how did fillmore die? how does sarge cope with the grief of losing his very best friend?does he feel like it was his fault even if there was nothing to do to control it? did he have any regrets? how does everyone else react? what were fillmore's last words? how did the funeral go?

As unlikely as it might seem, all of these ideas are addressed in some form in this fic. Warnings: major character death, PTSD, grief/trauma. Just remember, anon–YOU asked for deathfic!

Fic: Tripmaster

All cars die alone. That’s just the way it is.

Maybe your engine blows, or your battery dies. Maybe it’s something less dramatic–you’re getting your suspension replaced, and the mechanic leaves the garage but you’re not ready. Maybe you’re in the desert, and something breaks. Timing belt? And you’re alone.

You can’t move.

But see, you’re a car. You are motion. You are an assemblage of parts and you are meant to move and your engine is meant to pump and your fluids are meant to run and you’re supposed to move through your gears and generate kinetic, electric, everything heat–you are a machine and you are a spirit and if you are not that machine, if you are not that system existing in that car-ish way of yours, then your spirit cannot stay.

If you are alone, then no one can call for help. There is nothing to remind you what you are, and your spirit unmoors. Give it enough time, and it leaves.

Your parts can be replaced, and your body repaired. But your spirit is a delicate thing, and if it loses the pulse of your machine-ness, then it departs.

And so do you.

That was always the threat, back in the war. Sarge remembers the POW camp, and marching through the jungle to get there. The hot breath of it as the humidity ate at their canvas and surely other, deeper things besides. It wasn’t uncommon to overheat, or flood.

We will march you until you break, their captors threatened.

Then we will leave you. And you will die alone.

There are days when the memory hurts as much as the death march had. On these days, Sarge separates. He becomes one young soldier in the jungle and an old one in the desert. He folds all his fear and pain into this young Jeep and he abandons this younger self in time. He leaves his anger in another version of himself, patrolling the halls of the VA past door after door of broken promises and robberies of war.

He leaves his happiness sometimes, in a frozen version of himself he’d give the world to never have to leave like that: A Sarge full of laughter and precious memories. But these memories he cannot take with him without also taking memories of death, and so he abandons them too. Perhaps it’s better this way, though. The pain he leaves behind should have something bright to keep it company.

Sarge closes his eyes and he accepts that sometimes the only way to live through pain is to desert it. Cover its grave.

Pain isn’t supposed to happen here, though. Not now. Not in Radiator Springs.

But here he is at a funeral in the desert.

He pushes sand over the grave, just like everyone else.

He buries his best friend.

It wasn’t supposed to be Fillmore.

Lizzie will probably live forever, but he, and Doc, and Sheriff–they each had some sense of their own mortality.

Sarge had 20 years on Fillmore. He was never supposed to be the one to bury him.

Sarge stands sentry above Willy’s Canyon, staring out at Willy’s Butte as the sun comes down over it. It goes warm red, purple. Catches fire with a spirit all its own.

He thinks, Fillmore likes bonfires.

Maybe in some past, with some cautiously jubilant Sarge (whom Sarge must leave now, must bury with all the rest), Fillmore still does.

Maybe he still does.

It’s 2011, when Fillmore dies. In a few months, Sarge will turn 70. (Fillmore never will.)

Lightning just turned five. Sarge doesn’t remember what it was like to be that young; it’s possible he never was. By five, Sarge had seen a World War won and many, many lives lost.

Lightning’s never even thought about death before. He’s acting like he just rolled off the line.

“Why was he out in the desert?” Lightning asks, brow furrowed and heart broken. “Why was he alone? What did he say to you? Did he tell you?”

The question Lightning really wants to ask is Why is Fillmore gone? but he’s at least old enough to know that there is no good answer to that one. There never is.

Truthfully, if Radiator Springs knew why Fillmore had been out in the desert alone like that, it would destroy them. They might never recover.

“Are you annoyed with all these questions?” Lightning asks, when Sarge stays silent.

“We had a fight,” Sarge answers truthfully, even as he knows he shouldn’t.

They’d had a fight, and that’s why Fillmore had gone out to the desert. That’s why he’d wanted to be alone. Why no one had been able to find him in time.

“It’s my fault,” says Sarge.

“No, it’s not,” says Lightning.

It is, though. Lightning means to be kind but the only reason his insistence comes so quick and so urgent is because it it is any other way, Radiator Springs could not hope to handle it. The town is made of gentler things than truth. And so, it can’t be anyone’s fault their friend is gone. The world could never be that dark.

But Sarge is not five. He is not fifty. He remembers the Bataans and the Koreas and so very many horrible things this one sweet town could never dream. And it’s his fault that Fillmore is dead.

In his dream, Sarge drowns in a vortex of water. Then he’s awake in the sky, high above the canyons. His vision is crosshairs–he’s a bomber. No, surveillance. He’s an aircraft. He’s flying high above the canyons, red gray orange, and in his head, Fillmore corrects, “it’s more of an ombre burnt sienna, wouldn’t you say?”

He is looking for Fillmore.

More to the point, he is finding him.

Sarge could have found him, if he’d taken to the sky. If he’d been born a plane, none of this would have happened. He could have saved his friend.

It’s his fault.

He should have been born a plane.

Every night, Sarge dreams of flight.

It’s his fault.

Imagine him, in the desert alone. He has to know he will die; Fillmore’s always been very attuned to such things. He’s seen drugs rip spirits from bodies; he’s seen rust do it, too–poverty. Bullets. Fillmore knew death, perhaps even better than Sarge. (Sarge, who splits it away from him. Locks it away until it comes howling back, scraping at his door. It’s what they’d fought about, that day.)

He’s in the desert, alone.

Sarge can’t imagine any more than that. he He can’t imagine Fillmore’s last words, last thoughts. What peace he’d made during his last few moments, under the sun and moon in the desert. All Sarge can think about is he was alone.

He was alone.

He was alone.

He was alone.

–and we will leave you here to die.

Fillmore died alone.

Sally’s headed to the county seat. She has to file the death certificate.

“Whoa, alone?!” Lightning’s panic is evident.

Sally starts to cry.

Sally doesn’t want to think about it. She doesn’t want to be afraid. She wasn’t want to remember that Fillmore is gone and it’s the desert–their desert!–that took him, even though her errand is his death certificate and that means of course she has to think about it. She’s like Sarge in that way; she needs to be apart from the reality of that. Just for now. Just to keep her head above the sorrow.

Lightning’s not like that at all.

This is something the two of them probably cannot understand, but they’re not good for each other in this moment. Probably neither of them want to think about that, either. It feels like everything is falling apart.

“Stanley and I were never married, you know,” Lizzie says out of the blue, or maybe not. It’s hard to tell with her. Sometimes it feels like stories get knocked out of here like they’re dominoes in a line.

It shouldn’t matter. Married, not married. Here’s the town and there is Stanley’s statue, which Lizzie loves so much. But today it feels sad, and it feels like everything falling apart.

Because Radiator Springs is meant to be happy and its founding myths are of romance, of passion, and bliss. But Fillmore is dead and under that cloud, even the small things feel like a miracle tumbling down. Turning to dust.

Sally does not go to the county seat.

Sometimes when Sarge dreams that he is flying, his engine stalls. He spirals down and down and down.

As he falls he thinks, this is unforgivably sad. He is going to die, and Fillmore is going to die, and the whole town–this will destroy them.

This is all so unforgivably sad.

Then he wakes up. He’s not dead.

He is still unforgivably sad.

Maybe one day, Sarge will wake up and the town will wake up and there will be a rhythm to their lives again. This is probably true. But it’s not true today, and when Sarge wakes up he’s sucked into a sea of overwhelming dread. Not that there’s anything to confront today but its emptiness. It’s just so, so impossible to think realistically about a comfortable future because today is not fine, today is not good. Tomorrow won’t be either. And that feeling is inescapable.

Today, it does not matter if it’s going to be okay or not.

‘Going to be’ won’t buy you nothing.

Today, this pain is endless. The logic of time, the future, eventualities–none of it matters. Loss does not care about logic.

So Sarge drives out to the desert. Sarge drives to the place where they’d found him. Where they’d found his body. It’s just a stretch of dirt like any other, somewhat off the road. Maybe it had been a good place for stargazing, or sunset contemplation. To Fillmore, one night, some weeks ago, it had been a nice place. It had been a place he’d wanted to be. Now, of course, it’s haunted.

Sarge is certain it had not been where Fillmore had wanted to die.

Sarge is not alone.

When he leaves, due east, Radiator Springs follows. Together they cast long shadows down the road, one meeting the next until they form a jagged, spindly crack of shadow that stretches from town to the place–that place–and together they live in their grief, which cannot be outrun it cannot be skipped over it cannot drift gently away from its dock.

Maybe one day, this will pass. Tonight, that future does not matter.

When Sarge dreams that night, he is flying.

[siennalblackirp]

Current Bio/Background - Sienna Lynn Black

Name: Sienna Lynn Black ™

Race: White

Sex: Female

Species: Human

Age: 28

Weight: 120lbs

Height: 5' 1"

Hair color and style: Depends on her mood.

Eye color: Brown

Clothing: Varies

Occupation: Hunter masquerading as a stripper.

Favorite weapons: Silver dagger pins that she commonly wears when her hair is up in a French twist.

Personality: People person, confident most the time tries to include everyone, aggressive when needed.

Habits: Bad habit of becoming overly submissive to males she is with.

Likes: Yellow roses, cooking and reading.

Dislikes: Vampires see her history for reasons why.

Sexual Kinks: Oh boy... dominate dangerous men. The list is long.

Bad experiences: Sexually abused developed Stockholm's Syndrome during her capture.

Skills: Research, computers, in-depth knowledge of law enforcement procedures etc. Can operate various weaponry and machinery. Very convincing and devious when needed.

Things found difficult: Talking about children and marriage.

Backstory:

Bio: My name is Sienna Lynn Black ™, born Feb. 23 in a small town in Le Flore County Oklahoma. My parents Lynn and James Black were loving and caring. My mother died in a car accident when I was five my father raised me from then on.

He was a hunter like his father before him. I grew up learning to hunt and we traveled across the United States many times over the years following this case or that. My father was killed in a hunt when I was nineteen. After that, I took on exotic dancing to support my hunting ventures.

At the age of twenty-one, I found myself hunting alone. It was late fall, a preschool caring for disabled children at the Kitty Petty Institute in Palo Alto California had been flagged. Something wasn’t right, children were becoming horribly sick and nothing could be done. But the one thing they had in common was the school they attended. After some investigation, I came across an unusual hand-print left by a couple of the children’s bedrooms.

Having no idea I was dealing with a Shtriga I clueless, pursued the case. Ending up nearly being killed, Sam living in Palo Alto at the time with Jessica had seen the recent event’s and recognized what was going on. He killed the Shtriga. For some reason, we seemed to hit it becoming friends.

We remained in contact over the next couple of years, eventually, he introduced me to his brother Dean. And that’s where things got complicated.

I ended up hunting with Christian Campbell finding out that Sam’s cousin was questionable. After Dean telling me not to. His dislike for Christian very noticeable. On a hunt with Christian for ghouls, I found that he didn’t want them dead but wanted them captured. After him nearly being killed by one, I agreed to help him get the one back to Samuel Campbell.

As he started up the van though hell broke loose when he commented about Sam being something of a freak himself. I drew down on him in a blink of an eye and came damn close to putting a bullet in his brain over that.

Parting ways with Christian that night I took off to hunt on my own again. Meeting up with Dean by accident we began talking and the truth of Christian came out. He wasn’t happy I’d not listened to him. After that I left for awhile, Sam seemed to be doing better and I didn’t feel I was needed around anymore. Admitting though I’d started to like Dean by then, but it didn’t seem it was meant to be.

During a freak car accident, Sienna was hit and nearly killed. She had severe memory loss, temporary blinded and the internal damage made it so she cannot have children.

No one had told Sienna that Angel had lost his soul. He used her ignorance to gain entrance to her home."Angel" had shown up to visit a few times.

Never betraying who he really was until it was too late for her. She had fought him off a couple of times, even shot him and all it managed to do was intrigue him more.

Angelus begins to stalk her and eventually tortures an rapes her. Sienna being who she is, tries to hide it from everyone. Sienna left alone much of the time opens the door further for Angelus.

He is excellent at manipulation. He begins showing her great affection combined with severe torture at times. She falls into the routine as he threatens to kill all those she loves.

Eventually Sienna becomes dependent upon him and even though the relationship is based in terrible circumstances she actually begins to heal. Her mind forever altered but she starts to become stronger.

Sienna on her own completely for the first time in a long time enjoys her freedom and can breathe easy. Having not seen Angelus for a while and certain he'd grown bored with her is surprised in her sleep by him.

Confused memories come back not knowing whether to fight or give in she's saved by her childhood friend Josh Sloan who arrives after being given time off from the Army. On spending a couple of weeks with Josh, learns that Josh is in love with her and has been since they were kids. She happy starts falling in love with him as well. His treatment of her is truly amazing the first relationship without mind games she's ever had not to mention physical abuse.

Curious she wonders if Josh is the one. Angelus seems to show up here and there but Josh acting as a defense and buffer she doesn't worry but then Josh is recalled to active duty. Alone she just isn't strong enough to keep fighting Angelus is was made known he wanted her to be turned like himself and be mated with him. But she had fought him every step of the way.

He threatens Josh and she comes to the realization that Angelus is not going to give up. So finally one night she tells Angelus I will give myself to you freely stand by your side but to leave her loved ones alone. She to realizes that in all the chaos she had fallen for him and never admitted it.

As she stands before Angelus for the first time with no reservations he does something she didn't expect. He turns her and as she takes her last breath hatred showing in her eyes as he once again forced her into something she didn't want.

Awakening up in her new state of being a soulless vampire, she shows she is no longer Sienna Black as people knew her. Attacking and biting Mira, Angelus and Buffy's daughter. The change seems to stroke Angelus's pride, but she proves to be independent. Walking out she leaves him there with Mira not looking back.

Walking around with a dead woman's memories and no attachment to the world, she ends up at a country club in Santa Barbra. Angelus finds her there as she discovers he has some type of ability to sense her and even see some of the things she does.

Unnerved and hungry she makes her way to the country clubs bar and precedes to go on a killing spree, which ends with the people trapped and being burnt to death. A great void in her and uncertainty she wants to see the sun one last time. Fully aware it will destroy her she sits waiting for the sun to come up.

Angelus saves her from the coming sun and later on his soul is restored. Sienna lost unable to live like this takes her life and Castiel steps in restoring her to her human self-sparing her.

Afterward's she disappears from known contacts and begins hunting again on her own. Never staying in one place for too long.

Affiliates or Relationships:

Ex-Boyfriends: 

Dean Winchester (SPN) 

Josh Sloan (SPN OC) 

Angelus (BtVS) 

Elijah Mikaelson (TVD)

Friends of the past

Sam Winchester: Were very close in the past.

Castiel: Dear friend that's saved her life more than once.

Tayler Mason: Tayler is an ex-army ranger turned homicide detective whose father served in the army with Sienna's father. They grew up together knowing each other dated a few times but there was no spark. Currently still good friends.