#had to turn up the saturation to make them look very nice

[doodle-birdo]

RW OSTober

I’ve never heard it in game so I only went off by what I saw in my head. It gave me the girly drowning.

Looked it up after and apparently it’s in the Rot. Honestly, that’s not really surprising.

[sanctus-ingenium]

Just wanted to ask, please forgive me if you've already answred this, what program do you use? Your art fucks HARD and like. I was looking at your art of the two moths over the city they die in and I was hit with the wave of "oh that looks really fucking fun actually." Like i know my art program can't do some of those effects and like, I'd love to try fucking about with them.

hi there, thank you! all my art is done in procreate and paint tool sai

because you mentioned that drawing in particular i thought it would be fun to break it down and show ppl what exactly went into each part of it so check this out

sketch & lineart - the brushes come from georgbrush.club and the urban sketcher is my most commonly used lineart brush, it has a nice irregular shape. the square brush is nice for big blocky sketches.

the cityscape was REALLY hard but basically I got a photo of the skyline of florence, traced some basic building shapes, then bullshitted the rest using the vertical symmetry/mirror tool to cut down on the amount of work (so i only had to sketch one half of the city). then for lineart I turned off vertical symmetry, turned on the two-point perspective tool, and got this:

the rose windows were made using the radial symmetry tool.

I didn't like it being so flat, so I used the liquify tool to make a kind of fish-eye effect (limited success tbh). I liked how it looked but the buildings in front needed something to cover them up to make the liquification less obvious...

first pass colours. I felt they were very washed out, aside from the sun which i loved. I use the spectra brush (default procreate) for skyscapes a lot, I love the texture. Although the clouds were filled in using the lasso selection tool, I softened the edges using the square pencil again and added texture using true grit sampler grainy brushes. The translucency effect comes from my setting the brush as an eraser. The sun rays come from the radial symmetry tool.

Blocking in the moths' colours was done with the urban sketcher again.

Something people may not have noticed is the labyrinth hidden in the sky! yeah I had a bunch of versions where it was more obvious but I found that it clashed a bit and was too busy, so I made it subtle. But yes. I searched for "royalty free labyrinth" and picked one.

The toner grit brush is one you've seen before if you've looked at any art on tumblr lately (this is such a popular brush) and it's from the true grit fast grit set. The pointillism brush is from the true grit free sampler pack, like my grain brushes.

I added shadows to the moths, increased saturation overall, and changed the clouds to a translucent blue (you can even see in the sun where I forgot to block in the sun itself because the clouds over it used to be opaque lol). Moon rays were drawn using the radial symmetry tool but this time with rotational symmetry off. I also moved the moon down closer to the moths because I felt that it was a bit far away, and this served to visually divide the drawing into three equal parts, so I chose to lean into that and divide the sky colours too, to show passing time, or an endless moment - morning, evening, night, etc.

And then the oroborous, I tried a few different effects on it because I wanted it to be very clearly separate from the main scene - I settled on a dot matrix newsprint texture, using procreate's onboard tool, and some heavy chromatic aberration. This is because the oroborous isn't real, it's purely symbolic and the moths' demise started when they became photographers so I liked the print media aspect there as well. The story itself is about grief without closure, cyclical violence, and sunk cost fallacy, while everyone explores an endless labyrinth, so an oroborous fits I think

what makes art fun to me is thinking up ways I can tell a story using just a single image. and sure a lot of it will be lost to an audience who isn't familiar with the characters or backstory but i want to leave enough in there that even complete strangers to my work will be able to construct a narrative about what's happening here, rather than it just being a cool image. that's my goal.

Finally I exported it to sai on my pc to give it a once-over. this is really important because the retina display on an ipad is oversaturated on purpose, to make everything look amazing and vibrant. but what this means is that on other screens, your work might look washed out. it's especially bad at displaying yellows! so i look at it in sai on my pc and i make minor adjustments, in this case I actually added another multiply layer on the moths and an overlay on their non-shadowed parts to increase the contrast there.

finally if you've read this far, I played a little trick with the caption of the drawing. yeah, THEY die... but only one of those moths is a theythem pronoun haver... the other has to survive. he isn't given a choice in the matter.

[its-in-the-woods]

Chapter 3 of down the rabbit hole

Chapter one here , two here , four here

MDNI

Pairing: Walton Goggins x You

Rating/warnings? IDK: Will just keep mature okay. Minors get out. Heavy mention of alcohol, blackouts, drunken shenanigans, hints at SA, awkwardness,

Slow build like novel damn length okay, Very Fluffy, Pinch of Angst, Relationship Development, Hurt/Comfort, Older man/ Younger(30s) women, Alternative universe, fictional work (IDK WHY BUT I AM PUTTING IT) Probably more as I go.

Synopsis: Working in film as a make-up artist is hard enough, but then Walton Goggins requests you, well it's way too easy to fall down the rabbit hole.

Note: they are both single, all for fun.

WARNING I do not have this all written out, I do have it plotted out, but it may be a little slower for chapters to come out. Please bear with me. If you know a Beta to edit please send them to me.

Thank you all for the support! This gets cute and flirty. Let me know what you think. ***

The bar is a hole-in-the-wall place, with the fifteen or so crew and four actors the place is packed. It’s laid out with a bar at the front, couches, and comfortable chairs in the back. You find a spot closer to the back, a gin and tonic in hand. Trevor is talking with Decon at the front, the two men are practically making out. You chuckle and sip your drink. Rebecca from Costumes sits beside you, the woman is all fluid grace. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” She smiles and sips her drink, short hair with sides buzzed, various botanical tattoos draping down her shoulder. Piercing brown eyes and a soft face that always had a small smile. She was draped in all black, which was of course fitted perfectly. 

“It’s going pretty good, nice to get out after a long week.” You reply, watching people mill around the place. You knew almost everyone here, aside from a couple of the extras. Most folks were chatting and drinks were flowing. 

“Oh man, it sure has. I am happy they stuck me in the studio for the next week.” 

“I will take the studio over driving any day. The city is atrocious to get around on a good day. Add in construction I would rather take the studio regularly.” You reply, having lived here for close to a decade and there was never not construction. You weren’t even sure what the construction was for anymore. 

The two of you chit-chat for a while, going over different projects. Discussing a little about the union politics and the fact that the industry was saturated because of the fifteen film schools. It’s nice, even welcomed. You’re now on your third drink and the world is getting a little tipsy. Rebecca has moved over, and Neal from props is talking to you. He was discussing some builds he was looking at doing for a Sci-fi show coming up at the end of the year. You listened intently, you had always loved props and had considered moving to that department at some point. 

The night carries on, you are buzzed now. The realization that you are going to need to get an Uber is at the front of your mind. You make your way to the bar in sesrch for some much needed water. When you look over to see Trevor grinning and moving towards you. 

“Hey sweety,” He says, words tripping over each other. The man was also as drunk as you are. “Me and Decon are gonna probably share an Uber to his place. Do you want to catch a ride with us?’

His eyes are bright if a little fuzzy, Decon is staring at him with hunger in his face. You can’t blame the man Trevor was fine as hell. If he wasn’t gay as a unicorn, you’d be tempted. 

“Umm, I am pretty sure that you both live at the other end of town from me,” You are surprised you can actually remember where Trevor lives, much less that Decon was in the same area.

“Oh. Well,” His face screwed up like he was trying to solve world hunger and not how to get home. 

Walton emerges from the groups of people, his face is slightly flushed, but out of all of them, he is probably the least inebriated. He takes in the three of you, you can see the wheels turning. 

“What is going on, if you’re arranging a three-way I will have to excuse myself, I hate being a fourth wheel,” The man chuckles at his own joke, Decon looks slightly confused looking between all of you. 

You let out a small snort, “No, just figuring out rides home. I live in the opposite direction of these two.” You gesture to the two men who are heavily leaning against each other. 

“Nonsense, I will make sure you get home safely,” Walton says looking at both of them. “You two lovebirds go and have a wild night. I will make sure the lady will get home.”

“You sure Mr.Goggins,” Decon asks, he is a good head shorter than Trevor but built thicker with shaggy blonde hair.

“Walton,” He smiles, “Definitely, she will be taken care of.”

“The lady also agrees,” You sigh, leaning slightly against the older man. You can feel how warm he is, it’s hard not to rest against him

“Okay,” Trevor chuckles, “Have fun, don’t do anything I would do. Or. You know do.”  

You watch Trevor and Decon stumble out of the bar. Part of you is jealous that they had someone to go home to. You relax and going to find yourself a spot on the couch. A moment later Walton slid in beside you. You’re happy your face is already flushed from the alcohol as his thighs touch yours. 

“Hey,” He says in a hushed tone, sipping of what smells faintly of scotch. He hands you a glass of water which you greatly appreciate. 

“Hey,” You reply, meeting his gaze. “How are you fairing?”

He smiles and looks around the room, “Honestly, I am kind of over it.”  

You giggle looking around at the same time. A few people had left, some people lingered in groups, and a few had divided into pairs. The mood has chilled out a little, the music dropped down a few notches. It’s comfortable and cozy, but that might be liquor. 

“It could be worse, we could have to work tomorrow.” You look back at him. The man was now staring at you as if every word you said was important. You fail to hold his gaze, damn liquor was making you melt.

“Mmm but at least I’d get to hang out with you,” He said with a crooked smile gracing his lips. You were pretty positive the man new the effect he had on you. 

“Oh stop,” You giggle, shaking your head and taking another sip of water.  “I know you enjoy the days off as much as any of us.”

“Suppose I do, it doesn't change the fact I like getting to spend time with you.” The Southern slipping in, making you almost choke on your drink. 

You roll your eyes but relax beside him, part of you just wants to lean against his chest and let the alcohol relax your inhibitions. You both talk about traveling, you had spent a few months traveling around the Philippines, Taiwan, and Korea. He talked about being in Japan, and China. Sharing info on some of the favorite foods you had a chance to eat, and how you both looked forward to traveling again in the future. You decide in haze to have a few more drinks, as the two of you continue to chat about the future. 

When the bartender calls closing you go to stand and the whole world spins around. You nearly fall over but someone grabs you before it all goes dark. 

***

Light is peering around the blinds, and you groan at the splitting headache and nausea filling your already foggy brain. Reaching around you find the side table, a bottle of Tylenol, and a glass of water. You take two tablets and bury yourself under the covers, falling into a restless sleep. 

There is more light now, and though your headache is marginally better you still feel like you’ve been run over by a truck. Blinking a few times you realize you’re not in your room. This room is fairly close to the size of the apartment you live in. The walls are basic contractor beige with generic artwork. There is a closet, two side tables, a darkened bathroom, and a chair near the end of the bed where you can see your jacket and purse sitting on it. Your phone is on the side table, plugged in, beside you along with a powerade and glass of water. Swinging yourself out of bed you are grateful to see you are still dressed, sans shoes, socks, and your jacket. Your clothes are uncomfortable but not as if they had been taken off and put back on. You straighten yourself a bit, rubbing your aching forehead. You grab the water and drink most of it. It makes your stomach lurch and for a moment you briefly wonder if the water is going to come back up. 

Settled, you quietly walk over to the attached bathroom. You don’t bother turning on the light, already knowing that you look like hell. You grab a face towel and wash what was left of last night's eyeliner and mascara off.  Making sure to clean the towel well so that it doesn’t stain. You take out your braids and rub at your sore scalp. Giving yourself a moment on the toilet before washing up and rubbing more cold water on your face. You feel a little more human than when you walk back to the room. That cold stone of anxiety rolls around and you try and push it away. Whoever had brought you here hadn’t done anything. You were currently safe and could catch an Uber home. 

Gathering up your things and the bottle of Powerade you slowly open the door. There is the faint sound of music coming from down the hallway. You tiptoe down the way hoping to see a front door to slip out of. At the end of the hallway, the place opened up into a kitchen/living room area. A man was standing in the kitchen singing the song that was playing. The door out was across from the kitchen.  

It wasn’t just any man, it was Walton. Hair fluffed up, wearing a pair of christmas pjs, and white cotton top. Singing and dancing around the kitchen. You freeze and wonder if you should go back into the bedroom and throw yourself out the window. Maybe there would be a fire escape, or maybe you’d just let yourself be swallowed up by the pavement instead of facing him. Letting out a small breath you push yourself into the light of the day, feeling completely at a loss. You weren’t going to be able to sneak out, might as well get the awkwardness over with. 

“Umm. Hey,” You squeak, placing your things onto a chair at the small dining table. 

Walton jumps and turns back to you, his glasses nearly falling off his face,a brief moment of fear is erased by a big smile. “Hey! You’re up. Sorry, did I wake you?” Pushing up his glasses with the back of his wrist. 

You shake your head taking a small sip out of your bottle. The smell of bacon and pancakes makes your stomach growl. How you could be both be hungry and hungover should be studied by scientists.

“No, I am usually up early.”  You give a weake smile. It was true, even on your days off you were usually up between seven and eight. 

“I made breakfast?” He looks so out of place and nervous, pointing to a couple of plates. His usual charisma was replaced with jittery energy. Then again you’d probably be nervous too if one of your drunk co-workers slept at your house.

“That sounds amazing.” You say grabbing both full plates and taking them over to the table. You have no idea what the hell you’re doing, all you wanted to do was leave. At the same time, you were not going to turn him down. The thought of him being disappointed was worse than the awkwardness of staying. 

He slips into the seat beside you handing you a fork and knife, placing some maple syrup on the table. Getting up, again, to grab two mugs and the pot of coffee, he whirls around the place grabbing some cream and sugar too. 

“Thank you, umm for breakfast,” You say, not really sure how to feel about the whole situation. You had very hazy memory about the rest of your evening at the bar. Most of it was just blank. “How did I end up here?”

Walton’s face falls as he looks at you, “Oh, shit. I should have told you. Probably don’t remember coming here.”

You nod your head, suppressing a smile at how flustered he is.

“I tried to bring you home, but you won’t give me your address or wallet. Kept saying you weren’t bringing home ‘no random man’. Kept trying to convince me to just put you in a cab .” 

You laugh at that. “Of course I did.”

“Trevor wasn’t answering so we brought you here. Ahh- I promise nothing happened. I just took off your shoes cause they looked uncomfortable. Plus socks in bed always feel weird.” The jumble of words spilled out as he looked at you for reassurance. 

Your hand finds itself resting on top of his wrist. “Thank you, I appreciate you not leaving me at the bar.” It was kind of him, most people would have just dropped you into a cab and be done with it. But of course, Walton would make sure everyone got home safe, the man was gentleman. 

Walton looks shocked at the last statement. His hand slips up and takes yours. It feels weirdly natural, his larger hand engulfing yours as he rubs his thumb of your fingers absentmindly.

“Oh no. I would never leave you- at a random spot.” He says quickly adding the last bit as his cheeks go slightly pink. You briefly wonder why he would be so flustered, you wouldn’t have blamed him for just letting you take a cab. 

“You're a good man and the food smells amazing.” You smile back, squeezing his hand slightly. It felt so easy just to sit here at the table holding hands. 

Both of you dig into the food, and despite still feeling hungover the food hits the spot. Walton explained as best he could the rest of the night.  You had apparently also hit Leonard, his driver when the man had held your waist trying to help you into the vehicle.

“I will make sure to apologize to him on Monday.” You make a face. “Probably a good reason for me not to go out so much.”

Walton looks taken aback by this, “Leo will be more than fine. I can guarantee he has dealt with the worst. Plus besides that, you were very much welcome company.” 

“Still though.” You shake your head. You grab his plate and stack it before bringing it to the sink. 

The habit of putting things into the dishwasher is in full effect. You help him clean up, and it all feels much too easy. You take a sip of water, the headache still lingers and all you really want is a shower and some sleep. Silently you scold yourself for letting the night get away from you. You had never been a bigger drinker to begin with, and letting yourself get black-out drunk was not exactly something you wanted on your resume. 

“Thank you for- umm- looking after me. I should really get going.” You say feeling flustered, thinking about the fact that you’d love to just crawl into bed with him. Let him tell you stories of his travels as you drift off to sleep. Maybe you could both have a shower and then-

“Can I drive you home?” Walton wakes you from your daydream. “If you are comfortable with me knowing where you live-”

You blink a few times, trying to get your brains to string a few words together. “Oh no, I couldn’t ask you to do that. You’ve already done so much for me.”

He shrugs, “It’s really not a big deal. I promise” 

Your resolve crumbles, what were you supposed to do to disappoint him and say no? No there was not disappointing this sweet man. You’d do near anything just to see him smile. 

***

Walton drives you home, you’re surprised he drives something as utilitarian as a Toyota  4runner. At the same time, who are you to judge, you have been driving the same Honda Accord for almost a decade. You both chat about the city, Walton seems enamored with the mountains, so close to the sea, and tons of places to explore. You talk about your favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurants, and Walton recommends a few decent bars. The chatter is easy, it’s always been easy you realize. The pace and flow were as if you had been talking to him for years ike you were old friends. 

“That’s me,” You say with a weak smile, the idea of having to go home wasn’t as appealing. Your tiny little studio apartment, with its leaky windows and smoke-smelling hallways. At the same time, you know you can’t stay in the vehicle all weekend. 

“So it is,” Walton says, he looks almost as disappointed as you do. “What time should I pick up Monday?”

Taken aback by the question you look at him with your mouth open.

“Your car is still at the studio.” He replies that little mischievous glint in his eye. You wonder if this was his plan all along. 

“Oh. Dang-it. It’s alright I will catch a bus.” You say, trying not to be dismissive but also not wanting to bother him. Realistically he probably had better things to do then pick you up. 

“No. I insist. I was the one that invited you to the bar.”  Walton states a small smile growing as he watches you. You realize that you aren’t going to be able to say no to him, and at the same time, you don’t want to either. 

“I will be outside around 6 am if that works?”

His smile widens, making your heart do little backflips, “Sounds good, I will see you then.”

Chapter four

*This was so much fun to write. I am excited to see where things go next! As always likes comments reblogs are greatly appreciated .*

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

I'm so obsessed 'SbITILYP' it makes my day whenever it updates! I wonder when Hiccup will be able to get his hands on some roses, especially the protagonist's reaction to receiving flowers?

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 26

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 2,983

Berk is a whole new place and you just might have opened up a whole new door for yourself. It’s probably a good one.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, Reader’s POV, Hiccup’s POV, unedited

<Previous - Next>

You kept your eyes glued to the ground.

The leaves of a plant that were scattered across the floor were somewhat recognizable, though you couldn’t place where you’d seen them before. 

Today, though, there seemed to be an excess of them littering the paths around Berk.

You followed a beige dirt path up from the fields, staring at the ground as you carried up a short woven basket full of wheat. It was your day’s payment, the farmer having felt very generous with his store of things.

You didn’t really have a kitchen area, but you weren’t going to refuse a gift. Maybe you could trade with Mrs. Ingerman for something later. It was worth a try.

It had been a while since you’d been into town, having skirted around it for the majority of the day. It’d been a while since you’d seen anyone important, much less Hiccup, and the more time elapsed, the more you avoided, the more antsy you got.

It was noon, and you could feel the sun through your sleeves, a warm thing that made you want to melt into a puddle, like a cat. A nap would be very nice.

It was much quieter than it had been in a while. Things in town had been busy since the Outcasts had been taken into custody. Mildew had been arrested and subsequently exiled and the Outcasts, Alive the Treacherous especially, had been awaiting trial, locked away in the dripping, jailed caves under the Great Hall.

Things had also been very, very quiet and very, very intense. The air was stiff with tension and just about ten times the number of words left unsaid. It was a world of difference compared to the quick gossipy phrases usually exchanged in town.

There was something going on today, though you didn’t care, ready to enjoy some you-time by the cliffs by the coast doing simple jobs and laying in the grass.

Did that have anything to do with the leaves?

You perked up at the call of your name as dirt became wood plank, glancing back towards the fields but not lingering long enough to make out many details. 

You could tell easily, though, that it was Hiccup.

His voice, nasally though it was, set your heart beating like a whole stampede of bulls was pounding dust and you were just about to get trampled encierro style.

“Can I walk with you?” He asked.

You paid only vague attention to his voice in an effort to keep calm, a line of sweat running down your face and hitting the dirt.

There was a strained quality to it; it sounded like he was trying to keep normal. It wasn’t strained in a way that made you believe he was upset so you didn’t worry, more as if he was holding his breath, though for what you had no idea.

Was this how he felt?

“Maybe… Keep looking?” Hiccup hedged, “I’ll follow the path with you, so you dont trip.”

You nodded.

You walked into town like that, eyes on your feet.

The ground turned to wood turned to dirt a few times, your boots tapping and padding against both.

You picked up a leaf once or twice and kept them flat in your palm.

You adjusted your basket twice, though at Hiccup’s insistence, you kept your eyes focused on the ground.

Until you spotted something.. Out of the ordinary.

Something bright red, saturated as the most visible shade of blood drifted down onto the path. It was round, though slightly light at one of the edges, which came to an almost blunt point.

You squinted down at it, bending further with fingers outstretched.

Your fingertips brushed against dirt as you scooped it up, before taking a step as if you were going to keep walking, and then stopping again.

The flesh of it was soft, with what felt like a film on top that was almost like satin, though the flex and feel of it was much different. It felt as if it might split under your nail if you pressed into it, which you nearly did, holding it between the crook of your pointer finger and your thumb.

It was… A petal.

“So…” Hiccup started, coming to a slow stop beside you, “Notice anything different?”

You turned up and looked at him, the sun was inviting and cozy on your cheeks as you pulled them out of your own shadow.

And then you started.

And you dropped your basket, its bottom landing against the ground with hardly a pat.

What you focused on wasn’t Hiccup himself, but more what was behind him. Something you’d missed as you’d walked with your eyes focused on your feet like you were Sherlock Holmes, which you felt funny about now.

It was flowers. 

Roses. Everywhere. 

…Mostly. 

“What…” You said, for the first time.

There were some other species planted throughout donned in multiple different colors, planted alongside houses in various states of bloom, some with thin pipes made of wood connecting to a larger, thicker one, lifted over the lot.

Some in blues and small, wild whites were hanging from planters above, both shelves nailed into the sides of huts and sturdy metal pots with holes in the bottom hanging by tightly woven and painted rope with small strings dangling from the sides.

You could tell that quite a few plants had been the kind repotted from fields and nooks out in the forest, herbs and farm foods planted closer to huts and lined by stones for the sake of convenience, and suddenly a whole lot of things made sense. 

Nearly magenta pink thistle with its spiky green body, hanging purple bluebells, and pink lavender-esque, black spot dotted heather -even one pink Foxglove plant with its many hanging lantern-like flowers sectioned away from the rest in a small metal cage- peeking out from around corners and around huts.

The rose bushes lay large and mostly flowering in large planters, fenced-off using small pikes, fallen leaves and petals bleeding into the space all around, marking your path from the fields all the way to the places in the clearing they’d been planted. 

Up on the hill, you could just barely make out a small rose bush planted just by the pen up by the Chief’s hut.

You had to turn wildly, tracing them back with your eyes, “What…?”

You said it again.

Pale, dry dirt still made up the majority of the clearing, yet leaves and bushes lined the sides of buildings, spilling over upturned, dark earth which dotted the open space, marking boot and dragon tracks across. 

Small carvings of Vikings like gnomes were dotted around the place, arranged in a way that seemed more respectful and worshipful of their depictions than fanciful.

Off in a corner, a small stone fountain in multiple layers, with a little sign which, after many recent, sleepless nights thinking about boys with brown hair and green eyes and stupid freckles and large teeth, you were certain said ‘prototype.’

Vines grew from some thin wood rods to match the metal rods sticking out from the dirt standing, taller than most of the houses, which seemed to be a lot like lightning rods.

“It was a volunteer project,” Hiccup interjected quickly at your silence. 

In your periphery, you could see him step forwards slightly. Jerkily. 

His hands were close together, closer to his torso than away.

“This is…” You started. But you didn’t have the words to express just how you felt. Not yet, when you hadn’t even finished processing the life in front of you.

You inhaled deeply, so quickly your lungs hadn’t time to work it or for you to really feel satisfied by it as you turned yourself bodily, ogling the sight. 

His Dad, the Chief, and the Riders, the Twins egging each other on with dirt gloves, Astrid standing still and attentive as if to involve herself somehow in the conversation the Chief was having with Spitelout, both Chiefly hands pushing back red hair and resting against a mighty back.

Some serious talk about the Outcasts, it looked like, from the way Spitelout was shouting. It seemed that even during the good times, the Chief stayed alert and Spitelout stayed on edge, but there was a softer quality to it here, one that said ‘of course’ and made it seem more funny and fitting than worrying.

“Hey!” You heard the small Larson kid shout as he chased after a girl with bright blue ribbons in her straw-colored hair which held two thick braids together. 

Your attention was briefly drawn towards the indignant shout.

It was then that the Chief briefly turned his attention towards his son, causing your focus to snap back and forth between him and Hiccup with a loud, “Hiccup!”

Hiccup shook him off with his head, despite the fact that you were sure he’d approach, but the look on his face seemed to beg you to keep taking in everything. 

There were dragons lounging on the treetops, all of the Riders’ dragons plus Thornado, off in the far distance, napping on a roof, yellow, which had been covered in soft, grassy plants and clovers, a viking below shouting up at him with a shaking fist.

Stormfly was bobbing her head like a chicken, sitting at the head of a mounted head, which tipped and cracked dangerously under her weight. 

Barf and Belch were off causing chaos, wiggling their heads over a crown of kids while Meatlug was being pampered with fish from a shaded barred and scratched by her rider.

Everyone seemed surprisingly not displeased by the change. 

You could tell who’d helped with the planting by the dirt caked onto their hands and under their nails and by how close they were to the various shovels and buckets piled along the clearing.

Some Vikings had ripped sleeves, others were sweating, arms over their heads to block out the sun, trousers rolled up and helmets displaced off to the side in the shade by huts and under benches. 

Even Mrs. Thorston had come down at one point, harping at other various Vikings and sending googly eyes and comments the Chief either didn’t hear or pretended not to towards his back

You weren’t sure how you missed the sound of chatter, deep and thick all around you.

The two blonde ladies who’d roped you into beadmaking before stood side-by-side, your laundry partner standing tall with crossed arms, gloves dirtied from digging, staining the crooks of her elbows.

She was sewing, needle held over a worn, dirty smock, a dark brown dress and boots packed underneath.

She nudged your laundry partner in the shoulder, pointing towards you with the hand holding her needlepoint.

You even caught a glimpse of the brown-haired fisherman keeping to the more empty alleys and shaded sides of the village clearing, looking as if he’d kind of enjoyed the festivities but also very overwhelmed.

You knew Vikings easily took in the down time given before the storm hit. It was human nature, and with the time to work off restless energy, it seemed a taut line had been released, the air filled with laughter and the bustling, joyful and indignant arguments of children.

The flowers mixed with the paints on the huts and the traditional wood-carved builds on Berk’s homes, which had in fact only grown more complicated since the fall of the Red Death, Berk looked absolutely beautiful. Like everyone here had been born into some sort of eternal festival, and you had just been transported into it; a human in a world made by people who existed beyond reality.

“How did you-... You convinced them to do all of this?” The ‘for me,’ went unsaid. You were too scared to say it, afraid that if you did, the illusion might break and this would all turn out to be a pretty lie, and a pretty lie it was.

You slowly looked back to him, your waist carrying the bulk of your turn.

Someone had just finished clapping him on the back, having must have had at least some exchange of words while you were turned, sharing congratulations as they passed to a hardy woman with a large pitcher of something probably cool and a few mugs. Was it Gobber? 

You couldn’t tell.

You didn’t know Hiccup was such a landscaper.

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Hiccup said, arms behind his back and stance wide as he shifted his weight on his feet, “They loosened up to the idea after I brought up what they’d do to cover the pipes.”

You noticed the dirt on his elbows, the lack of twine on his sleeves and the splashes of yellow and red paint on his cheek that told you that the color on the houses had looked brighter and more plentiful for a reason.

“I, ah,” You said, stepping closer; leaning closer until you stopped just right in front of him. You could have said something about root damage, maybe, or, or… Anything that would have come out coherent in any sort of way. 

But instead, you felt static, and there was nothing to lead you but the fresh feeling in your chest and the prickling in your toes, intense in a dizzying way that nearly threw you off balance.

“You… Planted all this, for me?” You asked, astonished. Against your will, your face began to heat up in a way that must have looked obvious; you felt blotchy and out of place and absolutely light, airy on the inside in a way that brought you both closer to the moment and into the third perspective. 

You were here and with Hiccup. 

Were you going to do it? You weren’t sure where the question had come from, dazed.

He was looking at you with wide eyes as you grabbed his shoulders and leaned closer, closing your own so hard they must have looked like they had been pinched, though you were incredibly aware.

For a moment, it felt like the whole world was watching, paranoia and embarrassment filling your back, each hair on your neck raising in tune with the number of eyes focused on your spine.

You didn’t have to see to know it, though you spotted people stilling and staring in your periphery.

You weren’t sure whether you did or didn't purse your lips though you knew Hiccup was watching, his shoulders stiffening under your hands.

What if you read this all wrong and you were about to embarrass yourself in front of everybody?

…What were you going to do? Were you really going to try and kiss Hiccup for the first time in front of all his friends and family?

Your back and neck felt hot as if you were sweating, heat fluttering and writhing and squirming in your stomach, rising in a quick crescendo though you knew it wouldn’t be until a few moments yet that you’d feel the first bits of moisture against the small of your waist.

It was too much.

You were brought back into yourself with a jump like the cracking of a stick, able to feel every raw edge like a breeze on an exposed nerve or an out-of-place note in sharp.

“I can’t do this!” You squeaked and slapped your hands over your eyes as you quickly turned and ran away, face burning with embarrassment.

“Wait-!” Hiccup stood, dazed for just a moment, watching your cramble away, running sightlessly back onto the path away from the village through the minor crowd that had gathered there. 

He felt slightly robbed, hand extended. It was very, very hot out and his insides burned in a way that, put together, made him feel on fire in a way that was nearly unbearable.

He stepped over a rose, the rose, a nice enough red one he was sure you hadn’t noticed. The petals had been slightly crumpled and ripped as he’d pulled it from his coat, hastily shoved in when he’d seen you walking up to the village from the fields. 

 It had fallen from his hands after his hands had fallen to his sides as you’d stepped closer with-

Hiccup stared intently at where you had run off to, brows furrowed, feeling very determined.

He needed to catch up to you now.

“Woah,” Tuffnut said, voice dragging distantly, standing in awe a few measures behind him, as people began to laugh and gossip, “That was lame.”

It seemed Hiccup was the only one who’d taken it seriously, the other Vikings happy to play and gossip while what seemed like the most pivotal moment of his life happened right in front of them -No, he was not exaggerating.

His prosthetic creaked as he whipped around, calling for his dragon, “Toothless-!”

He ignored the excited murders beginning in the background, heart racing. 

You’d been… very close.

His dragon was there, giving him as much of a look as there was possible for him to give, as if he himself was somewhat embarrassed by the whole event.

Hiccup gave him a look of his own, wordlessly asking his dragon, ‘So what?’

Hiccup didn’t know what he expected from him as Toothless turned and started trotting away, snorting and grawping as he disappeared into a heavily planted alley, just before he jumped up onto one of the many ramps covering Berk lining the rear ends of some of the houses.

“Aw, come on-” Hiccup started before very quickly running after his dragon, like he did way back across rooftops when dragons were nothing to him but bloodthirsty monsters, arms outstretched, nearly tripping as his foot caught on a tuft of grass, “Toothless!”

[calciumdeficientt]

could you do hcs for Peanut Romano?? he's my favorite ofc

Peaaaaaaaanutttttt ought I’m now realising there’s none of these characters i couldn’t talk about for literal hours

PEANUT ROMANO HEADCANONS

Peanut very clearly has little man syndrome, he openly muses about being accused of having a napoleon complex. I think this stems from his childhood, sad asfuck but i think he became man of the house pretty early in his life, his dad was a big sack of shit who was nasty his mum and left early. He takes care of his mother and general household stuff and balances school with it too. He’s a pretty valiant little dude to be honest

Ironically i think he’s allergic to peanuts, not like deathly, but they make him all puffy and sniffly and generally gross, so he keeps an epi-pen tucked into his jacket in case of emergencies

He takes good care of his hair, its a source of his confidence, what he lacks in height in the body department he makes up for for in hair height. He touches up with pomade in the bathrooms pretty regularly and does his best to keep it looking nice and clean and tidy

He really looks up to Johnny as a paternal figure but its so difficult because he is so clearly pining for johnny to be his lover. It’s absolutely not that’s her hates Lola, he loves Lola too but johnny was definitely his first and strongest love, so it absolutely wrecks him to see johnny so torn up about a girl who doesnt know what she wants when peanut is right there, waiting, with his mind fully made up

He likes vintage cars, and has a little pot of money in his dorm to hopefully buy a car with one day. There’s a dude in old bullworth vale with a pretty nice hot rod that he’s had his eye on since he was a sophomore and as luck would have it, its not yet been sold. He frequently rides his bike through the neighbourhood just to check its still there, and to check if its been marked down and he can get his hands on it

Had a huge, gross crush on Marlon Brando as a kid. It started when his grandma had a streetcar named desire playing on her TV when he was sleeping over in grade school (while his parents sorted out their belongings and prepared to split) and it played a considerable role in his decision making to join the greaser clique. Not that he can be blamed, Marlon Brando is so fucking dreamy it should be illegal

Very nervous tagger, his hands get all sweaty when he’s nervous and nine times out of ten he messes up the slogan for fear of getting caught. Needless to say he’s relieved when he sees the police or school faculty washing them away when he’s done

Peanut is super embarrassed about his voice, along with his small sature he’s absolutely terrified that people wont find him intimidating wand will pick on him. If you go on a school computer after he’s had his turn you’ll find article after article of advice on how to deepen your voice, silly kitty.

His voice anxiety is part of the reason he smokes, he hopes if he keeps it up it might make him sound a little more rough around the edges, and a little less… girlish.

Peanut loves to dance, he actually considered taking classes for a while and maybe trying out some competitions. He bailed out when the whole Johnny and Lola fiasco kicked off for the first time, he just didn’t have the heart to leave johnny so defenseless and bordering on a nervous breakdown. He had to don the metaphorical johnny jacket and take charge while their clique leader was in the fetal position in the corner. The least he could do was hang around and wipe the tears off johnny’s pretty pretty face.

[thefabulous-mostgroovy]

Need You Here

Annabelle insists that it wasn't part of her plan. The Jump has left her weak, barely connected to the Mother of Puppets by more than a thread. Her face, her voice, are completely sincere. Her sympathy true and deep. She tells Martin that it was not a part of her plan for Jon to become the Pupil of the Eye. She didn't mean for Jon and Martin to travel with her at all.

She didn't plan for Jon to die. Martin wishes that she had.

Jon/Martin, 3k words, rated T, read on AO3. this is for day 4 of @jonmartinweek for the prompt Tea as a Love Language / Beyond the Grave. Content warning for grieving, heavy description of blood, and ghost shenanigans

Annabelle insists that it wasn't part of her plan.

The Jump has left her weak, barely connected to the Mother of Puppets by more than a thread. Her face, her voice, are completely sincere. Her sympathy true and deep. She tells Martin that it was not a part of her plan for Jon to become the Pupil of the Eye. She didn't mean for Jon and Martin to travel with her at all.

She didn't plan for Jon to die. Martin wishes that she had.

He doesn't want to believe that Jon became the Pupil, that he betrayed him, because of own lack of self control. He doesn't want to believe that Jon's blood is on his hands for the rest of his life. He doesn't want to believe that he killed the love of his life. He wants to blame it on someone else. If it had been Annabelle's intention all this time, it would be so much easier. Maybe it would let him sleep at night if he could just say that it was always going to happen, because the Web decided it would happen.

But, no. In her infinite pity, Annabelle assures Martin that she didn't want Jon to die. She thinks it might make him feel better. It makes him want to vomit. Or scream. Or cry. Or all three. Instead, he stares at her blankly, barely even processing what's around him except for the limp weight of Jonathan Sims in his arms.

When he eventually tears his eyes away from her face—her awful, grinning, blood and tear stained face—he meets Jon's eyes. Or, he tries to. Jon's eyes have turned a brown that Martin, for just a moment, couldn't even remember he had. They're dark, almost black, but when the rising sun hits them, they turn vibrant. His gaze is glazed over. The whites almost pink with how bloodshot they are. Dried blood flakes off his skin from where they poured out of his eyes. Out of his mouth. His shirt is completely saturated with dark, dark red. Martin takes his face in one hand, the other arm hooked under him so he's not laying on the ground. There's ink on his hands. Ink and blood and dirt.

Annabelle drags herself closer. The snow crunches under her as she leans in to look at his face.

"Thank you, Archivist," she whispers. And she kisses his forehead. Tears drip out of Martin's eyes.

He tilts forward, wraps Jon up in his arms, cradles the back of his head, and he cries. He cries harder than he thinks he ever has in his life. Annabelle rubs between his shoulders with a delicate hand, and he wants to tell her to get away from him. To not even think of touching him. But his sobbing too much to get anything that could count as a word out.

He stays there for a very long while. It's well into the morning before he can be convinced to let Jon go. He can barely see the forest they've landed in through the fog.

//

Martin hates to admit it, but Annabelle has helped him a lot. Not emotionally, god forbid, but practically. Even weak and in a completely foreign universe, she is still a master manipulator.

(Martin isn't exactly any better, himself. It turns out, stealing money from Peter Lukas is easy in every dimension.)

She helps him find a flat, a nice job in a library—since that went so well the last time—and for the most part, she leaves him alone. To his relief, she doesn't try to comfort him beyond her attempt in the forest. She doesn't try to become friends, or tell him to stay in touch. She just makes sure that he isn't about to top himself and moves on to whatever she has planned next.

Martin stands in the middle of his flat. The only thing that fills it is a pool of fog wisping around his ankles. No furniture except for the couch and coffee table that came with the place. No bed, he doesn't exactly sleep anymore. He just lays on the couch for some amount of hours and hopes he doesn't have another nightmare consisting of Jon and the Panopticon and the knife.

The library job is, thankfully very quiet. It's an underfunded little building whose 'rush hour' is four or five kids popping in after school to pick up some books or hang out for a bit before they go home. He checks books out. He checks them back in. He logs what books are in the cart. He puts them back on the shelf. It's all muscle memory by now (he would hope so after eleven years of doing it in the Magnus Institute).

His coworkers don't talk to him. They'll say good morning, how are you, Martin? And Martin will say, I'm fine. And you? And they'll say they're fine, then avoid him for the rest of the time he's there. He prefers it that way. If they notice the fog that fills the aisles, they don't comment. If they hear Martin crying in the bathroom, they don't comment. If they notice the occasional college student going missing... well, they definitely don't come to Martin about it.

To say that Martin is still living, despite it all, would be a bit of a stretch. He more shambles from place to place, vacant eyed and zombie-ish. Sending people to the Tundra at least makes him less hungry, though there is an ache in his gut that no amount of feeding will ever fill.

At night, he yearns for the warm weight that Jon provided as they slept. He would always end up right on top of Martin, head on his chest, arms wrapped around him. Martin buys weighted blankets to try and imitate it, but it's crude at best. Nothing could ever replace the gentle breathing rustling his shirt, the hair weight of his locs laid over his chest, the gentle removal of glasses to be placed on the bedside table.

Martin gathers the blankets up to his chin, and he weeps.

//

After six months, and a few furniture purchases, Martin comes home to a tape recorder on his coffee table.

His blood runs cold at the sight of it. He thought he was done with tapes. He thought that they would stop showing up in this universe. He thought he would never have to hear the whirr of a cassette ever again. Yet, here it is. A plastic box on his table, next to his poetry notebook.

It takes about an hour of staring at it before he actually clicks it on. When he does, he almost covers his ears before it actually starts to play. It buzzes for a moment, then another click plays through the speaker, and the air fills with rustling fabric. A sigh.

"Martin?" a voice whispers. Martin's heart stutters as he places it immediately. Jon. Jon's voice. "Martin, are you awake?"

A sleepy grumble. "I am now."

"Sorry, just... did you know, oranges aren't naturally occurring fruits?"

"What...?"

"They're a hybrid of a pomelo and a mandarin."

A pause. A rustle.

"Jon," his own voice says. "Why are you telling me this at two in the morning?"

"I'm having one of those moments."

"Moments?"

"The Eye keeps telling me fun facts, and I simply can't help it."

There's a warble of laughter through Jon's words, and Martin can't help but smile at the sound. He hasn't heard that laugh in so long. Even before he died, it had been a long while since Jon had laughed about anything. He can't remember what it was...

"And this can't wait till we wake up properly?"

"Some cats are allergic to humans."

"Jon..."

"New York was named New Orange for a while in 1673, after William III of Orange."

"Jon."

"The man who invented the frisbee had his ashes turned into a frisbee."

"Jon."

Jon falls into laughter. More fabric shuffles about and it becomes muffled. Martin laughs as well. Martin, listening, feels tears dripping down his cheeks.

"Sorry," Jon says, taking a breath. "I'll let you sleep now. Stop burdening you with my- my fun facts. How dare I want to tell my boyfriend interesting things."

"Boyfriend, huh?"

Martin suddenly remembers this moment. The first time they'd ever put a label on it.

"Is- is that alright?" Jon had asked, looking up at Martin almost timidly. Even in the dimly lit room, Martin could see his wide, nervous eyes.

"Of course it's alright," Martin had said back, and he kissed Jon's forehead, then his lips. Jon curled further around him, pressing into him as much as he physically could, and sighed against his lips. When Martin pulled back, he said: "Maybe just wait till morning to tell me more fun facts."

"Fine."

Martin had smiled, and Jon had too.

The tape clicking off breaks Martin out of his memories. He sobs with his chest as he gathers the recorder up in his arms. He holds it close, under his chin. This is what he has left of Jon. A tape recording he never knew existed, somehow in his living room.

Martin cries so loud it probably disturbs the neighbours, fog encompassing his flat, leaving his skin feeling damp and clammy. His shoulders shake with sobs, the plastic creaking under his tight grip.

A hand gently touches his back, between his shoulders.

He gasps, head snapping up as the fog blows away. There's no one there. No one behind him or beside him. Yet, a warm handprint burns into his skin.

The feeling doesn't disappear for hours.

//

Martin feels it again a week later.

He's in bed, because he finally got around to buying a damn bed instead of sleeping on the couch, staring at his ceiling. The room is cold. He has twk weighted blankets on top of him, and he's still cold. It's still not enough. It doesn't feel like him.

Tears have frozen into ice crystals on his lashes, making it painful to blink. He can barely feet his hands, his feet. He feels separate from his body. Like he's hovering a few feet outside of it. The most has made his flat smell damp, and musty. It's moments like these—laying on his back, barely conscious, barely even alive—that he kind of wishes Annabelle had kept in touch. At least she would be someone from Before. Something recognisable.

It's then that a pair of arms encompass him. They're warm. Hot. Like the heat coming off of a fresh burn. It lays along his side, tucked into his shoulder. His mind flashes back to days in the cottage, in Upton House, with Jon clinging to his side like a koala. He can feel his face thawing, from the phantom space heater that has taken up residence in his bed.

Martin doesn't want to look. If this is all in his head, he doesn't want to know, because then it might all go away. He might be completely delusional, but he closes his eyes anyway, and falls asleep faster than he has in months.

He wakes up to a cup of tea waiting for him on his bedside table. He doesn't drink it.

//

The next week, he has a nightmare.

Martin's never experienced sleep paralysis before, but he thinks this might be what it is. He feels asleep, head still stuck in the haze of half-consciousness, but he opens his eyes anyway. There's a vague light in his bedroom. Not bright enough to hurt his bleary eyes, but enough to be noticeable. He blinks a few times before he manages to squint and make out the source.

There's a figure at the end of his bed. He's tall. Baggy clothes. Dark, greying locs hang down over his shoulders. Six emerald green and gold flecked eyes sit on his face; two in their proper place, and two above and below. His shirt has a rip down the centre, revealing a gaping wound still leaking blood. It falls out in almost black blobs, but never reaches the ground. It floats away, almost.

"Martin," the figure gurgles, and more blood drips over his lips, also falling away into nothingness.

Martin passes out. Or falls back asleep. Either way, what a fucked up nightmare. Because that's all it was. A nightmare.

The next morning, before work, he listens to the tape again. His coworkers don't notice his red, puffy eyes.

When he gets home, a cup of tea sits on his coffee table. He doesn't drink it.

//

There's another cup of tea on Martin's bedside table. Martin did not make tea. When he finally takes a sip of the Mystery Tea, probably against his better judgement, it's just how he likes it. Regular old Earl Grey with a splash of milk and two sugars.

He brings it out with him to the living room as he drinks it. There, behind the couch, stands Jon.

His hands and legs are a little see through. His extra eyes blink out of time with his regular ones. He's letting out a constant stream of blood and ink. Stained, transparent hands wring together, fiddle with the ends of his locs.

"Made you," he starts, then chokes on his own blood. He clears his throat, then he finishes: "Tea."

So, Martin has started seeing things. He's gone completely crazy and started hallucinating his dead boyfriend. That's what's happening. Except, hallucinating doesn't often involve cups of tea appearing at his bedside.

"Okay," Martin sighs, scrubbing his face with one hand. "Okay. Okay. Ghosts?"

"Think so," Jon barely manages.

They sit together on the couch. Martin sits at one end, and Jon at the other, and he can feel a sharp heat radiating off of the ghost. Perhaps heat isn't the right word—it's more like the air of a fever. Jon creates a radiance like a stover around himself, in a way that is so painfully familiar, it makes his head hurt.

Martin stares at the chest wound. Jon's shaky hands pull his cardigan over it. His lip trembles for a moment as he figures out what to say. Is there anything to say? He takes a deep inhale; the air smells of copper. He wants to say so much. He wants to scream at him, ask him how dare he do that to him? How dare he leave him and then just show back up, making him tea? He wants to hold Jon close and never let go, never leave this flat, if it means he will be beside him forever. He wants to shake him by the shoulders and call him an idiot and kiss him absolutely silly and—

Jon starts before Martin can get his mouth to cooperate with his brain.

"Missed you," is all he gets out through the mouthful of ink. He swallows. Grimaces at the taste. "Love you... I'm sorry."

Martin crumples.

His head tips forward and he starts to cry, for what might very well be the millionth time that week, and he tugs Jon's half-there form towards him. His hands, surprisingly, don't go through him. Jon shifts until his legs are flung over Martin's lap, and they hold each other. He's boiling hot, even through the layers, and Martin doesn't care. There's an odd noise in his ear, and it takes him a moment to realise that Jon is crying as well.

Martin calls in sick to work. He and Jon hold each other for hours.

//

Having a ghost for a boyfriend is surprisingly easy to get used to. They can't really kiss—Martin's mouth just gets filled with copper and it burns his tongue—but they spend almost every hour curled up on the couch. They watch movies and TV shows, some that they've already seen from their world, but with different casts and slightly worse plots. Jon makes Martin tea every day. He can't pick up books anymore, seems only able to interact with Martin and the ingredients for tea, so Martin reads to him. (Jon is very happy that the Eye can't tell him the plot anymore.)

Martin sleeps much easier with Jon on top of him. Sure, Jon doesn't exactly sleep, but he does lay on Martin's front and close his eyes. Martin sets up an audio book for him to listen to at a low enough volume that he can still sleep, to make sure Jon doesn't get bored.

They give up trying to talk pretty quickly, instead taking up sign language. Jon's hands shake pretty badly, but it works. He still chokes on the blood, and every time, Martin feels a sharp stab of guilt, but he insists it's his own fault. That conversation is long, and difficult, and Martin is very glad it's over. Not to say they actually agreed on whose fault it is, if it's anyone's at all, but they both privately blame themselves while outwardly deciding that it's a topic best moved on from. What's done is done, and there's no point squabbling about it.

And so, Martin enjoys this thing that he thinks is close to domestic bliss, and he lets Jon take care of him. Jon makes him go on walks, convinces him to start actually talking to his coworkers, somehow manages to get him to get back in touch with Annabelle to the point where they could even be considered friends. It's nice, in a way that Martin hadn't even thought he'd felt. Unconventional, obviously, but... nice.

Annabelle can see Jon as well, which at least means Martin hasn't completely fallen off the deep end. He thought Jon would hate her, after everything, but it seems she's not so bad once you've stopped being apart of her schemes. She visits often; she seems just as excited about having a friend, herself.

With Jon lazing against his side and Annabelle telling them about a play she saw and how it's significantly better than their old world's version, Martin thinks, for the first time: maybe this universe isn't all that bad.

[rosesloveletters]

muse.

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Reader

Word Count: 2,137

Warnings: No major content warnings apply.

Summary: Reader is suffering from writer's block and Wonka surprises them with their very own writing room to help inspire their creativity.

Author's Note: As a writer, this fic is extremely important to me. Also, the photo of Wonka I used for this one is one of my favorites look at him <333

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

The sun began to set, casting a radiant glow across the landscape and saturating the horizon in the warm hues of lingering twilight as it transitioned into the blue hour. The dewy grass in the courtyard below appeared to sparkle with every movement of the wind, as if it were covered in thousands of tiny, glistening diamonds that reflected the palate of colors in the sky. 

You stepped out onto your balcony to take in the subtle beauty of serene night. 

As a poet, you were often inspired by the natural beauty that surrounded you. 

You had a passion for words and a love for language and expression. Your pen was your key to the world and it unlocked possibilities unknown to others and, sometimes, even to yourself. Your writings were an expression of your soul, of your deepest feelings and private, inner thoughts. 

You shared your heart in ink and crafted words that would encapsulate your very essence.

When it came as naturally as the setting sun, you could see the beauty and nuance of life through the lens of poetry, capturing your thoughts in ways as brilliant and as dazzling as light itself. 

Your dreams were just as bright and left streaks of color across the page every time your dared to pick up a pen, even though you could be highly critical of yourself and of your writing; your prose was background noise to your everyday thoughts, but to others, it was the crescendo of consequence, the resonant tones that were so often felt, but rarely put into the right words.

This time, however, you were struggling as anyone else would be, to find the correct words for how you felt. 

You were uninspired and, though you had time to collect your thoughts and clear your mind to make room for new ideas, it seemed hopeless as you were at a loss for where to begin. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind you startled you and you turned, coming face to face with Wonka who was respectfully removing his hat as he stepped out onto the balcony to greet you. 

“I see you’re still experiencing a bit of difficulty coming up with an idea of what to write about,” he said, voice as soft as rain as it blanketed and clung to you like a warm summer drizzle. 

You nodded; you were a bit troubled by the fact that you had been suffering from writer’s block for weeks now. 

Typically, when you wanted to write, you were able to, but right now no such case had been made. You were struggling to find the motivation to create, a debilitating scenario Wonka had found himself fallen victim to numerous times in his life, and one he did not wish to see you suffer through alone. 

His large, warm hand rested on the small of your back as he stood beside you on the balcony he had installed off the back of the factory, unseen by passersby on the main road out front. It afforded the two of you the opportunity to be outside and to enjoy the fresh air without being swarmed by the public. It was risky enough to go down to the courtyard; with Wonka’s worldwide renown, he did best to stay out of the public eye as much as possible, lest anyone decide to sneak onto the property for one reason or another, putting both of you at risk of harm. 

If staying inside of his beloved factory while the rest of the world waited on his doorstep kept him and yourself safe, he would have locked the door and thrown away the key (again.) 

Still, it was nice to have a way of escape from the sometimes-oppressive feeling of being inside all the time and so you often came out here when you felt that you needed more space. 

Privacy was deeply important to the both of you, but it was difficult to come by these days. 

Wonka gazed out across the sprawling complex of his factory.

He had built an empire that stretched several blocks. 

It was an impressive sight, but nothing quite like the way his pupils expanded in the waning light, robin’s egg blue irises spiraling with shimmering, springtime whimsy. 

A small smile spread across your face; if you could not be swayed by the natural beauty of the world around you, then perhaps you should cast your eyes upon the man who had become your whole world and let yourself become delighted by his elegant beauty.

Wonka turned to you and the look in his eye indicated that he had not expected to see you smiling at him, yet without missing a beat, he returned your grin with his own, “you know, I’ve got just the thing that might help you.”

This was unexpected. 

It was not unusual for Wonka to do his best to help you through any tough or difficult situations, especially where and when creativity was involved. 

However, when he offered you anything, you always kept up your guard at first. 

As much as you loved him, Wonka was and always had been somewhat unpredictable. 

“Willy,” you began with uncertainty, “I don’t know if it’s any one thing that might help me, rather than inspiration as a whole.”

Your intent was to discourage him from anything extravagant. 

He was already turning away from the balcony railing and making his way inside. He paused in the doorway and looked at you with a mischievous glint in his sharp blue eyes, “perhaps what I have to give you will spark that very inspiration that you seek.”

He had a point, though you were still unsure, but what choice did you have?

You trusted him perhaps more than you trusted yourself and that was saying something.

Without another thought against the matter, you turned and followed him. 

Wonka led you back through your private living quarters and down the hall, past the library and to a little room at the end of the hall that he had kept you out of under the guise of it being nothing but extra storage space. You had never questioned him on this. After all, this was his space and though you had recently become a permanent resident, you had yet found a reason to explore this particular room and therefore what secrets it held were unknown to you. 

 He paused with his hand on the knob; he was beaming from ear to ear like he was about to tell you the punchline of a joke. 

“Are you ready, my dear?” he could barely contain his excitement. 

His energy was infectious and you found yourself on the edge of your seat in terms of anticipation as you nodded and waited for him to open the door. 

He turned the knob and pushed the door inward. As it swung open, you let out a little gasp at the sight you beheld: it was a perfect, quaint and quiet little space with hardwood floors and several rugs of various colors and styles that were perfect accent pieces someone like Wonka would have acquired at one point or another in his life. There was a bookcase against the right wall, fully stocked with reading materials, writing guides, poetry collections, anthologies and dictionaries. 

Several small shelves had been installed which housed candles of various shapes, sizes, colors and scents as well as a few succulents and houseplants, one of which you noticed was a string of pearls with strands stretching near to the floor. A plush-looking armchair took up residency in the left corner near the door, along with a modest little end table and a lamp that looked like it had been brought straight from the nineteenth century. 

What caught your eye much more than any of the décor, however, was the writing desk which sat against the far wall in front of a large picture window overlooking half the Wonka factory complex and half of the city it occupied. 

The desk itself was unobtrusive and plain, wooden, with a small hutch above for storing papers and documents. It seemed almost like a schoolteacher’s desk and perhaps it had been at one time, yet the most noticeable aspect of its structure was that the desk appeared to have been sawed in half. 

All the air left your lungs…could it be?

As if he could hear your thoughts, Wonka spoke up, “I knew I had kept the other half of my desk, but I couldn’t remember where I had put it. The Oompa Loompas were clearing out one of our storage rooms when they discovered it. So, in the greatest of secrecy, I had them help me bring it in and design the perfect writing room for you. Now, you have your own quiet space to work and perhaps a little inspiration could be born from this new environment.”

You were utterly speechless, yet your mind was a trove of questions and curiosities as your eyes scanned the room; you tried to take in everything at once, but there was far too much in your immediate line of sight everywhere you looked that it was impossible to focus. 

How had he managed to do all this right under your nose, without you having ever been the wiser? 

That was, perhaps, what made him who he was. 

Wonka was a mystery, a whimsical force of nature who did as he pleased and laughed in the face of any nay-sayer. He could achieve any impossibility, regardless of impracticality.

He was also a diligent worker and was devoted to his ideas and whims. When he decided to do something, somehow, it always got done. 

Knowing that the Oompa Loompas had helped with this project warmed your heart. 

The sweet little elfin creatures who ran Wonka’s factory were more like family than mere workers and you could tell that they had lovingly created a space that would feel safe and cozy for you to work. Your mind was already buzzing with ideas of how to properly thank them for their contributions. 

“So, do you like it, my dear?”

Wonka’s gentle voice garnered your attention and your loving gaze landed on him for the first time since you had entered the room. A smile as bright and as warm as the sun split across your face, “oh, I love it! It’s perfect! I can’t thank you enough, Willy. How can I ever repay you?” 

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that,” Wonka amicably placed a hand on your shoulder, “your joy is payment enough. I sincerely hope that this will help spark some creativity, since you’ve had a bit of trouble lately.”

“I know it will,” your tone spoke of reassurance, for him and for yourself. 

You were certain you would feel inspired here, not just within this room, but inside the entire Wonka factory. 

You had perhaps put too much pressure on yourself to get inspired out of your own desire to create when there was a whole little world here in which you could draw inspiration from, if not from the factory itself, from the man who had made it all a reality. 

Wonka was truly magnificent in many ways, yet you were the most enamored by just one: he loved you so much that he would do something so simple, yet so profound, for the sake of helping and to bring you happiness, never asking for anything in return or making you feel guilty for accepting the help and gesture of kindness.

As a small child, your dreams of romance included the most basic of needs being met, but also of someone, a nameless, faceless partner to be filled in at a later date, showing deeper interest in you beyond that which was surface level, born not out of selfish motivations, but rather of a deeper desire for connection and an interest in who you were. 

Someone with no familial connection or obligation, who wanted to love you because they chose to, despite everything that you felt made you unappealing and undesirable. 

Wonka made you feel seen in ways you hadn’t known were possible until he enlightened you and now.

He was much more than what you yearned for in the past; he replaced your idea of romance with a real one.  

You were finally chosen. 

Never had you been so grateful to have such a unique existence. 

“And I know exactly what I’m going to write about first.”

Wonka looked at you with a hint of surprise on his face, “is that right?”

You nodded. 

“And what might your subject be?”

You looked at him lovingly, heart practically beating out of your chest as you uttered, “Us.”

How different things might have been had you known that this entire time, you were waiting for him. 

[doom-dreaming]

Halo 1-3 armor: Very nice. A technological marvel. Sleek. I love it. Iconic. I love it in the anniversary version of halo 2.

Halo 4-5 armor: slutty. Fashion icon. Jokes aside, I don't get the hate for this one. I like it. He looks pretty in it. Yes it is a tad impractical in some cases and a darker shade of green. It just means he's a dark green cicada instead of a leaf green one.

Infinite: Honestly, it's probably my favorite one. The design is heavily inspired from the halo trilogy with a modern touch to it. Very Green compared to halo 4 and 5. I love the marks and damage it has on it— the details.

Oh cool, an excuse to look at pictures of him. I do genuinely think it's neat to look at all the designs side-by-side and see what they kept and what they changed, so let's do that. :)

Original CE graphics next to the Anniversary remaster. Not a drastic change, same basic shape, just more detail, which makes sense. I do like the addition of the glowy bits (shield generator?) on his chest as well as the ones above his knees.

Halo 2 original graphics (top) vs. Anniversary (bottom; I would have put them side by side but they're not the same size and it decapitated him). Still the same general look as CE, but notably without any glowy/reflective bits (but it looks like whatever those are is still there, above his knees, just matte this time). The chest piece looks more like a breastplate than a roller coaster safety harness. It gives him tits. I love the scuffing and wear and tear they added, especially on his knees and boots. I agree that this is one of my favorite versions of it.

Halo 3 - it looks smoother than the iteration in 2, and that could be to graphical updates, but compare it to the CE look and it's similar, like they rounded off some of the sharp edges. They sanded my boy. Also, we see the return of the shiny above-knee strips. Still none on the chestplate though. Less noticeable scuffing and damage here, too.

Halo 4, where 343 Industries took over and things got wild. The undersuit has texture now. The fingers have actual plating on them. The shape is still roughly the same, it's the classic Mjolnir silhouette, but each section has a crazy amount of detail and kibble added to it. They really embellished - where a lot of the original trilogy designs had solid metal, they've added buckles and screws and things I don't know how to describe in writing that give it a lot more visual interest. Like you said, the designs in 1 - 3 were very sleek, the design here looks like a lot of moving parts. Also, the color is closer to the muted green in Halo 3 (or at least that specific picture), which is interesting. And note the removal of the Shiny Strips altogether. I'm like you, I don't get the hate for this one, I think it looks cool.

In Halo 5, we've gotten sleeker again! And a little greener. A lot of the gray parts of the Halo 4 design have been turned dark green for this one. The undersuit has also lost its very specific bumpy texture for something a little smoother? The coloring on this one is weird to me and I'm just now noticing it, but there are some places that look like they shouldn't be green or black. Like his shoulders? That looks like undersuit texture, shouldn't that be black? And it looks like they filled in the little crop top portion in the 4 design (not really visible in the photo I used here, oops) but it still looks more like undersuit than armor, so I'm not sure what the goal was here. I do think the random stripes of red are a fun touch and...do we have the return of Shiny Thigh Strips once again? Hard to say. Notably NO battle damage in this one, dude looks like a pristine action figure.

Halo Infinite - this is definitely a callback to the original trilogy design, they even brought the bolts/screws on the boots and hands back. To me, it looks VERY similar to the H2A design, which is a Good Thing. But oh god, they turned up the saturation on the green. This is the greenest he's ever been. And we have the Shiny Strips (even though they're not shiny?) on the legs again! Not on the chest, but they've added a pair to his lower legs. And we've got battle damage again! Yay! To me, this is a best-of-both-worlds compromise between the original design(s) and the level of detail in 4 and 5. I just wish they hadn't gone SO green with it. I also wish they'd kept the actual armor on his fingers. And I don't know if it's just this specific render, but it looks more like plastic than metal to me? Which is an interesting design choice if it was an intentional one.

[127luvr]

015 Heat Lightning

. ˚ ｡ ° ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⋆˙ ✧ ⋆ ˗ˋˏ ✩ ˎˊ˗ ⋆ ˙ ✧ ⋆ ｡ ° ⋆ ࿓ .  ˚

the venue is beautiful—painted a charcoal grey on the outside with no indication that there was an event indoors. there’s no sign of an exhibit—except for the large guard that stood next to the door, scanning tickets. and the ticketing booth that was stationed a few feet away from the building with a couple of people lined up out of pure curiosity.

the three of you wait for the rest of the group, standing a bit away from the building as to not attract attention. you’re near the sidewalk—standing with a knee resting on the nearest bench you could find. haechan is holding mark’s hand, standing in front of him as he fixes a few strands of hair. their affection doesn’t make you uncomfortable—it doesn’t leave you with a bitter feeling like it would if it was jaemin and jaehyun together. no—watching mark and haechan was nice—it made you want to be in love.

“hey!” renjun catches you in a hug, his arms squeezing you as tight as he could even with his small frame. it takes you a second to wrap your arms around him, smiling into his shoulder when you get comfortable in his touch. you see the rest following behind him—jeno greeting you with his signature smile—jisung offering you a fist bump by renjun’s waist—and chenle, who only greets you with a slight nod of his head. “did you wait long?”

you shook your head, linking arms with renjun as you all walk towards the entrance.

getting inside was easy—navigating was a different story. the entrance is a narrow hallway with only a restroom visible along the walls. it takes you a second to spot the door that leads inside.

you can’t see all of the different photographs at once—there are walls that separate the different themes of love. they don’t quite reach the ceiling—creating a more open floor plan to the exhibit. it’s beautiful. it causes your eyes to water as you tear away from your friends, drawn more towards the large display that covers the further most wall. it hangs in the dead center, visible from every corner of the room. it’s a picture of all of you—of you—of haechan—of mark—of jisung and chenle—of renjun—of jeno. you didn’t realize he had snapped this picture of you guys. capturing only the back of your heads in front of the night sky.

it was outside of the house—during the start of autumn where the air was finally getting cooler.

there are more scattered around as you walk around—almost dizzy with all the turns you make—but it’s worth it. you find yourself in a lot of his works. seeing yourself through his eyes—with your head thrown back in laughter as he snaps a picture quickly. you’ve never questioned it—his swift movements—but it makes sense now as you follow arrows you find placed at the very bottom of the walls.

you can see jaehyun in some of these—in more recent pictures. they go from black and white to more saturated. it’s a small detail—one that makes your stomach feel funny.

“Y/N!” you turn your head towards jaemin’s voice, a sense of tranquility washing over you as you finally spot him. he looks even better in person. the buttoned up shirt he wears tucked in only on one side, accentuating his waist incredulously. he wraps his arms around you before you can protest, squeezing you tightly as his arms bulge out of his sleeves. you can feel his breath on your ear, growing warmer as he keeps you in his hold. “thank you for coming.”

“jaemin. i’m really proud of you—you know i wouldn’t have missed it even if i was dying.” he laughs—his entire body shaking as he chuckles. he finally lets you go, stepping back to look over his shoulder and wave someone over. you feel cold now—as if the temperature had dropped in the room but you keep your cool. waving your friends over along with jaemin as he silently reels his boyfriend in. “guys.”

“jaehyun!” four voices call out his name—neither of them being you or jaemin. out of the four, haechan is the first to speak, “we’re label mates…”

. ˚ ｡ ° ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⋆˙ ✧ ⋆ ˗ˋˏ ✩ ˎˊ˗ ⋆ ˙ ✧ ⋆ ｡ ° ⋆ ࿓ .  ˚

prev masterlist next

[mumuscae]

Whoopsies! I slipped up and turned your artw guys into magical girls

Part 4

I based pretty princess Alpheratz off of Andromeda, the chained princess. Also very inspired by yachiyo nanami I from magica record because I think about her often she's so cool

Uhh spica is just green I didn’t have a coherent thought process whoops I was too focused on alpheratz

Please excuse my angry rambling about the process for creating ladyratz

The amount of times I had to correct the purple on alpheratz to make it more accurate just for it to become THE WRONG PURPLE is horrifying. I wanted to make alpheratz's eye color the main color, because that's what I've been doing with most of them. But I also wanted to incorporate the red that hes usually associated with, so I made the purple darker and made the red lighter and into a pink. (I only did this because I didn't like how the purple looked with the red also pink is so cool) But then after that the purple started becoming incorrect?? it turned more and more into magenta as I kept drawing

Oh yeah and also not only that but I had actually originally been working on alpheratz along side a magical girl design for SCHEDAR (because I have to give the side characters the same treatment otherwise it wouldn't be fair) and I wanted their designs to look nice beside eachother because they were gonna have like, a queen and princess theme, but I also wanted them to vary in color. that way I would have shedar with a pale cool color pallet and then ladyratz with a saturated warm one with a few shared colors like the eye color BUT THAT MESSED UP THE COLORS MORE SOMEHOW?? they wound up being two completely different purples in the end because I wanted them to look different enough for the designs to work on their own 😭

Then as I kept working the anatomy started to look off because I was looking at it for too long, so I redid the entire drawing of pretty princess alpheratz JUST FOR IT TO LOOK WORSE THAN IT ORIGINALLY STARTED AND THE PURPLE WAS STILL WRONG??! Oh and also now the pink is wrong!!!

Now the entire drawing looks off but I really don't want to look at ladyratz ever again so I'm not gonna remake it a third time

Anyways, now that the girly guide committee is complete, I must move on to girlifying the side characters because I genuinely have nothing better to do with my time. they are definitely not being finished anytime soon tho lol

____________________________________________

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

[chunklet]

how do u color so nicely? sorry for such a vague question but your style and the way you color and shade stands out so much to me, its super unique, do you upload speedpaints or anything?

Lol its ok thank you so much! I haven't made a speedpaint since I was like 12 but they were fun so I could record more if anyone would be interested

My actual coloring process is hard to describe (and also generally very inconvenient but its the way I like to do things) so i will do my best to show you using this arcade drawing I never posted:

First my sketches are reallyyyyy messy. Also i draw on a grey background because supposedly it helps you choose better colors but idk if that's true. Also here's my sketch brush for CSP if anyone is interested

Second I put down flat colors. These ones are a little messed up since I erased them as I went later but this is the gist of it. My base coloring is messy and usually doesn't cover all the sketch since I change so much as I go anyway

Third i make a new layer above both the colors and lines layers and just paint over it until I like how it looks. usually my rendered/realistic drawings look bad until I do this. For this piece I had THAT ^ until i decided i didn't like it so I colored over it AGAIN: (colored over instead of restarting bc I liked the face)

NOTABLY, the most important part of my coloring process is probably color jitter. I mostly use a brush called flashito on CSP which has built-in color jitter, but you can turn it on on basically any brush you use. It basically just makes it so that each stroke has a slightly different saturation or hue based on your brush settings. It helps me get the color variety I like and works well with my insane painting process.

usually by the time I'm done painting something, I do so much that I can hide the lines and flat colors layers and it'll be virtually the exact same. Here's my arcade drawing without the flats/lines layers on

It's a little tedious but I like how it looks. This is a long post but honestly in short I think using a brush with color jitter will do a lot for you if you like the way my coloring looks. If u don't want flashito here's how to turn on color jitter on any brush on CSP, not sure about other art programs though

As for shading I honestly think I'm not very good at shading but i'm just critical because I'm myself. Usually i just try to remember that if the lighting is warm then the shadows will be cool or some sort of similar rule. unfortunately i love bright colors so it is hard for me to follow this

[whitepeachrum]

Whiskers

Fandom: Hetalia (personified) Pairing: Arthur x Kat (EngUkr/UkrEng) Content Length: Short (~1000 words)

Arthur had a long day at work. His clients had never-ending requests and his colleagues bombarded him with non-stop questions. The worst part is that someone ate all his favorite snacks. (Spoiler alert: he’s the only one in the workplace who liked licorice.) All he wanted was a quiet night and for his head to touch the pillow as soon as possible.

He was tiredly brushing his teeth when he caught a glimpse of something odd and almost terrifying in the mirror. Normally, Arthur was not afraid of ghosts or intruders showing up in his home, but he was horrified by something he’d not seen before. In fact, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at.

Arthur spat the toothpaste out of his mouth and turned around to get a better look at her soapy beard. His wife was standing behind him, generously applying a cream to her face that was too thick to be a night cream and too thin to be whipped cream. 

“What are you doing?” he asked skeptically.

Kat looked at him innocently, her eyes overly saturated from the brightness of the vanity lights. “I’m going to shave.”

“You’re going to shave your face?”

“Yeah, I am.” She pressed her lips together and made circles on her cheeks, similar to how she did when she used a cleanser. She has very obviously never put on shaving cream before, but she seemed determined, that’s for sure.

“…Why?”

“I wanted to make my skin smoother.”

“You normally use this product for that, do you not?” Arthur examined the different colored products in the cabinet and picked out a dark green one and showed it to her.

“Yeah, that helps with toning, but I wanna get rid of my peach fuzz.” Kat spread the cream all over her face, including her brows. As soon as Arthur saw her cover them, he grabbed the hand towel and started wiping the cream off her face. He did not want her to impulsively do something she was going to regret. Honestly, he just didn’t want to hear her complain about it every night, for at least two months.

“Wuh-? What are you doing?!”

“Love, you are not shaving off your eyebrows. You’re going to look ridiculous.”

“Why not? It’s hair on my face, right?” Kat spat as some of the cream got in her mouth. It smelled so musky, but it was so disgusting. Bleh.

“You’re going to look ridiculous. I don’t want to look at an alien when I look at my wife. I love her brows the way they are and I wouldn’t want you to sabotage them. They’re mine too..”

“Well, yeah! Because you’ve got such bushy ones and I’ve got wormy ones. You can’t even see mine because they’re so light!”

“Are you jealous of my bushy brows? They’re not something to be envious of.”

“Are you kidding me?” She pouted at him. “You can do so much with thick brows! I want nice brows like that..”

“Shaving them off will not be the solution here.”

“But they say it will grow back thicker.”

“Then, by ‘their’ logic, the peach fuzz will grow back fuller too.”

“Fine!” She grabbed the towel from his grip and wiped her face.

“And I’m quite fine with peach fuzz. If anything, it makes your face more peach-like when you blush. I just don’t want you to do something as drastic as that.” He returned to brushing his teeth, far more relieved now that she wasn’t going to shave her brows.

She sighed and tried again to cover her face with the shaving cream, adding too much of it. Arthur’s eyes watched her and his brushing slowed down as she continued applying globs over her mouth to the point where the globs could no longer adhere to her face. She just kept going and going. He shook his head at her and looked down at the sink as he tried to finish brushing his teeth. He could still hear it. Plop. He closed his eyes and did his best to contain himself as he listened to it plop to the ground. Then again. Then once more. Plop.

“Katherine, what are you doing?” He looked over his shoulder and found a foamy Viking beard to be the center of attention. “What is this?!” The man laughed at her absurdity, pointing at her beard with the brush, unsure what to really do in this situation. Why was she just standing there and doing that? This felt like something his brother would do to him, not his wife.

“I’m shaving my whiskers,” she tried to say, but could not get out. Through the layers of soapy goodness, her words could not make their way to Arthur’s ears, let alone hers. She quietly laughed to herself as she found it incredibly funny that she could not be heard because of the thickness of the soap. Arthur put a hand to his mouth to try to cover up his amusement so he could better hear her, but then too fell apart at the stupidity of it all. He covered his face instead.

Kat pulled out a shaving razor from the pocket of her robe and started “shaving” her magical beard. With every motion, their faces turned redder. They both heard the plopping sound and only the plopping sound as it hit the tile. Kat’s shoulders shook from laughter as she tried to continue with her weird performance. But she couldn’t take it anymore. She walked over to the sink and rinsed the razor just to discover she forgot to take the safety cap off. Her realization caused her to burst into an uproar, covering the mirror entirely in the shaving cream.

All the air that Arthur had ever had in his lungs escaped him as he wheezed at the comedic sight. Kat gripped onto the sink and leaned over it as she couldn’t control neither her laughter nor the beard that kept dripping. Hearing the other one laugh pained their bellies and filled their night with joy. Kat reached for the towel to wipe her face with as she slowly regained some composure. As she glanced at her tear-stricken face in the soiled mirror, she caught a glimpse of her husband leaning against the wall trying to stop his fit of laughter.

“PFFF.” She burst out into laughter once more and the duo repeated the cycle until the pain made it unbearable to keep laughing. It was just one of those nights.

[clowsvillesuckz]

“me and the bad bitch i pulled by being autistic”

(rambles under break!)

i really like using tumblr as a way to ramble abt my designs!! so here ^_^

i started with designing them both as a sketch on my phone

and guqqie actually had a few revisions bcs i wasn’t happy with the first version. as you can see the original is like pretty just boring and plain… I actually made aimseys first so after the first sketch i added it into illustrator and then blender to create aimsey and had completely finished and after making them i was like Hmmm i need guqqies to be more interesting too! so I used her design from the meet the artist video as a reference! I ended up with a silhouette i enjoyed way way more! (pink ver) it was a lot cleaner and just was a bit more unique!

Step 2 was vectorising in illustrator! As i mentioned i actually completely finished aimsey by the time i got to re-sketching guqqie but it was good because i was able to know what mistakes to avoid and it made the whole process so much quicker!

finally in blender i created them separately and then brought them into one combined file! Aimseys shirt was actually a fucking NIGHTMARE to make lmfao i started with doing what i know and using an image texture just a png of the stripes in illustrator but it just kept turning out… Wrong it looked bad and just didn’t fit at all! plus UV mapping was the worst thing ever bcs i had used sculpting for this so it was all very small tiny details!!! so after a bit of trial and error and some tutorials i landed on using colour ramps ! it also took a while to get the like size and rotation and all that jazz but i loved how it turned out!!! Their compensators were actually so much easier to make than i originally thought too! I watched a simple sneaker tutorial and was able to come up with everything myself following pictures online :D !! also lesbian socks Smile

Since guqqie has been talking about liking tie dye shirts a lot recently (esp the potential future merch) i wanted to incorporate it ! i watched a 5 minute tutorial and it was actually so so easy i’m so happy with how it turned out! it took a while to get the right saturation and brightness but i think it turned out nice!

[888xiicos]

Tomimi Ideal City Wig Process

As usual, I forgot to document most of this process, but I can at least draw out steps I didn't photograph.

This is probably one of the more complex wigs I've styled, tying for first place with Tsumiki Mikan, solely for the amount of wefts and chopping that wig took. This wig is the first wig I've used pigtail/ponytail clips for and the first time I've done an ahoge! I'm incredibly proud of how it turned out so I can't wait to show how it started and pieces of the progress.

This has been in my drafts for almost a year now, so I may as well post it.

Pics, process, and final photo can all be found under the cut!

The humble beginnings..

I grabbed the basic supplies I figured I'd need and laid them out in easy to reach places.

[Supplies in image: Sewing thread, pin cushion, sewing needles, sewing pins with colorful round heads, wide tooth/wet hair comb, 1 hair claw clip, craft scissors, thread snips, pen, reference images, wig(s), Styrofoam head.]

[Supplies not shown in image: Hair cutting scissors, Got2B hairspray, hair crimper/flat iron, 2 smaller hair claw clips, 3 alligator hair clips, , permanent marker, wire, clear packing tape, glue gun, Elmer's glue (white craft glue), and a make shift wig stand]

_

To start, I ordered one Clair Classic in Silver (CL082) and a single Short Clip Classic in Silver (CL-082) from Arda Wigs. The Silver colorway is a little more gray and subdued than the Pure White (CL-083) color way. I like it because it looks a bit more natural. Stark white and heavily saturated colors wash me out pretty bad, so I try to go for a more natural color option whenever possible.

I chose this specific wig because it had plenty of hair and plenty of layers near the front, which meant I had plenty to work with for Tomimi's bangs.

Arda Wigs, though a little pricey, has really thick wigs that feel like butter in your hands. I've worked with cheap Amazon wigs and other brands before, but Arda is still my favorite wig seller (even if it's by process of elimination since Match Wigs vanished into the void never to be seen again..... Match Wigs I miss you.....).

Because the wigs are so thick and have so many wefts, I knew I'd only need one Short Clip to use for both of Tomimi's pigtails. However, this is my first time using any form of wig clip, so it was a very new and puzzling experience for me! I'll explain more about wig clips further into the process below.

_

When I start styling wigs, the first step is always to give it a good brush through with the wide tooth come to detangle it and get out any loose hair fibers. Once it's soft and tangle free, I strap it onto my foam head and pin it with colorful sewing pens that are impossible to lose in the wig (so I don't stab myself with them later on).

These styrofoam heads are usually smaller than an actual human head, so I don't recommend doing any head circumference reliant styling on them without adding padding to it! I mostly use mine when brushing it out, cutting the long parts of the wig, or fixing the part.

For this wig, I decided to try crimping for the first time. Arda wigs are great for crimping and the technique adds even more volume and makes the fibers more manageable in my opinion. Arda wig fibers are super silky and soft, so it makes holding them or maneuvering them sort of difficult. Crimping gave them more texture and allowed me to move the hair where I wanted it to go.

I crimped the bottom layers of the whole wig (bangs too!) and left the top layers un-crimped to retain a nice smooth texture on top.

Now, it's time to start trimming. Before I even thought about doing any cutting, I sat down and figured out the different sections of hair that make up the bangs. For anyone not familiar with sectioning off hair, drawing over the sections in different colors like this can really help!

Marking out the sections also helped me figure out where the part would go! Tomimi has one layer of a heavy sweeping bang and then a layer of hair that sort of fold over on top of them. One section of the lower layer actually tucks behind her ear, so I planned to leave that longer so I could easily pin it back under another layer of hair.

I also took this time to section off parts of her hair to pull back under the pigtail clips layer to make it look more natural. I've drawn over it in bright pink below to show what I mean.

Once things were held back with clips and sectioned off, I pulled that bad boy off the stand and put it on so I could start trimming the bangs. I did not realize they were as long as they were, but it was for the best in case I messed up. I gave a rough chop at around the bottom of my chin and slowly trimmed the lower bang layer up above my nose. I curled the hair with my flat iron as I went too avoid cutting off too much.

Sloppy before and after pic featuring the tendons in my bony little hand STRUGGLING to hold up this heavy monster of a wig. I admit, I'm not too skilled with teasing wigs, so I wasn't able to get the upper layer of the bangs to stick up like they do in the art, but I left the fibers loose enough that I could go back later and do it once I learned the Technique™. Silly anime hair vents will one day be possible for me.

As you can see, this wig is all silver, no black anywhere. I used the simplest method out there and flat out just added that black stripe with a permanent marker. Since it was in an area I didn't have to worry about coming in contact with my face or any bodily fluids like sweat, I did not seal it. If you use this method anywhere that may come in regular and frequent contact with your skin, fabric, or liquids, seal it or just use a weft to avoid staining anything.

I sectioned off a thin strip of hair from the upper layer of the bangs and pinned the rest of the hair back so the roots were visible. Then I just moved the marker up and down over thin layers of the hair until it was a solid black. You can also use alcohol markers, diluted acrylic paint, or acrylic ink for this, but a Sharpie easily does the trick for a section as small as this.

_

Now it's ahoge time. Here's how I did it (Step by step diagram is under written instructions):

Step 1 This wig has a thick but soft top to it that allows things to be pinned or pushed through the top, so I used some thin jewelry wire to make the outline of the ahoge. Twist the bottom closed and curve it to the right shape. Don't trim off the excess wire at the bottom just yet, because you'll want it for stabilizing purposes later.

Step 2 Once you've made the outline and have it bent, you'll want to cover it in something clear you can attach hair to. I used clear packing tape, but it was honestly a little too stiff and sort of fussy to work with. You can probably use regular clear tape or even sticky plastic wrap. Whatever you use, be sure to trim the excess so you retain the same shape.

Step 3 Cover one side with hot glue and start adding your base layer of hair. I used the extra hair I trimmed off my bangs. They were closer to the length I needed and let me waste less hair! Once the first side is dry, do the same to the other. The hot glue sticks to plastic-y surfaces well enough to give you a base to build up off of. Be sure to pull/brush off any stray hairs.

Once you've finished your base layer, grab your white craft glue, a cup of water, and a brush you don't cherish too much to put glue on. What you're gonna do now is slowly build up the hair until you can't see the tape or the wire. The best way to do this is to put a thin coat of glue then a thin coat of hair and repeat until you get the result you like. Between layers, I recommend blasting it with a hair dryer to speed up the drying process. I sat mine a safe distance away in front of a small space heater while I worked on the pigtails to save time.

Step 4 Once you've built up as much hair as you want, it's time to stick the extra wire through the top of the wig. I stuck mine right into the middle of the center part. If your wig does not have a thick top or a skin top, you may want to sew in a thin piece of fabric to the inside of your wig before you do this step.

Step 5 Once you've stabbed your wire through the top of the wig, it's time to bend it! I like to make a little three-leaf clover shape since it's easy to tuck the ends of the wire back into the lace/fabric on the inside of the wig so it doesn't stab you while wearing it. I bend it to stat one leaf is pointing toward my forehead and the other two are pointing towards the back of my head.

To add extra stability, add a couple stitches at the very tips of the "leaves" with thread that matches your wig.

Here's the few pictures I remembered to take of this little guy, plus a bonus of him drying in front of the heater, just for fun.

_

At this point, all that's left to do is curling the long part of the hair and adding the pigtails.

For anyone unfamiliar with wig clips, they're basically mini wigs wrapped around hair claw clips. The "claws" of the clips go through netting the wig wefts are attached to and then an elastic string sewn into the outer edge of that netting is tightened to hide the clip. I was dumb and did not take a pic of the pigtail before removing the clip b because it was a struggle to get it out. But I have pics of the finished versions below with the clip's inserted, so check further down for what it looks like finished.

For now, here's how I separated the pigtail into two:

First, I counted the wefts to ensure I'd have an even number in both halves (Spoiler alert, I counted right, but still marked and cut the wrong spot lmao). I decided to cut it horizontally (side to side) so the wefts wouldn't fray. From there, I pulled the elastic through so that I could find the middle of it and place it over where I marked the halfway point of the netting. I cut through the elastic strings first and clipped them out of the way before carefully cutting the netting.

I used my thread snips to cut the net since it allows for more precise cuts and helps me not make so many mistakes. The picture below shows the cut elastics and then the two separated halves.

What you can't see here, is that the bottom half of the pigtail's wefts were sewn the same direction as the top half, but I need to flip the bottom half upside down, meaning the hair is going up instead of down. For this reason, I wouldn't suggest this method, but also don't have a better one. Just know I struggled to get it looking close to the other one with lots of time spent flat ironing individual wefts and adding wefts.

I ended up folding over the bottom wefts to add to the tube the elastic was fed through around the edge of the netting so it would hold more tightly to the clip once I put them back in. I had two smaller clips from a long time ago I that fit perfectly into these smaller pigtails!

This is how they looked after I finished them:

_

Now for the long part of the wig! All I'm going to do for this part is gently curl the ends inward. For this, I combed through in small sections and curled it with the flat iron. Because the wig fibers are plastic, they only hold their shape if they are in the desired shape when the plastic cools after being heated. Think of it like heating metal until it's flexible and it keeping the shape once it's cool.

To do this, I put the wig back on the head and attached it to my makeshift wig stand (I used a wreath stand you can buy in the floral section of a craft store because it's the best thing I had on hand, I don't recommend this, it's so wobbly...).

_

The last step is to attach the pigtails!

I didn't photograph my progress, so please accept my diagram instead!

I didn't trim the part I pulled back simply out of fear of it coming undone and being unable to clip the pigtails back. Not shown here, but I used a thick weaving needle I've had for years to thread the black ribbon through the pigtails as the final touch.

_

Aaaaaaaand here's the finished wig!

I'm super happy with how it turned out and can't wait to wear it. If I don't get good pics of me in this cosplay during the next con I wear it to I will cry.

[heliosthegriffin]

Bad girls love good men: The thirding

Jaune’s house was a big place, big enough for a elephant to wander in and get lost inside, large enough for a family of elephants in fact, tall too reaching far enough into the sky for one to get vertigo if they were to peer down.

It was also made entirely of wood, which itself came from interlocking, intertwining, leafy green living trees, of no particular breed, species, or creed, just the ones Jaune thought looked nice, much to the scientists he worked with to make his house, annoyances.

They’re were also animals living inside, yes, including elephants, but no one quite had any good ideas on how to get them out, and Jaune decided to leave them be, as he was too scared to find out how they got into his house in the first place. Also, before he turned his house into a home for troubled women, he had been very lonely, and enjoyed the company.

They also had quite powerful auras from snacking on the ever-growing home.

----

Outside the home, stood two young women, one dressed in red, and the other, white.

They looked tired and annoyed, having to hike a good twelve miles from the nearest town to get here. But, they had no choice, as otherwise they would have been dragged here.

The one in red, Miltia opened the gate, flinging the wooden gate open with a shove, and went to knock on the door, shouting angrily “Hey, we’re here for rehab,”

Melanie, the one in white, walked up next to her, pulling they’re luggage. “Or whatever! So open up!”

The door creaked open, revealing a quiet and dark welcoming room. It held quite a oppressive and evil air, in the middle of which was green haired girl, who ruined the air by sprinting out and tackling the two the ground.

A explosion followed her out, blowing them across the yard and into the tree line. It was a very impressive explosion, yellow, blue and green fire exhaling out of the house in a wave of force and heat.

The house of course being unharmed, aside from some slight burn marks that quickly disappeared.

The same could not be said for the lawn, which was bald as a baby, the earth scorched black and burning, with a unpleasant smell. Which, strangely enough, quickly disappeared, as the oppressively powerful life force of the House, saturated the lawn, and began to slowly regrow it.

Emerald shakily rose off the ground, dressed in full tactical body-armor, helmet and knee pads included, she had a crossbow slung around her shoulder with a quiver of syringes on her hip. The young woman had a long, far away look that showed signs of her being somewhat scared and shocked, but her body betrayed the fact this was not the first time something like this had happened.

She drugged the groaning and somewhat crispy forms of the Malachite twins behind a particularly thick and sturdy looking tree, maybe even a off-shoot of the House?

Emerald waited for them to wake up, then shoved a bag into they’re arms.

“Welcome to Arc House,” She said with a smile. “Hope you’re ready to pick a side, because, it’s either Taco Tuesday or Burger Tuesday,” She loaded her crossbow. “I hope you make the right decision, cause Jaune is letting us pick dinner tonight.”

The twins sweated nervously.

----

Jaune wandered the kitchen, pulling Neo in a red wagon behind him, the little gremlin being chained to the wagon was only a minor detail. The tall blonde going around the kitchen assembling spices and ingredients for tonight dinner, Emeralds side had won the little scuffle today, and with only minor damages! He was so proud, but he would have been proud regardless of who won.

As long as it wasn’t Neo.

She had lost the right to pick a side after she choose her side, and decided only her side could win, even if she had to lose.

Anyway, they were going to have taco’s tonight.

Another explosion rocked the house, and two blacked haired girls feel through the ceiling, Jaune catching one in each arm, much to they’re pleasant surprise.

“Hello, you’re Miltia,” He said to the one in Red, then turned to the one in White. “And you’re Melania, good to meet you two, dinner will be ready at just a few minutes.”

After a entire day of warfare, intimidation, and violence, it was near enough to break the two girls, but being caught into Jaune’s arms, and actually receiving a pleasant welcoming, was enough to melt them.

“Like thanks,” Miltia said with a blush.

“Like, alot,” Melania added looking away. “We’re happy, to be here.”

Jaune sat them down at the dinner table, much to the twins displeasure, Jaune having to shake them off a little. “Great,” Then with a snap of his fingers, a sound like thunder erupted around the house. “Green Team Wins! Today is Taco Tuesday!”

They’re a small cry of happiness from somewhere in the house, but the Twins would be at a lost to tell you where it came from, in fact, they weren’t even sure how they fell into the kitchen, considering they were in the pool house.

-----

At dinner, they’re was a lot of glaring and snide comments, but no complaints about dinner itself.

Soon, the twins found themselves in they’re room, and they had one question.

“That was just one afternoon right?” Miltia asked.

“Right.” Melanie confirmed.

“What’s a full day like, then?” Miltia asked.

“Oh.” Melania realized.

Miltia looked up. “Well, at least that hunks here, so it’s not all bad.”

“Right.” Melanie agree.

----

[pandorafallz]

Lest We Rest Upon Our Graves | C5

Alma was cleared from Nalin’s medical care with a few conditions; her left wrist sporting a new modified medical watch to keep track of her vitals which would mostly keep track of her oxygen saturation and pulse. She kept a small monitor hidden that kept her brain monitored for now; activity checking and making sure the aneurysm didn’t rupture.

Nalin wanted a larger one fit which would be better but Alma didn’t want the questions. The large set would warp around her head and be visible to everyone so the smaller one that she could hide under her hair did the trick. The main power source and data monitored were practically suckered to the back of her neck (she was convinced the doc used duct tape) and three probes were practically glued to her scalp. Alma was glad her hair was naturally very curly so it took little to hide them. Her scarf kept the monitor wires hidden from behind as an extra level of coverage.

If she suffered from a rupture or a seizure or if her blood pressure got too high, then Nalin’s datapad would get a notification or an alarm, depending on what it was.

Her injured arm was put into a sling for when she was able to go and had to promise to report or log any more nosebleeds; times and lengths to help the monitor to see if it was her brain problem that was causing it or her body in general.

It didn’t escape her how… more distanced people were looking at her now; even new dark looks and whispers but she felt too tired to care as the weight of her little ones felt encumbering as she carried the tray and a trowel with her to the airlock under her left arm. It was time to bury them; she saw little reason to hold it off any longer now she had been cleared.

She fixed on her mask with some difficulties with her splinted arm, hissing a little in the strain but let her arm relax back into the sling as soon as she could. She airily passed a few people on her way but didn’t pay them much attention on her trip before she came to the...horribly familiar sight of her Avatar’s grave.

The tightness in her chest returned as she shakily knelt down beside it. The trowel was dropped and the tray set down before she let her hand touch across the topsoil. It gave her pause as she wondered that if this killed her… would they bury her here beside her other half? An avatar and its driver; curled up side by side. Poetically, it would suit and… she could certainly see them doing that. She never got to choose this site for her burial; very…drab. No trees around for her avatar to provide for or plants around to live well.

She should plant something as well. Maybe a tree could be her grave marker? That would be nice, right? Alma wondered a little as she gently began to dig beside the disturbed soil three little holes; not as deep as her grown given how small the little ones were but she wanted three separate graves for each little one instead of stacking the babies on top of each other. The notion of having four separate graves for one person was almost funny to think about. Almost.  Alma didn’t know her fate to chuckle about it lest risk jinxing it.

Each hole, she dug to be at least a foot deep and set the trowel off to her side and reached for the cold medical tray. Her stomach turned as she lifted the tissue to see the little forms. To her… surprised the little ones were curled up, their form bound with gently woven strings as if it were a traditional Na’vi burial despite being so small. Arms wrapped in, legs crossed and head bowed forwards. The string was massive for the little ones so…it had to have been tedious work to do this.

She’d have to ask who did that for her. Ri’nela had stripped and bound her avatar for burial similarly following So’lek’s instruction but she hadn’t been there for that; her first migraine had set in full swing so she hadn’t left her bed. Ri’nela certainly wouldn’t have done this for her. Not anymore.

It was easier, despite feeling clumsy as she scooped the first up and set it down into the pit, taking a moment to see it rest in the soil before she scooped the earth over the top of it with a heavy heart. The second was just as hard to do, a little more developed so she was extra delicate in making sure the little queue wasn’t stuck to the tissue as she lifted it off and set it into its own resting place and covered it as well.

The third… Alma reached for the tissue again but instead…the tissue came off the tray entirely and made her heart lurch for a moment as she checked the tray but… there was no third.

Alma blinked for a moment, confused. There had been four made in total. She knew that by fact; she had seen the tubes; even her one chosen to be grown to maturity. If… two were dead, then where was the last one?  She craned her head towards the mountain side but it was a lot of effort to go back in to check Nalin wasn’t the type to leave a foetus just…lying around. Especially a dead one. So she had to assume… did the third one survive?

Her memory was…a little hazy. Nalin had been holding one but…she herself had taken the second one out; the one that Kìoetey had snatched from her hands and thrown down. The third had died in the case; the blunt force had damaged the tubing.

Nalin had still been holding a tube, Alma realised. She must have hidden it away to preserve it.

Alma let out a shaky breath, if only slightly relieved but she knew without the security case; it would die. The case was a consistent cooler and monitored the tube well and kept it powered. It was designed as its life support. The tube had its own system in the ends but that was often for when prepping it for full growth. It had to be at a warmer temperature than what the container’s temperature was. Once it warmed up too much, or inconsistently or… hell, without the container to keep the battery charged, the tube would stop working.

She’d still have to check to be fully settled but she found herself relaxing a lot more beside the graves. Even if for a little while; she had that. Something. Not everything was going to be stolen from her hands.

A small spark of hope in the vast void of cold sadness. Alma began to start filling in the redundant grave, but she felt the lumps in her pocket as she shifted.

The beads.

Alma carefully pulled each of the beads out. She had forgotten she had removed these from her hair after her decom shower. They had been meant for her avatar’s hair but…Nalin had locked her out of her link bed shortly after these had been gifted so she had put them into her human hair (replacing the basic one she had put in over a decade before when she was at TAP for decoration sakes) to feel close to the Na’vi, even in her undesired body; to make it feel…closer to feeling Na’vi.

Which was why she took them out.

‘You wore that skin for so long, you forgot your true self underneath. That does not make you Na’vi.’

Alma eyed the beads in her palm but let them roll one by one into the dirt hole.

She felt undeserving of such gifts. She no longer had a Dreamwalker and… everyone told her as much anyway; she was never going to be one of them (even if the avatar lived). Why keep them and look like she was appropriating the culture? Her chances with the Sarentu were gone now.

‘Your promises are worthless. Ashes in your mouth.’

Ri’nela’s words had been a cold splash of water that day. She hadn’t spoken to her directly since then and…it was for the best. Ever the reminder of their losses. Ri'nela was the least violent but... she couldn't put it past her if something came up; just like it had with Kioetey. 

With a sharp movement of the trowel, the rest of the dirt buried the fragments of herself away to rot.

 -

Alma stayed a while at the grave site to mourn those losses a bit before the rain started; which wound up forcing her back in before she was soaked and made her way back through the hideout towards her bunk. She could feel the looks down the back of her neck, or burning into the side of her face as she folded up her blanket and night clothes and shoved them into her duffle and other belongings.

Someone had really turned up the heat, didn’t they?

“Cortez, time to go.” Anqa’s voice echoed, the pilot popping her head around the open doorway of the sleeping area.

“Okay, let me just get my datapad.” She had left that by the computers before the nosebleed had forced her away…never got back to it before the…avatar mess happened. She shouldn’t have left that about.

“Got it right here.” Anqa held it out to her.

Alma blinked in surprise but happily took it. “Thank you?”

Anqa nodded but was very abrupt in taking the lead out to the flight bay. She seemed grumpier than before, Alma noticed as she followed. Did something happen? What else was she to be blamed for now to get this reaction?

Nalin was waiting at the Samson by the time they had got there. Alma allowed the doc to pull down the back of her collar to assess the monitors and connect something to it before her collar was released and her monitor felt a little heavier against her skin by a fraction. Only more noticeable when she turned her head.

“What’s that?” Alma asked, leaning forward as Nalin’s fingers checked the probes under her hair which thankfully hadn’t been dislodged by her mask straps.

“Just a signal booster. When you get to the field lab, this sends the data to the monitor and that’ll relay the data to me. Much more efficient for distance.” Nalin said, satisfied with her work to not need more adjustment. “Dr Reeves is at the Field lab ready. When you wash, make sure to either cover or to have Reeves put these back on. She knows how these work.”

“Alright.”

“I’ll swing down when I’ve got…news. Okay?” Nalin informed, her eyes flickering to Anqa a little in passing as the pilot began to start up the engines.

“Okay.”

“Also, don’t leave your personal datapad around again, Cortez.” Nalin said, more cautiously, “People don’t like what they’ve found on it.”

Her stomach turned a little colder but Alma knew what the doctor was saying before she headed back towards the airlock. Her eyes followed the doc’s form but she felt the looks and…the attitude made more sense; they knew what she had put down when in TAP. The files she had removed from the data drives. Someone had found them, seen them…if everyone knew about it then it was likely they had saved a copy.

Everyone knew what she had tried to hide still.

Fuck.

Uneasily, Alma boarded the Samson, hoping that Anqa wasn’t too pissed at her again, finding herself unable to meet the pilot’s eye as she strapped in.

“W-Where are we going?”

“Horseshoe Mountain Station. Ten-minute flight.” Anqa said, her shoulders relaxing after a moment. “Don’t worry, I don’t strand you anywhere regardless of new…shit you still hid.” She added, noting her apprehensive look and tight grip on her datapad.

Alma didn’t feel all the confident about such a statement but quickly turned her attention outside instead.

 -

Nalin was glad to see Cortez go. A relief to everyone really for that space and she was glad the woman had just been eager to leave to avoid the heat of gossip that had spread from one nosey guy who had spread about Cortez’s TAP reports about the Sarentu…which had pissed off most people who already hated her for being part of the genocide.

It was…in part about what was hidden; they knew her part in TAP now was more clear that she was the teacher and spent most time with the kids. She knew them well better than Mercer or Harding so it made the notes, more tragic but the input of Additional notes was what angered a few of the scientists a lot more. Some things couldn’t be edited; only added to after a certain amount of time. Cortez had said stuff in clear Pro-TAP in her main notes but added kinder and caring words to her additional notes. Meaning she had doctored her original work sometime after the fact to present herself as more anti-TAP. Which had meant she knew enough of what she was doing; enabling the abuse and covering her own ass, even if she didn’t see or intend for it to be like that. It still wound up hurting the Sarentu kids for years.

Nalin herself wasn’t a fan herself but as a doctor, she had a duty of care regardless. Professional to keep her feelings away otherwise she couldn’t do her job effectively. She was the head medic now and she couldn’t afford doubt on her abilities, so personal feelings had to be put to the backburner.

Even with Cortez. The woman had a lot of blood on her hands, remorse too and she knew that the former avatar driver wanted to earn back forgiveness and trust but it would still take time and she needed to get her better as well for it as well. Cortez was too weak and Nalin was worried if her physical health wasn’t good enough, she wouldn’t have that time to start fixing her problems. No getting off easy.

Not even Cortez wanted that so she had to get her fixed, so when she saw So’lek talking to one of the scientists close to his weapon’s station she did make a beeline for him. He never wandered too far.

“So’lek?”

The Na’vi’s head turned down as his name was called, his yellow eyes finding her with ease with a careful edge but she could sense he was…not in the best of moods. He must have heard the news then. Not idea.

“Sorry if you’re busy but…I was wondering if you’d be able to contact Anufi for me. I need…some medical assistance and her insight would be gratefully appreciated.” She said, more directly than sugarcoating her words or going the long conversation route to get to the point.

“Anufi is aiding the funeral rites of the Sarentu children who died at TAP. It will be many days before she is able to make any sort of trip.” So’lek answered.

“But…you would still ask her?” Nalin pressed, shooing the doctor away from listening in. 

So’lek spared a glance at the retreating scientist. “What is it that requires her attention that you cannot fix yourself? There are no mass injuries or Dreamwalkers to tend to.”

“I…” Nalin spared a look around, “There’s a human here who had a bleed to the brain and a brain aneurysm threatening to rupture. I can’t treat them; I have none of our tools because they got destroyed at HQ. If it ruptures, the haemorrhage will kill them. If Anufi has means of aid, then they actually have a chance to survive.”

“Aneurysm?”

“It’s….where one of the arteries in the brain bulges out in one spot. When pressure builds and the bulge grows. Too much pressure, it ruptures and the blood leaks into the brain. That increases the pressure inside the skull because there’s no other space and blood will then press into the brain itself which can lead to seizures, stroke and death if left untreated or uncontrolled.” Nalin explained. “Usually it’s treated by putting metal clips and tying it off to let it die off more naturally or filling the aneurysm so no blood can enter and expand. I’m also not trained in brain surgery. I’m sure you can see why I’m struggling.”

So’lek stared at her for a moment. “You are certain it will kill them?”

“Yes. The aneurysm is surprisingly close to the brain stem which controls all vital functions like breath, heartbeat and metabolism.” She listed off a few. “The blood will fill the gaps and push the brainstem down towards the spinal cord hole and effectively crush the brain stem against their lower skull. Death is certain if that occurs.”

She didn’t use the fancy doctor words for her descriptions of the injury for a guy who didn’t know English to that degree. So’lek knew enough but medical terms were tricky enough for the average human so she doubted he knew what a ‘cranial fossa’ was without explanation. No need to waste more time explaining what it was and why it was said like that when he’d never use it in that context.

“Will it kill them soon?”

“Right now, they’re under observation and their brain is being constantly monitored as well as their vitals. If they’re at any risk then my datapad will alert me.” Nalin said, patting her datapad. “I’ll get them into a nutritious diet and in a stress-free environment to minimise any risk of high blood pressure. They can’t overtax themselves through physical activity like exercise or sex but I don’t think either of those are a real concern.” She couldn’t trust Alma with anything heavier than a pot of water right now and no one was planning on fucking her anyway. “That’s all I can do.”

So’lek’ stare was constant but…after a moment he nodded. “I will make efforts to see her tomorrow if this person’s health is at a close concern. No sooner, unless death it close.”

Nalin let out a heavy breath of relief. “Thank you.”