#it actually makes them look legible instead of the colorful mess they usually are

[iniini]

I sorta redesigned Ori and actually made a ref sheet finally

Sketch’s of Ori I’m kinda no good with character interaction but I want to get better

[pastballads]

TEN Q’S

1. When are you usually online?

My activity is sporadic. If I even make it online depends on the weather, my plans or if anything comes up, if my family needs me to handle stuff, if I woke up with neck pain or a headache, and if I’m not so tired that I just decide to mess with video games instead. Doesn’t help that my sleep schedule is also all over the place, but when I’m basically the living alarm clock for my whole family, it can’t be helped much

2. What verses are you involved in outside of this page?

Pokemon is the big one. My Pokemon blog, Cxlxssal, was originally a self-insert I made back when I was 14 that turned full-blown OC through character development. It’s also my oldest active blog, having officially been around for seven years as of May. Other than that, there aren’t any others in different verses that I still operate.

3. What is your biggest RP pet peeve?

It’s mostly the usual pet peeves that most people have, but blogs that put aesthetics over legibility are ones I loathe. Having to strain my eyes just to read something as basic as the rules quickly drains any enthusiasm I may have to write with them. Seventeen spaces between every word, small font on a vivid neon background, mixing colors and font colors in such a way that it physically hurts the eyes to read; the list goes on. I rarely, if ever, follow those people.

Second to that are overpowered muses with no weaknesses or rivals. Got tired of that shit after my stay in the Naruto fandom, and it’s one of the many reasons why I left the RWBY fandom.

4. Are you drawn to specific types of muses?

No, I’m not drawn to specific types of muses. A muse could be an interpretation of the Black Huntsman from Der Freischütz, it could be Goku, or it could be a painfully average man like Connecticut Clark. It doesn’t matter to me, I’ll love ‘em all if they’re well-written.

5. Are there recurring themes in your writing that people might not notice?

If there are, not even I might notice them. Because I usually don’t recognize that kind of thing until way further down the line.

6. What are your favorite RP trends?

I’ve been on Tumblr long enough to watch it go from borderline shitpost-y three sentence roleplay into novella written like an old gothic horror novel. Having me name one favorite would make me drudge up almost a decade of experiences. Mostly due to the fact that I... don’t remember most of them. My favorite trend were the days of anons bombarding inboxes with questions and interacting with muses. For a long time, I found those more fun than most actual threads.

7. What is your process for starting a new story with someone? 

Generally, I just come up with a few ideas for what muses of mine might work best with theirs in terms of interaction. I would work around their interpretation of the character, then offer a muse or multiple muses and throw out ideas that try to subvert typical introductions. If they can’t read my muse pages, I’ll summarize the muse as briefly as I can... even if it often comes out poorly.

Here’s an example. Let’s say that Fillin Theblank plays someone like Tohru from Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid. I would reread their info on her, then suggest something like this; after the apartment building suffers from a sudden power outage, Tohru looks into the cause, finding Kouki after he fried the electrical system from trying to drain too much power at once. If Fillin didn’t know who Kouki is, I would explain that he’s basically an energy-based kaiju in the form of a small outlandish child.

8. How do you feel about duplicates?

Duplicates are great! I mean, more varied and unique interpretations of a well-known canon character, each with their own distinct way of interacting with others? Hell yeah dude, hit me with that!

9. How long have you been involved in roleplaying?

I’ve been roleplaying since 2011/2012, originally starting on Chatzy. After several RP servers I was in died off, I moved here and made a Naruto OC blog... which is hilarious in hindsight, since I never actually watched Naruto. Or read the manga. I mostly went off the wiki and what I learned from a friend.

Oldest blog of mine you can stiff find dates back to 2014, though it’s from my days on mobile and before I learned how to make decent-looking blogs.

10. Is there a muse or verse you wish you could write in, but haven’t?

Verse-wise? It’s specific to certain muses, such as the white dwarf star of lore that is the Fate franchise and a series like KanColle for Claudius due to his obsession with history/mythology, or Girls Frontline for Tino due to his shtick being tech and weapons. However, me adding more verses is a rarity.

Muse-wise? Lemme tell you, having ADHD is a bitch because every single time I find a show or game I get invested in, I spend over a week trying to purge the idea of adding one of the characters to my blog. Last month, it was Soma Cruz or Julius Belmont from Aria of Sorrow. Before that, it was Kat from Gravity Rush, the Necromancer from Castle Crashers prior to that, and my take on the main character from the MMOJRPG Onigiri. Hell, I’ve even thought about bringing back Algol from Soul Calibur IV as a muse recently.

~~~~

TAGGED BY: @inxtricabilis​ (Thank you, my dude!)

TAGGING: @caestusvulpes​, @monmuses​, @dcviated​, @musesnetwork​, @eliteimperialism​, @kemikorosu​, @madamhatter​, and anyone else who wants to do it!

[ficsilike-reblogged]

What’s in a Name?

A/N: This is quite possibly the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever written in my entire life. But it’s soft. Because Marcus Pike is soft and deserves all the love. Granted, I’ve only watched The Mentalist all the way through once, so...do with that what you will. 

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no y/n)

Rating: PG for mention of guns??? I just want to be on the safe side. Idiots in love. Falling in love with someone and not knowing their name. Cliche use of a Quote from Romeo + Juliet.

Word Count: 3.3k 

Summary: The five times Marcus Pike tries to learn your name and the one time he actually does.

Pike was unlucky in love. He knew it. He had started to accept it when things fell apart with Lisbon. His friends and fellow agents, the assholes, actually took pity on him and said he’d find the right person eventually. He just didn’t anticipate having to meet her over and over again.

... that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet... (Romeo + Juliet)

Sometimes, every once in a while, he actually hated his job. Sure, he got to go undercover, stop criminals, right some wrongs, and be called ‘agent’ on top of it. But, right now, listening to some sycophant rant and rave about the “superiority of Cubism over Dadaism,” he wanted to switch careers. There was supposed to be a sale of a stolen Cézanne happening at this gallery in Los Angeles and Pike had suspected the guy with the too-tight three piece suit and bad transatlantic accent was the ring-leader of the whole theft and re-sale. He just needed to not spork his eyes out until he saw money pass hands from the agent he’d sent in to pose as the buyer and the thief-turned-art-asshole. He thought it would only take an hour or two, busts like this usually did—but this guy loved the sound of his own voice so much that he had been going on a tangent about 20th century art movements for nearly four hours now and had somehow gathered a bit of an audience, too, debating with others, and the like. It was exhausting just listening to him.

“If you give me ten dollars, I’ll spill some red wine on his shirt and he’ll be forced to leave.”

Marcus looked to the left at the sudden voice and found a woman pretending to look at the piece in front of him, just like he had been doing. She was pretty, dressed in a high-end dress and sky-high, red-bottom heels, and looked every bit the part of an old money socialite. “Ten dollars?”

“I’d do it for free, but I need to receive some sort of incentive so I’m not just doing it out of spite. I heard that’s bad karma.” She hid her smirk behind the lip of her champagne flute.

“I’ve heard spite is a fantastic motivator.”

She hummed and squinted at the painting as if she cared. Maybe she did. “This is an awful piece of work. Truly, one of the worst I’ve ever seen.”

The man behind them continued to talk just as a waiter passed by with a platter full of red wine and she skillfully plucked one from him without missing a beat. She finished her champagne and handed Pike her empty flute. His eyebrows raised as she smiled at him.

“I’m Marcus.” He held out a hand for her to take. She shook it with a smile but didn’t give her name in return. She winked and walked away—right toward the mark.

And yes, she dumped red wine all over him.

There was a collective gasp and he watched the scene with a muted sort of fascination as she then managed to make the art thief smile with some joke she must have said and then he walked away to clean up. The crowd dispersed. The other agent was able to snag the thief and make the exchange and handcuffs were placed on his wrists all within a couple of minutes.  

Maybe he should have actually paid her the ten dollars. She really did just speed everything up.

But, when he looked around to find her, she was gone. 

                                                            **

The second time he met her was at an art auction in D.C. There was no sting. No operation. The Art Squad had recently helped the auction’s sponsor recover a priceless Van Gogh piece and they had insisted the entire Squad come to the black tie dinner and auction, foregoing the 1000-dollar-charge-per-plate the ticket usually cost. The food was good. The wine and champagne was obviously expensive and Pike was sure he’d see some of the art that was being auctioned off in his case files in the next few years. That was just the way of the world. He looked around at the displays and glanced at the sheets where people had written down their bids. Some people were being generous—most others were being cheap. 

He slowed to a stop in front of a small Dalí and then down at the auction sheet. It was currently up to only a few hundred dollars. He wouldn’t win, he was sure, but he could pretend to participate in this ridiculous auction.

“I didn’t take you for a Dalí fan.” Her voice was still smooth and he knew, instinctively, that she was smiling before he even turned to look at her. She was draped in sky blue silk and pearls, reminding him of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus.

“I think he’s iconic, to be sure.”

She sidled up to him and looked at the small painting. “Thinking about bidding? It looks like everyone else is besotted with that original Warhol.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder to reference the crowd steadily growing on the other side of the ballroom.

But all he could focus on was the smell was her perfume. Expensive and floral, it seemed to fit her perfectly.

Manicured fingers handed him a Mont Blanc pen from the depths of her designer bag. “Best of luck, Agent Pike.”

As she walked away, he realized she knew his last name now—somehow—and he still didn’t know hers.

Pike tried to find her again in the mess of rich people, to ask her name and how she knew of his ‘agent’ status and last name. But all he managed to do was catch a glimpse of blue silk as she exited the venue.

“Do you know her?” A tired-looking man asked as he walked to Pike’s side. “She left a large donation and my boss will kill me if we don’t have a name to write in our next list of donors.”

“I…I don’t actually. Did she bid on anything? Maybe we could get her name that way.”

And for the next fifteen minutes or so, he filtered through the crowd, trying to ask inconspicuously about his Venus and if she had bid on anything. And, when he finally learned that she had bid on an Alphonse Mucha sketch. And he almost felt lucky. Almost!

Because, as he made his way over to where everyone was pointing, he saw only two scribbles on the sheet. Surely he could discern which one of the names was hers. 

One was Richard…

And the other one was just a scribble of blue ink, smudged beyond legibility.

                                                         **

(A few weeks later, he was delivered a package at his office. Inside was the Dalí he had bid on. On a slip of paper was a smudged smiley face and the word: Enjoy!)

                                                        **

The third time he met her was decidedly less glamorous. The Art Squad had been trailing a group of thieves across the East Coast when they finally caught up to them in Boston. Pike had hoped they’d be able to catch them in the act and be done with it.

Instead, what they found when they stormed into the art museum, was the thieves holding several hostages. And, of course with his luck, she was among them.

Her hands were behind her head and she was on her knees as one of the thieves pointed a gun to the back of her head. Boredom was, surprisingly, coloring her face but she smiled when she caught sight of Pike. “Hi, Marcus.”

“Hi,” he said in return, fighting a smile of his own.

The whole thing was over in just over an hour and the hostages were released and the thieves were carted off in the back of a police van.

And maybe now he’d finally learn her name.

He was the lead agent on the case so he had to answer a million and one questions from other agents, from outside law enforcement, from the press. And, belatedly, he watched his least favorite agent, Rhett Brown, approach his unnamed Venus. The agent was fine when given a gun and told to shoot—but how he’d managed to wind up on the Art Squad was a mystery. He’d lost or misfiled more paperwork than anyone else Pike had encountered put together.

Pike knew he needed to finish all of this nonsense—and really, he shouldn’t call it nonsense, this was important—if he wanted to even have a chance to get her name. But the local police asked a lot of questions (they were doing their job, he couldn’t blame them) and then the press conference dragged on (again, they were just doing their jobs). And by the time he finished, he jogged back to where the former hostages had been held as they were being questioned.

And, of course, she was gone.

Pike pulled Rhett aside and asked for his notes.

Rhett nodded and stuck his hand into his suit pocket and then froze. “Oh no.” He quickly patted down his other pockets and shouted at another agent, “have you seen my notepad, man?”

                                                            **

Pike was tired when he met her for the fourth time. 

The deposition had lasted longer than he anticipated, stretching long into the night. The case was a strange one, involving inheritances, forged wills, and a “disappeared” Jackson Pollock that “reappeared” across the country. The hotel was nice, however, and he slumped into a stool at the hotel’s upscale bar and ordered a pale ale.

It was set in front of him quickly and he drained half of it without much fanfare.

“I always thought you looked more like a whiskey kind of guy.” 

He nearly spat out his drink. 

She slid into the stool next to him and ordered a top shelf cognac. Her lips were painted a vibrant shade of red and left a mark against the glass as she took a sip of the amber liquid. “Long day?”

“You could say that. You?”

She nodded with a small smile. “What’re you doing in New York? More FBI business?”

“Something like that.” He took another drink of his beer and she watched him over the edge of her own glass. “How’d you know I was in the FBI?”

“We have friends in common. I know Charlie—you helped him get back his precious Van Gogh.”

“Ah, Charlie.” He nodded in understanding.

“Yes, he went on and on about the FBI agent who saved his marriage—imagine that, an entire marriage hanging on the edge of one painting.” Despite cognac being meant for sipping, she had already nearly drained her glass. “Imagine my surprise when it was you—the man from the gallery opening who basically gave me full permission to dump wine on a pompous asshole.” She watched him laugh as she took another sip of the dark amber liquid. “Charlie pointed you out when you came to the auction. The man can hardly remember his children’s names but he remembers yours.” She smiled and he could have sworn he’d never seen anyone so beautiful. “But I like the um…” she gestured at his chin and then placed her finger beneath her nose in a childish imitation of a mustache. “It’s a good look.”

He laughed—she was good at making him laugh. “I was undercover.”

“Oh?” It came out with another laugh. “Aren’t you mysterious?”

“I’m mysterious? You know my name and my job—and that I think Dalí is iconic. I know nothing about you.”

“What is there to know? I procure art for people who have too much money. I spend more time on planes or in hotels than I do in my little apartment in New Orleans. I like Humphrey Bogart movies and a good blanket.” She smiled before polishing off the last dredges of her drink. “See? Now you know more about me than I do about you. And it is all far less interesting.”

His heart had lodged itself higher and higher into his throat as each word passed her lips. “No…I-I think you’re really interesting and beautiful and I…I would love to know more.”

She was embarrassed, he could tell, but she still smiled. Her mouth opened to say something else and-

-a bellhop stepped to her side. “Your bags have been loaded into the car, ma’am.”

She turned and thanked him, pressing a few bills into his hand before she stood and grabbed her purse. She put a few more bills—far more than her drink could have possibly cost—onto the bar top and signaled to the bartender that she was paying for both their drinks before he could even think to stop her. “Thanks for the company.”

“Yeah. Of course.” He was in a bit of a daze as she leaned down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. The familiar scent of her expensive perfume touched his nose as she pulled back.

“I’ll see you around, Agent Pike. But really,” she once again mimed the mustache, “it’s a good look.”

He murmured his goodbye, head still pleasantly swimming, and watched her walk away.

It took him a full five minutes to realize he still didn’t know her name.

                                                     **

The fifth time he met her, he’d been stuck at O’Hare International Airport for five hours. Five hours in the worst airport known to mankind. His flight back to DC had been delayed and then delayed some more and then delayed some more. He’d only been in Chicago for a few days to help lead some training to the local arm of the Bureau. Nothing exciting. And now he was stuck waffling between two equally awful airport restaurants for dinner while he continued to wait.

“Hey stranger.”

He turned to see her walking toward him, a designer carryon being wheeled behind her scuffed sneakers. Her hair was up in a lop-sided bun and she had traded her dress for a pair of jeans and an oversized band t-shirt. And why was his mouth filling with saliva? She threw her arms around him in a hug that he quickly reciprocated, squeezing her around the middle as she laughed lightly in his ear. “It’s good to see you. I see you kept the facial hair.”

He laughed and scrubbed a hand over his patchy beard and mustache. “Yeah, I guess I did.” Pike cleared his throat, trying to not sound so smitten. “Where’re you heading now?”

“Home, thankfully. I’ve been go-go-go since I saw you last. It seems everyone wants to give works of art as presents this year. I’m kind of scared what Christmas is going to mean.”

He smiled, liking to know about her life, how she felt. “Been anywhere exciting?”

“Paris and Milan lose their charm after a while. But I finally got to go to Casablanca.” There was a near twinkle in her eye now. “I felt like I should’ve been running around in a trench and fedora, chain-smoking. God knows how many times I muttered ‘here’s lookin’ at you kid’ to myself like a loon.” She shook her head as she bit her lip. “Sorry. I ramble when I’m jetlagged.”

“It’s okay, really. I…I like it.”

She shoved at his shoulder with another laugh. “Careful. You’ll make me fall in love with you.”

“Would that be so bad?” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them—something he usually did when he let his stupid, romantic heart take the lead.

She tilted her head as she looked at him with an almost shy smile playing on her lips. “No. No, I don’t think that’d be bad at all.” They looked at each other, each fighting a smile and stupid fluttering of their hearts for the near-stranger in front of them. She broke the little daydream by clearing her throat and glancing away for a moment. “And you? Been anywhere exciting?”

“Just Chicago. Had to lead some training. My flight’s been delayed for a couple hours. Hopefully, I’ll be out of here before midnight.”

“Well, if you’re looking for a good place to eat in this hellscape, I’d recommend the restaurant near C26. I’ve yet to get food poisoning from them—and the food’s pretty good, too.”

“You want to join me?” He asked, something optimistic blooming in his chest.

But her smile fell. “I wish I could. But my flight starts boarding soon.”

As if on cue, there was an announcement over the intercom. “Hello passengers and welcome to Flight 306 to New Orleans. Right now, we will start boarding with our group one passengers and active duty military in uniform.” 

“That’s me,” she said with a sigh. “But it was good to see you, Marcus.” She reached out and squeezed his hand.

He squeezed her hand for a moment, keeping her still. “You know, I still don’t know your name.”

She paused and then laughed, a full-belly laugh that quickly had him laughing, too. “It’s-”

A passenger cart beeped as it zoomed by, carrying a few elderly women.

“Group one, you’re free to board. Group one,” the announcement seemed to echo in the terminal, overly loud on the old speakers.

He swore he saw her lips move. He did!

But then she was squeezing his fingers again and walking away.

                                                     **

The cherry blossoms were in bloom. Aside from the terrible crowds they brought and the overall mugginess that came with the season, it was one of the things he liked about living in DC. He was sitting on a bench and watching the wind blow through the trees, rustling the pink and white petals gently. His lunchbreak was ending soon and he’d have to get back to the office. The other agents had caught on about his “mysterious lady friend” when he’d finally arrived back from Chicago and had been ribbing him about it ever since. (“How did you not get her name already, Pike?!” A question for the ages.) He crumpled the wrapper from his sandwich and tossed it in the nearest bin, preparing to leave the park.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, just for a moment.

But when he opened them, she was standing in front of him like something out of his daydreams. She smiled at him before helping herself to the space beside him on the bench. “I was told you like this bench when the blossoms are in bloom.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Your fellow agents are very chatty, you know.”

“You came looking for me?”

“’Course. I was in town. The auction I need to attend isn’t until tonight and…yeah,” she trailed off, embarrassment coloring her tone as she looked away from him for a moment. “Yeah, I thought I’d see you.”

His smile was so big he was sure it was going to break his face. “I’m glad you did.” He reached out and curled his fingers around hers as they rested on the bench beside her legs.

Her smile was shy but she squeezed his fingers in return as she kept looking out over the cherry blossom trees. “It’s pretty here. I’d love to wake up and just see this.” She waved her free hand toward the blossoms.

“Well, it happens every year. You can come back.” Or you could stay, his traitorous, lovesick heart whispered. But no, he wouldn’t say that. No yet, at least. He could take this slow.

But then she kissed him, quick and soft—he nearly missed it. And she was quickly leaning back against the bench, trying to school her features into indifference.

“What is your name?” He asked, question bursting forward.

She guffawed and pulled her hand back with an exaggerated flourish, fighting another smile. “I told you at the airport!”

“There-there was a transport honking and-and an intercom and then you left-!”

She cupped his cheek in her hand and the words died in his throat. She smiled again, fighting a laugh, and whispered her name.

He whispered it back, rolling the letters across his tongue carefully, pressing it into his mind to keep and hold.

He liked her name.

Part Two

[preciousthingsareprecious]

Finding Us Chapter 21

Alright! Here I am at last with another Tim chapter! I hope you guys enjoy it. 

AO3 Link

~

Tim couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling up in his chest at the idea of progress in the stalker case. It fueled his desire to keep moving in other directions, while he waited on Damian to finish his sketch he dove back into work on the Alkali case.

Currently, he was trying once again not to backseat hack as Barbara was finally digging through the Alkali’s files. After their trip to the physical location, Babs had used the access gained through Stephanie to create her own back door and they’d sat on that for a little while to make sure no one found it.

It was early the morning after Damian’s encounter with the creepy man and Tim was in the belfry standing over Barbara’s shoulder because there was nothing to currently do on the stalker case. Tim hadn’t recognized Damian’s sketch of the guy he’d seen, and so they were waiting on facial recognition to grab his identity. The kid’s sketch was definitely good enough for the system to pick something up, they just had to wait.

“Have you found anything interesting yet?” he asked, trying not to bounce on his toes.

“Lots. Nothing we’re looking for. Though, there is a guy here who’s last name is Bandersnatch, which is pretty cool.”

She was teasing, but Tim could also hear the note of warning in her voice. When she found what they were looking for she’d tell him, and he shouldn’t keep pushing. He sighed, and turned to step across the room, over to a mini fridge installed for snacks.

“Want a soda?” he called.

She shook her head, “It’s too early for that, toss me a tea.” she answered.

He grabbed a bottle of tea out for Babs and a can of orange soda for himself and moved back over to the computer.

“Thanks for helping on this.” he said, handing her the tea, then cracking open his soda.

“Of course, the sooner we get these guys the better.”

Tim agreed, and sipped at his soda while he played a matching game on his phone in an attempt to both distract and stop himself from tossing advice Barbara’s way. He got stuck on a particularly difficult level and found himself totally lost in it for a while, trying again and again to win. It made the waiting a lot easier, even if he also kind of wanted to toss his phone out the window and watch it crash at the bottom of the building.  

“Got something.” Babs said at last.

Tim looked up bleary eyed, blinking away red diamonds and orange squares. It took his brain a moment to register what she’d said before he stood up, the chair shaking.

“Great!” he hurried over to look at the screen again, “What’d you find?”

“Well, under the private files I found some that were locked with a password, after cracking that I found these.”

The file she’d opened was filled with unreadable text.

“It’s encrypted?” Tim asked.

“I think it’s some kind of cypher. See it follows a sort of pattern. Nothing too overt or easy like a caesar cipher. It’s got to have a key.”

Tim hummed, she was right, the text was filled with letters and numbers and broken up in a way that looked like lines of real text, if they’d been in any kind of legible order.

“Well then we’d better get to cracking it.”

They worked for a couple hours trying to figure out what cypher had been used, and testing various codes to no avail. Eventually they decided to give it some time to breathe, and their brains time to think of new ideas. Babs forwarded him the files so he could keep looking over them later and Tim left her to work on other projects.

As he was leaving, he found Cassandra waiting for him down at the base of the Belfry. She was eating a cinnamon roll like it was a doughnut.

“Hey.” she said, handing him a cup of coffee, and shaking her wrist and the plastic bag hanging off it.

Tim took the offered cup, then tugged the bag off her free hand checking inside. A second cinnamon roll sat tucked into a nest of napkins. He fished it out, careful not to spill his drink then copied Cass, taking a huge bite out of the side.

It was still warm, and the taste of cinnamon and sugar danced across his tongue in a way that made him think of home. Of early Saturday mornings with Alfred, stirring together a bowl of butter, sugar, and cinnamon so the man could carefully spread it across dough. Or of Bruce dropping off a few in his room, ruffling his hair, and telling him he should probably finish his homework before working on another case.

“Ready to head back?” she asked.

He washed down the bite of bread with some coffee and nodded, “Yeah, I think Babs and I have done all we can. How’re things back at the manor?”

Cass shrugged, “Everyone is still waiting on the results of the search, so they all split up to work on other things.”

They moved to the car Cass had brought to pick him up in, it was one of Bruce's many cars, black and not too fancy. Tim held a hand out for the keys and after an eye roll Cass dropped them in his palm.

“I drove here.” she argued.

“You drive too fast for me and my coffee.” he replied.

“Fair.” she shrugged.

As Tim pulled away from the clocktower, still munching on his cinnamon roll Cass pipped back up.

“Can we stop at the craft store?”

He glanced at her, “Sure, but why?”

“Damian wanted some more colored pencils. He sent a list and asked me to stop if I had time.” She tugged a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket and opened it to show him.

A detailed list of colors, brands, and what not to buy’s filled the page in Damian’s neat, tight, handwriting. Tim was surprised to find a little picture of a dog at the bottom of the page, it wasn’t as detailed as Damian usually did, and smiling for some reason.

“He drew it as a thank you, and promised to make me a better one with the pencils.” Cass said, catching where Tim’s eye had fallen, then she added, “Eyes on the road.”

Tim flicked the turn signal on the car to indicate he needed to go left, towards the craft store Damian frequented, “Why didn’t he come if he wanted to restock?”

Cass shrugged again, and folded the paper instead of crumpling it back up. She set it in her lap, fingers tapping on the paper with gentle tip taps.

Damian rarely missed a chance to get his own art supplies. He was as picky about them as Tim was over film or lenses for his cameras. Sure it was just a few replacement pencils, but even those Tim knew Damian would linger over for an hour if he was left to it. He wondered briefly if his mild concussion had anything to do with staying home. Maybe Alfred had told him he couldn’t leave? But no, it had been days at this point, he was probably cleared at last for most activities.

Maybe it was because he knew Cass was headed to pick up Tim.

He tried not to think too hard on that thought. They hadn’t really talked much lately. Both had been busy with their own things, and besides that, they didn’t really talk a lot to begin with. He’d thought they were doing better, but at the same time Tim knew they weren’t.

Tim reached out to snatch his coffee and take a sip from it. Now that he thought about it, maybe they were doing better after all. Damian had called him by his first name the night before. And he’d gone looking for clues as to Tim’s stalker. A queasy feeling bubbled up in Tim’s stomach. He’d been quick to dismiss Damian’s attempted apology back when they’d been at the mall, and now he was starting to wonder if he'd been really trying to mend that bridge. T im loved the idea of having a little brother, and way back when he'd first met Damian he'd been happy to have one, for all of two seconds. Still, sometimes he thought they had found that perfect spot of being siblings, and other times it felt like there was a gaping hole between them. Especially lately.

He pulled into the store’s parking lot not even realizing they’d made it there, his body on autopilot. Cass cheered as she climbed out of the car, and Tim stayed quiet.

When he looked up at the storefront he figured it out.

He might be jealous. Of the squirt.

Maybe it wasn't their past that was bothering him so much lately, but their present. Tim thought he'd shaken off those feelings in regards to Jason and Damian, but maybe he hadn't. Even in the wake of the family’s eyes turning on him Tim still couldn’t stop thinking about how Damian seemed to draw everyone in all the time. Dick, then Jason, Bruce with his fretting after they’d gotten hurt. It was--it was like he fit in a way Tim couldn’t quite imagine himself fitting again.  Like they were both the same piece, and there was only one spot left on the puzzle, and Damian had swooped in just in time to fill it. Even now, he felt odd about the attention. Like the moment everything was done his family would stop looking at him again. Stop seeing Tim, because he’d messed up. He’d failed to be the one to fix everything and he no longer deserved to be seen.

“Tim?”

“Coming!” he said, locking the car door.

Inside he was hit with the smell of paint and paper. The whole place was a kaleidoscope of colors and supplies crammed together in a space that should have felt cluttered, but instead actually seemed homely. He followed Cass to the pencils and held each as she selected them, reading Damian’s list carefully, then making Tim double check “ just in case” .

He thought they’d be in and out, but once they’d found Damian’s stuff Cass insisted on browsing. Tim followed her, feeling a bit like Titus pattering after Damian as he instructed the dog on something very un-dog-like and soon his arms were full.

Cass had added extra packs of less high quality colored pencils, crayons, thin markers --not thick, because apparently those didn’t trace well-- and made him pick out a coloring book. She selected one full of animals, and Tim picked one that was more abstract. Like black and white stained glass. He and Cass locked eyes on an adult swear word coloring book and both grinned.

“For Jason?” Tim asked.

“And one for Dick.” Cass grinned.

Soon they’d selected adult coloring books for the whole family. Some simply because they knew they’d get a laugh out of them, and others from the knowledge of the recipient getting genuine delight from it.

By the time they left, Tim was feeling better. His day brightened even more when Cass hooked an arm through his at home, and dragged him into the living room.

“We are going to color and watch She-Ra.” she declared.

He could have argued and said he had work to do. But he knew Cass would tell him a break was good. And wasn’t that what he’d just told Babs? He could have fallen into other cases or dug out his 3Ds to play some Animal Crossing. But the best idea in the whole world right then was sitting on the floor and coloring with his sister, and he wasn’t going to pass it up.

He filled in two whole pages, first lined with marker --Cass had been right about the thin ones-- then colored in as dark as he could with his own box of colored pencils. At some point the sounds of She-Ra had been turned down as he and Cass chatted about everything.

She told stories of an adventure with Steph. He talked about Mindbender and how weird it was to have Jason in the house again. Then about how cool it was to have Jason in the house. Cass told him about a ballet she’d seen. All of it, whether it was little nothings or big changes, ebbed and flowed to the scritch scritch of pencil on paper, and legs folded up or kicked into the air.

At some point, Alfred brought in cocoa and water. Then sandwiches. Dick breezed through and gasped over his book, stopping to color in all of an F before getting bored and breezing back out. Jason cackled over his book, and then genuinely thanked them for thinking of him. Damian collected his pencils, didn’t complain about a single one, and stared at his own book of animals to color like it was made of gold before tucking it under an arm and scurrying away.

Bruce stayed the longest, lounging on a couch to add his own commentary between theirs, infrequent, but enough to say “I’m here, I’m listening, I love you.” before he too was called away. He planted a kiss on each of their heads before leaving.

It was Stephanie who broke up the peace. Showing up like a tornado, and stirring them from settled spaces into laughter. They traded pencils for controllers and fired up Smash Brothers for a wholly different, but still perfect, adventure.

There, surrounded in waves by his family Tim wondered if he’d been wrong earlier. If maybe the puzzle had room for all of them. And every time someone new came in, it just expanded and made room for them. He certainly felt like he fit in, and it was really nice.

[drabblemeister]

Wine & Writes: Coffee Prompt

Author: Ladelle | Drabblemeister Prompt: Behind every successful person is a substantial amount of coffee. Comments: Finally posting something, would you believe it Summary: Wherein Tim is a walking tragedy who has an embarrassing crush on a certain barista. There was something to be said for the amount of busy Tim was, though anyone wandering the floor of Wayne Tech with two brain cells to spare dutifully kept their thoughts to themselves. After all, laying insult to what was very obviously a genius was an undertaking for persons with a much higher pay grade - and since Bruce Wayne seemed to turn a blind eye to the amount of Starbucks cups that, at this point, looked like planned decor within Tim's office - it was fair to deduce that there may not actually be a problem.

Tim, begrudgingly, knew he had a problem. Though, contrary to popular belief, it wasn't caffeine. It wasn't coffee, either, though he was definitely okay with the convenience of that particular assumption as it was a red herring he was prone to fall back on. After all, it was a lot easier for people to believe he fantasized about midday Americanos and not Jason T., the barista, who served them.

"Ugh," Tim said, spinning in his desk chair. He'd slept in too late and nearly been tardy for a meeting, and so he hadn't stopped by the coffee shop at his usual time. It was enough to drive him insane. "What am I? Seventeen?"

He was not seventeen, but the amount of time he spent thinking about Jason's fingers fitting cardboard protectors onto steaming cups of coffee was enough to make him second guess what maturity bracket he was sure he'd climbed to post-college.

"Hey, how'd the meeting go?" a voice startled him, and Tim was quick to sit upright in his seat, as if he'd been caught at something incriminating.

"What meeting?" he questioned. The words practically fell onto the table, where he idly glanced downward, catching his reflection in the glass.

Desperation stared back.

"Uh," Tam blinked. She tucked a short, layered curl behind her ear. "Your 9am?"

Tim looked up just in time to see her eyes lift to meet his, as if she'd been scanning the tabletop, attempting to pick out just what he'd been staring at.

Tim sighed. Slouching into his chair, he ignored they way the joints squeaked under his weight; he twirled a stylus between his fingers and shrugged. "Oh, that meeting. It was fine."

Fine wasn't how anyone came away describing acquisition calls, but there weren't any words that could accurately convey the torture of listening to attorneys yell out IRS jargon for the better part of an hour. If Tim had to guess, it was definitely one of Dante's seven layers.

"Hmm," Tam hummed, and it was a very particular hum, a sound she always made when she was two steps ahead of him. For a moment, he was worried she was going to tell him that one of the attorneys had phoned in for him. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe and said, "I've come to learn something."

Tim hoped it wasn't the fact he'd stolen another one of her sticky pads.

"Behind every successful person," Tam continued, looking quite philosophical as she leveled her big brown doe-eyes at him, "is a substantial amount of coffee."

This time, it was Tim who blinked.

"Of which you've had none today," Tam clarified. "So I ordered you some. It should arrive any minute and all I ask if that you go downstairs to get it."

Tam, above all things, was a godsend. Blessed with the ability to make scarily accurate assumptions, she'd clearly missed a psychic calling and, since such a raw, interminable force of power had been unfairly relegated to transcribing Tim's barely legible meeting notes for the better part of a forty hour work week, Tim showed his respect by simply obeying her demands.

"Okay," he said.

In return, she offered a satisfied nod.

Tim added, "...and thank you."

And then, like all higher powers, she was gone.

This left Tim with the arduous task of standing, to which his entire body protested. He'd barely slept the night before (up late rebuilding a desktop) and listening to the lawyers go at it had effectively locked up his joints. Probably a survival instinct; you know - if you stay incredibly still, there's a chance they won't see you. Still, he found the willpower to move.

The 10th floor was quiet, spare the distant squeal of a Xerox and the distinct sound of a disgruntled administrative assistant lending a multitude of kicks. In nearly every corner, a muted television aired current market speculation and Tim wasn't surprised to see that the acquisition was already being reported on. Making his way to the elevators, he dragged a hand through his hair, disturbing the gel he'd forgotten he'd slicked through it.

A few bangs fell loose and he sighed, reaching up to loosen the neck of his tie since he was through with meetings for the day and wasn't expecting Bruce to drop by. For comfort, he even popped the top button, enjoying, momentarily, the ability to breathe. That was, until the door pinged open and the front desk was laid bare, a certain Jason T. stretched idly over the rise of it, a steaming cup of coffee seated next to his bicep.

In that very moment, the receptionist happened to turn, her attention torn from Jason T. and to the ever-so-slight movement of the executive elevator. Practically glowing, she called, "Mr Dr-"

It was too late.

In an unconscious moment of self-preservation, Tim jabbed the close-door button. Jason T.'s eyes lifted to meet his - just as the elevator whooshed shut.

Tim blinked.

His heart pounded.

Once again, his joints locked - same survival instinct. Just as useless.

Oh my god, he thought. Did I just-

Just, he had.

Eyes wide, he stared at his white-knuckled finger, still glued to the panel. He thought about going back upstairs. It wasn't like he needed the coffee. Besides, he'd just messed up his hair. And his tie wasn't right.

Natural Selection was a voice in the back of his head telling him that those green eyes were a danger to his very existence.

Without realizing it, his finger loosened on button, and with another ping, the doors once again slipped open. Only this time, right beyond them was a too-tight black shirt, biceps for days, green eyes that had the highway of Tim's circulatory system immediately rerouting southbound routes, and a lower lip pinched between teeth that made Tim swallow so dryly that he thought he might embarrass himself further by stumbling into a coughing fit.

"It's probably the sensor," Jason T. said, and he was leaning forward, nearly in Tim's space as he analyzed the doors. Since Tim was never going to admit he'd subconsciously tried to cut and run, he simply cleared his throat and took a step back, trying to get some air between them.

"Yes, well," Tim said, clearing his throat again. "Technology."

At that, Jason T. glanced down, an unfiltered grin garnering dimples. The spirit of Charles Darwin yelled, "Run!" from somewhere beyond the mortal plane.

Tim said, "You brought coffee?" and immediately ducked and weaved, trying to get to said drink, which he saw was still on the desk’s top. Their receptionist was in the process of hanging up a call, to which she sighed gratefully.

"I was calling the repairman," she said.

Tim fought a winning battle against the heat of his cheeks. "Yes, well, we should definitely have someone take a look."

"I didn't see you this morning," cut in Jason T., which was an interesting comment, because Tim wasn't aware the barista knew he existed. Which, in truth, was a bit ironic; some days, Tim thought everyone knew who he was - and his favorite color, album, magazine, hobbies, etc. He had a wikipedia page, after all. Also a twitter.

Something about the earnestness in Jason's eyes said he definitely did not have a Twitter.

Why was that so goddamn attractive?

"I didn't know you were keeping tabs," Tim replied, snaking the coffee into his grasp and taking a sip, giving his lips something other to do than further make a fool of himself.

Jason T., in all his disheveled and fitness-kissed glory, cocked his head sideways. "Would you rather I not?"

Tim, mid-swallow, lifted his gaze. Was this....flirting?

There was a beep, and Jason T. pulled up his watch. He sighed, though there was nothing about the sound that lended to defeat. "Well, I've got to run," he said, leaving Tim in a haze of bewilderment. "Still on the clock, you know."

Tim had not known.

He was still stuck on Jason's keeping tabs, a whole calculatory meme dancing behind him. He must have looked the part, because Jason laughed as he made his way towards the door and tossed Tim a salute.

"See you tomorrow!"

The sentiment echoed.

Tim stood for a moment longer, eyebrows drawn inward, trying to decide is he was either hopeful, and idiot, or perhaps both.

"Mr. Drake?" the receptionist said, and Tim nearly jumped out of his skin, having forgotten she was there.

"Sorry, it's just - he wrote something on the cup--" she said, looking incredibly pleasant about the whole ordeal.

"Oh," Tim replied, examining his white button-up to ensure he hadn't spilled just before finally taking a look at the cup. He stumbled over a laugh.

In fine-point cursive, there was a phone number. And then: next time, don't leave asking me out to your assistant~

[boratanical]

graphics guide

a guide filled with basic info, tips, and answers to common questions that i hope helps people who want to start making graphics

*this was made based on my experiences of making graphics and is what i thought was important to cover but everyone has different ways and approaches so dont feel the need to follow everything on here

what is a graphic?

a graphic (also known as ‘gfx’) is a image edit that incorporates various elements (textures, filters, text, etc) in order to visualize a idea or to create a aesthetic composition 

unlike making gifs, there is no right or proper way to make a graphic so dont get too caught up in the idea that a graphic should look a certain way - just stick with your style and what you think looks good 

anatomy

image/subject

usually the main focus of the whole graphic

you should always try to use a sharp hd picture - getting it from the original source is always the best option 

make sure the source of the picture allows editing - pictures from public sources like a company or the news can be edited while fansite pics and scans need to have permission asked (and if they give you permission make sure you link them when you post your graphic!)

coloring 

often referred as ‘psd’ because that is the format they are in (i.e. pink psd pack)

comprise of multiple layers that can alter the images look 

a lot of people make their own colorings since the outcome of the look also depends on the image’s original coloring 

textures

smaller cut out images that are often used to decorate the graphic

can also refer to a image that can be use as a background of a graphic

can be found in the form of a png (copy + paste into graphic) or a brush (”painted” on to the graphic) 

avoid using any textures that does not state the original poster made them - you could unintentionally be using someone’s work that was not made to be used [read more about it here + resources that you can actually use]

text

text can be used to tell information or just for decoration

try to choose fonts and colors that are legible

faq 

what software can i use to make graphics

most people use some version of photoshop (i currently use photoshop cc 2018) and a lot people have it cracked but if you cant afford photoshop, find a cracked version or a patcher (i used adobe zii 3.0.4 for mac), or are uncomfortable with getting a cracked version then there are other softwares that are just as good!

i can only vouch for gimp since i used it when i first started making gfxs. it is very similar to photoshop and shares most of the same tools and has a similar look to photoshop. it is also probably the most popular photoshop alternative and would totally recommend it if you cant get photoshop!

[visit + download gimp here]

where do you get your pictures from

official sources such as teasers companies release, photos released by press, photos from idol’s instagram - basically photos that are made for the public to see are whats best to use for a gfx. you should download the photos straight from the source so you get it at its highest quality 

some phrases you can use to search for pictures on google: - [group name] photoshoot - [idol name] press  - [group name] showcase  - [idol name] teaser

remember the more specific you are in your search the better! also when you search through google make sure you check your source!

avoid getting photos from reposting websites like we heart it and pinterest  avoid using fansite pictures and scans unless you are granted permission

i don’t know where to start/i’m overwhelmed and i don’t know what to do/ where should i begin

figure out what you want to make or a theme you want to follow - do you want to make a simple graphic or a infographic? do you want it to center around a certain theme like a comeback or a photoshoot? once you determine what you want to do it becomes easier getting ideas and finding stuff you will need for the gfx

example thought process: “i want to make a loona graphic” →  do you want it to be the whole group or a certain member or unit? will it just be a simple gfx or a AU gfx or based on a event that the group is doing? “i’ve decided on doing a kim lip one” → do you want it to have a certain theme like kim lip smiling or kim lip with blonde hair? is there a certain frame of time in which you want the graphic to represent like during eclipse era or hi high era?  “i want it to be from max and match era with her teasers” → from here you can start finding pictures to use and thinking of colors and textures that would fit your theme

where do you get ideas/inspiration from

i mean it’s different for everyone but for me i literally just think of stuff and i’m like wow i want to make that happen asdfsdfj but mostly when i see pictures or watch something thats where i suddenly get a idea 

but tumblr is full of graphic makers!!! ive seen so many amazing graphics from various fandoms like kpop, anime, marvel, etc. 

some amazing graphic editors i know myself include: primirene, ireone, nctjaemin, celo-mar, 1hyungseo, jeongahn, haechxnie, sonxiumin, syua, lulumelody, dinomite, lovelyeo, joohys, whatchatalkabout, yveu, maerinah, mihyon, lorbits, cherryjennie, thatporcelain, monoka, ifbin, 7ww

some other places you can look at are behance (dont go on behance if you have a cracked ver of ps - it might trigger a ingenue software alert that is a huge pain to deal with), pinterest, deviantart, dribble, and probably any social media platform if you just look up #graphicdesign

remember if you take inspiration from someone’s work then you should cite them in your caption - if you are afraid that you might’ve accidentally copied someone when you were trying to take inspiration from them its best to either try to remake the gfx again or just to ask the creator permission if its fine if certain details are similar/same

my stuff sucks how do i get better

literally just keep on making stuff aka practice. you can’t improve if you don’t bother putting effort. 

ways i’ve forced myself into practicing making gfxs is by: 1) starting a gfxs series - its self paced and is based on what you want to make (i.e. introducing my biases gfx series, my favorite outfits gfx series, etc) 2) taking in requests - people who would request from you probably like your stuff so its a win win situation (i.e. send me a idol + era, send me your bias + palette, send me a group and i’ll make a gfx of my fav member, etc)

tips

only sharpen your pictures after you are done resizing them, if you sharpen and then resize it might result in a more blurry or grainy picture 

always save your graphic every 5-10 mins in case photoshop crashes 

 have two copies of your image cutout: one will be the original and the other one will be the one you edit with - in case you mess up like over erasing or over sharpening your image you have a back up you can use

stick with a color palette so you don’t get overwhelmed when having to color everything and it makes all the graphic panels you have look more cohesive 

on photoshop you can favorite fonts!!! take advantage of it!!! your computer has a lot of fonts saved on it and it takes forever to look through a whole list of fonts so by favoring fonts you can see all of the fonts that you like to use for graphics

combine a png pack to one psd → when you open a png pack you will probably get a lot of png files and it gets annoying having a lot of tabs open in photoshop when most of them are just textures so by putting all of those pngs into one psd you can cut down the files you open and can easily see all of your options 

make folders dedicated to colorings and textures that way you can easily access them instead of looking through your computer for a certain file

name your layers... i dont do it because its easy for me to tell what layer is what but when you are working with a lot of layers its best just to name them it’ll make life easier

lock your main image/subject so that when you play with texts’ and textures’ location you don’t accidentally move your main image

use curves to help get a photo back to its original coloring! like if you have a photo that has a weird filter on it just use curves and it’ll help the picture look more natural! [tutorial]

try warping your text to make it stand out more! you can access it by pressing the icon on the top text bar that has a T with a curved line under it. i use flag and wave the most

alter a particular color by using a selective color layer

rather than changing the actual color of an image/texture you can: create new layer → select the image/texture and color it on the new layer instead of on top of the image/texture → change the opacity or the mode of the layer so that the color is put on the image/texture while keeping its detailing and not affecting the actual image/texture

resources

colorings: can be found on deviantart or tumblr just look up ‘psd coloring’ or ‘[color] psd’ 

textures: can be found on deviantart (check to see if its og content or stolen) simply just search what you are trying to find or ‘png pack’ or ‘texture pack’ common textures you can try to find: vintage flowers, memphis shapes, organic shapes, doodles other wesbites: pngtree, creative market, lost and taken, spoongraphics

fonts: if you are looking for a certain font then you can just do a google search but if you are browsing then dafont and font squirrel are really good websites too some of my favorite fonts: abril fatface, agfatumc, antonellie calligraphy, arcadeclassic, bebas neue, century gothic, couture, daily news 1915, dark larch, hondurhas, kotori rose, krinkles, risingstar, sant joan despi, studly, zing rust

color palettes: i made one myself which you can find here, color hunt, and honestly a quick google search will give you tons of options

if you have any questions, other stuff you want me to cover, or want to add more resources and tips then please dm or send an ask! i hope this helps!

[askhamotzi]

Hi Sammy! Sorry if this has been asked before, but I'm trying to work on my first digital comic and I was wondering if you have any tips to share? Your work is so beautiful and the composition is amazing and so inspiring! I usually work in CSP when I draw, and I've done some paper drafts, I'm just starting the digital process now :) thank you so much! And I hope that mine will come out to be even remotely as incredible as yours!

hi there, omg thank you so much!!

for me, the process i’ve usually been doing for digital comics goes like this:

1. planning/research - this can go on throughout the entire process of making the comic, but it’s a good idea to get a big chunk of it done before you start so you have ideas and know what you’re doing! grab ref photos if you need, look stuff up on the internet, do whatever

2. write script and create characters (usually i write scripts in microsoft word, but for “dream” i worked off of an account i wrote up on the notes app of my phone after i woke up from the dream, and improvised the script page by page) - i frequently make up characters before i even have a story, but if i do have a story in mind i tend to do the characters at the same time as the script

3. sketch comic, insert placeholder text - i do all of my comics in FireAlpaca! i use the box/shape tool to lay out where i think i want panels to go and what size they should be. i usually work at the same size i would be printing at, but you could work bigger! i usually combine the sketch stage with the thumbnail stage because it’s easier for me to layout panels on the actual page so i can see how they fit instead of tiny thumbnails. here i sketch out placement of objects and poses, and make sure perspective makes some kind of sense, and any other important things i don’t want to forget in the lining stage (or coloring, like lines where i want certain shading to go). i also include placeholder text that may or may not be final, but i highly recommend laying out words as early as possible bc they can take up a lot of space you need to account for 

4.  draw comic - i go right into ink/lines! i don’t do a pencil stage (the pencil stage is the same as my sketch stage). to start i always draw the panels by hand (i don’t use a tool because i like an organic line, but to make sure they’re somewhat straight i use the boxes from before as a guide). i also do the word balloons by hand, and then i do figures/backgrounds. sometimes i leave out details that i will include in the coloring stage, like certain textures (texture of trees or grass, for example)

5. color - i start with flat color and then shade! usually i hand pick the colors i want to shade with instead of using a multiply layer or something like that, but for really complicated things i do tend to use different kinds of special layers. 

6. (this is throughout the process) but sometimes i will take the FireAlpaca file and put it into photoshop to use their guide tools to adjust things, or use a textured brush for something, or to insert text. for “dream” i went back and forth regularly with FireAlpaca and photoshop 

TIPS

- for composition, i like to consider mood and keeping the eye interested. lately, i don’t tend to break the mold of the grid without a reason (this is just me, you can do whatever you want!! tons of people don’t adhere to the grid and do other really cool stuff. i’m still learning!). the reason for breaking it could really be that i just need more room for words or to show something and i’ll extend the panel into the margins or bleed area. or maybe the shape of a panel needs to be changed bc it’s a dream or a flashback, or maybe you need to go into the bleed area bc something dramatic is happening! you can also mess with the colors of your panels, and the colors of the margin space. consider too, if you like the look of the page overall as an individual piece! 

- if you plan on printing your comics, make sure you print out your sketched pages/layouts at actual size so you can make sure the panel sizes and font sizes are legible when a person is going to read it! this can take a lot of attempts, but once you find what you like hopefully you won’t have to do it a million times again

- for longer comics, i recommend creating a palette of colors that include all the ones you use most frequently so you don’t have to constantly eyedrop them from other pages

- don’t get too hung up on any 1 panel, remember that the average person spends something like 6 seconds (probably less) looking at one panel before moving on 

- i work at a very high dpi, like 400, which has always been fine (so far), i always recommend working higher bc i think it’s safer, even tho it does make bigger files

- remember to save your work, and save it in MULTIPLE places!! back it up!

- this is just a taste thing but i love comics with custom type/handwritten type styles! you could try out doing a handwritten font or something! i used Calligraphr for mine, and i’ll prob use it again to make more

- i think it’s important to try and best recreate how your audience will experience reading your comic! since it’s impossible as the author/artist to see your own work for the first time as a finished piece, make sure that before you call it done, you give it a couple days without looking at it, and then come back to read it with fresh eyes. see if you think you’re getting the effect you want and if you like the flow! sometimes this can be hard to see/feel though, so you’ll have to just trust your gut sometimes haha!

that’s all i can think of for now but you can always ask me if you have more specific questions!! good luck with your comics!!

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Counterpoint, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 4

Summary:  After being recompleted, Ienzo vows to do everything in his power to atone for the atrocities he committed in the past. But this life hasn't been easy, and he's plagued with memories and nightmares. When Demyx suddenly reappears, the two discover that they have more in common than they thought, though the secrets in their past might tear them apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post kh3

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

The space Ienzo chose was the one where he’d been taught as a boy. It had good, natural light from the wide windows, and was far enough away from the bedrooms that the noise wouldn’t bother anyone. It was also close enough that they could easily get back for water or tea, or the washroom.

Like everywhere else, it was full of some ten years’ of dust. When Demyx saw it he groaned, and privately Ienzo agreed.

“Well, we shouldn’t shirk,” Ienzo said. “Let’s clean up.”

“It’s not like we have Dusks to do it,” Demyx muttered.

“I’d rather not work in filth, would you?”

“No,” he agreed. “Let’s just get it over with.”

He helped Demyx sweep through the worst of the dust. Even with the windows open, it made them sneeze. Once it seemed to be mangeable, he left Demyx to continue on and started retrieving books that might be helpful. Rune dictionaries, copies of the fairy tales with scholarly annotations, theory and music history (for context on the composer’s life), typical history. The composer had to be from Radiant Garden; how else would it have gotten here?

When Ienzo returned with another load of books, Demyx gave him a droll look. He was doing, surprisingly enough, a good job of it, and the original color of the floor was actually visible again. “For how insistent you were with the cleaning, I figured you’d be helping me,” Demyx said.

“It’s more efficient if we split our labor,” Ienzo said. “I hate to break away from my work once I’ve started. I’d rather be overcautious with materials than not.”

Once the floor was dry, Aeleus and Dilan brought the piano in. Admittedly it was a sorry sight to see, scratched and wobbly. Demyx stabilized it with a few blocks of wood. He looked at it like he might an old friend, with a sort of hazy nostalgia. He pressed the first sour key and flinched.

Ienzo knew he could not really be of help in this case. He watched Demyx as he propped open the old top, armed himself with a pair of pliers, and steeled himself for the work ahead.

He didn’t think he would find it interesting to observe, but he did. Without even use of a tuning fork, Demyx managed to get the keys back towards normal range with only a few delicate twists. And once it sounded more-or-less perfect to Ienzo, he kept adjusting.

“You must have a very good ear,” Ienzo remarked quietly. “To tell such minute differences.”

He seemed unsure of how to take the compliment. “Well, I would hope so.” He rolled his right arm. “We wouldn’t have to do all this if I just had my sitar,” he said bitterly. “That’s about as good as it’s going to get.”

Ienzo touched one of the smooth ivory keys. “Much better.”

“Still a bit flat, but I was afraid to pull much harder, especially on the higher notes. I doubt there’s any spare piano wire hanging around. It’s not exactly a commodity.” Ienzo noted, chastising himself slightly, that he’d never heard Demyx speak so deeply or knowledgeably about a subject and has assumed he’d been unable to. Then again, before now he’d never bothered to listen. Demyx played a chord. “It’s bearable, at least.”

Ienzo nodded. “Shall we get to work, then?”

His expression slipped. “Now? Don’t you want to take a break first?”

“Why? There’s still so much of the day left.”

Demyx rolled his shoulders again. “My arms kinda hurt.”

Ienzo sighed. “I could do with some lunch.”

It ended up being good that they took a break. He changed out of his dusty clothes and saw the room with a fresh eye. In his urgency, he’d left his books in a mess.  “I didn’t realize I left these so… unorganized.”

With a notable hesitation, Demyx sat down on the little old bench. His posture for practice was good, but he looked tense anyway. He played some scales that sounded like they came easily, but there was a furrow in his brow.

“You look uncomfortable,” Ienzo said.

He shook his head. “Just trying to warm up.”

Ienzo turned back to his books. He wasn’t sure what the best way to keep them organized was. Subject? Date? Relevance? Of course he’d brought too  many; he always had. The steadiness of the scales became a sort of background noise that was easy to tune out, at least until he heard Demyx play a sour note. Ienzo saw him flex his injured hand. He’d attributed their early break to laziness, but honestly Demyx was likely in pain. “Is your wound bothering you?” Ienzo asked. He began to wonder how often people had assumed the worst of Demyx, only to have the behavior come from a perfectly logical place. Moreover, why had he let people drag him down like that?

“Just a bit stiff,” he said, with an odd smile. He kept playing scales, gradually letting them vary in rhythm and complexity, while Ienzo continued to get himself organized. Once he was happy enough, he sat in a chair close enough so that he could also see the score.

It was so dense and complex; honestly it looked to Ienzo more like a drawing than a song. At least the runes were legible, but that didn’t help Demyx. Even so, he seemed to sight-read with relative ease, making sense of the chaos and playing a beautiful, melancholic song. While he did made a few mistakes Ienzo noticed, Ienzo would have been more surprised if he hadn’t.

But instead of looking relieved, or at peace or happy, when he got through the first part of the score Demyx pressed his hands between his knees anxiously.

“It’s lovely,” Ienzo commented. “But--rather sad. I wonder what it means.”

“Could just be what was on their mind when they wrote it.”

“Perhaps. We’ll know more when I translate. Keep going. I’ll try to remember the rhythm of the sung phrases.”

For a long time--it was hard to tell how long exactly, but the sunlight in the room was starting to darken--Demyx kept pressing forward. It was all woefully complicated. Looking at the notes made Ienzo dizzy. Instead he watched Demyx’s hands work across the keyboard, surely and competently. He was utterly, completely, and almost painfully focused as they passed from movement to movement, only pausing ever so slightly to turn the page. This was talent, raw and simple, and Ienzo felt a wave of guilt when he thought of how they’d all belittled Demyx for his obsession with his sitar.

This guilt broke his own concentration, and he noticed the bandage on Demyx’s hand was no longer clean and white, but soaked through with blood. He grabbed his shoulder. “Stop. Your hand.”

Demyx looked down, startled. The keys were faintly bloody. Ienzo grabbed one of the cleaning rags and tied it over the first bandage. Demyx did not seem concerned about his hand; he was more worried about the blood on the piano. He started wiping at it with another rag, discordant clangsreplacing the previous melodies.

“Leave it. You probably need stitches,” Ienzo said.

“It’ll get stained if I don’t,” Demyx said. A sharp, anxious edge crept into his voice.

“That’s all right.” It was a very old piano. That would be the least of the damage. “I’m going to get a first aid kit. Put pressure on it. About that much.” He squeezed Demyx’s right hand to demonstrate. He could feel the faint scratch of the thick calluses against his own soft, unweathered hands. He set off. He’d never seen Demyx’s hands without gloves, had never paid much attention to them before. In a way they were quite graceful when not hidden behind the Organization’s uniform.

Why was he thinking about this?

He found the first aid kit in its usual place, still well-stocked with sutures. Ienzo washed his hands meticulously, twice, and returned quickly. He crouched down and took the injured hand.  “Bleeding seems to have stopped. I suppose i must have misjudged how deeply the wound ran the other night.”

“Even did too,” Demyx said weakly.

“That’s odd,” Ienzo said. “I usually trust his judgement with these things.” He unwrapped the bandages and saw why. The wound was narrow but ran deeply. He cleaned it gently, but Demyx still hissed in pain. Then he prepared the sutures. “I’m sorry, this will hurt. But it won’t heal correctly otherwise.”

The needle had barely pierced the skin before he was cringing away.

“Steady,” Ienzo said. He tried to move as quickly and lightly as possible, but even so it took nine stitches to close the wound. The irony of this was not missed by Ienzo, and while he did not believe in luck, he considered adding a tenth. He changed the bandages out for clean ones. “Nine stitches. Rather auspicious.”

He wiped at his eyes. “It fucking kills.”

“I can’t see how it would be… pleasant. Nonetheless, I think you should let your wound heal before we continue.” He sat down next to Demyx. “Of course, I should like to do some translation work. If it’s all the same to you, I can translate, and you can rest. For today… I think this is enough.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” More than anything, he looked exhausted, and he cradled his injured hand.

Did his anxiety keep him awake as well? Ienzo nearly asked. Instead, he said, “I am curious, though. How many instruments can you play? I shouldn’t have assumed your mastery of piano, though you are rather skilled in that regard.”

The question seemed to startle him. He exhaled, clucking his tongue a little. “Well, I mean I don’t really know. Sitar, obviously. Stringed instruments tend to come really naturally to me. I don’t have much experience with brass or woodwind, but if I looked at it for a little while, I could probably pick it up. It just seems to make sense to me. You know?”

How Ienzo envied that skill. Nothing, not one little thing, had ever come so easily to him. Except perhaps overthinking. “Fascinating. So you’ve no formal training?”

He shrugged. “Not that I can remember. I mean, some one must have taught me how to read and write music.”

Ienzo blinked. “What else can’t you remember?”

Demyx whistled, a low, strange sound. “Well, I mean, a lot, really. My past is… kind of blurry.”

That made no sense. If he were whole now, he should have all his memories. Ienzo wondered if there was a reason why Demyx hadn’t revealed his true name. “That’s… peculiar. Did you remember your past as a Nobody? The first time you were one, anyway.”

He twitched a little, and a hand went up to his head as if in pain.

“Demyx? Are you alright?”

Demyx breathed shakily and audibly. His eyes were glassy, vacant; without warning, he fell forward in a dead faint.

“Oh, goodness,” Ienzo said. He crouched down next to him and shook him, but he didn’t wake. He reached back into the first aid kit, looking for smelling salts of something of that ilk, but Even usually considered such medicine old-fashioned and didn’t stock it. Ienzo took Demyx’s pulse, noting it was uncomfortably high.

What on earth? Was this some sort of reaction to his questions? Why? Had Xehanort deliberately withheld the vessel’s memory from them?

He tried to lift Demyx’s body, but of course he was too weak. He sighed, more frustrated with himself than anything. He picked up his gummiphone. “Even? I need your help.”

It took both of them, but they were able to get Demyx into bed. Through all of this he didn’t stir in the slightest. Even took some blood, hurried out to run some quick tests, and came back some half hour later. In the meantime Ienzo waited nearby, afraid to stray too far lest something even worse happen. Despite himself, he was worried. It was hard not to feel at fault somehow.

“Well, I’ve check his blood count,” Even said wearily. “Everything is normal but the sugar and iron were low. I’m sure that explains the fainting. What you consider a trigger is no doubt a coincidence.”

Ienzo shook his head. “I’m not so sure. He had mentioned something about lacking memory. Why is it that when I tried to prod, he had this reaction? Roxas was similarly knocked unconscious when he strayed to Castle Oblivion.”

Even wrinkled his nose. “Ienzo, you know as well as I do that Demyx has a bit of a flair for the dramatic. Perhaps he just wanted some attention. Your worry is misplaced.”

He didn’t care for Even’s callous tone. But at the same time, he was the only person who had become human the same way Demyx did. “...Even, do you have all your memories?”

“Of course I do! I think I would know if that were not the case.”

This did not make things any clearer. “How odd. How odd…”

“His heart is not yet complete. That may have something to do with it.”

“I’m going to take a look at my notes regardless.” He’d never heard of such a thing. Was it perhaps a trauma-induced amnesia?

“Still, this brings up the matter of our diet. I had suspected it is somewhat lacking, too high in carbs. Perhaps we can go down to the marketplace and find something more nutritious…”

Ienzo found it strange that, despite having studied memories and hearts for the majority of his career, this was what he was hyperfixated on. “Aren’t you at least a little curious?” he asked in a low voice.

“I am. But at the same time, it’s still so early on. We know now that this recompletion process favors entropy. If we woke with our physical wounds, wouldn’t it make sense to wake up with psychological ones as well?”

“I… suppose.” He sighed.

“He will recover,” Even said, with just the slightest bit of warmth. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two bottles. “This is just some medication for him. Iron and a painkiller for that hand. I should have noticed how bad it was.”

“I’ll bring it to him. Thank you, Even.”

“I’m the only one here with a doctorate in medicine. My burden to bear.” He actually smiled a little, and set off back to his studies.

Ienzo got some water for the pills. He himself was feeling dizzy and achy, and desperately tired. The last thing he needed was to fall ill. When he went back to Demyx’s room, Ienzo found that he was awake. “Oh good, you’re conscious. How are you feeling?”

Demyx was a touch less pale, but didn’t look good. “...Weird,” he said. “I don’t know why that happened.”

“You’re a tad anemic. And your blood sugar was low.” He set down the pills and water. “Even recommended you take some supplements. And I brought some mild painkillers for your hand. No doubt it’s several weeks’ of malnutrition catching up to you. I’m sure it was hard to come by good food when you were hiding.”

He took the pills and water. Ienzo considered leaving, to get some rest of his own, but then he caught sight of the plant on the window. The soft, silver-blue-purple evoked something deep and startling within him. “That’s a lovely illumina plant. Where did you get that?” Pinpricks of memory, vague and faint--his mother, seeming impossibly tall, gently pruning the buds by the light of the full moon.

“Oh. Someone at the marketplace gave it to me. Aerith, from the restoration committee.”

Of course. Aerith was one of the few people in Radiant Garden who actually knew all of the local blooms. She used quite a lot of them in her healing. “Ah, yes. That makes sense. They’re a good group of people. I’ve been keeping in touch with them about Sora.” Demyx must not have known about its properties; in direct sunlight, the plant was slowly dying. “You needn’t leave this in direct sunlight, you know. They grow at night.”

“Did you study botany, too?” Demyx asked.

Another fuzzy memory of his mother, surrounded by plants in her study. ““Not quite. A specialty of my parents’.” He took the plant off the windowsill. At least it seemed well-cared for, other than the sunlight. “Can I see your stitches? I want to make sure you’re healing properly.” The wound had stopped bleeding, and looked to be healing well. He could feel again the warmth of Demyx’s skin like his own had memory. Ienzo didn’t understand. Had he been touched so rarely that it felt odd? Was that what this was?

“Thanks. I’m sorry about earlier.”

He shook his head. “That’s quite alright. I forget that you’re still adjusting. You should use the rest of the day to get some rest. I’m going to go and see what translation work I can get done while there’s still good light. Aeleus is making stew. I’m sure he’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

So Ienzo returned to the study room alone. He settled down with some tea and the papers and bent to study the first line of runes. It was not going to be as straightforward as he thought. The composer was using odd colloquialisms. After an hour or so, he’d barely gotten through one line, and even that was a guess.

Dawn town is a fucking mess. Or maybe they meant Dawn, town? So Dawn, and town is a fucking mess. Unfortunately, the swear was the only part he was really sure of.

With a splitting headache and just his memory to rely on, the melancholic music made the space seem even lonelier. The unbidden thoughts of his mother didn’t help. He’d been incredibly young when they’d passed--five or so--and his memories were blurry and ill-formed.

Ienzo realized for the first time how brief his time at the castle had been as a human. Only three years. In his mind it felt like ages and ages. He’d learned so much, and when he was a mere seven years old the experiments had kicked into high gear. Xehanort had spent more time with him, encouraging him with ideas until he had toddled over to Ansem, tugged the hem of his coat, and asked, “Master, what makes a heart?” And Ansem had said, “why, Ienzo, we’ve been wondering the same thing, what do you think?” And he had said, “People who bond.”

That had given them enough fuel and questions for the test subjects.

Ienzo wouldn’t make it as far as the washroom. He vomited in the kitchen sink. His head ached so badly he thought he might faint as well. Instead of cleaning up his mess, he had to sit down for several moments.

Ansem came into the kitchen, likely to gather him for dinner. “Ienzo, is everything all right? Are you ill?”

“I think so, Master.” To his horror, his eyes were watering. The panic was hot and sticky in his breast. Thin, sharp memories stabbed him. The others, telling him lies, or what they thought was the truth-- Ansem’s gone mad, he’s been experimenting on children . He remembered the faces of the people they’d questioned, remembered questioning them himself, remembered the screams when they felt their bonds being ripped apart--

He jumped up and was sick in the sink a second time. Ansem rubbed his back and he nearly recoiled from the touch.

“You must get to bed,” he said softly.

The tears were hot and salty on his face. He wiped his mouth on a napkin and started to run water over his mess. Xehanort had lied, had turned them all against one another for his own purposes, made them think that casting their hearts off was a choice. You will be free of all fear, of all guilt.

“I shall take care of it. Let us go.” He guided Ienzo back to his room and waited until he had lay down. “First Demyx, now you. We might all catch it.” He touched Ienzo’s forehead. “You don’t have a temperature. Maybe you ate something poorly?”

He couldn’t find the strength to say it wasn’t an illness.

“I’ll get you some ginger tea. That’ll settle your stomach.”

He shouldn’t feel guilty that Ansem was taking care of him. He pulled the covers tightly around him.

“My dear boy. Go to sleep, alright?”

In the silence and stillness of the room, he curled around himself. He tried to hold back the tides of emotion and memory, but they battered him again and again and he couldn’t help but cry, weakly and pathetically, until his abdominal muscles ached.

He didn’t want to be Ienzo. He didn’t want to be anybody.

[dreadlock-detective]

How hard is it to choose colours for your (and my favourite) art style?

Eheh, well I canonly speak for myself, not for whoever you’re flattering by callingyour favorite, so I’ll stick to that! ;)

I suppose theliteral answer is “Usually not too hard?” but that’s boring solets see what I can ramble about color choice and such! Also I’ll put some links to James Gurney’s stuff because he is amazing and I cannot recommend his books enough!

(This’ll be in 3 sections - Color schemes, Contrast and leading the eye, and picking colors for shadows~ from longest to shortest too)

Part 1: COLOR SCHEMES

So I used to bereally bad at this until I got really into pixel art where I learneda few important lessons. First, the entire color palette workingtogether is what’s most important, not any single color, and second,colors work together in surprising ways COMPLETELY dependent on what’s around them!

For example, this isthe color palette for the Commedore 64 from back in the day. All whopping 16 colors the system could possibly display:

Individually thosecolors look pretty muddy, muted, and dull. But when you put them alltogether in an image they actually work pretty well together, because none of them completely break from the others. Usingmy own stuff as an example, I used the C64 palette to challengemyself with remaking a very colorful, very saturated screenshot from the Nintendo 64game Mischief Makers (because I love that game and both systems have“64” in the name so why not~)

So I turned this: (Nintendo 64 version, with waaay more colors available)

Into this:

Now, there’s clearly a BIG difference in the colors used, but I feel like everything still looks fine on its own. The muddy colors look a lot more harmonious when seen in an image than individually, with the brighter colors, such as the gems, even popping quite a bit.

For that second point I mentioned about colors working differently based on the colors around them, look at the character’s green hair, the green gem, and the green on the top of the blocks. They are all the exact same color. The green gem and hair, though, are shaded with a deeper, more saturated green and contrasted with a bright white, making it appear more saturated than the exact same green on the platforms, because the platforms’ green is surrounded by duller colors.

So it’s important to keep in mind that not only is each color important in the context of the whole, but also that what’s immediately around a color will massively impact how they appear, even when they are the exact same!

Important things to consider when picking colors is how close/far they are to each other in hue (the color itself, represented by the outer wheel in the image below), the saturation (how much gray is in the color, which effects how vibrant it is, which is the left->right in the box) and value (how much black is in the color, which is the top->bottom in the box).

Essentially the further away two colors are from the each other in any of these 3 directions the more they will stand out from each other. I’m not much of a teacher for color theory in general, so the best advice I can give is just to practice and to check out limited palettes other people have made and see how they handle it. In general, though, I try to keep most of the colors relatively close to each other in saturation and warm/cool colors, and then use one accent color that stands out in small amounts to make certain bits pop~

Links time!

Gurney’s post/video on Color Gamut, or manually limiting colors and how surrounding colors alters our perception of them (check out what appears as yellow in the cool colored image as opposed to the warm)

Gurney’s post on color in context and how many colors still register as bright yellow

Fun little tidbit about old cartoons made with limited palettes

Part 2: Contrast, and leading the eye!

Okay, so these other two might be a bit shorter. Basically, when you’re picking colors you want some to stand out and some to fall back. If everything is competing for attention it can be really hard to look at and the eye doesn’t know what’s important! One of the main things to look out for with this is contrast, as the eye is easily drawn to areas that are different than their surroundings.

Let me use two designs I’d had for my character Caelia - the left is her old color scheme and outfit and the right the new one:

Now, aside from minor differences in saturation, they’re actually pretty similar, but the one on the right I think works a lot better. In both of them the yellow acts as a strong accent color that can pull the eye, but on the old design on the left it pulls your eye in two directions - towards the headband and the coat trim, neither of which are actually important. Almost the entire rest of the design lacks that yellow so your eyes are actually drawn -away- from the character’s face and body. Imagine the coat being blown behind her as she’s doing an action pose and, yeah, the accent color doesn’t actually help anything.

The new design, I think, fixes that. Even though it remains an accent color the yellow now appears throughout the design. Her hair is now a lighter shade of yellow which is distinguished from the yellow on the clothing while also framing her face. Her torso now has a yellow accent on it so it draws the eye and, combined with the hair, has a strong distinction between her upper half (which is more yellow) and her lower half (which is mostly red). And finally what was the coat now wraps around her with an additional little strip on a waist sash. Now the yellow trim can easily allow the eye to figure out how her legs are positioned by how they wrap around them, instead of just hanging behind them.

It’s also important to point out that the hair is less saturated along with being lighter than the rest of the yellow - it both looks a bit more natural, blends with her skin color more, and also doesn’t compete with the high saturation in the clothing.

None of this is to say the left one is necessarily a bad design or conveys information poorly, just that the right one is a more unified design that is easier to understand at a glance. It’s something to keep in mind, but not a hard rule or anything. But remember that if EVERYTHING tries to stand out you’ll just end up with a mess.

LINKS!

Gurney on leading the eye with contrast and why what everything I just said might be bunk but might not be and also I think what I said applies better to simplified, cartoon forms as opposed to realism, since lines and blocks of color read differently than natural forms and lighting.

Spokewheeling - a composition technique that can be applied to character design as well.

Shapewhelding - another composition technique to think about, and can be important to AVOID at times (happens a lot in pixel art - dont want things melding together accidentally)

Gurney on why all of that might be bunk for general art composition anyway but might not be, but again I believe is still important for more stylized art

Part 3: SHADOWS!

Okay, so it’s nearing 1am as I write this and I’ll be honest I have the absolute least technical knowledge on this part, so I’ll tell you how I go about it but I STRONGLY suggest reading Gurney’s information on it (Again, seriously, I love his books, and “Color and Light” in particular is amazing and contains many of these posts and more)

When it comes to shading I have a pretty quick and dirty way to figure out what to do:

in case the text isn’t legible:

Choose a color for all shadows to move towards (usually a purple or blue)

Grab the base color for the thing I’m adding shadow to

Shift the color towards the direction of the shadow color I chose, and then make it darker and more saturated

And I do the exact opposite for highlights - I move away from the shadow color and then make it lighter and less saturated

Usually, anyway. And this method works best on the kind of color wheel I have there, but it can be adapted to most anything. And how far you move towards the shadow color and how dark/saturated you make the shadows will change the mood of the piece a lot. The colors in the screenshots are for a pretty light colored, low contrast piece.

I would go on more about it but I don’t actually have solid reasoning behind it other than it tends to look alright and I don’t want to spread incorrect thinking. Just… for the love of all that is colorful, DONT just shift the color towards black or white. It looks muddy and gross. Please. I beg you~

ON THE PLUS SIDE, Here’s a slew of awesome links!

Gurney and Chromatic Shadows Part 1!

Chromatic Shadows Part 2!

Relative color on skin tones!

Complementary shadows!

Induced colors! (or how our eyes can make highlights appear as different colors)

And I cant stress enough how great Gurney’s Color and Light book is for this stuff. I just can’t explain much ‘cuz I’m bad at actually studying this stuff well enough to talk about it!

Anyway, that about does it for my waaay longer than I thought and hella reply to a single sentence question! Hope that helped you, or SOMEONE at least! It was fun to ramble on about regardless~ (oh geeze yeah maybe rambling after midnight was a bad plan? Hopefuly this actually makes sense lol. If anyone needs any clarification just let me know!)

Cheers! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

[sidespromptblog]

Who’s She? Never heard of her...: Part 4

Part One, Two, Three, and Five 

It took a lot of coaxing to get Deceit to leave his room for the rest of the day, and it took even more coaxing to get him to stay downstairs where he could be with everyone. Or rather, where Logan could stop him from picking at the gauze around his knuckles, where Patton could curl a massive blanket around Deceit, and where Roman could sit next to the deceitful side letting the other flip through the different channels on the tv before finally settling for an episode of some cartoon that they had already seen.

But that hardly mattered, as Deceit sank back into the cushioned and weighted blanket that Patton had curled around him like he must have been freezing or something. Even the weight of Roman leaning against wasn’t something that he was totally against right now, he continued to watch the cartoon as Patton eventually vanished back into the kitchen the sounds of something clattering against the counter going with him.

He returned soon enough, holding a dish of something that most certainly smelled pleasant, a proud grin could be seen on the moral side’s face as he thrust the plate into Deceit’s arms making him unconsciously grasp onto it much tighter so that it wouldn’t g tumbling out of his hands.

Looking down he saw seven crumbly slices, with seven neat thin squares of butter cut on top of each one of them, the warmth of food making it slowly melt. Glancing back up at Patton, Deceit did nothing for a second. Were they...for him? Or was Patton just showing him the food that he had just cooked because he was proud of it? Nevertheless, Deceit didn’t make a move to eat one bite until he was absolutely certain of it.

“It’s banana bread! I’ve never made it before, so I want you to try it!” Well, that answered his question.

Balancing the plate on one hand he broke one of the slices in half watching the better slice slowly drip off onto the other half before he shoved a massive bite into his mouth. It was...really really good. Deceit decided, so warm crumbly and it just had a perfect taste that he couldn’t pinpoint, it was better than good. It was absolutely amazing! Before he even knew it he had shoved the rest of the half into his mouth, heartily chewing it and swallowing it down before he grabbed the other half on the plate.

“It’s so good.” He managed to mumble through the sea of crumbles on his face, all while he tried to chew enough to make his words legible, the smile that lit up Patton’s face was better than any banana bread that the moral side could offer him, and any that he would ever get in his lifetime. It made him feel warm inside, so warm that his insides must have been melting.

Of course, he was completely distracted from that train of thought the moment that Roman slung his arm over Deceit’s shoulder picking up one of the slices before shoving it into his mouth like a heathen, the crumbles cascaded down the creative side’s chin and onto Deceit’s shoulder like it was storming crumbs instead of normal rain. Thankfully the crumbs were hastily swept off as Deceit brushed them off with the side of his hand.

“You’re right, these really are the best! The best thing you’ve ever made Padre!” After swallowing down the food Roman attempted to swipe at another slice, just for Deceit to intentionally hold them out of his reach. A tiny sly smile, but a smile nonetheless curled onto the deceitful side’s lips as he listened to Roman whine, for just a second before relenting and passing the plate over to the creative side letting him scarf down the food.

It took nearly an hour for him to be left alone again, as Roman had fallen asleep on the couch curled up with his own blanket by the armrest as the tv continued to play another show. Patton had gone off sitting at the dining room table coloring as Logan sat next to him a book in front of him as he slowly turned the pages.

Just about all of them were off in their own little world, all except for one.

Ever since they had cornered Deceit in his room Virgil hadn’t said a word to anyone, he had lingered around in the other’s messed up room and once it had become obvious that he was finally alone Virgil began to sweep. There was a lot of glass on the floor, and it took a lot of time to make sure that he wouldn’t accidentally cut himself on it when he finally got rid of it all. Once he was done though, Virgil took a good long look at what remained of the mirror that had seemingly caused Deceit so much paint. So much of the mirror remained as cracked and destroyed as it was, and looking at his reflection as the spider webbing cracks could be seen running over his face.

Virgil’s jaw clenched his hands that were still holding the dustpan and broom started to shake, the longer that he looked at the mirror and at himself the more he felt it. This wouldn’t stand any longer, and without a second thought, he dropped the broom and dustpan the two items vanishing as he summoned something else.

“This will not stand for a second longer…” Virgil growled to himself, his dark eyes glaring balefully at the mirror before attacking it with vigor.

Downstairs, however, Deceit felt his body shoot up from where he had been sitting, he had almost been asleep comfortably laying against Roman as the creative side snored so deeply that it almost felt like a purr to him. But that was before he felt it, it being the fact that someone was tampering and changing up his room.

Within seconds he was up, his eyes darted around the living room before he was peering into the dining room as well. Roman, Patton, and Logan. They were all here, all three of them, except...except for one person in particular…

Deceit took the steps two at a time in his rush to get upstairs, and grabbing ahold of his doorknob he slammed it open making it bang and bounce against the wall as he rushed inside.

It was lighter in his room, so much lighter than he’d ever had it in the past. He could actually see his dark red oak floor that was now littered with scratches thanks to all of the glass, all of the glass that was now gone. His room didn’t appear to have changed all that much, until he shot an accusatory look over to Virgil, just to feel himself stiffening up at the sight of the other side standing by where the mirror had once stood.

Once, as in the entire mirror was just up and gone, and in its place was Virgil standing there with paint brushes poking out of his pockets while he had been mixing paints on a palette. He’d already done a small corner of where the mirror had been, and Deceit couldn’t exactly tell what on earth he was painting, but what he did know was that it was impossible for him to feel this touched all in one day.

“You...what you doing?!” He blurted out, watching Virgil reflectively wince at the unintentional harshness of those words and even Deceit felt himself internally flinch at just how rude he had sounded.

But he didn’t have time to worry about that, “I…” Virgil tapped the paintbrush against the palate before dipping it into a mason jar that was full of water and setting the paint palate down as well, the water turned a dark murky green as soon as the paintbrush became submerged.

“I know that this sounds crazy but…” Virgil brushed his bangs back with his paint-stained fingers, accidentally getting a smear of red along his forehead. “But, I know what you’re going through, I know how you feel. Because..because I’ve been through it before. And I know that the best way to help...is change.” He tried to explain giving a half-hearted shrug towards the mural he had been painting when Deceit had barged in, letting out a deep pent-up sigh the anxious side took a step closer to Deceit.

“I misjudged you before, I never even stopped to consider that you might have been going through what I have already been through. In the end, I..I made you shy away from all of us and do things. So...So…”

Virgil thickly swallowed as he held his hand out to Deceit, “So with your permission, I’d like to help you with that.”

The air felt thick and charged between them, as Deceit just openly stared at Virgil’s hand like it was some foreign object that could turn into a beast and attack him. He held his own hand close to his chest, his breath felt bated for some reason as time felt like it had slowed down for them. When he finally reached forward, he felt his fingers brush the palm of Virgil’s hand before he finally clasped it.

The smile that he was rewarded with, made him feel all too similar to when Patton had smiled at him. Only this time, it felt more deserved as Virgil took him in the opposite direction, leading him out of his room and towards...his own room?

Pushing open the door, Virgil barely offered the contents of his room a glance as he pushed open another door located to the far right of his bed. Peering inside Deceit’s nose was instantly assaulted by the smell of roses, peaches, and cream. The air felt..calmer almost and even cleaner somehow.

The room itself was massive and spacious, with a couch that looked more like something you’d see if you were in a therapist's office. Even so, Virgil still didn’t look at that as he finally let go of Deceit’s hand venturing over to a neat line of cabinets that had a line up of pictures on it. New pictures judging by the clarity of them, of Virgil hanging out with the other sides. Some of them had Virgil a Christmas looking sweater while most were in his usual garb, pulling open the cabinet Virgil rifled through a few things before glancing back over to Deceit.

“Take off your cloak and sit down on one of the mats.” He easily told the other, and glancing around quickly Deceit saw the mats that he was referring to.

So unclasping his cloak and tossing it onto the couch he dragged a deep purple mat out from where it had been rolled up and stowed away, before Virgil finally came back over to him carrying an entire armload of things.

“Starting today Deceit, is a day where you can relax and let go of your old self,” Virgil explained as he set everything down onto the floor.

A face mask, scented body lotion, a couple bath bombs that were sparkly and scented, some shirts and pants, and...some hair dye of various colors.

His confusion must have been obvious as he picked up one of bottle tilting it as his eyebrows scrunched together, just to stop as Virgil’s hand rested over his own. Looking up he saw the anxious side’s sympathetic gaze that only made him more uncomfortable.

“Deceit…” Virgil murmured, “If you aren’t comfortable in your body..or with how you see yourself...you are allowed to change that. If you hate...anything about yourself, you don’t have to stay the same. You can be someone else, and you can…”

Virgil blinked a few times obviously tearing up, he’d had to learn this by himself. He’d had no one else to guide him, but Deceit...he could help Deceit.

“I can...change?” The uncertainty of Deceit’s voice shook Virgil to his core. “I don’t have to feel disgusting?” That, however, was the kicker for him, as Deceit grasped one of the bottles a little tighter. A lone tear dripped down Deceit’s cheek, but before Virgil could freak out or wipe it away, a smile took to Deceit’s face as he looked back up at the anxious side.

“I think that I’d like that…” He murmured, a bright smile lighting up his face, and with that, he began to shed his old self.

[notcryaotic]

Hyacinth and Coyote

Hyacinth hadn't been speaking much, to anyone really. There were chapters to put out and comissioned art to get done. Sometimes he was so far behind, he'd spend days on end trying to catch up. The life of a web artist and misfit was tough to balance but all his friends understood, Coyote understood, because it was what he loved to do most.

Last night, however, was a bismal and apart of him wanted to fling his computer out the window and down the fire escape of his apartment, but he didn't. If it hadn't been Coyote, who accompanied him even as the promising artist worked in bed, he would have called it quits. At his side, Coyote stayed, quite as a pin drop just studying him closely as Hyacinth worked his magic. The telekinetic didn't even ask him to stay.

While the others were well past asleep, he remembered the door creaking open just enough so  Coyote could get through and come snuggling in his sheets like a shivering puppy dog. Neither of them exchanged word; One worked while the other watch. The feeling of another warm body took some getting use to but soon enough, it became a sense of comfort and protection of some sort, one that Hyacinth needed for so long. Not the familial kind but the lover's comfort and with it.

He didn't know what time he slept at or what time he finished, but Hyacinth was all caught up. That took a load off his shoulders and finally, he could relax. Aside him, the sheets layed wrinkled and still held some warmth which meant that Coyote was near bye and had just woken up from his slumber. Where? He didn't know yet.

"Coyote?"

No response. Hyacinth probes around his bed room, running the his fingers through the wavy mess of pink hair he gained while tossing and turning all night. "Coyote," he calls again, slipping out the quilt he handmade himself with Acacia in their youth.

His feet allow for the floor boards to croak at each step, speaking it's true age as he tip toed to the kitchen space. It was remarkably quiet for a sunday morning; Usually there was a racket of noises at this time of day, but he heard nothing, only subtle snoring. Before he could check out the source of the snore, Hyacinth spots a note written in some sort of crappy and barely legible blue.

Keung, Tiger( with much effort), and I went out for some sunday brunch. We won't be long.   -Love, Acacia

Of course he'd leave a note; Acacia wouldn't have wanted Hyacinth to worry. There was also this poorly drawn unicorn at the corner of the paper that was more than proof that this was indeed from him. Setting the paper down, Hyacinth takes a step at a time, careful not to wake who ever the small snores belong to till he got to the living room and realized it was only Bellamy, fast asleep on the sofa. He wouldn't wake up till it was noon, but it didn't hurt to check up on Bell. Nudging the demon in a unicorn onsie, Hyacinth hopes it's enough to wake the other up but he hardly opens a eye. Even with his snickering, Bell doesn't wake up. "God you look awful in Acacia's onsie," he chokes in laughter. Those two held a sorta similar sibling bond, sorta like their own except Bell was an actual spawn of satan unlike him.

Bell tosses in his sleep, clinging on to the decorative cushion as barely audiable words spilled past his lips,"Don't let the Pancakes Burn, Patch"

"Patch?" Hyacinth didn't know much of who that was but he figured it was just nonsense,"Goof."

He'd knock on Gideon's door later to come pick Bell up, but in the mean time, He was still playing this game of cat and mouse with Coyote. The last place to check was his art room and thank the heavens the time leaper was there, focused on painting a canvas like the god he was. Sometimes he didn't know if Coyote did things on purpose or was completely numb to the fact that painting while shirtless had Hyacinth's eyes glued on to his physique. "Coyote-–?w-what are you doing?"

Whirling around, Coyote's face brightens by shades and his smile easily creases wrinkles on to his cheeks."Good Morning to you too." He returns to finger painting and sqeezes the remaining red on to his fingers and smearing every inch of white.

Damn, that was going to be some money he was going to have to use to replace the paint but Hyacinth couldn't blame a curious mind like that. "What are you painting?"

Coyote brings his hand to his chin and rubs thoughtfully, smearing colors on his face in the process. "I don't know?" He steps aside, allowing the other to see for himself,"What do you think?"

"Well," Hyacinth begins, examining the painting. If anyone looked at the painting at first glance, they would say it was just a mess of colors, but Hyacinth appreciates the thought put into it. The red contrasts against the darker colors behind it, flaring out of control and popping out the canvas as if it were to swallow him. It almost looks like–like fire. There's tons of black and the more he looks like it, the more it looks like a city, a city engulfed by flames.  

I Will watch this world burn into ashes and rebuild it again if I have to

Old words from an old friend, a brother, still had this effect on him and they boiled him. Why couldn't Jie get the senses knocked back into him. Why couldn't he just come home and just S t o p.

"Hya? What's wrong?" Coyote calls, cupping the round face pouty face in his hands.

The telekinetic flushes, not noticing how close Coyote stepped in till painted skin made contact with his own. His eyes lull closed and his hands brace around Coyote's wrists feeling a sense of security wash over him again,"It's nothing. Sometimes I just get these deep thoughts and certain things trigger them: memories more so."

"Do you care to talk about them?"

Hyacinth turns away, starring down at the woodwork,"I Don't know."

"Then allow me to take it out your mind," Coyote smirks, knowing that though Hyacinth was put in a sour mood, he couldn't forcibly make him speak about what he didn't want to speak so instead, he'd make him forget.

"Please do," Hyacinth replies, leaning back abit, more so than he thought that they both went falling to the ground beneath them.

Breaking into laugh, Coyote rests both forearms on either side of his head, just inches away from their lips touching. His breath brushes the feathery bangs away from the bambi eyed man and then stops as he is taken away by the natrual youth and beauty that Hyacinth gives off. "We're not even training and somehow you still end up on the ground."

Hyacinth is smart, training with Coyote has made him stronger and the word that drift to his ear boost his ego; Quickly, he uses the time leaper's weight against him, sending him to the ground. With Hyacinth on top, he takes the liberty to shove Coyote's earlier comment down his throat with pleasantries to his ear,"I know you like me being on the bottom, but I always preferred to be on top."

"Really?" Coyotes huffs, inching his fingers towards another set and locking them tight," I have to disagree."

"Oh really?" Hyacinth still seated comfortably, guides the time leaper's battle worn hands and leads them to his hips, inclined to prove him wrong. It always occurred to him that Coyote knew all to little when it came to showing love and maybe it was his job to show him. Well that all sounded wrong in his head but he meant it in a genuine way. Honestly.

Coyote too feels that warm sensation in his chest, the one he always got when Hyacinth did something special just for him or looked at him a certain way. These feelings explodes and as he sat down, all he wanted was to press his lips against Hyacinth's own pair just like in the movies they watched together on long nights when Coyote wanted nothing more than to be with him. Their lips just skate by each other, grazing for one memorable moment till a loud crunch interupts the intimate and fervant look that both men give each other; Out on the doorway stands Bell with a ear to ear smile, barely able to make out his eyes with the hoodie covering his face, eating a bowl of Keung's favorite cereal,"Oh dude–don't mind me, I'm just watching."

Groaning in annoyance, Hyacinth buries his face into the crane of Coyote's neck, hiding the umbearable flush that covers his face."I hate you."