#it's a really bad sketch - hence the read more...

[imsosoheee]

lose my cool, [preview]

SYNOPSIS. yn doesn’t believe in labels—only in late nights, fleeting kisses, and the freedom to leave before things get too real. but everything shifts when she meets eunseok—calm, steady, and impossible to shake. through midnight hookups, misread silences, and all the ways love can go unspoken, yn is forced to confront the one thing she’s spent her whole life avoiding: feeling too much.

(heavily) inspired by: nevertheless - kdrama & 'lose my cool,' by kali uchis

PAIRING! art student!eunseok x fem!reader art student

GENRE! college!au, angst (as always with me haha)

WARNINGS! swearing, a lot of angst, loneliness, coldness, and miscommunication, drinking, yn is scared of feeling, descriptive kissing, suggestive themes, sex implied and smut // EACH PART WILL HAVE THEIR OWN CONTENT WARNING

WORD COUNTS:

pt. 1: 3.2k

pt. 2: 2.9k

pt. 3: 3.9k

TAGLIST! @hrtfelt4u @karebearyu @jaellymint @thevirginsuicidenotes

send an ask, dm, or reply to be added! i'll be posting soon (within the next week)

author's note! hi guys!!! my first full fic! i can't express how much this fic means to me lol.. (hence why i wrote 10k words in total, heh) i've had the idea for a while, but never had the time to write it until a few days ago and wrote it all in one night. i hope you guys can enjoy it and feel all of the emotions as much as i did <33 as always, thank you to @karebearyu for reading beforehand ིྀ

* feel free to send asks / requests anytime :)

preview under the cut

word count: 878

you couldn’t stop looking at him. not when he walked in carrying his own charcoal set, not when he put down his thermos of black tea, and especially not when he started sketching.

you didn’t look at him in a heart-eyes, rom-com way. more like... you were trying to figure out what made him tick. what made someone so closed-off and serious keep showing up to work with someone like you. maybe you liked pressing against quiet boys until they cracked.

you started to see him everywhere: at the library. in the studio. in your thoughts, embarrassingly.

you still swiped on dating apps, still went to parties, still flirted with strangers just to feel wanted. but after enough shallow hookups, you started noticing what they didn’t do: they didn’t ask how your day was. they didn’t listen when you talked about the piece you were working on. they didn’t look at you the way eunseok did when you weren’t paying attention.

he never tried to touch you—never leaned too close, never made a move, never said anything suggestive. you couldn’t tell if he wasn’t interested or just had self-control like a monk, but it came to piss you off.

one night after class, he walked you home. you didn’t ask him to. he just noticed it was late, and cold, and you weren’t wearing a jacket. you unlocked your door, turned to him, and said, “you can come in, if you want.”

he paused. “i’m good.”

“just for a drink.”

“yn.”

you blinked. “what?”

“you don’t have to try so hard.”

you stared at him, as if you had been slapped. he smiled, soft but tired. “goodnight.”

and then he walked away. you closed the door slower than usual.

you still kept things playful—always teasing, always flirtatious—but sometimes you caught yourself watching him too long when he wasn’t looking. the way he tucked his pencil behind his ear. the way his hand curved around the edge of a page like he was afraid to smudge it. the way he listened. he really listened.

“so,” you said one afternoon, sitting on the studio floor, paint on your leggings and sweat sticking your hair to the back of your neck, “tell me your type.”

he looked up from his sketch. “my type?”

“yeah. everyone has one.”

he thought for a second. “i guess... someone sincere.”

you wrinkled your nose. “ugh. boring.”

he smiled. “you asked.”

“you’re telling me you’ve never had a crush on someone objectively bad for you?”

“probably,” he admitted, “but i didn’t act on it.”

“why not?”

he glanced at you. “because i knew it’d hurt.”

you tilted your head. “you think feelings make people rational?”

“i think they make people honest,” he said. “eventually.”

“no one expects anything from a hookup,” he said softly. you raised an eyebrow. “judging me again?”

“no.” his voice was firm now. “i’m not judging you, yn.”

you searched his face for a trace of mockery, but there was none. just that same, even calm that made you want to scream and kiss him all at once. “you just think it’s dumb.”

“i think it’s lonely.”

you blinked. he didn’t press further. didn’t look smug for getting under your skin. he just started erasing something on his paper, like he hadn’t said anything personal at all. you sat in silence for a while. then, trying to shake off the weight in your chest, you leaned over to peek at his sketch. “you’re drawing me,” you said.

“you asked if i did before. figured you’d want proof.”

you grinned. “you think i’m pretty again.” he didn’t deny it, and for a second, something fluttered in your ribs—sharp and uninvited. you turned away before he could see it on your face. “you’re still not my type,” you said over your shoulder.

“i know,” he replied, not missing a beat. “you like the ones who leave.”

your smile faded. you didn’t say anything after that, and neither did he. but somehow, that silence felt louder than anything else.

“kiss me,” you whispered.

“yn—”

“please.”

he hesitated. you could see it in his eyes—that hesitation. not because he didn’t want to. but because he did, and maybe that scared him more. but then he leaned in, and you didn’t think about anything else after that. he kissed you like he didn’t know if he was allowed to.

his mouth hovered over yours for a moment too long, warm breath meeting yours. you could taste the faint bitterness of the beer he’d finished an hour ago. you could feel the hesitation in the way his hand hovered near your cheek, not touching yet, not until he was sure. when his lips finally pressed to yours, it was feather-light. nothing urgent. just a question asked in the softest language. you kissed him back before you had time to think about it.

you pulled back first, just an inch, forehead resting against his for a moment. his eyes peered into yours as you caught your breath. he searched your face. like he was trying to decide whether he believed you. whether he believed himself. your mouth met his again before he could finish thinking. that was the last time either of you tried to make sense of it.

[sparticus2000art]

I’ve been sitting on my stuff for the @valrayne-faeu for a hot second (mostly cause there was just so much I wanted to draw for it and I was struggling to find the time for personal projects) so I decided to finish it as a contribution (but not really) to bad sansuary.

Up top is an illustration of her final design for the au, with some of my design iterations underneath.

This is all just stuff putting Sparks into the au, both with written lore and sketches to explore their character!

It’s a bit chunky though, so I’ll put the majority under the cut-

Character info:

- Sparks was initially a human who got lost after accidentally wandering into the fae wilds/outlands

- Traded away their humanity in order to survive a fire she got caught up in, became a creature somewhere between a ghost and a faerie

- Made a home on the boarder between the winter court and the fae wilds in a run down cottage she found (heavy emphasis on run down, some walls are missing in some rooms and she does not possess the skills to fix them herself)

- Tends to spend a lot of time wandering in order to find the place she was going when she slipped through the cracks

- She’s perpetually unsuccessful in this endeavour

- Has a pretty bad sense of direction, hence why they got lost in the first place, though she’s pretty good at memorising routes once she’s been through them a once or twice- helps if someone guides her the first time, though she’s also been steadily building up a network of pathways through the fae realm through her own efforts

This picture contains a horribly lost and confused individual.

- She’s also oddly good at ending up where she needs to be (apart from at that picknick she’s now super late for)

- They also sometimes take courier adjacent jobs sometimes in exchange for favours or goods- this is the main way they stock up on supplies

- She will wander through the entirety of the fae realm, even the summer and spring courts, though she can’t do this for long without being afflicted by heat stroke… she sometimes pushes it when feeling particularly desperate to find that place they needed to be (she’s usually sensible enough to take breaks when she needs to, but it does depend on her mental state)

- Ironically for a being made predominantly out of fire, she’s rather prone to overheating, and such prefers cooler temperatures to help regulate her body heat

- Her wandering has some drawbacks though- they’re based on a will-o-th’wisp, and as such have similar effects/ behaviour where her wandering along the boarder of the fae and human realms will occasionally draw other humans in, entranced by her flames.

- She doesn’t do this on purpose, and IF she finds out, will usually go out of her way to guide the human back to the human realm, though once they're there, she can’t do much as her body is not stable enough to persist easily outside of the fae realm

- There are exceptions to this though, where if the human is particularly rude or cruel to her she may get them further lost out of spite (it takes a lot to get her to that point though)

- Most of her magic is fire based, though she’s not bad at casting illusions (smoke and mirrors)

- Enjoys drawing, reading, playing music and cooking during her rest times

-Got a sketch book and some pencils from one of her earlier trades with ink

- Occasionally runs into horror when moving through the winter court. They sorta just stare at each other from a distance before moving on. Eventually when this has happened a lot, they’ll start to wave or give each other short greetings. Both are too awkward to properly start a conversation though…

This picture contains some of the awkward staring…

- Even more occasionally will run into dust when passing through certain clearings, though they usually appologise for interrupting and leave quickly, with even more haste when he turns to glare at her

- Tends to avoid the main hubs of each court cause there are too many people

- Made her first friend with a certain raccoon who broke into her house when making soup

This picture also contains the faesona of @imtrashraccoon (she helped me a bit with bouncing ideas around for what I wanted to do design wise :) )

- She has a tendency to just go with the flow when caught off guard by things, mostly because she doesn’t know how to react

- They’re also stressed like, 90% of the time partially because of the feeling of being lost and the incessant need to get to that initial location.

- Seems pretty quiet and reserved around people she’s unfamiliar with, (which is mostly just her being bad at talking to strangers) but becomes very talkative if topics she knows well are bought up, or when more familiar with the individual

- They sometimes come off as being a bit grumpy because of this

- Tends to be pretty hard to read though as she’s not the best at expressing herself. Can kinda come off as being a bit 0-100 in terms of intensity of expression, just cause she doesn’t seem to visibly react until experiencing an emotion quite strongly.

- For friends she’ll make the effort to act more in line with what she’s feeling, though she has to exaggerate things a bit to be understood, which can make it hard to take her seriously

- Her flames are more expressive than her face is, changing colour with strong emotions- pink when flustered or white when angry

This picture has some character exploration- looking at before and after she makes her way to the fae realm, as well as an alternative form for what she would have been if circumstances were different.

- Has a pretty dry and deadpan sense of humour- they’re surprisingly witty at times, and have a bit of a mischievous streak, where they enjoy saying outrageous (silly) things to get a reaction out of people (they think it’s funny)

- They also enjoy affectionately annoying friends, again, to get a reaction

- They also tend to be pretty stubborn, unwilling to alter their routes or processes unless given a VERY convincing argument

- This is often to her own detriment- as they’re pretty set in their ways and will sometimes drive herself too far in order to prove a point

- She’s not completely unreasonable though, and will at least listen if people try to intervene, though they do have to be able to convince her

- They also tend to be pretty blunt and straight to the point- she doesn’t enjoy the typical dancing around subjects that fae tend to favour, and will cut down the conversation out of frustration

- Does have a little bit of a temper though they tend to cool down just as quickly as they flare up, and it takes a LOT to get them to that point in the first place, as they’re usually fairly patient with people

- One of few things that will set her off immediately is if someone tries to touch the lantern she keeps with her… it’s very important, and needs to be protected at all costs

- When she eventually gets her hands on sewing materials she’ll do her best to repair her tattered clothes or make something new

- Her eyesight isn’t the best and she’s quite prone to migraines. Because of this, you can’t often see her eyelights, as she’s trying not to strain her eyes. On occasions you can see them, it means she’s either focussing pretty hard, or she’s startled

[bitch-potatoes]

New obsession with these two

Prompt: muggle 06/11/24 @moonwater-microfic

Word count: 536

Regulus stared down at his textbook with his hands in his hair. It wasn't supposed to be a difficult subject, but this homework was impossible. Barty was working on the same peice, breezing through the essay to the point where he'd broken his first quill from writing too fast.

"Bab," Regulus kicked Remus' shin under the table they were sitting at in the library. Remus looked up from his work, a history of magic essay he'd drafted 3 times already. He cocked his head and placed his biro down gently. Regulus found it odd that he refused to use quills anymore, something his friend Lily Evans had taken up after Snape had called her a mudblood. He supposed it was just a way of supporting her, and it had really taken off with other muggleborn students.

"Yeh Reg," he muttered, stifling a yawn and scrubbing his eyes with his hands.

"You're friends with Evans, the muggleborn... can you help me with my muggle studies work" Regulus asked timidly, he wasn't used to needing help with his work and it was easier to ask Remus over Barty who'd loom it over him for the rest of forever.

"My mums a muggle..." Remus said, slowly like it was something bad to reveal to Regulus. He was taken a bit aback, the Lupin name despite not being one the sacred 28 was still a pureblood name. An oversight on Regulus' behalf for not asking, but he didn't really like prying into home lives because Merlin knew he didn't want to answer questions about his.

Remus clicked the top of the pen, and a small spring made the tip of it pop out. He clicked it again, and it went back in. Regulus thought someone ought to recruit more muggle intelligence into the wizarding world because quills and ink wells seemed ancient compared to this. Most of the wizarding world was still stuck in the mid-1600s. Hence, Regulus is struggling so much with the homework;

"Explain three methods of muggle transportation, including at least one method of flight." Regulus read the set task aloud and looked at Remus expectantly.

"Ummmmm.... trains, planes, and busses. " Remus shrugged, offering a small smile as he read the textbook upside down. It wasn't fair him and all his weird friends were so effortlessly smart.

"I actually wanted to do hot air balloons instead of planes," Regulus muttered sheepishly, half prepared for a lecture on how that was stupid.

"I've been in a hot air balloon once" Remus replied thoughtfully "the way they work is easy, just uses the concept of hot air rises essentially. There's a flame that heats the air in the balloon bit and that makes it take off, less flame to go down and more flame to go up" Remus explained softly, scribbling down a few bullet points and drawing a small sketch of a hot air balloon.

It was the small things like that, things that reminded Regulus that love could be soft and kind and warm. Love wasn't harsh words and unbearable punishment to ensure the perfect heir. Love was milk chocolate, parchment notes, and fiction books; sugar mice, secret smiles, and clicky pens. Love to Regulus was Remus Lupin.

[nunofyabuisness]

What if Saiki used hypnosis instead of mind control to blend in⁉️

Just a thought, but it seemed cool, so I sketched it out (perks of being an artist😼)

Don’t necessarily want this to be canon, cuz it would look kinda boring, but oh well

with that being said, I present to you… NORMAL SAIKI‼️‼️‼️😼😻

WOAH!!!!! I don’t really feel like explaining my thought processes, but I can say that he still is pink and green as stuff, but due to the hypnosis, he looks normal. Like his hair clips that are actual hair clips (hence the hypnosis)

but wait, there is more…😼🤯

WOAH‼️‼️‼️‼️🎉🎉🎉👏👏👏

she would dye her hair anyways, so why not

He had dark hair from before, so naturally he has black hair

Much like aren, dark hair before = black hair now

she looks so good with it thoooo???😻 (she looks good with everything tbh)

Him with black hair feel’s soooo wrong…..😨

like no that’s my baby blue haired baby what🙁 but his mom would probably not let him dye it😔 (forget the probably, she just wouldn’t. I hate her sm she pressures him too much)

but yeah thanks for reading the whole thing through!!! :D

do you have any other caracter in mind you want me to draw btw??? If so, who???? I’m always open to suggestions😼😼😼😼

(I sincerely apologize for the bad quality but I rushed this sm)

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

The Artist and the Builder [a Joel x reader fic]

Read on Ao3

Sequel: All The Fear and the Fire of the End of the World

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/artist!reader who is his age and has arthritis and allergies.

Tags/warnings: Bit of pining, Joel is sweet and settling in, reader has joint pain and allergies, kissing, pretty tame foreplay, a little fumbling, teasing, insertion of objects into vagina that probably shouldn't be there but it's the apocalypse there ain't no dildos, vaginal orgasm, Joel is Too Big and also has Bad Knees, piv sex, cuddling, artist stuff listen I don't know how to do this anymore.

Summary: Gruff contractor Joel Miller has been in Jackson for a while and up until now, you thought he didn't like you because you're an artist and who the hell needs art in the post-apocaypse? But you are wrong.

Words: 7,139

A/N: Listen I know absolutely nothing about being an artist, sorry about that. I also don't have allergies or arthritis (although I suspect I am going down that road but let's cross that bridge when we get there). I just want Joel to be soft with someone his age whose body is falling apart. Many many thanks to @pazizz and @rambling-in-purple who helped me with this one. It started as one thing but ended something else. I really appreciate the help along the way <3

My masterlist

The ache protrudes harshly into your dreams and tears you away from sleep way before it’s time to get up. It grows stronger as you come to, and you carefully try to open your hands. Each joint is like a rusty hinge that creaks and whines when moved, and you sigh deeply as you hide your hands in opposite armpits in an attempt to warm them up. Your mother had arthritis and would tell you in a bland voice that you’d probably get it, too. She had it, her mother had it, and so on. But that seemed so far away, you had your whole life ahead of you, and you had just settled down and started to live after your crazy twenties when the outbreak happened, and survival became your only goal. Despite it all, you managed to live for twenty more years, and then got slapped with the family curse.

Closing your hands around a mug of hot tea, you walk around the living-room of your small house and inspect your various half-finished projects: paper made of plants, clay paint, painted mugs. The whole house smells like a compost, so you open a window to let in a cool breeze. You immediately feel it in your aching hands but do your best to ignore it.

Sitting down at your drawing table, you pick up the charcoal and sketch a couple of lines to the profile you’re working on. It doesn’t feel right, however, so you put down the charcoal again. Restless, you sip some tea, your foot tapping against the floor.

Eventually, you have to go to the infirmary, where Robert, Jackson’s doctor, already is treating his first patient of the day.

You like Robert, like being of use, but being a nurse isn’t what you wanted. You trained to be one, yes, and worked as one for years because it felt like a good, honest profession, and your parents insisted. At nearly 30, however, you quit, and went back to school to pursue your true calling: art. You had almost finished your education when the world went to shit, and your passion no longer counted for anything. For the past twenty years, you’ve thrown yourself after art supplies like other people after food, but even paper is becoming harder to come by. Hence your experiments using plants.

“Your hands bothering you?” Robert asks around lunch, and you nod silently. You haven’t said anything, but he notices.

“Take the rest of the day off.”

“I’m good.”

“Just go, okay? I can’t give you anything for the pain, but I can give you the day off.”

You accept gratefully, and as you change into your normal clothes, you decide to go check at the latest construction site if there’s any sawdust to be had.

You hear the promising sound of a saw working its way through wood as you get closer to the latest house being erected, and when you reach it, Joel Miller looks up from the sawhorse and straightens his back. You think you see a grimace flash across his face, but then he carefully rearranges his features into the usual scowl.

Joel’s been in Jackson for a while now. You don’t really know much about him, except for what you’ve heard from others: that he walked across the country from Boston with the girl in search of his brother, and when the place where he was supposed to drop off the girl was destroyed, they both came back here. He seems to have settled well, and he’s handy, so he’s a welcome addition. He doesn’t really seem to understand your needs, though: when you first asked him if he could save some sawdust for your papermaking, he scoffed when he learned that you needed the paper for art. You bit back on an acid remark. Art wasn’t valued very highly in this world, but it’s what made you happy, and you didn’t care what someone like Joel fucking Miller thought.

“Hi,” you say, stopping in front of the sawhorse. “You got something for me?”

He wipes his forehead on his sleeve and nods towards the wall of the house he’s building. There are three buckets by it, and you see that two of them are filled with yellow sawdust, the third one with nettle leaves. Puzzled, you look over at him. You can’t really figure him out.

“What’s this?”

“Ellie said you were looking for nettles in the vegetable patches,” he mutters. “Passed by a bunch of them on patrol yesterday.”

You chew on your lower lip as you process the unexpected kindness.

“Thank you,” you eventually say. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Joel picks up the saw again and goes back to working on shortening the board propped on the sawhorse. The woodsy scent of sawdust fills your nostrils, and you catch a whiff of sweat from Joel, despite the cool weather.

The buckets are proving difficult to pick up. Your fingers refuse to curl around the handles, and even if the weight is more than manageable, your hands are just not having it today. You swallow hard, embarrassed by your frailty, when Joel steps up behind you.

“I’ll take those.”

Big hands close around the handles of the sawdust buckets. You pick up the nettle bucket and start to walk towards your house. Joel walks alongside you, silent and avoiding looking at you just as you are stubbornly staring in any direction but his.

“I have arthritis,” you finally tell him, naming your disease with disgust dripping from your tongue. “My hands don’t work so well some days.”

“That’s rough,” he offers. “I used to have a neighbor who had that. Sorry.”

You finally venture a glance at him. His features offer nothing of what’s going on behind those dark brown eyes.

You arrive at your house, and Joel carries in the buckets for you. You see from how his nostrils flare that he wasn’t prepared for the earthy smell of your home.

“Just put them down there,” you ask him, gesturing to him. Joel does that and is left standing in the doorway to your living-room. He looks around at your various half-finished projects, the pictures on the walls, all your attempts at creating art with whatever materials you've been able to get your aching hands on.

You pretend to busy yourself with washing your hands, but you're really watching him. You've seen this before: people who don't care about art seeing art in a whole new way for the first time. They're always slammed in the face with it, and it's a very delicate moment that shouldn't be disturbed. So you busy yourself at the sink, rinse out your cup despite it being close to clean already, warm up your hands some more with water, open the cupboards and rearrange things. Joel disappears into the living-room, his heavy, unfamiliar boots causing the floorboards to complain about every step he takes. You hear him walk around slowly, and your curiosity gets the better of you. Quietly, you walk over to the doorway to sneak a peek at him.

He's standing by your desk, holding up a paper with a half-finished sketch. To your horror, the picture is of him, the one that you just can't get right because you can't figure him out, can't combine his threatening glower with the warm smile he reserves for his close ones.

You almost dash across the floor and snatch the paper from his hands before throwing it down on the desk, picture down.

"That's not finished, I mean, it's not... you weren't supposed to see it."

"It's good," Joel states simply. You glance at him as you mindlessly rearrange the sketches on your desk.

"Thanks."

His stare is piercing and hard to meet, so you cast down your eyes to a sketch of Ellie right in front of you. Joel follows your gaze and sees it.

"Can I see that?"

You bite your lower lip, pick up the sketch and hand it to him. You're happier with this one: Ellie's face is open, honest. She talks, questions, comments. You've barely heard ten words in all from Joel, and he's been around for months.

"You really captured her," he admires you. "Did she pose for this?"

"No," you shake your head, "but I've worked together with her occasionally. It's easier to draw someone when you know how they move and talk and such."

He hums in agreement as he studies the picture.

"Is that why you haven't finished my picture?" he eventually asks, catching you off guard. "Because you haven't spent time with me?"

"Probably," you shrug, and hold up your hand for him to relinquish the picture back to you. He does, and the line between his brows seems to melt away when he asks you if you'd want to finish his portrait.

"I can come by tonight after work."

You meet his soft gaze and nod.

"Yeah, okay."

///

You're in the middle of dipping your paper molds into a tub of pulp and putting them to dry when there's a knock on the door. You call out a "come in" as you wash your hands under water as hot as you can manage. Not good at staying passive, you've strained your hands all day continuing with your experiments.

Joel steps in, eyeing the room immediately before settling his nut-brown gaze on you.

"How are your hands?" he wants to know. You shrug.

"The same."

You reach for your jacket, and Joel grunts questioningly. You raise a brow at him.

"Are we going out?"

"I need fresh air."

"It does smell in here." A grin flashes by his face, almost shocking you. Was that a joke?

"Sorry," he immediately apologizes, taking your silence for chagrin. You smile wryly.

"Don't worry. It really is smelly, I just don't notice anymore."

You leave your house together and start walking slowly down the street. The evening is cold in a refreshing way, and you hide your gloved hands in your pockets, both to keep them warm and to keep them occupied. Keeping your eyes trained on some invisible spot in the distance, you try to figure out something to say. It doesn't feel like you and Joel have a lot in common, and all those old icebreakers of "where are you from" and "do you have a family" can be sensitive in this world. You opt for something you do know about him.

"Did you build houses before?"

He takes a second to answer, but finally tells you that he was indeed a contractor.

"Always good to know how to build things," you comment. Joel hums in agreement before clearing his throat.

"And you? You usually work in the infirmary."

"I was a nurse, but I didn't like it much," you tell him. "I went back to school to study art, but the breakout happened before I finished. And nobody needs art to survive. So I work as a nurse."

Joel doesn't say anything, but nods to a passer-by.

"Do you like being a contractor?" you ask. Once again, he takes a little time before presenting his answer.

"I do."

"Good, honest work, huh?"

"Something like that. And..." He hesitates, gaze flickering when you turn your head to look at him.

"It's nice to build something instead of destroying it," he finally mutters. You nod slowly.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

Without hurry, you walk around Jackson three times while talking. Joel is a man of few words, but the words he does utter are well chosen and sometimes heavy with information. He talks about his former construction work but doesn't utter one word about his personal life, possible family, likely loss. His voice is warm when he talks about Ellie, the teenager he delivered across the country, only to find that the people who were supposed to take care of her were already dead and buried. There is a momentary crack in his facade when he talks about his failed mission to bring Ellie to Salt Lake City, but he quickly gathers himself, and states that that's how both ended up in Jackson. He seems happy enough with those turns of events.

You tell him about your art education, about how you ever since you were a young child have seemed to notice how light falls on objects, faces, your surroundings, and the deep-seated urge to draw the light, paint it, trace is with a brush in futile attempts to replicate the magic. The light changes everything, how the world is viewed, and you're constantly trying to capture those moments when the light renders a common kitchen utensil magical, just because the first rays of morning sunshine catch the curves and angles of it. You're not sure he understands, but he does listen.

Eventually, you stop outside your house, facing each other. Darkness has fallen and you didn't leave the porch light on, so you struggle to see his face in what little light there is to be had from the moon, and the glow from the windows of the neighboring houses.

"It was nice talking to you," you say sincerely.

"You too."

You hide your hands in the opposite armpits in an attempt to keep them warm. The cold is getting to them, even with gloves.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

Joel blinks.

"You're not going to draw me?"

"It's too dark."

"Ah." You hear from his tone that he just realized that you've been talking about light this whole time. His head shifts on top of that long, strong neck, his face turns a little to the side and you catch the profile of his aquiline nose against the faint light coming from the neighbor's house.

And you know you have to try to draw him like this, half cloaked in darkness, the bridge of his nose sharp against soft light, maybe from a fire, the shadows painting dark valleys on his face with his frown, the glint of grey in his beard, a lock of hair curling by his ear.

"Maybe not," you correct yourself and step past his towards your porch. "Come on in."

You load up the fireplace, your hands only trembling slightly from the weight of the wood. Joel kneels next to you by the fireplace and takes the matches from you. A protest rests on the tip of your tongue, but the brief touch of his warm, callused hand makes you swallow it. You stand up and watch him light the fire, breathe life into the kindling, and carefully place smaller twigs on the first, small flames before rocking back to watch the fire grow. You move your weight from one foot to the other, tuck your hands into your pockets. Joel glances up at your fidgeting.

"Your hands hurtin'?"

"It's the cold," you shrug. "But it's fine, it's not that bad."

You take a step back, towards the kitchen.

"Want a cup of tea?"

"Sure. Thanks."

When you return with two mugs of steaming tea, the fire is crackling merrily. Joel rises, joints popping, and accepts one mug from you with one hand, the other suddenly taking a gentle hold of your wrist. You twitch, the tea spills over a little, but you don't pull back your hand. Slowly, Joel covers it with his big, broad palm, so much warmer than yours, and you almost instantly feel the heat spread into your aching joints.

When you search his averted gaze, he releases your hand, and clears his throat.

"Thanks for the tea," he murmurs, and you nod quickly.

"You're welcome."

You busy yourself with emptying the run-down armchair from various knick-knacks and tools, and indicate the seat for him. Carefully, as if afraid to break it, Joel sits down. You pull up the desk chair and take a piece of charcoal and a paper, propping it on your lap with a sheet of cardboard under.

"You're not going to continue with the half-finished picture?" Joel asks, sipping his tea.

"No," you shake your head. "It's not how I want to draw you."

"Waste of paper."

"I'll use it to make more. It's okay."

He grunts, and you hide your smile without knowing why you're even smiling in the first place.

"Turn your head a little towards the fireplace," you instruct, and Joel squares his shoulders, as if he's unhappy about being told what to do. However, he does as he's asked, and follows the rest of your directions easily. When you're happy with his angles, you put coal to paper, and start to sketch.

For a long time, the only sound heard is that of the fire, and the soft scratch of the coal against the coarse paper. Your sharp eyes note every hair, pore, and line on Joel's face, but you're finding it hard to transfer them to paper. After a long day, your hands are hurting bad, and the pain keeps shifting your focus away from the task at hand. Finally, you sigh deeply and turn the paper upside down.

"I'm done."

"It's finished?" Joel asks, shifting like he's sitting back and leaning forward at the same time. One brow is quirked inquisitively, while his tight jawline lets you know that he doesn't really want to see the result - but he's curious.

"No," you specify as you get up, "it's not finished. I have to start over, but it's getting late."

Your fingers can barely let go of the coal when you set it down together with the paper. You hide your knuckle in the palm of your other hand and rub it discreetly.

"You won't show me?" Joel rises from the armchair and comes up to you, putting away the cup of tea. Standing right in front of you he seems almost impossibly broad.

"Your hands hurtin'?" he asks in a low voice that vibrates along your spine. You swallow quickly.

"Just need to warm them up, it's okay, I'm used to it."

Your breath gets caught in your throat when he takes both your hands and presses them to his chest. You feel his heart beat quickly against your palm and realize that some of his body heat actually comes from him being just as nervous as you are.

Feebly, you try to pull back your hands.

"I'm getting coal on your shirt..."

"Don't care."

You bite into your lower lip, speechless as if you were fourteen and standing in front of your crush, instead of a middle-aged woman talking to...

Who is Joel to you, anyway?

"Why are you doing this?" you ask hoarsely. Joel frowns, his hands slowly letting go of yours. You keep your palms on his chest for a second longer before letting go. Bereft of the warmth, your joints feel even worse.

He doesn't seem to have an answer to give you, but his lips move like he's trying to say something to break the silence. When nothing comes out, you get impatient.

"Joel?" you prompt.

"No one's ever looked at me like you look at me," he lets out, his dark gaze locking in on you. "It's like you're staring right through my clothes. It makes me nervous. I haven't been nervous in... a very long time."

"Nervous how?" you hear yourself ask, even if your armpits have grown damp, and your heart is beating so hard he surely must hear it.

"Nervous in that way." You hear exactly what he means, all the possibilities and threats and risks summarized in that. There's something so awkwardly boyish in it that you find yourself smiling. His frown deepens when he sees it, but his lips soften.

"Joel," you ask, softly touching your aching hand to his, "do you want to kiss me?"

He immediately grabs your wrist and touches his lips to yours in a kiss that doesn't really know what it's supposed to do but wants to do it anyway. He forgot to draw breath, and instead of inhaling against your skin, he pulls back quickly when he has to breathe.

"Fuck," he mutters, "that was a shitty kiss. I'm sorry."

Your cheeks flush violently when you pull at his hand.

"You can try again?"

The offer makes him smile, finally, and he displays that dimple that you found absolutely impossible to put to paper. His closes his hand around the back of your neck, and his lips press onto yours, and he remembers how it's done, and kisses you until you're not sure your legs will carry you anymore.

///

The picture of Joel becomes secondary to your meetings. Joel, you realize very soon, courts you, like some southern Gone With the Wind-type of gentleman. He brings you whatever materials he can find when he goes on patrol - you're excused from that task due to your horse allergy - and quietly offers you his thick gloves when you're out walking together, and your hands hurt. He continues to not talk much, but you start to recognize the little things: acts of service, the way he looks out for you, how his eyes light up when he sees you. His kisses when you part.

There is only kissing. He hasn't touched you in any other way, and you haven't taken initiative to anything further. There is only a rather chaste, yet warm, kiss when he leaves your house, where you usually meet up. He drinks tea and watches you draw, or paint when you're not asking him to pose for you. You know exactly how you want to capture him but so far, your hands haven't been skilled enough, and for every hour you spend with Joel, you lay another piece of the puzzle that is Joel, and you become unsure of how to draw him.

One evening, a couple of months after that first kiss, you're enjoying the warm fire in your living-room when there is a knock on the door. Joel stands on your porch, eyes scanning you quickly as soon as you open the door.

"You weren't at the movies," he says, referring to the event that nearly everyone in Jackson went to tonight. You hear the question in the statement: Are you okay?

"It's cold," you shrug. "Not my thing. Wanna come in?"

He enters your house, and you take his coat and hang it by the door.

"How are the hands?" he asks. You rub your palms together.

"Not bad today, actually. How's your knees?"

He grins a little, knowing that you saw him carry furniture up porch steps earlier.

"Creaky, but they still carry me."

"Tea?"

"I don't want to disturb, if you wanted to be alone."

You lead the way into the living-room, and move some things away from one armchair, pulling it closer to the fireplace, next to the one you were sitting in.

"You're not disturbing, do sit down. I could work some more on your portrait."

Busying yourself with picking at pieces of charcoal, you don't pay him any attention until his footsteps bring him right behind you. One warm hand touches your waist gently, startling you into turning around to meet his sheepish face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay." His warm body is so close to yours, and his smell of wood, sweat, and snow invades your nose. You inhale deeply, pretending to sigh just to get the opportunity to soak in this intoxicating, masculine smell of his.

"I got something for you." Joel holds up something wrapped in cloth, and it takes you a few moments to gather yourself.

"For me?" Carefully, you take the little package from him. "Whatever for?"

He shrugs. “Thought you might need it. It’s probably your birthday at some point, or Christmas, or whatever.”

You never were good at receiving gifts, and it's even harder now. When was the last time you even got one?

He shifts his weight; a show of nerves that doesn't match up with his calm, deep voice. You decide to put him out of his misery and unfold the cloth.

It's four paintbrushes, hand carved with thick, curved handles, and tidily shaped heads.

"Oh. Joel, these are... these are gorgeous."

You hear him exhale, like he had been holding his breath.

"You think they're any good?"

"I'm sure they are, the hairs look amazing. Where did you get these?"

"I made them."

Now you tear your eyes from the brushes. "You made them?"

"Carved them, they should be comfortable to hold, I asked the doc what's suitable for someone with arthritis... The hairs are horsehair, bound together with sheep hairs."

He has really listened to you talking about all the art supplies you miss, and your ideas of making your own.

"The hairs are washed, so hopefully they won't give you allergies," he adds quickly.

"Joel... thank you. I don't know what to say."

He chuckles a little. "Try them first. What I know about making paintbrushes can fit onto the head of a nail. You may wanna return them."

"Unlikely."

You lean forward, the brushes still in your hands between the two of you, and touch your lips to Joel's. His hands rise to gently cup your elbows as he accepts your kiss. Only when your lips grow more insistent, does his hold tighten as well, and all you can think of is him holding your tits in the same manner.

Your hands, still holding the brushes, come to his chest, and you start undoing the buttons of his flannel. Joel's lips leave yours, and when he looks at you with eyes steeped in hot molten lava, you know that it didn't come easily.

"What are you doin'?"

"What does it look like?" you smile a little shakily. Is this the beginning of a refusal? Have you misunderstood his interest in you altogether?

"I don't want you to do it just because I gave you somethin'."

"It's not because you gave me something, it's because you never took anything away."

He cups your cheek now, strokes his big thumb over your lips.

"You're beautiful. I haven't done this in a long time, and never with anyone as beautiful."

"How old do you think I am?" you laugh, amused and touched at the same time. His ever-present frown changes slightly, turning quizzical.

"I don't need to hear that I'm beautiful," you specify, hands still on his chest. "I don't care about that."

"Then what do you wanna hear?" His voice is impossibly low. Your pussy clenches, grows moist and hot.

"I want to hear you want me."

"Oh, darlin'..." he sighs, closing his eyes momentarily. "I want you like crazy. I have wanted you for a long time, but I wanted for you to decide when you'd have me."

You didn't know how much you had longed for someone who saw you as a sexual being, a woman with desires and a will of her own.

"Joel," you whisper, and he swallows the rest of your words when he crashes his lips to yours. The brushes fall from your hand when you throw your arms around his neck to bring him closer, and Joel's big arms go around your waist. He hums into your mouth when your entire front is pressed against him; a satisfied hum, like he's happy to have you here. You answer with a hum of your own and feel his lips curve in a smile.

Slowly, his hands begin to know your body, sliding over curves and dips, fingers dipping into flesh, palms caressing over your clothes. Your approach is more direct: you pull at his flannel, wanting it off him.

"There's no hurry," he admonishes you between kisses. "Unless you got somewhere you need t'be?"

You exhale in something in between a scoff and a chuckle.

"In your pants?"

"Bedroom, then?"

"It's warmer in here, where the fire is."

"Hold on."

He releases you, seemingly unwillingly, and disappears into your small bedroom, re-emerging momentarily later with your bedding. You move the armchairs away to allow for him to put everything down in front of the fireplace. Groaning, he lays down on the makeshift bed, taking your hand and pulling you down next to him. You giggle a little as you plop down, immediately receiving more kisses.

"This better?" he wants to know. Your skin knots over when his hand finds its way underneath your shirt.

"Much better."

He rolls half on top of you, hand finding your breast for a light squeeze as his knee pushes between your thighs to separate them. His cock is stiff against your hip, and you move against it, smiling into the kiss when he grunts and grabs your breast harder. You put your hand on his, pressing it down, feeling his hand disappear into your soft flesh almost painfully. Your moan gears him up, and he starts to pull your shirt upwards. Squirming out of it, you reach for his belt, huffing in annoyance when Joel sits up to take his own shirt off. You sit up as well for a better reach, and your forehead connects with his chin just as he dives back to you.

"Ouch!"

"Fuck!"

You smile sheepishly at each other, both of you more startled than hurt, and Joel gently pushes you back down.

"Maybe we should take it slow?"

"I need you, I'm done waiting."

"I know, sweetheart, but I don't want you to break my jaw."

You scoff, but his kisses make you docile. Your clothes come off, along with his, and when you're both finally naked, skin against skin, you discover that you're happy with going slow as well. In the light of the fire, you trace your hand along his strong muscles and soft flesh, kiss his scars from past struggles, and the newer bruises from recent altercations with logs or whatever he has attempted to lift on his own. You close your fingers around the girth of his cock - Jesus, 20-year-old you would've giggled like a maniac at the sight of it - and enjoy the sounds of surrender that you can conjure out of him.

"God, your hands feel good on me," he hisses as you slowly, while trying to remember how to do this, stroke him with both hands. You smile, suddenly struck with nerves, when you pass your thumb softly over the glistening head of his thick cock. The precum catches the flickering light from the fire, and you get lost in how light and shadow play over Joel's skin; the dark dip of his navel, the hills of his soft pecs and stomach illuminated, his cock rising proudly from a thicket of dark hairs towards the light, the fuzz of his thighs. The embossed skin of a scar reflecting the warm light. The way his skin rises in goosebumps at your touch...

"Darlin'?"

You blink, and meet his wry, amused smirk.

"You with me?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just... was looking at the light."

"How you'd paint it?" Joel seems to catch on immediately, having listened to you rambling on about The Light several evenings. Yod nod and run one finger along the length of his cock before continuing up his happy trail, swerving around his navel.

"There's so much to see on the human body, if one just knows how to look."

"Lemme try that."

Joel pulls you down and rolls you onto your back, propping himself up on one arm next to you. You blush a little as he inspects you, his hand following the dancing shadows on your chest and stomach.

"Yeah," he murmurs, "I can see it alright."

"Yeah?"

"M-hmm. Hold on."

He rolls to the other side, looking in the dusky room for something. When he returns to your side, he's holding one of the brushes he made. With a feathery touch, he touches the brush to your ribcage, right underneath one breast.

"Here's light," he mumbles, carefully tracing the brush along a rib. "Right next to the shadow of your breast."

You exhale in a soft moan as his knuckles brush up against your breast, knotting the nipple. Joel's tongue slips out to lick his lower lip before he goes on tracing the lines that only he can see on your skin.

"What are you painting, Picasso?" you ask hoarsely.

"Hush," Joel tells you curtly yet not unkindly. You smile and close your eyes, shifting a little so that you can drape your arm around his shoulder. His hot breath is on your breast, his whiskers tickle you before something warm and wet disturbing your nipple tells you he's licked it. A shiver runs through you, and you push your chest out, asking him wordlessly to do it again.

He latches on and suckles steadily, but your shout of surprised pleasure has barely died down before he releases you and continues down your stomach with the brush.

"Joel," you whine, blinking up at him, but the focus in his eyes is so intense that you don't say anything more. Instead, you watch him figure out the fundamentals of visual art: how the light changes everything, how to handle the brush, how to angle the hand. His brush may not have any paint on it, but he paints your pleasure with sounds from you: gasps, hums, a hiss when he passes over a ticklish spot. With the brush trailing through the thicket of your pubes, your legs fall open and your lower lip catches between your teeth. Your pelvis rises to meet the soft hairs, and you moan when Joel dips the brush through your slick folds. He moves the brush to your nipple, circles it to wetten it with your arousal, then ducks down to suck it into his mouth. Your back arches, your inner thighs are wet, your heartbeats echo in your pussy, and you need him to understand just how desperately you need him.

"Fuck me," you keen, "Joel, I need you to fuck me."

He hesitates, coming up to slot his mouth over yours and steal your breath away. You rub yourself against him, find his cock and tease it, make him moan just as needily as you.

"I take it you ain't a pregnancy risk?" You hear from his tight voice how close he is to snapping. Fuck, but that's hot.

"STDs are our only concern," you try to joke, but it's not funny. Before coming to Jackson, you spent years in a quarantine zone as a nurse, and the common sexually transmitted infections ran rampant. Without proper testing equipment, it was hard to tell the scale of it.

"I should be clean," he tells you, and you're too far gone to doubt him.

"Me too."

He kisses you again as he rolls on top of you, his width and weight blocking out everything else as he plunges his tongue into your mouth. Your hips rise to meet him when he leads his cock against your entrance, and you almost bite him when he starts to push into you. Your nails press into his shoulders, the fit is impossible, and Joel stops.

"Fuck," he mutters. "You okay?"

"It's big, it's been a while."

He growls and pulls out, cupping your cheek when you whine.

"Don't wanna hurt you."

"Just get me wet, Joel."

"You're plenty wet already."

"And you're hung like a goddamn moose, so get me wetter," you snap, and Joel chuckles.

"Relax, darlin'."

"I'm trying."

He kisses you again, hand between your legs, two fingers slipping through your folds and drawing out the slick to a slow circle around your clit. Sparks run up your spine and you bury your fingers in his thick, greying hair.

"You always try to cram it in before finding a girl's clit?" you mutter, but your smile shines through. Joel slips a finger inside you.

"I told you, it's been a while." He trails kisses down your neck and moves his finger inside you, seeking the right, spongy spot. You mewl and writhe, needing more but not getting it. One finger is not enough. An idea forms in your head.

"Take the brush," you ask him breathlessly. Joel stills, finger slipping out as he studies your face. You roll your eyes.

"It's not a commentary on your skills. Get over yourself."

"You were the one who were in such a such a hurry a minute ago," he teases before looking around for the brush. Finding it, he brings it to your tits, but you shake your head.

"No, use it on me."

His brow rises quizzically. You push his hand down.

"Fuck me with it, Joel."

You expect an objection, or at the very least surprise, but all you get is a strangled sound and a searing kiss. The handle, so smoothly polished, is thick and curved in a way that bears resemblance to a dildo - not that you've used one in twenty years, but the thought is there now and you have to try this out.

The handle slides in easily, filling you better than his finger but without the intensity of his cock.

"Fuck," you keen, directing your hand down to rub your clit as Joel slowly pulls out the handle before pushing it back in. "There, fuck, Joel, that's good..."

He's breathing audibly now but you don't look at him anymore, you close your eyes and let him help you find all those buttons and spots that you had almost forgotten that you had anymore. When your toes start to curl, and you moan "Faster, Joel, faster!" he complies, rough whiskers scratching the sensitive skin of your tits as he fucks you with the paintbrush that he carved with his own split-knuckle hands to spare you your aching ones.

You barely know what an orgasm feels like anymore, but there's no mistaking this one. The rise and the tightening of muscles, the holding of breath before releasing it in a choked moan, the loosening of limbs, the pounding heat of your pussy.

"Jesus, but that's beautiful," Joel sighs, gently sliding out the brush and putting it to the side before kissing your flushed forehead. "Darlin', you're killin' me."

You chuckle huskily and pass your hands over your face.

"I think it takes a lot more to kill you, Joel Miller."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

The bedding underneath you may keep the draft of the floor at bay, but offers no suspension, so when he edges into you a second time and bottoms out, it's like being split in two between a rock and a hard place. But you can take him, and you cling to his broad shoulders with breaths coming out as hissing.

"Relax," he murmurs, petting your hair as if you were a skittish animal while slowly moving in you. "Sweetheart, you can take it, you're doing it already, you're doing it so well, it feels so good..."

You keen as he spears you again, slowly but steadily, his muscles trembling from the effort of keeping himself from crushing you. Your legs wrap around his thighs, arms around his shoulders and you pull him down, you want to be crushed, you need him like this, steady like a train and sharp like a razor, his breathless kisses on your neck, the groans that may come from pleasure or discomfort from being on the floor, you have no idea, but you need him just like this.

"Come, Joel, come," you gasp into his ear, the good one, and he endures, unwavering in his effort as he digs into you, deep, thorough, devastating.

His climax is a relief and a sadness. You don't want it to end, but you also couldn't bear one more second of it.

Joel slumps to the side, gathering you into his arms as he draws a deep, shaky breath. In the faint light of the embers that are left in the fireplace, you trace the scar on his right cheek and watch his eyelids press shut more firmly before he turns his head to kiss your fingers.

The temperature in the room seems to drop as the heat dies down, and you carefully untangle yourself from Joel's firm hold to put another log on the embers. When it flares up, you return to Joel's side, now finding him watching you.

"You okay?" he asks when you pull a blanket over both of you. Making yourself comfortable, you nod with a little smile and a kiss to his lips.

"Perfect."

"That thing with the brush was... interesting."

You blush. "I don't know what happened."

"Glad it did."

"Joel, I... haven't had sex like that... at all... in decades," you blurt out. "And this was... perfect."

He hums, glances down, and to you it's glaringly obvious that he is conflicted. Your heart sinks just as he speaks up.

"It really was perfect."

"But?" You can't help yourself: there's a slight edge to your tone. Joel leans his head back a little to take a good look at you, the usual disapproving frown back on his face.

"But there was someone," he starts, "for years. And we never had this. Time and place wasn't right."

You exhale in relief. History and baggage are easy to deal with, rejection is not.

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs with a little sound, forehead smoothed out.

"Was she... Ellie's mom?" you dare. Joel shakes his head, and his hand slowly passes over your back, fingers strumming the bump of your spine.

"I didn't know Ellie until a few months ago. This was... someone else. A partner. She took Ellie on, really. I was against it. And she... didn't make it."

You don't want to say that you're sorry again, but don't know what else to say, either. So you kiss him, because you want to, because you think he needs it, because there are no words. Your hand is splayed open on his cheek, his lips and mouth are dry and so are yours, but the kiss is sweet and gentle, and the things you can't find words for are carefully passed on to him. He exhales in a soft sigh onto your cheek, then tilts his chin up to kiss your forehead before burrowing his nose against your hair. It's clear to you that he wants to sleep, but you're buzzing with unexpected energy. Carefully, you slide away from his arms, smiling at his frown, and get up to tip-toe to the desk, where you pick up paper and coal. A faint blush colors your cheekbones when you feel his cum seep out of you, and you hurry back to the makeshift bed, sitting down by Joel's feet.

"C'mere," he barks, but you shake your head.

"Just stay still."

He complies with that frown of his, and you settle down, putting the piece of coal to the paper.

You know how you want to draw him now.

[marching-weirdo]

if you told me that I would draw pj masks in 2024 two years ago I would ask who are they.

gunntech au sketches cause I'm normal. also taken during ap us history so ignore random strokes :3. headcanons under more.

connor:

my trans king!!!! 💪💪

gave him scars. most are long and thin, since they usually happen when hes running

let Greg give him a haircut before he transitioned, now never not gets a Greg haircut ™️

stays up late reading, hence eyebags

I have a trans male friend who loves this au as much as I do, so he asked if he could "model" for catboy.

again, this was during class, so he was smouldering like Flynn Ryder while I was learning about Pennsylvania so you know

the more you know

anyway he's Filipino and I'm like OOH THIS WOULD BE COOL

so he's filipino american

also BIG EYES cause cat

gay (thanks romeo) but he's only had, like, two crushes in his life

one of the two kids who go to school

could care less what people think, likes to show off scars ("For the ladies!" his gay ass says)

interesting marching weirdo fact, the lines making up Connor are more scraggly and rough then the others! it's kinda to show he's an angst boy for me lol. but it's cool lore about me!!

imma be honest, Connor was my least favorite sorry!!

also ignore bad gay pride flag, I ran out of colors

amaya

Japanese american (I think it's in @elmushterri video)

oh also @elmushterri is the creator of this au so follow super cool and amazing and intelligent and interesting and-

psa out

lesbian

see Connors flag error for bad Yuri flag

amaya is super careful about getting hurt

see, El said in a qna that amaya was under a super strict household so her aunt probably would want her to shave her legs, etc until said aunt eventually gets redeemed and amaya can be her own girl boss

so I read that and said "HOLD MY BEER"

so when she was like 9, she got a scar on her cheek due to training with Connor and Greg

amaya went home and her aunt starting freaking out

idk if I want the aunt to say it directly to her or like to a friend on the phone that amaya hears, but her aunt says something along the lines of "scar" and "uncivilized" and "ugly" (I imagine what amaya heard was a distortion of what her aunt actually says but I degress)

since then, amaya makes sure to be as safe as she can and not get scars.

she eventually gets one on her leg, but she can cover it with pants

so she changes the "Don't get hurt" philosophy to "only get hurt where you can hide that scar"

so she is the most careful of the three

but she has multiple scars around her body

for a while she thought "if I get a scar on my arm, I won't on my face" philosophy because ngl she's my version of anxious™️

but eventually she realizes that's dumb.

her back is shredded due to enemies trying to cut her wings

eventually when she is in therapy and an adult, Luna will draw shapes on some of her scars and vice versa

adult amaya still gets embarrassed whenever someone sees her scares

anyway

amaya has terrible eyesight. horrible. Luna knows this

has a hair pin with a moon on it as a gift from luna (the notes that came with it said "for when you need to shank a bitch on short notice"

wears it everywhere

keeps hair long to hide neck scars and only puts it up during training or on duty

fun story: Greg and connor wanted her to get a really short hairstyle so they could be the "Bob boys"

amaya refused and greg and connors dream died

the other kid to go to school

star pupil. young prodigy.

as all mae whitman characters should be

fun fact: took me hours to do her nose.

finally figured it out when I looked at katara fan art and said "ah"

so MAE WHITMAN CONNECTED UNIVERSE?!?

also

her lines are very curvy and delicate to show her more level-headed thinking.

as opposed to connors roughness

my fav. I support her rights and wrongs 😔✊️

greg

rich kid mullet let's gooooooo

i kinda got inspired by a cross between andrian from miraculous ladybug and dick Grayson from Wayne family adventures

speaking of adrian

he's French American because of course

he grew out his hair to match amaya and connor hates him now

home schooled (rich kids smh)

because he's homeschooled, he doesn't care about cuts and scars and hurting himself because he thinks it's perfectly normal

also, he was sprayed with acid during a test (you know those dinos from jurassic Park who shoot venom? that but feral child)

incredibly buff and will hug you to the point of death

TALL

I looked and he seems to not have many ships with men

so an ally

he's also clueless so...

he doesn't actually know that homophobia is a thing

he sees two men kiss he thinks cool

two women? cool

a woman and a man? SAVE ROOM FOR JESUS

joking.hes chill

he has dimples and the biggest smile ever

for angst: his smile gets smaller and smaller as each season happens.

as a teen, his resting face is a smile

eventually resting he looks in pain

ANYWAY

incredibly smart

romeo hates how smart he is

but romeo is street and lab smart

greg tries

he can tell you about quantum theory but doesn't understand that people are sarcastic

he's probably autistic or has adhd or both

he probably wasn't professionally tested

Luna probably gave him a lizard to watch and Greg didn't move for 16 hours

also luna and greg are besties

because of course

fun drawing: very square

I wanted him for two reasons

1: he's always stiff due to being a Gunn

2: he feels like a robot: infinite possibilities but only if a button is hit

anyways thank you! sorry for long post! villains up soon!!

[extraordinarilyextreme]

Are you watching under the skin 2? What do you think of the season so far?

hiiiii~ thanks for asking, and sorry for such a late reply. i had been watching but couldn't finish it until recently (hence why im answering so late)...

in short, i don't like it. so if you don't wanna read abt a negative opinion then click away~

i think the cast delivered as wonderful performances as usual, and i think the cinematography was quite beautiful (there are a lot of details that i really adore as an artist). but the script/writing/pacing... even the characterization... left much to be desired.

there are so many things to critique...

to start with, as someone studying psychology, i've found it laughable since s1 that everyone buys into Freudian psychoanalysis so much - but they really took it to the next level in s2. i'm a staunch abolitionist and also anti-police, so i'm always watching shows like this with a critical eye, but it's just utterly mind-boggling that this show/the writers really suggested that crimes can be solved and culprits can be pinpointed because they drew a house in a certain way. and i hate that the show made DC out to be the bad guy for "limiting SY's talents/intuition" or whatever.

i already don't trust our so-called "justice" system; now you're telling me police should be solving crimes and accusing people based on a hunch? (that "hunch" in real life often looks like profiling and stereotyping, mind you, and it can be fatal.)

Du Cheng isn't in the wrong! and i hate even more that even in the last episode before Shen Yi's confession they had him say "but i was wrong. my boundaries, in truth, were limiting your talents." (and yes i know SY corrects him, but) IT FEELS SO OUT-OF-CHARACTER compared to the resolve that DC had back in s1. there, SY's laoshi begged DC to return SY to the art world, but without even flinching, DC firmly rejected that notion.

because being an officer beside DC, in Beijiang, is where SY belongs. AND THEY BOTH REACH THAT CONCLUSION AT THE END OF S1. they both affirm their convictions, that they belong beside each other - so why did we just spend another 28 episodes only to reaching the same result ("where you run to, is where i'll fly to." and "where you are, is where the circle is too." and "i will forever be your best trump card.")???

another issue: yes, SY has always had his reckless streak - but how can he possibly get away with doing so many investigations completely independent from DC and without DC's knowledge?? that's not realistic at all. and, fine, obviously they're dramatizing things, but what i liked about s1 is that it was just realistic "enough" to keep me invested - it deviated just "enough" from your typical procedural/crime-solving show (by tackling cases from the unique lens of a sketch artist) that i could just convince myself it was grounded in reality. but what they did in s2... like, come on. let's not kid ourselves.

Shen Yi being so infallible and able to get away with so many reckless stunts is a Huge failing of s2. talk about "main character energy". they made this into a 大男主 drama when what (i found) appealing about s1 was the fact that it made both DC and SY brilliant and competent in their own ways. this season tried so hard to make DC seem like an unbudging traditionalist or something but ??? like, no! i agree with him that you can't just be arresting people based on their choices in interior design or jewelry! what the fuck??

(but, seriously. i will not deny that our subconscious influences our behavior and choices in many, MANY ways - but for Shen Yi to be making the most outrageous leaps in logic because this one guy had a certain painting in his office or this other guy had a lioness statue, like shut the fuck up... talk about trying to make/find meaning out of nothing.)

(also, also, LOL at talking abt the Oedipus complex in earnest. are you shitting me right now? have you picked up a Psychology 101 book at all?)

the fact this show even remotely suggested that Freudian psychoanalysis could be used as empirical evidence immediately destroys any goodwill i have toward the cast.

ON TOP OF THAT. the fact this show even remotely suggested that eugenicist Cesare Lombroso's theory of the "criminal man" should be treated as empirical and sound research is just... what are we doing here. what are we doing here???

(also if you look up the "warrior gene" and whatever other stuff FKY was "citing"... again, it's not empirical research. and i HATE that the writers tried to pass it off as an established concept.)

honestly i feel like the way they wrote this FKY guy in general is disrespectful af to what scientists actually do (or what scientists should strive to be). at the simplest level, how can he allow SY to walk into his lab so easily? and look at his data?? don't we have IRB protocols in place to protect research subjects??? what about where he gets his funding??? any oversight agencies???

but in terms of characterization, i felt that the parallels they were trying to draw between pre-7 years SY and FKY were such a stretch. because even pre-7 years SY was fundamentally kind - LIKE DOESN'T THE SHOW EVEN ULTIMATELY REACH THAT CONCLUSION TOO?? why WHY would SY ever feel like he and FKY were mirrors; they are fundamentally different in their bottom lines.

all this to say, i love the cast and i'm glad it was 原班人马 because everybody Delivered (and zheng yunlong did a great job too) - but, like, no wonder the original screenwriters left. this story is bs. we should've just left it at s1 because, to me, s2 did nothing except pander to shippers (and i'm mostly happily pandered! but i also care about the story goddammit).

(i say "mostly" because, again, i think they tried too hard to give SY a "protagonist halo." it weakened both him and DC, and their relationship as a result.)

i can't believe they're making a s3 but of course i can because they're making great money from this... hoping and praying that they can get the original writers back.

[fayedartmouth]

Binged your work during Christmas and im really thankful for your stories and already excited for your fix it.

S4 pissed me off so much and aside from the obvious reasons I really hated the fact that they used jj’s depression as a way to make him seem “unlikable” idrk why they did that maybe they thought it was in character or maybe to make the viewers think “good riddance” when they kill him off but either way it makes me so much angry because even when they brought john b to “help” him they painted jj as the bad guy and made everyone act annoyed at him until he finally “snapped” out of it - and even when he did it was because he was so done with himself like jj saying shit like “enough of this shit” makes me so uncomfortable and i know the show is trying to showcase alcoholism and self distancing as bad coping mechanisms but it still felt so off because at the end of the day they are still coping mechanisms and nobody validated jj depression or feelings not jj himself not john b when he tried to cheer him up and certainly not kie and any of the other characters.

The season delivered so many bad messages like the typical “child abuse victims don’t get a happy ending” and “suicidal characters ends up dead and sacrifice themselves for the others” and “depression is okay but not until you show its ugly parts” and I don’t think they realize that yes while the viewers are mad because they killed off a fan favorite and ruined the found family vibes but also because there were so many harmful messages in the show.

Anyway it makes me miserable thinking about it but after reading your fixs, scrolling through your tumblr and reading all of your sneak peeks (this makes me sound like a stalker lol i swear im not) i know your fix it gonna give all said points the justice it deserves so i just wanna finish off with saying an early thank you and that im super super excited

I'm glad you found some fics you enjoy! I have had such a hard time with season 4 and finding community while we work through it has been important to me.

I'm wordy, so I'll put a cut here.

I don't know if the writers were actively trying to make us HATE JJ. I'm more of the mindset that they just did a really bad job of writing. I figure Rudy probably did ask to leave and they changed the plot like last minute -- and it showed. The dropped storylines, the way JJ's story built -- to nothing. I mean, almost nothing started to make sense by the end of it, and you can see the architecture of what I think they were originally TRYING to do (with the Genrette curse and Goat Island, and even JJ's rock bottom to being the hero) and most of the bad writing could have been forgiven IF JJ had come out on top.

The fact that the died, though, really just made the whole thing weirdly cruel. Like you said, it reinforced a lot of negative messages, about people who have been through what JJ's been through, and who struggle with depression and suicidal ideation, as he clearly was at the end there. Because even the whole part where he snapped out of it in the finale is painfully obtuse. You can't have a character wishing he were dead -- and then suddenly be fine. It screams mental illness, and you won't ever convince me that JJ didn't die badly depressing -- thinking he deserved it.

And I love the Pogues -- I do -- but the way they were written was just horrific. Their complete lack of regard for JJ was wildly out of character, IMO. The fact that no one even asked how JJ was after everything he went through -- I just have to think is stunningly bad writing and editing. It doesn't make sense otherwise and it doesn't fit with anything else we've seen from this show.

Hence why I don't hold to any of it.

That said, JJ's death still hurts me very much, so I'm looking forward to diving head-first into the fix it now. I'm juggling multiple fic projects at once, but the fix it is at the top of my list. LOL, I currently have five fics sketched out for it -- and just today came up with the possibility of a whole second set of fics that I'm kind of excited about to take the story even further. Essentially, if I can keep myself writing, this could be a very long series of fics.

Feel free to ask anything. I'm super easy and love sharing stuff. That is how I keep myself motivated to write and engaged with fic. The more you talk to me, the more you're probably going to get from me.

[strongsadapologist]

oh my god. i made like three posts to this account and then dipped i apologize. i've been using the internet less and less anyway so it's not surprising but also haven't really drawn a lot so meh. anyway here's some random two more eggs/homestar runner doodles (and some yapping about them under the cut)

i've been wanting to start a youtube channel for a while and i think if i do i'm gonna use hot dip as my avatar (while making it abundantly clear he's not my character ofc) because. blob man. he's literally me. hence why he's wearing a sloshy jacket too it represents both of the things i can't shut up about

and hector and kovitch are supposed to be a young adult version/outfit type deal, where hector is in a sloshy jacket (i drew him first before the hot dip one lol i am not good at outfit design) as a reference to homestar. originally in the sketch kovitch was gonna wear a taranchula shirt but then i realized oh wait panda bractice is right there. i think they would both go to concerts with each other even if they hate the band just because the other likes them

completely irrelevant fun fact that somewhat influenced my older kovitch design: the youtube upload descriptions use he/him for kovitch in buy this game but she/her in the sleepover series and i know that was definitely just a mistake on disney's part but i like interpreting it as kovitch being transfem. i might be the only person in the world with this headcanon and it is based on a mistake but oh well. not enough people know about this series enough to get mad about any headcanons i have for it so i have free reign (/j)

also a small page of homestar runner doodles i made while incredibly incredibly tired. like i woke up from a nap and my sketchbook was in front of me. in my state i correctly clocked that coach z would go to hell but not strong bad which is interesting. not sure the choice behind him and homsar being angels but oh well. i like homestar sitting in the grass drinking iced coffee though that's the most tranquil thing i've ever drawn

alright see y'all again in six months when i remember i have tumblr installed. and thank you for reading if you did

[if-maggots-knew-god]

IMKG- META POST

What is ‘if maggots knew god’ ?

What does it want to achieve?

Why is it taking so long?

(What is) if maggots knew god (IMKG) is a hobby-writing/illustration project of mine, i your ‘humble’ author and artist Hunter, decided to write and illustrate a graphic novel style horror/psychological comic. Because of I want to (:

The story premise can be found on the accounts pinned post so I’d refer to that in terms of explaining the idea.

The story serves as my personal little pet project not just to tell a story but also to learn about the process and in a sense “playtest” different ideas, a lot of the story ideas in IMKG are inspired by my own literal dreams (and nightmares tbh). I’m hoping to make all of this somewhat coherent into one story but to be completely honest I’m really just messing around with all this because it’s fun (:

(What does it want?) The story, focuses heavily on the concept of immortality, many characters within the story face a unique kind of immortality tied to the characters arc. In tangent with this one of the central themes of the story is also death, and the ‘ending’ of a story. What makes a good ending? What makes a bad one? How long should a story go on? Which are all questions a storyteller faces when writing.

“The story MUST end” to put it concisely, an objective fact. This also applies to living beings hence the theme of immortality, when is it appropriate for someone to die? What happens if they refuse?

The story is structured around the stages of grief, with an “act” of the story dedicated to each stage, the prologue (which is already finished and available!! Find on pinned in the chapter index if you haven’t read it already!) acting as the event that sparks this grief, although this might not be fully clear with the information currently available (will be elaborated on as the story continues though, as any prologue does)

Long story short, IMKG is a story that questions why things must end, how and the resulting grief from things ending. All wrapped up in a (hopefully) nicely illustrated horror setting.

(Why is it taking so long) I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to single handedly write and illustrate a 5 act story with several chapters for each act while ALSO figuring out the process in a practical sense.

It’s hard though!! And like, I’m also a full time student plus life and all that. Don’t get me wrong it’s tons of fun but there’s a reason they have multiple people for this professionally! Woof!

The process includes, a beta script, a final script, storyboarding the labels, rendering (sketch, lineart, colour, shading and lettering!!!) in the future, it’s possible that I might include friends in the process, currently my roommate helps me beta-read the script and has also helped a bit with the design process of things!

This blog has been around for about a year now! (Woo!! Yippie!!!) which I’ve spent figuring out major plot points, character designs for the main characters and TONS of world building,

a lot of which I’ve been sharing for the people who have been around since the beginning (and who I cannot thank enough for being around, seriously guys it might not be much but the handful of y’all are a key component in the making of this, the encouragement on posts keeps me working and motivated!! And not to name favorites but especially thanks to Elias-the-Corvid and sop-soap)

Conclusion

This has all been a decently sized rant, mostly for posterity’s sake, looking back at where we’ve been and where it’s all going from here as I’m finally getting into actually making the whole thing! And also a little bit to hopefully entice new people to be interested (:

There’s a lot more to this that I can’t wait to share

[golby-moon]

threw a mermaid!cas art piece into the pot that is the @reversefantasyspnbang and like magic a mermaid!cas fic appeared :00

here's the banner I made for this, (yes another) desk with stuff on it. idk why I draw so many desks as banners either. but yeah this one is pirate flavored and has a spyglass and compass on it as well as a phoenix feather and fancy pendant thing that was inspired by the one from Disney's 'Moana' with a spn-themed pentagram thrown on there, though the pendant kinda looks like a Tamagotchi and I can't get that image out of my brain. the fish in the drawer was supposed to be a placeholder for something else in the original sketch but it was silly so it stayed 🎉

the title is on a pirate map that's supposed to tell its own story or whatever. the dashed line explores all around the area with various scribbled-out x's marking various spots as well as a whirlpool type deathtrap around what would be the 'a' in 'dead'. the only un-scribbled 'x' is on a tiny island called Mermaid Rock (the thing around the giant tail-shaped 't' in 'tails'), but since the pirates go out of their way to avoid that area (as seen in the dashed line where they get sucked into the whirlpool instead) due to superstitions about mermaids being bad luck, they don't know whether there's actually anything there or not and therefore can't eliminate it

this was the original art piece I submitted, featuring Dean holding up Cas, who's tangled up in a net. looking at it now I can see that angle of the boat is...weird (especially that ladder staircase thing) but ehh. I spent a ton of time planning Dean's outfit to be a somewhat historically accurate pirate but didn't realize Cas would be covering the neat jacket and sword holster thing I gave him and everything uh

the goal with this was to have Dean not the pirate captain for once in a pirate Dean/mermaid Cas fic (which I like reading but doubt I can write, hence why I dumped it on somebody else via reverse bang I mean what). I wanted Cas to look like he came from deep within the ocean, so his eyes are slitted to take in more light (think of cats) and his skin is more of a grey to better blend in. ofc Cas can't resist checking out the human world and ended up getting caught in a net but luckily Dean was there to pull him out...only to get in trouble for it. this was the original art idea and I really like the way the author adapted it and made Dean more of a reluctant pirate and Cas even more in love with 'humanity'

I do not like drawing bunk beds. or furniture. but it at least looks like a bed so that's okay. but yeah Dean's singing to Cas here and is kinda embarrassed about it, hence why he's looking away, but Cas can't actually tell what he's saying either way so Dean's just being Paranoid. the marks on Cas are scars from the net, a reference to what actually happens to irl sea creatures who get tangled in nets, if they live at all. those lines are supposed to be ribs to indicate that Cas is pretty thin due to a lack of food (probably due to humans overfishing) but they kinda look like he had top surgery. which...ignore that that's unintentional or I would've made them that same pinkish color as his other scars. also ignore the nipple freckle I had to include it okay

water is really weird sorry it looks so weird. but here's Dean and Cas preparing for some boat kisses because they're Them. I really like how the boat and especially the words on the boat (Riverside Blue, a reference to Led Zeppelin's 'Traveling Riverside Blues,' one of Dean's favorite songs added as per the author's suggestion) came out. the boat was supposed to be blue with the characteristic white underside all boats seem to have but then it was just...too blue and what goes better with blue than green 🤡

there was an idea thing going around where the crew on the pirate ship weren't allowed to wear colors, hence why both of Dean's outfits in the other two pics are so drab (the dull backgrounds don't help). so in this final piece where they're off the ship, I wanted to make it as colorful as possible with that orange sky and brightly colored boat and then Dean's colorful outfit with his shirt being somewhere between blue and green. yay contrast

man I didn't mean to ramble so much sorry about that. just put a lot of thought into these even though it might not look like it

the fic this is made for is called "Dead men tell no tails" by @quicksilver-castiel for the spn reverse fantasy bang

(02/17/24)

[edwin-paynes-bowtie]

Do you mind making some hc of Kit telling Matthew about the thing you talked yesterday, and how they bonded when he stayed at the Fairchild's?

Sure!

I think Matthew initially has mixed feelings about how close Kit and Henry are. He's really insecure in his familial relationships - we see this in both NBS and CLS - and I don't think it's a stretch for him to worry that his dad is replacing him with someone who shares more of his interests. He's really close with Henry, and Henry is his only real emotionally present family member when he's young. Which would be hard.

Over time, though, I think Matthew comes around to the idea and ultimately embraces it. Having someone around who loves science as much as he does is good for Henry, and Matthew's dear friend Christopher is learning a lot about his passion. Plus, they never exclude Matthew when he wants to be there, and they tell him cool things about their experiments and what they're hoping to make.

Sometimes, though, Henry will refrain from inviting Christopher and choose to just spend the day with Matthew. He also does other things with young Matthew, like letting him read plays aloud and dramatically re-enact them for him. It's a great bonding experience because they both get to share in each other's interests.

Matthew also enjoys having Christopher in the lab because it's great to have one of his friends around regularly. It helps him to feel a little less lonely, which is awesome because he's kind of a generally lonely kid with self-esteem issues.

Speaking of self-esteem issues, Christopher and Henry will sometimes show Matthew how to do something lab-related and Matthew will execute it. This makes Matthew feel really accomplished. He likes to feel helpful - we see this both throughout TLH and in NBS/CLS/EET - and it's very much a source of pride that he was able to help.

Making sure Henry eats and cares for himself is a huge part of what Matthew does, and I'm sure he does this for Kit, too. (Which is sad, because this expectation should not be on a kid, but hey.) So I think that especially pre-CLS-incident he makes them special breakfasts and lunches that he brings to the lab. They obviously don't eat it with all the chemicals and contraptions, but they have a special area at the other end of the basement for eating.

Matthew is Very Bad about the "only eat in designated areas of the basement." That block of cheese isn't going to eat itself, and he forgot that he can't have it now. Cheese is #1 priority now. Besides Charlotte Russe cake, his canonical favourite dessert. 10/10.

Matthew sometimes just sits with them down in the lab and reads plays or writes. Sharing space, you know. He has a little shelf of plays down there for convenient use.

When he was younger, Matthew tried sketching blueprints and images of devices that Henry and Kit were making. It went badly, hence the "can't draw for toffee." But Henry thought it was cute and hung it up on the wall, and Matthew is secretly chuffed.

Matthew tried to spruce up the lab once with soulful aesthetic decor. When he was 12ish, he added flowerpots and planters to "create a natural ambiance" and "get in touch with the outdoors" (Henry and Christopher spent most of the day cooped up in a basement, which Matthew would want to appoint well for them.) He also added some nice artwork to the walls that he and Anna picked out at a SoHo street art show. Eventually, they ask him to take the paintings down to make room for more shelves and blueprints. He's a little hurt, but he does, and he moves them to his bedroom so he can enjoy them.

[bara-izu]

Do you have any advice for doing comics? Like do you plan them out before hand or let the story develop itself as you go?

I do mostly plan, but sometimes the scene changes as panels are drawn out! Personally i try to keep it loose but with a general idea of a start and finish, like, whats the main thing i want to get across-

This might get long so lemme break this up :D

My comics usually start with dialogue exchanges or a specific interaction (object or person), which i then branch out from- i try and thumbnail these ideas down asap, just really shitty sketches so i can move chop and change their positions as i see fit~

Lil behind the scenes of some of my recent ones with their crappy thumbs (which i admit sometimes have more charm then the finished but alas, we roll)

For longer comics i will write a script out eg.

H (awkwardly looking away): Sorry... i just, have a lot on my mind... and well.... in it A (a faked smile, monotone voice): Ha. Ha. funny.

For me, i do try and think about the scenes as if they were storyboards for a film rather than comics... (hence why most of my panels are just uninteresting long boxes) so i use a lot of cinematography approaches to the framing (close ups, establishing shots ect) The other main thing you're then going to want to think about is:

Leaving enough room for speech bubbles (i'm bad at this, but this is why we script beforehand)

Arranging your speech bubbles to lead the reader around your art

The first thing people will look at is the speech bubbles in a panel. While 'leading lines' are a great way to help guide you in the right direction to read, having the bubbles arranged in a way that leads the eye is also useful!

(this is from my upcoming story 'Be Gay Do Crime', this is however a scrapped version of the prologue which is currently being editted)

Pacing is also incredibly important! And i dont just mean the scene itself- but also the way the dialogue is presented! For example:

Breaking up the speech bubbles puts pauses between the sentence, spaces out the way a character speaks and gives them a bit more personality. (of course you don't have to break everything up into 2 word boxes, this is just an example)

If there is anything i've missed, let me know- this is the main bits i could think of off the top of my head! i hope it helps!

[kkbardd]

hello! It is I! once again.

i have been so locked in to school and my yuri I haven’t even logged onto tumblr good lord. god bless u thirteen dead fish and lotus eater (lore distinctions)

first of all I love the assassin freeloader yuri. the little comic panel you did is great storytelling I have no idea why it’s embarrassing!! I actually think it’s great characterization. while I was aware they were toxic and codependent I don’t think I really thought about their mindsets as a whole and.. woagh..

i might be totally off-base because I have a horrible memory and kind of forgot what you wrote about their dynamic BUT!! i have a debilitating obsession with the committed situationship but one of them is sleeping around archetype. does things to my brain.

would it be a reach to say that freeloader is very put off by committing to anything not only because she is trying to push the other to snap but also because she can not put trust in another person. i don’t know I feel like it makes her uncomfortable to know she cares about someone maybe and continues to hook up with other people to remind herself that, no, you don’t need this person. you need to remind them (assassin) you don’t need them. and yet! using up their money home etc. next level manipulation and toxicity. and the assassin! the wanting to lock her up keep her inside not let her do a thing. dreaming about keeping them forever away from other people with insane jealousy issues ouuu.. there’s so many thoughts in my head right now.

on their relationship chart you put inevitable crash and burn iirc.. do you think this would end in one being killed in a jealous rage or something different? thinking about one of them finally losing it and it is a complete bloodbath! i don’t know though nobody should trust me with trying to understand ocs because I ultimately devolve into imagining the most toxic scenario and ending possible. fun fact I had to rework all of my lore because in the original literally everyone either ended up dead or unhappy in some way and I decided it was too cruel + I like hurt/comfort and we need good things sometimes.

OMG ISOPOD HELLOOOOO!!!!!!!!

I have been in the trenches with final projects this past month so I totally get u…. its been a war over here. and u FR need to send me ur yuri, i wanna see it so bad!!!!!!

I'm just embarrassed about my sketch art style but im glad u like the story! i totally agree with ur interpretation…. both of them have really bad abandonment issues that show in very different ways. Sumire is scared of trusting her partner fully and is always seeking affirmation in the form of jealousy. by cheating she feels more in control of the situation, but subconsciously she probably thinks she doesn't deserve affection and is trying to self-sabotage herself before anyone can do it to her.

Iyo also has abandonment issues but she copes by suppress her feelings so that the other person doesn't get tired of her. this backfires though as it just builds up and builds up.. coupled with the constant nightmares of people she's killed, her mental state is held together by a very loose thread (hence her crying fits).

Together they really make the worst combo huh lol. but deep down they are extremely similar which is what makes it so good..

I'm not very good at writing stories so i really havent thought up a concrete ending for them, but they have way too many problems and i can't ever see them going to couple's therapy, so its gotta be a crash and burn at some point. i believe they'd eventually have a nasty breakup in the rain (definitely due to something Iyo did), one of them gets stabbed by a person with a vendetta against Iyo, and the rest is up to ur imagination. it could really go either way (happy or tragic).

for all the toxic yuri i write, i surprisingly don't really enjoy reading tragedies all that much lol. my favorite outcome is when couples find a delicate balance to their madness. something that is so obviously toxic or wrong to an outsider. its like they are in their own co-dependent world, and it really solidifies the feeling of "you're the only one who'll understand me". but i guess the extension of that would eventually lead to them dying together so maybe i actually do like tragedies (heh)

[jichanxo]

how different is your creative process between writing and drawing (and in which areas)? do you have a different approach in each artform? if you have an idea, you first think how you'd write it or draw it?

This is definitely going to be long so. Cut.

Just to preface, obviously both writing and drawing are a form of art, but I tend to use the word “art” when I mean illustration or drawing, so that’s what I’m going to do here. And of course a disclaimer that I’m only speaking to my subjective experience.

Tbh I don’t think my approach to both is that different from each other, which is odd, because I’m used to thinking of them as very different processes. Probably because the mediums themselves are so different. But like with my writing, I tend to improvise. Feel it out, see how things go, throw ideas at the wall. I would probably say that I’m more willing to experiment with/scrap my art than my writing. Probably because I’m more confident with my art than my writing, so I find it easier to make judgments like that, or because I’ve made so much that throwing stuff away when it isn’t working is very easy. I get a bit more precious about my writing. I always want to keep it or at least try to adapt it into something less bad, lmao. I’m also just not as confident in my ability to judge what writing is worth keeping or worth permanently deleting. I just haven’t polished that skill for writing as much as I have for art.

With regards to planning my art – I definitely do sometimes, because I consider art my Serious Hobby, which means I do like to have a go at more serious projects as opposed to just improvising all the time (a contrast to my writing where my only “serious project” is senseific, and I fell into that by accident). The things I plan out are the idea/s I want to convey, and what imagery would express that. (like this IW art, and the second one in this umineko post) Or sometimes the imagery gets stuck in my head and I work from that. (yagami’s hair clinging to his neck here)

I actually find that planning too much can be detrimental to my art process. That is to say, not in terms of figuring out ideas/themes, but doing too much drafting. I find it very difficult to do things like clean lineart unless I’m having a Weirdly Good Art Moment, so I just don’t. Hence a lot of my art is very sketchy. I’m just not good at capturing the same looseness with “proper” lineart than with my sketches, so I keep them. Not worth fussing over. This is what works for me.

(even in this, and the first image here, you can see a lot of breaks and incomplete looking lines. not to say necessarily that this is a bad thing of course, but you can see that even in what I consider my “polished” work, I won’t use “proper” linework, but instead a high quality/detailed sketch. I imagine some other artists would have their proper linework stage after these sketches, but i choose to stop here)

this probably reads like I’m talking myself down, but that’s not really what I’m meaning to say – my point is that I don’t figure out details even for my bigger pieces, and that with drawn art I have a better time judging where my time is best spent. I don’t think I have a strong understanding of my writing by comparison, so I can’t decide how to play to my strengths or anything like that, I just have to see how i go.

For writing, either it’s “i’m in the mood for it” or “i’m not in the mood for it”. For art, it’s “today is a good day/bad day”, “today’s a painting day”, “today feels like masking”, “today I just want to sketch”, “today I’m too loose for what I want to work on”, “today I’m too stiff”. You can see the difference in my ability to judge, yeah? So a big difference is to do with just my own (relative) inexperience with writing as opposed to drawing.

I think the other major factor is the differences in the mediums themselves. A fanfic is sequential. There’s a change in time. Illustrations are by nature a single moment in time. Big difference there. Of course, there are comics and animatics and other art that’s both drawn and sequential, but since I don’t do a lot of that, just count that as exceptions for now (and in a way, those are kind of like a combination of writing and illustration, aren’t they?) I find there are some ideas that are conveyed easier or better through writing, and others where the better option is art.

So to answer your last question, often ideas come to me pre-packaged as a “writing idea” or an “art idea”, rather than having to decide that separately. In the case that a sequence is better conveyed with a visual element, that’s when it’s comic time. The gorillashipping comic is a great example of this. The punchline is at its best when it’s not explained in words, and the expression of the final panel does all the heavy lifting. I pitched this idea initially in words (as a joke on discord), but the comic version has more punch.

Comics are also great for when you want to avoid explaining context, and for when you want to force the reader to take a specific pace. Here’s the example I’m thinking of.

The visual space dedicated to the fighting forces you to take time to process, and that time is important for the buildup to the punchline. This wouldn’t work as well if we cut this down to, say, the four panels of the last example. So yeah, timing. And then my other point – context – why are these two fighting? I don’t know. Where are they? I don’t know. It’s not necessary for the joke. The same is true of the gorillashipping joke. How did the relationship between kiryu and kaito happen to make this even remotely possible? I don’t know. But I don’t need to explain it in a joke comic. With writing I find that it feels more necessary to make context clear to the reader so they understand what’s happening, but with illustrations, it’s a lot easier to skip over that. Obviously this isn’t impossible in a written format, but that’s just my personal opinion.

Admittedly I think this second example is doable with just pure writing (replace all the panels with descriptions of the fight that take long enough to simulate the time it takes for the reader to digest the build up, then make the punchline a wham line, yknow), but it varies on a case to case basis. Also I would not want to write fighting. Lmao. I’m not… any good at that. So I guess it is also just in part about playing to strengths.

Anyway, enough comic side tangent. I’ve already started talking about it there, but was going to do a comparison between writing and art as mediums. The main thing, I find, is that they have different strengths. More than strengths/weaknesses though, the mediums themselves convey some things with ambiguity, and other things with detail.

Like I first mentioned, time: it’s easier to convey the passage of time with writing than with illustration. And like I said before with comics – conveying context – because an illustration captures a single moment in time, it’s a lot easier to avoid context entirely, while it’s harder to avoid in writing. I’ve drawn kuwagami cuddles before, and there’s no background, nothing discernable as to the lead up or any other detail. And that’s great! I don’t want to have to invent a plausible reason for them to end up hugging. I can just do it, right? But sometimes it’s the context that makes things significant, so you do want it there. A better job for writing. Writing allows you to be detailed with your context, while illustration leaves it ambiguous. Different strengths. You just pick which best fits the situation.

It’s a similar case for a lot of different factors – they're conveyed differently through both mediums, and depending on your idea, some results are more desirable than others. Rather than explaining, it’s probably better to do a direct comparison. (If it makes any difference to your curiosity, I did the drawing first then the writing. You’ve caught me on a good art day, what a nice sketch…)

I’ll try not to talk too much because I think the comparison and table say enough, but you can see how, despite depicting basically the same thing, these two things feel pretty different from each other. The mediums do different things. The mood of both is similar, but not quite the same. It’s these differences that inform the choice of mediums instinctually. (but again. points at disclaimer. as is true with all “rules” about art, none of these are absolute. you can make an illustration that conveys a strong context. you can write fic that favours describing facial expressions and leaves the intended emotion ambiguous. i’m generalising to make a point here.)

I guess the other thing is that it’s pretty easy to do writing in bed on my phone compared to my art setup, lmao. Convenience and timing also play into it probably.

[blazehedgehog]

What do think of The Fated hour nowadays?

(For those of you just joining us, I'm pretty sure this comes from someone in my discord, as a few people were asking about The Fated Hour. If you don't know what that is, it's a legendary project I worked on for a decade that fizzled out and went nowhere. You can read about it over here.)

To some degree I think the project was doomed from the start. It never really had a clear goal. Or it did, but that goal was "make something cool."

Except "something cool" was a constantly moving target that changed on a whim.

I announced the game without even knowing what it would play like. I just had an interesting story idea and figured I'd fill in the blanks later. And I didn't even know what the story itself was. I just knew:

I wanted a dramatic opening. So the game starts with Sonic discovering Tails had been killed, and when he goes to blame Eggman, he finds Eggman is dead, too. What's going on?

I wanted an epic ending. I still had deep Final Fantasy VII brain so I thought "yeah! the villain summons a big cool meteor to cause an extinction level event"

Nothing between those two points existed for years. And yet I strung people along anyway.

I decided on TFH's gameplay because a friend coerced me into playing Castlevania: Symphony of the Night. I hated Castlevania before then, because the only other Castlevania game I'd played was Castlevania 3, a notoriously hard game that Konami actually made more difficult for it's North American release. It took a lot of convincing to get me to try Symphony. And once I did, I loved it to pieces, and said "that's the kind of game I want TFH to be."

I announced TFH in 2000. I didn't play Symphony until, like, 2002 or 2003. I did not know what I wanted TFH to play like for almost three full years.

Now came the fun part: How do I make a Metroidvania? From 2003 until 2010, that was the nut I tried to crack. I'm not sure I ever figured it out, and I canceled the game.

Because, like, I like my Sonic games to be fast, right. Early tests for TFH, I gave Sonic an ability called the "Sonic Dash." It was incredibly similar to the boost that would be introduced in Sonic Rush and become a staple of Sonic's abilities for the next, I dunno, 15 years?

Which on some level is kind of impressive, right? I like to pat myself on the back when I inadvertently land on a similar wavelength as Sega themselves.

But when you're going that fast, it actually makes things like talking to NPCs or getting "a sense of place" very difficult, because you're tearing ass at 700mph all over the place. It's a big blur. Getting someone to slow down and notice a character standing by a rock or whatever was almost impossible.

So I was kind of at an impasse. I'm not sure a good Sonic Metroidvania can be made. Not without slowing Sonic way way down first. Which is something the earliest builds of TFH did actually try, and testers hated, because they didn't like feeling as though Sonic was being artificially handicapped and then had to climb back up to where he already was. They wanted Sonic to get stronger, even though he already was pretty strong (hence where I came up with the idea for the Sonic Dash ability).

That's not to say I don't still think about it, or how I might be able to make it work. In 2019, I started a google doc called "If I made TFH in 2019" where I sketched down a few ideas for story, game structure, etc.

But I am very realistic and I think it's safe to say it's never happening and it was always a bad idea.