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thetrashywritingwitch · 2 months

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Despite his parents' success in fashion and design, Katsuki just doesn't get it. That kind of visual creativity isn't something he naturally inherited like his quirk or how he annoyingly is the spitting image of his mother. It never seemed important. What benefit could he get out of art that would help him as a Hero? To him, jack shit.

Yeah, someone designed his suit and support items. Or rather, brought his shitty doodle idea to life. But that's their job, not his. He still remembers being scolded for folding one of his dad's client sketches into a paper airplane and sailing it out the second story window.

He barely remembers the middle school field trip to an art museum. Didn't pay attention to whatever the guide had to say, and didn't much care. Katsuki and his lackeys friends just joked around the entire time. All the weird, abstract stuff was ugly. All the realistic stuff was boring. No painting was gonna prove important to meeting his goal.

... However, it pissed him off that the stupid art classes he had to take caused him so much grief. He could easily get an A in every other class, but the string of B's in every art class from middle school up through UA felt like a stain on his good record. Why the hell did he need to draw vases and shit anyway?!

Katsuki Bakugo sucked at art, and he hated it. It was the one thing he couldn't figure out. He could study and memorize for a test, easy. He could practice and train to perfect his quirk, strength, and endurance. But all his drawings were rough and sloppy. His lines were shaky and uneven. Painting was messy, and if he fucked up, he couldn't easily erase it or start over like a math problem. Whatever, he didn't need to know this stuff anyway. Waste of time and energy when he had more important things to worry about.

So it comes as an uncomfortable shock when a friend sends him a DM of some art they found. "Hey it's you!! Saw this on my feed." And it's... Yeah, it's him. The tags at the bottom confirm it. Of course, his actual account wasn't tagged because he goes out of his way to actively avoid people begging for his attention so badly.

But it's weird. It's not some high impact action shot. Or copy of his unsightly mug screengrabbed from an interview. He's calm. Serene, almost. He never saw himself as "pretty" or whatever the weirdo fan clubs call him. He's got scars on scars and a scowl deep enough to reach the Earth's molten core.

He never considered the difference between how artists see the world vs how he sees it. Or how he sees himself. Is that why it never clicked? He lacks an ability that can't be acquired by training or studying harder than everyone else?

It makes him grimace.

Clicking your profile, he scrolls the gallery to see that it's all art. His portrait isn't the most recent, either. There's this confidence in the mark-making, like you know how it's gonna look before the brush hits the paper. And he knows something about confidence - that to back it up, you gotta work for it.

He knows the bubble of jealousy, too. But that's stupid. This stuff doesn't do him any good. It's not useful. It doesn't help him. So why does he absentmindedly push the "Follow" button before hiding his phone in his back pocket?

The notification ding vibrates your phone as you're eating lunch. Another spam text to block? Surprisingly, no. "New follower on Instagram: Dynamight_Official"

#bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha headcanons #bakugo x reader #mha x reader #dont ask i've had artist au's in my head for many ages #living vicariously through this like no one's business lmaoooo #many thoughts probably too many

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simplydnp · 1 month

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WAD: Cover Art

dan is still working on selling the distribution rights for We're All Doomed! so i decided to make some DVD/Blu-ray disc jacket art!

this is my attempt at a traditional jacket design! none of the images used are mine, but i did create the concept and design:

as i was making the first one for myself, i was struck by the fact that 'well, it's for me, so it doesn't have to look like a stereotypical jacket cover' which led me to be more artsy in my approach for the next one:

i was really enjoying the creativity and space to explore, so i went looking for more inspiration for a third design. this led me to dan's favourite Muse album: Origin of Symmetry, which i paid homage to:

after the first Muse album, i looked at their catalogue to see if there was more inspiration there. i was just thankful dan's favourite was easy stylistically to mimic, unlike say, 2009's The Resistance...

thank you @danielhowell for the inspiration!

nerdy stuff & reference pics below the cut!

General notes

i don't know how to use photoshop! i entirely brute-forced my way through the whole project, and the only tutorial i looked up was for the gradient text in the 4th cover

this wasn't even the original project i was working on! you'll eventually get to see that though

and this one also inspired art for the disc itself so stay tuned 👀

i will do anything for authenticity so these are Full of intentional details

matching fonts is a nightmare

the traditional cover

took the longest, as it was the first.

the barcode numbers are the date of the first video he uploaded on dinof, and the last tour show date (in m/d/y)

i changed 'iceland' to 'poland' on the front cover, as he never actually went to iceland, and poland wasn't ever on the list even though he did go there

the orange may look a little off-center in the front, but these designs need to include space for a spine between the front and back cover, i promise it's right 😂

the black and white cover

inspired by the 'i want to believe' aliens poster

the cover art comes from his metal band merch shirt design

i had to manually shrink the text, line by line, and ensure it all lined up on the back!

i even made the logos on the back greyscale

the Muse: Origin of Symmetry cover

a shockingly perfect style for a WAD cover. i'm so glad i used the cubes, even if they couldn't be orange.

there's some versions of the art online where the sky is even more orange and it baffles me how i haven't seen any parallels like this before

the Muse: The Resistance cover

this cover was never supposed to see the light of day! i meant it when i said i was grateful i didn't have to try to adapt this complex design... and yet, i tried anyway.

i did all the grid lines by hand, including the jagged/broken edge parts, shading each section, and then drawing every star.

the hardest part was getting the gradient on the back text to cooperate. photoshop's gradient settings are surprisingly limited

gotta shout out @amazingphil for being the reason i knew what this cover looked like--it's the only muse album i knew the art of before embarking on this quest!

obligatory sob story:

i've been extremely and suddenly ill for 6 months. it is difficult to function moment to moment, but especially in doing little things just for me. this is the first and only art project i've been able to feel inspired to not only work on, but to finish, and despite the pain and long hours, i enjoyed every minute of it. thank you, dan, for creating this space for me to explore, and thank you, everyone here, for being wonderful support during this time 💞

#it's finally here!! i hope you all love them as much as i do #dnp #c.text #dan and phil #daniel howell #phan art #hey phil look at this #we're all doomed #wad #c.art #word

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mistydeyes · 8 months

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Hey, Hope you're having a good day or night wherever you are.

Can I request a headcanon about 141 with a female reader who likes to draw and sketch a lot? Platonic ofc.

thanks anon, hope you have a good ____ as well <3 i used to be a sketch/artist girl so this was so cute to write :)

an artist’s touch

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: When you aren’t on the field, you are an avid artist of multiple mediums. It isn’t brought up much but once it is, the 141 has plenty of questions (and even some requests).

pairing: Taskforce 141 x platonic!fem!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood/violence

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

tbh when you first joined, they didn’t know much about your hobby (being part of a specialized task force is busy yk?)

but it was revealed when you finally were granted leave and you discussed your plan upon your return home

“my first stop is going to be to cass art :)”

immediate cacophony of “you draw?” “you’re an artist?” “have you ever drawn us before!”

after a few minutes you quelled all of their questions (“yes, yes, and i literally joined 4 months ago and haven’t had access to a pencil”)

ghost comments, “make sense why you’re so good at stabbing people”

“god you’re so morbid ghost”

when back on base, you were shy to show you’re talents but you eventually relaxed the more you were with your teammates

eventually you began to bring out your sketchbook or paints out when you were relaxing after a mission or training session

once in a while, someone will tell you your work is amazing but if you’re in the zone, they’ll leave you alone

one time price accidentally left his mug too close to your paint cup and you ended up swirling your brush into it

queue a long lecture about how you should pay more attention (but who am i kidding that coffee is so strong he probably didn’t notice)

you humored soap and drew what you thought the real simon riley looked like

ghost snuck a peek and one of the drawings was surprisingly accurate

speaking of which, you may or may not have used your teammates as drawing references but you’ll never tell

gaz just has such angular features which makes drawing his figure so easy

mans looks like a walking drawing figure

it’s relaxing to let your mind wander and hands do the work as you fill a page or canvas

painting at home in your studio helps you to unwind from the grueling job

once, you sketched a few designs for gaz when he mentioned wanting to get a tattoo

“i don’t know gaz this is permanent” “i’ve seen your sketches and they’re amazing! just send me a few designs”

he landed on a cool watercolor piece you had made months ago

after your design, you would all joke about how you would redesign ghost’s tattoo

“Lt. that shit is heinous, just let me draw you a coverup” “no.”

while you don’t accept commissions anymore, you did gift your captain a painting of his favorite secluded lake scenery

he has it hanging in the foyer of his elegant flat

while you don’t really exchange gifts, everyone knows what they would get you

ghost has taken special attention to the brand of pencil you use and the gouache paintings that litter your quarters

everyone likes to joke w you on the comms

“hey do you think you could paint a picture with the blood of your enemies?” “jesus! soap…but yes i could”

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #madebyizzie #141 headcanons #mw2 headcanons #mw2 #izzie is writing

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lycancrow · 2 months

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Ņ̴̻̰̼̼̘̃͊̓̿̍̉̌ͅÉ̴̻̹́̌͆̄̅̋̅̉O̸̢͔̰̱̠̫͔̮͕̾́N̷͙̥̊͝ ̴̨̪̺͋͂̍V̵̛̱̱̝͋̊̍̔̂̊͝O̸͔̻͓̟͙͉̗͌Ị̴̛̖̘̞̪̖͈̊̒͌͊͆̈D̷̰̟͙̏̇͒̿́̌

“You wanna F̷̬̒̒̃Ḯ̶͚̻̈́̆G̷̯̦̠͝H̶̙̯̖̠́͆̓̓T̵̨͕̗̙̈́̂?”

“The Neon Void” by sugarpastels on Ao3

ugh i have brain worms for this fic

notes about sketch:

gave him boots because i felt like his dramatic bitch ass would jump at any chance to wear big stompy boots (no matter how impractical they can be)

BIG EARS

red parts inside ears resemble demon horns, symbolizing how he’s seen as an almost “demonic” presence

this is just my silly little interpretation of void; several parts of the design don’t line up w/ the descriptions in the fic exactly. the changes were made for convenience and ✨aesthetics ✨

i don’t draw humanoids very often, but this was a fun challenge !!

i honestly expected to struggle with the flowy clothes, but they were surprisingly easy lol

i think i’ll try to render this, but i can’t guarantee that it’ll go well

thank you for your service @sugarpasteltmnt o7

#my art #lycan’s art #the neon void #rottmnt leo #rottmnt #procreate #sketch

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valentinedaughtler · 5 months

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Haven’t I Given Enough?

Kaz Brekker x GN!Inventor!Reader

TW: use of Y/N, mild, mild angst, slight ooc Kaz(?) (I think that’s it, let me know if I missed anything please.)

Synopsis: You’ve known Kaz for years, inventing gadgets to assist in heists and being his right hand ‘man’. One night you ask him if you can join a heist, but it doesn’t go as planned….

REQUESTS: OPEN✅

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My eyes flitted between the arriving guests in the bar. The Crow Club was packed tonight, and pigeons strolled in with restless naivety. I sat in the corner of the bustling room, sighing with exhaustion. I had just spent seventeen hours imitating mechanical watches in order to create a ‘fake’ for Kaz do swap with a real one. ‘Just something I need for a heist,’ was all he had said.

It would be worth it to know Kaz was proud of me in the end. Though, it was a long shot to think he would even do much as acknowledge anything I did.

I pondered whether I should slip through the crowd to find Jesper, but I couldn’t spot him. Instead, I pushed my way out of the suffocating bar out into the damp streets of Ketterdam. The cool air calmed my mind as I crossed toward the Slat. The cold made my cheeks rosy.

With the flick of a wrist, I flipped a switch blended into the old building’s exterior wall. It was hidden to an unsuspecting pedestrian yet, but it set off a system of pullies I had integrated into the inner walls a long time ago. A soft shlink was followed by the outward jutting of brick.

The side of the building became a rock-wall of sorts, since I could not climb up every surface like Inej. I began to grip the bricks, digging my nails into the gritty platforms.

Kaz was not always a fan of my inventions. A few had blown up in his face- literally- but it seemed he kept me around due to my many successes. I could fix any machine made by man. I didn’t have to know what it was, I could just take it apart in my mind, then do so in reality.

This was one of my inventions, a brick wall that was easy to climb, but could be hidden. Inej loved it- Kaz felt it was a waste of time.

He said there were stairs for a reason.

I shimmied the window of Kaz’s office open, the latch flipping and the glass sliding. I hopped off of the ledge and into the office, making sure to reset my brick contraption. I turned around and cleared my throat, but Kaz did not glance up at me. I rolled my eyes as he squinted at the blueprints that lay on his makeshift desk.

“Good evening, Brekker,” I greeted with a jokingly enticing tone. His eye twitched and he proceeded to turn his attention to me.

“Hello, Y/N,” his gravely voiced rasped in response. I smiled slightly, regretting so, and dig into my left pants pocket. I pulled out a shiny, gold watch with engraved initials. Whose they were was unknown to me, but if I asked, Kaz would most likely just shut me down. I had to respect his odd secrecy after all he had done for me. Out of all the years I’d known him, it has always been as if he kept me at an arm’s length. He was careful to never be vulnerable, as if that was the same as his skin touching mine.

I gestured for him to catch the watch when I tossed it, but he glared. I let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re such a buzzkill,” I teased while handing the fake to him.

“You’re… difficult,” he retorted, but there was no malice behind his words- surprisingly. I huffed and plopped onto the blanket sprawled out on the windowsill. My eyes followed Kaz’s movements as he tentaviety inspected the watch. After a few minutes he placed it onto his desk and resumed his work. I waited patiently for any sign of recognition, but it never came.

“You’re welcome,” I mumbled while stretching out my legs. I opened up my leather sketchbook to doodle a new invention design. That or I’d just draw Kaz. But I was too annoyed with him to do so.

The dark haired boy sighed as he looked over at me. “You did good. It looks identical.”

I didn’t say anything in response, but I smiled slightly, my face heating up. It was embarrassing how easily I was flattered by Kaz, who could barely do the bare minimum.

“What ere you using it for— the watch, I mean,” I asked with growing curiosity. Kaz halted his work for a moment, most likely deciding if he felt like sharing or not.

“A local banker,-“

“The more-of-a-wanker-than-a-banker one?” I cut off his response, immediately feeling embarrassed. Kaz looked at me with mild confusion. “Inside joke with Jesper,” I elaborated.

He hummed in response, then continued, “He’s more of a swanker. For the past few months he has been flaunting his wealth a little too much. Especially his watch. It’s his most prized possession. I plan to take it from his vault; a simple swap.”

“What would you do without me?” I asked with a sly smirk. Kaz huffed, perhaps laughed.

“I’d have less of your inventions explode on me.”

“It was one time, Kaz,” I said with exasperation. My eye glittered as I met his gaze. I open my mouth to speak, but immediately close it again, pressing my lips together firmly.

“Kaz?”

“Y/N,”

“I want to go on a mission with you and the crows,” I blurted out. Kaz froze, only for a fraction of a moment, but Kaz Brekker froze. He nodded towards my left arm, where a tattoo of a crow craning over a guatlet was etched into my skin.

“You are a crow,” he finally rasped, dodging my question until I glared daggers into his skin. “And I have everyone we need for the mission-“

“Wylan is sick. You need someone who can easily disable complex machinery- the alarms, the traps-“

“I said no,” Kaz’s voice raised, sounding threatening.

“Why not?”

“Y/N,” his voice sounded as if he meant, don’t push it. But I did. I always did, and Kaz always kept me by his side anyways.

“I don’t understand- ever since I got hurt on that one heist you haven’t let me participate-“

“Exactly! You got hurt,” he said. His jaw clenched and his eyes avoided mine. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped.

“Dregs get hurt all the time- saints, some of the crows do too-“

“This is different,”

“How?”

“You’re an investment,” he stated blankly, “and I protect my investments.” I felt heat flush my face, my fists balling up and my shoulders tensing.

“That’s rich, Kaz, real rich,” I spat. Embarrassment pooled in my stomach and my eyes. “But that’s all you want, right? Kruge? Money? Power?” He didn’t say anything as I slitted my eyes and scrunched my nose. “Saints forbid the people who help you get to that point.”

Before Kaz could respond, if he even chose to, I got up and walked across his office, my shoes clacking against the hard, wooden floors. The old floorboards moaned and groaned at the pressure I subjected them to.

“Y/N-,” Kaz tried to get up, but his bad leg involuntarily spasmed at his abrupt movement.

The door slammed behind me. I knew it wasn’t a big deal, it felt like the last thing to topple a delicate card tower. Each card was a jab or a deny Kaz made regarding our… relationship, if you could call it that. He and I had been friends long before the other crows came along, yet I felt I’d come to know him the least. I sighed.

I turned back around on my heel, opening the splintered office door. On the other side was Kaz, reaching for the handling on the opposing side.

“You’re not an investment,”

I kept any snarky comments bottled up inside, along with my tears. I could tell what he was convey was eating away at him, so I let him speak.

“If I lost you, I’d have to burn Ketterdam down, and then I’d have no kingdom to rule,” his words soared through the air between us and to my heart.

“I just keep feeling like I’ve given enough, Kaz. I know I deserve to go on heists. If you see my as an equal, you have to treat me like one.” I met his deep, coffee-brown eyes.

He nodded. One of his gloved hands hesitantly, begrudgingly, came up to touch my face. He cupped my cheek and I leaned into the cold, leather touch. I knew this was the best answer he could give me at the moment. It was a more meaningful gesture than anything he could’ve said. He’d let me help on the heist, and for once in a very long time, it felt like he had let his high walls crumble a bit.

I knew I’d given enough.

____________________________________________

Word Count: 1460

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Part 2????

-Valentine

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cherryredstars · 3 months

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Can you do the Mike bodyguard x introvertshy!reader (fem)

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x fem!reader

Summary: It’s never a good idea to ask Abby for help.

Word Count: 1K (Not Edited)

This is by far the easiest job he’s had.

It sounds insane, but it really is. Even though he’s highly underqualified and it was a god given miracle he got the job, it’s by far the best job he had. More than generous pay, reasonable hours, and the girl he’s protecting is more than happy to have Abby for company. That’s not even the best part. The best part is that he gets all of that, simply for doing nothing. Literally nothing.

Is he technically supposed to be protecting this rich dude’s daughter that he has never heard about until he started working as her bodyguard? Yes. And he does do that. You won’t believe how easy it is to protect someone. Especially when said person is more of an introvert than he is. Which means, he protects her while she’s inside her stupidly expensive, gated mansion that has a state-of-the-art security system. Yup, paid to do nothing except look outside her bedroom window every now and then.

And the girl, she isn’t bad to be around. She doesn't look down on him or Abby for being working class. She strikes nice and polite conversation. Genuinely listens and nods along to what someone is saying. Smiles like the sun and has giggles that glitter. Insanely pretty, looks like a dream. Mike isn’t opposed to the fleeting touches she gives him either.

Really, he almost craves her attention.

He wants to explore her soft, delicate mind. Wants to see what she thinks about and how her own mind keeps her company. He needs to know what words and what topics will keep her engaged. What does he have to say and ask and do for her to perk up in that specific way she does. What will make her voice ring out forever and ever and ever.

Note for future reference: Abby is not the person you recruit for help.

Abby, surprisingly, doesn’t make up a fuss when Mike asks her. She only pauses from her drawing, gives him a bored look, and mutters out an ‘whatever’. She does give him a blank stare when he goes over the plan with her as they eat dinner, but that’s not anything new. On the drive to the mansion, Mike constantly annoys her about remembering what they went over. He only stops when Abby tells him a car is about to hit him when he was looking back at her and not on the road. She scared the crap out of him, and he grumbled and scolded her the rest of the ride for saying such a horrible joke.

The real disaster happens when they get there. It’s normal in the beginning. Mike scans his identification badge at the gate, parks in his designated spot in the employee lot, helps Abby carry her coloring supplies inside, and he meets you at the door. You have a smile on your face as you see Abby, instantly taking the things out of her hands as you strike up conversation. You act like whatever Abby is saying is the most important information in the word, nodding along with a serious expression and applying a perfectly timed comment. He trails behind the two of you, his heart swelling the tiniest bit.

You lead them to the living room, taking a seat on the floor with Abby sitting besides you. You spread out all of Abby’s coloring supplies on the coffee table while Mike finds his usual position at the doorway of the room. He’s directly across from the girls, giving him a perfect view of them drawing and coloring. He’s fidgety the whole time. He can see the girls talking, but they speak in hushed whispers among themselves. He thinks it’s idle chit chat and he’s anxious for when Abby starts with the plan.

He wishes she never started with the plan.

Abby looks up at him, their eyes connecting. Mike gives her subtle nod, looking away quickly when you look up from your paper and follow Abby’s gaze. Abby turns back to her paper, and you follow soon after. As Abby colors in a rainbow on her paper, she speaks up.

“I think my brother has a crush on you. He was asking me how he could get you to talk to him.”

He’s going to strangle her.

Mike’s mouth drops open at Abby’s words. His cheeks feel like they’re melting from how hot they are. His eyes are saucers as he looks to his sister, his gaze shifting to you. You’ve straightened up, a bashful look on your face as your cheeks darken with a blush. Your gaze meets him, and the two of you look away quickly. It’s awkward after tha. The two of you sneak glances at each other every now and then, looking away quickly as your eyes meet. He might just quit.

At the end of his shift you walk him and Abby to the front door as usual. Mike’s carrying all of Abby’s things, Abby already wobbly on her feet with a need to sleep. At the doorstep, Mike gives Abby his keys to unlock the car, ushering her to go inside and he’ll be there in a minute. Abby goes without a fuss, too tired to talk. As she gets inside, Mike turns to you, his ears burning pink.

“Hey, listen. I’m sorry about what Abby said earlier. Really, it was in-”

He’s stopped short by you shaking your head, a small smile on your face. “It’s okay, Mike. Really.”

It eases his worry slightly and he nods and he goes to turn away. Halfway to the car, your voice calls his name again. He turns around questionably, seeing you still in the doorway. Your hands are clenching the side of the door tightly, and your cheeks flame. “I… I can’t wait to talk to you tomorrow.”

Mike is left a gaping mess as he watches you hurriedly closing the door. His face is tomato red as he robotically turns around and gets inside his car. He almost shits himself when Abby pops out from the backseat, her face appearing above the middle console.

“Does this mean the plan worked?”

Join Cherry’s Discord Server

#cherry's requests🍒#mike schimdt x reader #mike schimdt xy/n #mike schimdt fnaf movie #mike schimdt x you #mike schmidt #josh hutcherson #josh hutchinson #fnaf movie x you #fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf movie x y/n #fnaf movie x reader

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babyrdie · 2 months

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Achilles if he was the Champion on Olympus instead of Theseus and Asterius, inspired by a fic (by @baejax-the-great) I read recently.

I ended up drawing Achilles because I wanted to train more metal and Patroclus in this fic doesn't have much metal in his design. Maybe I'll try to do Patroclus too, but I can't promise anything because trying to imitate Hades has already taken me a long time for a train.

I tried to use Hades' style as a kind of observation study. Honestly, I already knew it was going to be difficult all along because I don't have stylization as my strong point, and also the style of this game seemed so unique that it gave me the impression that it would be difficult to replicate. All said and done, it really is. Even if I cheated by establishing a firmer pose on Achilles to avoid the need to draw a good gesture, it doesn't change that the rest is still outside my comfort area.

My conclusion was: the head is the hardest part for me, which I didn't expect. My facial style is very different from Hades' style, so it complicates my life. Plus, using just one brush for the whole thing is surprisingly good. I should practice gesturing instead of avoiding it.

And here I'm going to put some notes about Hades' style that helped me try to replicate it, but that's it: in Jen Zee's case, perceiving characteristic X is more complicated than doing characteristic X! I still think I need to train a lot to really be able to replicate it, especially in the head area. I don't know if this counts as a tutorial of sorts? But that's it, expect lots of images and explanations from here on in this post.

SHAPES

You can easily see "geometric" aspects of the drawing. It's easy to "disassemble" characters into shapes, which is a kind of basic concept often used in drawings.

I think that trying to be "sharp" is a good thing, as most of the shapes I saw on the characters were more sharp than rounded.

I got the impression that Jen Zee focuses on the macro and then goes to the micro, not micro for macro. In other words, she first establishes a visible and well-made shape and then cares about details.

This is very good in terms of anatomy, because a common mistake artists make, for example, is to care too much about detailing things like the face and muscles instead of creating a well-done silhouette. It turns out that the detailed parts are realistic, but the character as a whole has questionable anatomy. Typical case of a perfect face, but too big or small for the body.

I think the most obvious example of Hades' style is its hair. There is no separation of hair strand by strand, but rather making a large, recognizable shape that will later be further molded.

LINEART

The line is always black. Don't paint!

Lineweight: the outer line is thick but the inner lines are thin. There isn't much more line weight variation other than that.

It's mostly consistent but, in some parts, it's purposely interrupted or less polished. It's nothing so noticeable that if you do it completely polished it will greatly affect the result, but if you intend to get as close as possible I would advise you to purposefully "fail" in some parts.

Even with these "flaws", it's a CONFIDENT lineart. This means that you will have more luck copying the style of making your drawings in firm, quick strokes at once rather than slowly retouching stroke by stroke. Draw a line and if it looks bad, just do it again. I don't recommend drawing over it to fix it.

I don't know if this fits in line, but I'll put it here. There are some random lines of striking colors here and there. At first glance, you don't even notice them, although they actually help the drawing stand out, but they are there.

COLORING

Color blocking is your friend.

Don't use blending tools, and use a hard brush and hard eraser. I used one of CSP's default brushes for the entire drawing. It's a style that doesn't require fancy brushes.

From what I saw, Jen Zee doesn't paint this style in grayscale but directly in color. If your fear is getting the color wrong, using layers is a faithful companion because it's easy to change a specific part.

It's IMPOSSIBLE to do the Hades style without inking, which is that part where in the traditional drawing you would apply the ink. In Hades, this is visible in the parts that are shaded black.

Inking is MAINLY used in areas where there is less light, such as the neck, but it's also widely used on metal surfaces.

Don't insist on gradients and blurring the drawing! The shadows here are more solid, quite easy to point out where they start and where they end. In some parts, the transition is made by putting an "edge" on the shadow in a tone that is between the shadow tone and the base tone, not by blending. In others, there is no transition at all. Faces, in particular, seemingly have no transitions.

In the illuminated parts, I particularly found it easier to use rubber to shape them. First paint straight and then start erasing and making the shapes.

Highlights are very important in this style, and they are generally in a more saturated tone.

It seemed easier to follow the order of base color > lighting than base color > shading. That is, first paint in the darkest tone and then add lighter tones instead of painting light and then making it dark.

-Use of complementary colors and analogous colors in certain palettes.

Color picking can make you a little insecure about the base colors, but trust the process because color theory is crazy. The base skin tone of Achilles in Hades is a yellow that is strange at first glance, but together with the other added tones it simply looks like a normal tan. Believe me, I was surprised at first! But, sure, it doesn't all have to be color-picking.

SOME EXAMPLES IN IMAGES

And now trying to explain what I already said, but visually. If you look at the images, I recommend zooming in. Very simple images because some of them were actually loose studies and not something made with the intention of posting so don't expect anything beautiful lol

#IK #Hades Game #Supergiant #Achilles #Digital Art #Artists on Tumblr #Fic Art #Greek Mythology

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echooefrost · 4 months

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More Designs!

Jasper - Ok, I know he looks weird - he's just a happy boi! pls don't look too closely at the hands. So, I gave him big (and really badly drawn) calves becasue he's basically always doing some sort of exercise/work and Sage once said that he's the strongest, and we never really see his legs so I felt like showcasing those details here. Now his shoes, yet another thing that might look random, however I assure you, that these are what medieval workers use to wear. I kept his design relatively similar to his canon one, although I did have to give him a different hat.

Rachel - out of all the designs, Rachel's is the most historically accurate. it's a common misconception that women were shunned for showing their forearms/ankles but it was actually quite normal! married medieval women would wear veils and other elaborate headwear, however women who were not would either wear their hair loose or in a braid. Rachel isn't married so she wears it loose, I added a little braid that she puts flowers and decorative items in, to make her design a little bit more interesting. (and becasue its pretty)

Frankenstein - Frankenstein is really fun to draw! I don't exactly know why but she just is! She has this big fluffy pelt thing going on, it's made of a lot of fur and owl feathers, why owl feathers? because she reminds me of an owl, that's why. she also has big ol' snowboots because it snows in the swiss mountains and because I think it looks cute. you can't see her gloves but they are dark brown (fyi). she has these vials attached to her belt but they can also serve as an emergencey crystal ball - you know, just in case you have to conjure up some evil spirits, as one does.

Papa Lanyon - I think Papa Lanyon sounds way funnier than Lanyon sr. and it contrasts his serious face. I anticipated that he was going to be really hard to draw, but It was surprisingly easy. I liked his design until I had to colour him, I really don't know what happened there, I'm slightly annoyed because I wanted him to appear very cool and dapper, yet he really looks like a generic king. So this doesn't have to be his official design, he just wears fancy king clothes (it's not that important anyway because we don't see him all that much) he is wearing metal soldier-like boots, solely because I searched up outfit references and they all had soldier boot things.

Now that I've done this, I have no more excuses to procrastinate doing work for the other things in the au. Anyway I hope everyone likes these. have a nice day/moring/afternoon/night!

*just realised I forgot to colour their eyes, I'll add later!

#the glass scientists au #the glass scientists #tgs #tgs au #echo's au's #tgs jasper #tgs rachel #tgs frankenstein #jasper kaylock #rachel pidgley #victoria frankenstein #tgs medieval au

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tommysversion · 8 months

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Electric Touch (Part 1; Santiago Garcia x AFAB!Reader)

Summary: For five years or longer, you’ve had a thing for your brother’s best friend. A chance opportunity brings you together at last. (it’s smut with very little plot.) CWs: mentions of drug use & addiction, mentions of rehabilitation, scars & gunshot wounds. Unsafe PIV sex (the pullout method is NOT reliable, folks), oral sex, reference to an implied age gap.

Word Count: 2.9k

Masterlist

He’s your brother’s best friend, which automatically makes him completely off limits. Maybe it’s that sense of being utterly forbidden that draws you to him, initially. That, and you have eyes, and Santiago Garcia is without a doubt one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. Beautiful, dangerous, everything you could ever want.

It’s a pity he has such a reputation; you’ve been present at enough cookouts, been the designated driver for your brother and his old friends enough times to hear every sordid detail, stories of how he used to seduce his informants, or, as Ben puts it?

“Fucked his way through half of Colombia.”

It shouldn’t bother you. It isn’t the body count - both metaphorical and literal - that bothers you. It’s the blatant tug of jealousy in your heart whenever you’re reminded that other people have been able to touch him. If only you were braver, but you’re afraid he’ll only ever see you as Frankie’s kid sister, the college girl who used to hide in her room and study whenever they got too rowdy.

That was years ago, and you’ve since grown up. Graduated. Outgrown the shy girl and blossomed into a confident woman. You don’t struggle for dates, for companionship, but it never lasts, inevitably comes to a grinding halt whenever whoever you’re seeing clues in to the not so subtle fact that you’re completely hung up on someone else. You’ve tried so damn hard not to be, but at this point? You’ve just accepted your fate.

It wouldn’t be so difficult, if you weren’t in such close proximity as of late. It’s just been you and Frankie for years, but now he has a wife, a baby daughter, and he’s trying to get clean. He’s accepted a plea deal to get his pilots license back, agreed to go to rehab. You’re pretty sure that’s more for baby Maria’s sake, than the license.

Still. Your brother is your best friend, and you miss him, miss him rocking up to your house with your niece while his wife is at work, because he’s your brother and he’s always there for you. Since he’s been in the rehab centre, Santi’s made it his business to look in on you. Sometimes he just comes and repairs things for you. Other times you just drink coffee and then go visit Frankie. He’s doing art therapy at the moment, sketching helicopters in surprisingly pristine detail. It must be working, that and the meds he’s on, he says it helps with the urge to use. You’re just glad he’s getting help.

It’s easy to keep a lid on things when you see Santi barely often, in the context of him being Frankie’s buddy. Less so when he’s standing in your kitchen in an olive green shirt that’s at least one size too small, clinging to his broad shoulders, the sunlight highlighting the silver streaks in his dark curls as he makes coffee.

You can’t help but stare, trying to be subtle about it but allowing your gaze to linger when his back is turned. Your home isn’t tiny, but the space feels constricted when he’s here, like the room shrinks and you’re distinctly aware of his presence. Like you don’t spend most nights laying awake thinking of him. Of a dozen different scenarios in which he could make you his. Sometimes, in your mind, he’s passionate and gentle. Other times, he’s degrading and rough; you think about him shoving his fingers in your mouth and taunting you, putting you on your hands and knees and fucking you until you cry, making you beg and plead for him.

It’s difficult not to think of those daydreams when he’s in close proximity, and you’re immensely fucking glad he can’t read minds.

You know what he is, what he’s done, so it’s incredibly strange to have him following you around the house like a guard dog while you fold laundry, go to put it away. Even stranger, the way he hesitates in the doorway of your room. Like coming in would cross some sort of line. Maybe it would.

“You can come in, you know. Or, I mean… you don’t have to stick around. I know you probably have way better shit to be doing than… I don’t know. This?”

There’s no bitterness in the way you say it. You aren’t sure why he’s stuck around longer than he has to; he’s done it a few times now, lingering in your house, helping you with odd jobs and such. You wonder if it’s some misplaced obligation to Frankie.

“You want me to fuck off?” He leans against the doorframe, a slight smile playing across his face as he says it.

“Not what I meant. Just don’t feel like you have to stick around, you know?”

He doesn’t answer, not straight away. Instead he very deliberately crosses into your room and sits down on the edge of your bed, watching as you put neatly folded clothes away into the dresser. You try not to think about the fact that he’s sitting on your bed. The bed that has fresh sheets on it because you’d soaked the old ones the night before, thinking of him, fucking yourself into a dazed stupor.

“It’s not an obligation. I know you’re thinking that, but it isn’t. Consider maybe I actually enjoy the normality of this routine.” He dips his head slightly as he says it, as though admitting it was almost… embarrassing.

You must be misreading things; wishful thinking is a hell of a drug.

“Very funny. I’m sure it’s the highlight of your week, checking in on your best friends kid sister.” You say it lightly, but the sarcasm is there.

“I’m very aware you aren’t a child, princesa. Haven’t been for a very long time. If I didn’t want to be around you, I wouldn’t. You know what I’m like. I’m not going to pretend to enjoy your company if I don’t.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s the precise opposite of what Benny says you were like in Colombia. Pretending to enjoy people’s company, charming people. All of that.”

He watches you for a moment, expression unreadable.

“Wasn’t aware you’d been keeping track of those details.”

“Hard not to. So either you’re being polite, or you’re trying to get laid.” Your tone makes it clear that you’re joking about the last part, toss the last of the laundry into the dresser and turn to face him. You probably shouldn’t have made the comment, worry you’ve told on yourself, that he might be uncomfortable by it. The look on his face surprises you. He’s watching you with a sort of intensity you’ve not seen before, at least, not directed at you.

“I’m not just being polite.”

The implication hangs between you as you stare at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to call your bluff.

“Very funny.” You get out, your throat dry.

He rolls his eyes, beckons you over. You hesitate for a moment, then move, cross the small distance so you’re standing in front of him, close enough to touch.

“I’m not joking.”

“Santi…” you’re not sure what to say; it comes out more like a warning, confused, knowing that if you cross this line there’s no going back. “You can’t expect me to believe that you actually want me.”

“Why not? I’ll admit, I waited until a point when Fish couldn’t beat my ass for it, which is probably shitty, but I never said I was a good man.”

You stare at him, processing the words for a moment before you level him with a challenging look.

“Prove it.” The words come out before you can consider whether or not it’s a good idea, intent on calling his bluff, regardless of whether or not it’ll hurt your feelings.

He’s on his feet in the time it takes you to blink, pulling you flush against him and devouring your mouth in a hungry kiss. You lean into him, let your hands wander freely for as long as he’ll allow it, fingers curling into his belt loops to pull yourself closer to him. He doesn’t stop you, curls his rough hand into your hair to keep you in the kiss, his other hand grabbing your ass for a moment before he’s releasing you, finding the zip of your dress and yanking it down.

Your hands find the hem of that too tight dark green shirt, pull it up over his head. He lets you do it, a smug smirk crossing his face at the way you stare. His torso is littered with scars, some old, some more fresh. Your fingertips skim across some of them, touching gently until he moves you so he can rid you of your underwear, turning you and backing you up.

The back of your knees hit the bed, and you fall backwards, pulling him with you, caged in by his arms bracing himself above you. Your hand twists into salt and pepper curls, dragging him into another greedy kiss, your other hand tracing along his chest, touching the dimples and ridges of every different scar. You’re not military, but you know a bullet wound from a knife wound, touch each one reverently, enjoying the way he practically purrs under your touch.

“These don’t hurt, do they?” You run your fingers across one of the fresher bullet wounds, where it looks like he was grazed by it, and he shakes his head.

“No. They’re numb, mostly.” He presses an open mouthed kiss to your collarbone, kisses down your sternum, across your hips. “Like it when you touch them, though.”

“Yeah?” Your hand is back in his hair, trailing up the back of his neck carefully and settling; you can feel the scar there, too, on your way up.

“Hmm.” He purrs it as he spreads your legs, nips at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You stare at him for a moment, committing the sight before you to memory, because fuck, you’ve wanted him for so long, and if this is a one time stroke of luck, you want to remember every moment of it.

Slowly, he keeps kissing up your thigh, pausing when he’s maybe an inch from your core; you can feel his hot breath against your sensitive skin, shiver under it.

“Tease.” You pout at him, watch him smirk at you from between your thighs, dark eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Oh, absolutely, princesa. I’m gonna take my time, gonna eat this sweet little pussy until you’re begging for my cock.” The tip of his tongue flicks out, circles your clit as his hands keep your legs spread wide for him, thighs draped over his broad shoulders. You wriggle slightly under his touch, drawing a pleased little hum from his throat as he moves down, and without warning, buries his face in your cunt, his nose brushing your clit as he devours you like he’s starving for you.

The sounds you make are nothing short of obscene, little gasps and moans, tugging on his hair, begging him to keep going, to keep touching you, a keening sound tearing from your lips when he slides two thick fingers into you, immediately curling them into your sweet spot.

“There we go, that’s it…” His eyes glitter with lust as he praises you, starts to work you open as he kisses his way back up your body, pausing to suck lazily on your nipples, biting them gently before he returns his attention to your throat, kissing sensitive skin, drawing more sweet little sounds from you. “Look at you, so tight round my fingers…”

You whimper, drag him into another desperate kiss, unable to resist touching him when he’s so willing. He pulls away reluctantly, smirking when you make a pathetic little noise of disappointment.

“So needy…” he draws his fingers out of you, groaning softly at the lewd wet sound of your cunt as he presses them back in, knuckle deep.

Santi trails open mouthed kisses along your throat again, sucking a mark into your collarbone, making you gasp and contract around his fingers. When he greedily sucks a nipple into his mouth again, still fucking you with his fingers, you cry out, a desperate little sound.

“C’mon, princesa, let go for me. Cum for me, then beg me for my cock,” his breath is warm against your flushed skin.

You can feel the hot, heavy length of his cock pressed against your thigh as he kisses you again, and it briefly occurs to you that his long string of informants never stood a goddamn chance. No wonder they all told him anything he wanted to hear. You’d sell your soul, too, if it meant he’d touch you like this again.

He bites down on your nipple gently, tugs it between his teeth, curling his fingers against your sweet spot, and you gush around him, shaking beneath him as you soak his still curling fingers, your slick dripping out of you onto the sheets.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he draws his fingers out of you slowly, presses them to your lips. Eagerly you part them, suck his fingers into your mouth greedily, clean your own release.

It’s not enough. You’re going to do exactly as he asked, beg him for it.

“Santi…” you whine his name, watch him grin at you smugly.

“Something you want?”

“Please…” you draw it out, uncaring how pathetic you sound, “please, I need you…”

He gives you a little smirk, cages you in beneath him once more, one big scarred hand moving to hike your thigh up around his waist. You keep it there automatically as that same hand guides his cock to your still dripping pussy, notches the tip at your entrance and pushes in slowly.

It takes all of his control not to just slam into you, but then your nails drag up his back and you give him a pleading look, and all of his control shatters. He presses in deep, bottoming out in a single fluid thrust that has you screaming his name, making him wonder why he didn’t do this sooner, because fuck if his name has ever sounded sweeter being moaned in sheer pleasure than it does on your lips.

He grinds against you, teasing, drawing more of those sweet sounds from you.

“So tight, just made for my cock, weren’t you?” The words are low, soft praise in your ear, soft and filthy and perfect when he grinds his hips steadily into yours. “Should have done this so much sooner, thought about you so often. Did you think of me?”

“So many times,” you admit, moaning for him as he rocks into you.

“Yeah? You touch this sweet little pussy and think of me?” His thumb moves to rub at your clit, in time with the steady roll of his hips, drawing circles on the sensitive little bud. You whimper for him, arch your back up and sigh.

“So often, wanted you so bad.”

“Oh, I can tell, sweetheart, I can feel how much this pretty cunt needed me.” He presses a wet kiss to your collarbone before he picks up the pace. “Desperate for me. So wet and tight. Absolutely fucking beautiful.” He trails off into a low growl as he slams into you, harder and faster with each rock of his hips, pressing deep, drawing obscene little mewls from your lips.

“Santi, I -“ you can’t get the words out, steadily becoming more and more overwhelmed as he slowly works you closer to the edge.

“I know, pretty girl, I can feel it. Cum for me.” The last three words are a demand, no matter how softly spoken it may be, and it’s enough to send you over. You cling to him, his name falling from your lips like a repeated prayer, over and over, moaned and desperate, feeling your cunt tighten around him and soak his cock as he drives himself deeper into you.

He knows he isn’t necessarily a good man; his hands have held weapons that have ended lives, his mouth spoken words that have sentenced people to death. Those same hands are exceedingly gentle in how he handles you, his lips soft and warm against your skin. He knows you aren’t fragile, but he handles you as if you are anyway.

The way you shake and whimper for him just drives him closer to the edge of his own release, no longer caring about anything except chasing it. His hips slam into yours, rough and uncontrolled, making no attempt to be precise anymore, finally pulling out of you at the last second, groaning and cursing as he spills onto your stomach.

“Fuck…” He groans, panting for breath as he stills, keeping himself off of you with one hand as the other moves to brush sweat damp curls from his eyes.

You grin at him from where you’re caged in beneath him, still trying to regulate your own breathing. Once he can breathe properly himself, he grins right back.

“Worth the wait?”

“Don’t be so arrogant.” You laugh and swat at him.

His grin widens as he glances at his watch, then shakes his head.

“Visitation’s over.”

“Fuck.” You chew your lip and then shrug, “I’ll tell Frankie I was sick. Very sick.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s my excuse?” Santi smirks down at you, clearly eager to humor you in his post climax state.

You consider it for a moment, or at least pretend to, before you lean up and kiss him.

“You had to take care of me.”

“Yeah? Might just have to do that again…” he leans down to devour your lips once more in another hungry kiss, any other activity for the day completely forgotten.

#my writing #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia #Oscar Isaac #triple frontier #triple frontier fic

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ryuichirou · 8 months

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What do you like about Idia?

I got so excited when I got your ask, Anon. And now it’s your problem because I’m probably going to talk a lot lol Thank you very much for asking and giving me an excuse to shower Idia with compliments.

And sorry for replying so late.

To be honest, Idia feels scarily close to being a perfect character for my liking, he kinda has all the qualities that I usually fall for + somehow manages to (unintentionally) incorporate vibes of so many other characters that I like. A friend that got us into twst knew that I’d instantly get invested, it’s almost embarrassing, to be honest lol

So the easy answer would be that I kinda like everything about Idia, but I am annoying, so here are some categories:

Visual

Idia’s design is so damn cute. I really like the combination of him being a lanky scrawny creature with bad posture and being almost “moe” level of adorable. His creepy smile and silly giggles and dark aura works very well with his pretty face with dark lips and this almost… pathetic regular expression. I think his face is what I like about him the most, both the expressiveness and the way it’s drawn in general.

His hair, obviously, are also a big part of it. It’s so unique. One of the first things I said when I started drawing Idia regularly was “oh I’m going to miss drawing his hair so much when we move on from twst” lol Because there is really no other character like that (well, there’s also Ortho, but you get what I mean). The shape, the physics behind it, the fact that it expresses Idia’s emotional state so nicely not only in colour (which is very pretty btw, both the blue and the pink hues, and the orange ones as well), but also in how it “acts”.

Also, Idia’s overall silhouette is great. It’s just… his clothing choices are so fun. His long moe sleeves in his PE uniform, his striped shirt that he wears under his uniform, and of course the huge bell-shaped hooded jacket that hides his body. For some reason it’s, I don’t know, especially cartoony? In a good way, of course.

And lastly, his body language. I love how awkward he is and how much he tries to take as little space as possible when he is stressed out or scared.

So yeah, as someone who draws, I really enjoy Idia. I always have fun with him, and it’s a huge part of why I’m so into him.

Personality/quirks

He is so annoying 😔 … and I love every second of it lol

I love the fact that Idia isn’t just a lovable hikki otaku guy, and he has a lot of unpleasant qualities: he is an elitist, he is stubborn, he is rude sometimes, he makes assumptions about other people (well, he’s surprisingly perceptive so he’s usually right BUT). He likes to tease and to get on the other person’s nerves, and whenever he feels threatened, it’s not unusual for him to attack with negativity first or just to take a dig at his opponent. He is both self-deprecating and self-loving at the same time. But honestly this is what makes him so great. I usually draw him being freaked out by others, but in fact I really really love it when Idia is insufferable.

Because it a) makes sense considering his background; b) is written in a way that is very fun to read; c) is balanced out very well.

Idia isn’t malicious; he’s just socially inept and genuinely scared of others. He is an asshole, but in reality it is due to the fact that he doesn’t know how to connect with others and doesn’t want to seem desperate, plus gets overwhelmed by others very easily. In fact, I think he is much more empathetic than Azul, for example, but I won’t talk about it this time.

I always think about that line that Idia said when he was roasting Riddle for not knowing how to play videogames. I don’t remember the exact line, but it was something similar to “I’ve never seen anyone who is as much of a noob as you lmao but I’m a fucking loser with no friends so yeah makes sense”. I think it describes Idia’s view on others and himself quite nicely: torn between “everyone is shit” and “I am shit”. “I am a genius and everyone is wrong” and… you know.

I also love that Idia drowns himself in his coping mechanisms, but he is still surprisingly realistic about what’s going on in his life. He did create a robot to resemble and act as his diseased younger brother, but he never allowed himself to forget that it is indeed a robot. He doesn’t want to forgive himself, but he also is tired of feeling pain and doesn’t know how to cope with it. So his solution is extreme escapism, but also hyper-awareness about his own faults and never-ending state of excruciating guilt.

So yeah, he’s such a fun character to dive deeper into psychology-wise.

Love his serious moments, love his silly moments, love his complaints, love his emotional rants, love that he’s passionate about stuff that he likes, love that he critiques society in the pettiest ways possible, love his giggles, everything.

(He also reminds me of Katsu in a lot of ways so I am biased lol)

Story

Oh I’ve talked about how much I loved Ch6 a lot, so I won’t write another essay (physically stopping myself).

I’ll be brief and just say that I honestly would have loved Idia even without learning his backstory, because he is just that entertaining, but knowing it made me appreciate him on a whole other level. I love how much depth his character has, how nuanced it is and how beautifully his chapter ended. Seeing him getting closure was very satisfying, and I love that it didn’t change his character drastically overnight.

His love towards Ortho is a beautiful thing, ship-wise or not.

So yeah I kinda just blacked out at some point, I think lol I can talk about Idia forever. He is just an extremely enjoyable character to both read and write.

#replies #idia shroud #about characters

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lassieposting · 1 year

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S&B Characters + Sleep Headcanons

Aleksander Kirigan doesn't get a lot of sleep. He claims it's because he's an incredibly busy man, and that's often true - long hours are basically part of his job description - but in truth it's just as likely to be any of a dozen other things keeping him from his bed; nightmares, occasional merzost headaches, intrusive thoughts, the ghosts of fuck-ups past, the relentless stress and worry of trying to keep Ravka's borders secure with dwindling funds and forces. Over the centuries he's learned to bury himself in his work to avoid his demons, and he's become one of those people who's perfectly functional on four hours of sleep, considers six a lie-in, and will sporadically go days at a time without sleeping when he's not doing well.

For most of his life, he's been immensely wary of falling asleep beside a lover - there are few worse ways to discover your bed partner was just out to kill you for bone jewelry than waking up mid-assassination attempt. If he's keen enough on them to not have them leave after a casual encounter - say, Zoya - he'll usually stay with them until they fall asleep, and then get up and go quietly do some work or read until morning. He's willing to adapt, though, for the right person - Nikolai and Alina can both settle him enough to stay with them all night. The trick, as it turns out, is playing on his touch starvation; on the rare occasion he finds someone he can actually trust, he likes to be held, and affectionate little gestures like playing with his hair or scritching his stubble or massaging his shoulders will melt him and flick his OFF button real fast. He's surprisingly cuddly, though he'll swear blind that he just gets cold easily and Alina and Nikolai both run hot.

Nikolai Lantsov is very tactile and affectionate in general, so when he's sharing someone's bed, he likes to cuddle. Like most soldiers - and kings who have survived more assassins than anyone should ever have to - he's a light sleeper, but he also drops off easily, the legacy of learning to get his head down wherever and whenever he can in an active warzone. He likes to sprawl out over or wrap himself around his lovers, and he does a lot of idly playing with hair or repetitive stroking up and down random stretches of skin, almost like he's self-soothing by comforting someone else.

He's been known to react to things happening around him while still asleep - pulling Alina in against his chest if he feels her shiver, or rolling over to throw an arm over Aleksander and mumble easy, Sasha if he's having a bad dream. He has nightmares of his own - he spent his military service on the front lines, not safe in an officer's tent like Vasily - and he tends to burrow into the closest warm body for comfort, burying his face in Alina's chest or Sasha's shoulder to ground himself. Aleksander will almost always wake up for this and react, reassuring and resettling Niko. Alina, not so much.

Alina Starkov sleeps like the dead. Once she is out, she is Out, and she'll sleep through pretty much anything short of a bomb being dropped on the palace. For quite a while this actually frightens her - she worries she won't wake up in time if she's attacked - but Niko is a light sleeper and Aleksander startles awake if a butterfly sneezes in Novyi Zem, so once they're all sharing a bed she's perfectly safe to conk out like a light. She's always had very vivid dreams, but she doesn't remember them for long after she wakes, so she keeps a sketchpad by the bed so she can draw any ideas or lingering impressions she wants to hang onto after she wakes - a concept for a machine Nikolai might want to build, a kefta design Aleksander would look devastatingly good in, old memories from the war she needs to exorcise, random nonsense that makes no sense outside of the context of her dream. She's usually the last to wake - Aleksander and Nikolai are both military and ridiculously busy besides, so they're often up with the Saints-forsaken sun, but Alina loves a lie-in, and would much rather stay up late than wake early.

Mal Oretsev is used to taking turns on watch with other soldiers, so he tends to sleep in short bursts of a few hours at a time. This poses a challenge once he takes over the Volkvolny - he has a lot of extra time to sleep now that he didn't have before. He spends a lot of it painstakingly working his way through the collection of books in Sturmhond's - his - stateroom. If he's to play the role, he should probably have the knowledge, and he'd rather be able to pull his weight without getting in the crew's way. He enjoys the engineering manuals and seafaring tomes, but mostly uses the ones on statecraft to make himself doze off when his brain doesn't want to shut down and be quiet.

Genya Safin is a paranoid sleeper. Her bed is positioned and angled so she can watch the thin strip of light visible beneath her closed door, waiting for the old king's loathsome shadow to block out the glow from the other side. Long after his death, she'll wake and go rigid at the sound of footsteps in the hall. It takes her a while to actually let David into her bed, but when she does, she realises she finds him comforting, actually - he's so logical and steady that he can talk her down from even the worst of her dreams. He doesn't mind getting up to prove to her that her door is locked, or reassuring her nightly that the old king really is dead.

David Kostyk is That Guy. He talks in his sleep - quadratic equations and theories of immutability and assorted Fabrikator shop-talk. He gets up and wanders around sometimes - usually to and from his desk, but occasionally down the hall. At least once he's gotten up, put on a housecoat, double-checked the lock on the door for Genya, comforted her after a nightmare, and gone back to bed himself, having never really woken up in the first place. This is a known habit at the Little Palace, and has caused plenty of entertainment and consternation - he's "caught" Nikolai sneaking out of the Black General's chambers back when he was still the spare tsarevich, he's wandered into the war room at four-thirty in the morning to explain a prototype to General Kirigan, he's been found ambling about the kitchens barefoot. Everyone who tends to stay up late - Kirigan included - has kindly escorted David back to his own rooms at least once. His saving grace is that he's really quite particular about his pyjamas - they're Durast-made to feel heavy, like a weighted blanket, and he finds it difficult to drop off without the grounding sensation - so at least he's never gone sleepwalking in his birthday suit. He wanders a little less once he starts spending his nights with Genya - if she's resting her head on his shoulder, or has an arm draped over his chest, he seems to be reluctant to move her.

Ivan Kaminsky has night terrors, the kind that wake him screaming and thrashing and completely disoriented, trapped in his own blankets - the legacy of the front lines at the Fjerdan border over a century ago. As a younger man, fresh off the front lines with nothing to his name but a medical discharge from active duty, he'd often find himself seeking out General Kirigan, stumbling into his tent or the Little Palace war room pale and shivering and still in his sleep clothes, all terribly undignified. Kirigan never seemed to mind, really. It was an understanding of sorts, between old soldiers familiar with the lingering spectre of war. He'd give Ivan a cursory once-over - "Evening, Kaminsky." - pour him a drink, and push a stack of papers across the table to give him something to do. He misses it, sometimes, the long nights spent working in companionable quiet. But now the General spends his nights with the sun summoner and the puppy king who's been making eyes at him since he was a skinny princeling, and Ivan spends his with his Fedyor, who has a truly remarkable amount of patience for being woken up at all hours by all the flailing and yelling. Ivan still hates talking about his night terrors - Fedyor is too young to have ever fought in the campaigns that got Ivan his discharge papers, and Ivan is reluctant to place extra horrors on his shoulders - but Fedya would listen, if Ivan needed him to, and in the meantime, he'll regulate Ivan's heart rate and breathing for him, deactivate the fear centre of his brain and flood him with signals telling his brain he's close to sleep, until he really is.

Inej Ghafa likes to sleep in Kaz's office. Back when he first bought out her indenture and took her from the Menagerie, that was where she felt safest. Only one door, locked firmly behind him whenever he ventured down to the rowdy Club below, where the raised voices of drunken men made her feel sick with terror. Two windows, left open at her fearful request - exits, if she needed them. A comfortable leather couch. The scratch-scratch-scratch of Kaz's quill on paper. Jesper used to try to reassure her - no harm will come to you at the Crow Club, you're Kaz's - and a small, wounded part of her took that to heart. If her connection to Kaz Brekker kept her safe, this man who showed more interest in her blades than her body, then she would rest where he could see her, where that protection would be a physical, tangible thing. And he let her. Never complained, though she knows now what he's like about his privacy. Just let her curl up on his Chesterfield. Draped a blanket over her when it was cold.

She's not that terrified girl anymore. She has her own lodgings, with her own possessions, though she still has a nighttime ritual for safety - one final sweep of the building, checking her escape routes, jamming a chair beneath her door handle. But she's quite capable of protecting herself now. All the same, when she is injured or sick or has been summoned back to the Menagerie on business, she'll still climb through his window, breathe out a sigh of relief at the inevitable, unsurprised, "Hello, Inej," and make herself comfortable on the couch for the night.

Wylan Hendriks sleeps curled into a ball. He's spent his share of time on the streets of Ketterdam and that's how he's learned to do it - hugging his meagre bagful of possessions, threadbare blanket wrapped around him and it. In Jesper's room at the Crow Club, he likes to burrow under the blankets; he'll rest his head on Jesper's belly to sleep rather than his shoulder, so even his hair is covered. It muffles the sound drifting up from the club floor or the street outside in the evenings - the shouting, the drunken arguments and bitter insults tossed around like knives, anything that might remind him of - anyway. He tends to turn in fairly early compared to the other Crows - while he loves the music of the city's bars and even enjoys the camaraderie of watching Jesper gamble, closing time in most of Ketterdam peaks at around midnight, and that's about when all the socialising starts to get a bit much for him. The Barrel stays open late, and Kaz doesn't kick out his patrons until the early hours of the morning, so most of the Crows have become night owls by necessity. Wylan uses the hours between making his exit and Jesper finally coming to bed to decompress - compose, play his flute, experiment with chemicals, look at the books Jesper got him, the ones with all the pictures to tell him the fairytales. After a few incidents where Jesper bursting in drunk and noisy left Wylan...a little out of sorts...he's learned to knock, the same pattern every time, before he lets himself in, and it's always easier to uncurl a little and relax with Jesper holding him.

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blueorchidskull · 29 days

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My Narrator and Stanley designs!

The Narrator was surprisingly kinda easy-ish to get. Mostly cuz there’s so many Narrators, or many good designs but I stuck for a more “human” look and make him old cuz I do love me old narrator. It gives me ✨serotonin✨

Also Stanley took forever to figure out. I had like 2-3 years worth of Stanley ‘development’ none felt like him. Like I drew him in this Disney-ish art style, then more realistic, until finally I made him with no mouth or nose. And was like “ hey, this feels like Stanley but isn’t. He needs his mouth and nose back! “ and thus this Stanley came to be and it finally feels and looks like Stanley after literal years. Who knew Stanley would be the hardest to draw between the two?

#the stanley parable #tsp #the Stanley parable ultra deluxe #tspud #tsp narrator #tspud narrator #tsp stanley #tspud stanley #tspud art #tsp fandom #tsp fanart

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bullet-prooflove · 8 months

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Two Halves - Neron 'Creeper' Vargas x Reader

Tagging: @est1887 @anime-weeb-4-life @creativitybeware @mortal--soul @spaghettificationandpretzels @creativitybeware @corruptedcoffin @redpoodlern @oureternalbond @rubes2323 @lexondeck @librarian1002 @thanossexual @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @perverteddreamss @adaydreamaway08

There is not a thing that Neron doesn’t love about you. He loves seeing you in his bed, laid out like a fucking dream, a patchwork of scars and tattoos that tell the story of your life. He takes his time to explore them, memorise them with his fingertips and tongue. He learns what makes your breath hitch, what makes you laugh, when to go harder, faster and when to slow it down.

He loves early mornings, hearing you bang around his kitchen trying to find shit. He loves the way you always greet him with a smile, that you are always happy to see him even when you’re distracted.

He loves the way you draw roses, and daisies and sunflowers when you're thinking, doodling different variations of the flowers over and over again until find a solution to the problem you’ve been tackling in your head. He collects each of the napkins you draw on and puts them away in a shoebox at the top of the wardrobe where he keeps his precious things. When you’re not around and he’s feels the darkness starting to creep in, he gets them out and he looks at them, tracing his fingers over each of the designs because they're beautiful and sometimes he needs a reminder that there’s light in the world.

He loves the fact you sing in the shower despite the fact you’re terrible. You’re bold and loud and have no fucking shame and he adores it. You laugh when he joins in, his arms wrapping around your naked form as the heated water rains down on the two of you. After a few minutes the singing usually stops because you’re both too pre-occupied with other things.

He loves the way you hold him at night, his head tucked under you chin so he can hear your heartbeat in your chest. It’s a comforting sound in the depths of the darkness, the press of your bare skin against his as you kiss the top of his head. Sometimes you tell him that you’re terrified this is all a dream, that one morning you’ll wake up to find yourself alone. He kisses away those doubts, his thumb ghosting over the line of your jaw as he reassures you that he’s real, that what the two of you have is everything to him and he’s never going to vanish from your side.

He loves the fact you don’t judge him for his mistakes, the past or the present. He doesn’t want to scare you off, to burst this perfect bubble that the two of you have created. It’s impossible you tell him, to get everything right the first time. You’re both human, you’re both learning to love again, so long as you're open with each other and honest you’ll work through it. He finds being with you surprisingly easy. He was on his own for a long time, his only intimacies transactional, to find someone that actually cares for him and not what they can get from him is a blessing.

You fit into his life as if you were always meant to be there. He enjoys cooking for you while you draw up designs for your customers on the kitchen table. He loves the expression on your face as you focus on the flow of the design, the flourish of it. Your brows furrow when you concentrate, you pout just a little when things get tricky and it is the cutest fucking thing.

He calls you Nena.

It means babe, the only term of endearment he knows with his mix of Spanglish.

He loves the way you eat ice cream on the couch, spoon pressed against your lips as the two of you curl up under a blanket and watch ‘Escape to the Chateau’. He does not understand how it became his favourite show, only that he loves how fucking judgemental you get when someone starts to try preserving antique glass by bashing the frame around it with a hammer.

He loves the way you give without an expectation of return. To him, your business, to the kids at the community centre. Sometimes he worries you’ll have nothing left for yourself. He tries to speak to you about it, about overstretching yourself but there’s no stopping you. You’re a force of nature, a relentless storm trying to do everything you can to ease the burden of those around you.

When it all gets too much he’s there, a port in the middle of a restless ocean because you are only one woman, and you can only do so much. The thing about Neron is he grounds you; he keeps you on your feet when the realities of the world are too harsh to deal with, he never says ‘I told you so’. He’s always there, holding you up, supporting you and despite how fiercely independent you are, you need it. You need him. You’re cut from the same cloth you and him, two halves of the same soul.

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#creeper vargas #neron creeper vargas #creeper #neron vargas #neron vargas x reader #neron vargas x you #neron creeper vargas x reader #neron creeper vargas x you #mayans fx #mayans mc #mayans #creeper x you #creeper x reader #creeper mayans

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