#d.a

I was originally gonna have him be classical mettaton colours, but it didn't feel right, y'know? I ended up playing around with the colours and found that I liked this palette the best

Ref sheets

L'esprit de l'escalier

Words I never got to write the first time around.

Here lie all the thoughts I have throughout the day, which I try to write down, but I don't and end up forgetting them, and then I try to write them in my journal from memory, but I just can't.

21 - I am to turn 21 this year and it scares me a lot.

IDK - I have no idea what I am doing. All I know is that I breathe and wish not to.

Writer - It sounds an insult to all the writers out there if I am to call myself one but here we are.

D.A - Took me three days to come up with the initials only for them to be my own name in the end.

I am barely a human who writes poems, love songs, letters, musings and more. The tone usually is that of dread but once in a while I am over the moon. You'll get used to it.

With love despair and ink stained kisses.

A black mass writhed in the corner, but Dark stood stock still. His grey hands on the lapels of his black suit jacket, he pulled it down as if to straighten it. To correct a mistake that wasn’t there, as he kept it pristine.

“…Don’t go to the party.” Dark spoke slowly, turning around. Immediately two versions of him split off, one lit a bright, angry red, and another a vibrant, glistening blue. Neither were looking towards you, mere afterimages that Dark elected to ignore.

“Don’t marry Marc!” The red shrieked, slamming it’s arm against the wall, before dissipating.

“Don’t trust them.” The blue hissed, pained, a hand covering it’s face.

It soon too dissipated, the only colors coming from Dark himself, before he cracked his neck, stepping into the shadows. By the way the squirming mass settled, and the temperature picked it up, it seemed as though he had left.

“Well~ Wasn’t that just rude~” A singsongy voice rang out, and bright lights filled the room. They all pointed at one person, wearing a red and black suit, leaning forward on a cane. Damien’s old cane. “With the way he was reacting, you’d think I’d haven’t gave them the best years of their lives~”

Eyes an alarming, glowing crimson, no whites in sight, Actor shot a blinding smile towards you. “But… they’re reacting, it’s not, ah, totally wrong~”

Sliding over, his black gloves hands gripping the gem of the cane tightly, he spat. “I wouldn’t of married that blasted woman if I knew the betrayal she had in store— her, and the ungrateful, son of a bitc—“

A faint knocking sounded nearby, heard even with the frantic, unhinged raving the Actor was in the process of. It was enough to even spook him, making him glance down with dimming eyes at the mirror poking out of his belt. On it, a mere ‘Find Myself’ was written as if there was condensation built up, and someone wiped it away.

Thomas Ian Griffith as Deputy D.A Thomas Yates in The Closer 2005

faded labcoats, stained with ink & clumsy experiments

cursive reports, scribbled notes

awkward meetings with peers; shuffling hands & bitten lips, quietly explaining research to interested friends

skeletons in glass domes & diagram posters pinned to walls

classical music filling the silence as dull reports are written out; heavy silence as unexpected results are obsessed over, desperate for an explanation

cold coffee in chipped mugs

flickering candles, dark brown walls, vintage desk with ink splotches & small chips

tweed jackets, faux leather briefcases, smart blouses for analysing experiment results & meetings

messy hair, focused eyes & rolled-up sleeves during experiments & field work

Hermione:

Neville:

Luna:

Ginny: