i feel like my art is getting really stiff and inconsistent

Blending Blue and Red -- Sarumi Fest 2017
K Project ~ Sarumi ~ Sarumi Fest 2017
By Organization for Transformative Works

Title: Blending Blue and Red

AO3: Blackheart22
Word Count: 2498
Rating: General Audience 
Relationship: M/M; Sarumi
Chapter: 1/1
Tags: Fushimi Saruhiko, Yata Misaki, sarumi fest 2017, metaphorical, not much action but bleh, but it's still good, fluff, marriage
Summary: “Tearing my eyes away, I went to open up my binder when something caught my eye. Red stood out against the blue of the sky and when I squinted, the red had turned into a surfboard that was propped up in the white sand. The contrast in colors almost made me cringe, especially when red was not of my least favorite colors. It’s too bright, lively, fiery to be put into a calm drawing; it’s the complete opposite of my favorite color, which is incidentally blue, and fought against my forcefully maintained aesthetic. The color was just unwanted but there it was, standing out in the pale sand and against the surrounding blues.
Notes: This was originally intended to be called “5… 4…. 3… 2… 1…” because each section is based of random words (first section five words, etc) but I decided that “Blending Blue and Red” would be a better title. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated due to the fact that I edited this myself. Also, this may be my only entry for SarumiFest 2017 but that might change, we just have to wait and see :) Enjoy!!

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Burgers & Pie

written for a project for my fandom studies class this quarter

The first thing Castiel registers when he hits ground is how empty he feels. Empty, cold, and guilt ridden, he thinks with a grimace. He stands, wobbly at first, and looks to the sky. It’s alight with the fiery scars of his siblings burning wings. My fault, he thinks, all my fault. He stumbles into a clearing, eyes glued to the stars, limbs weighed down with mortality. How had he gotten here? A once loyal servant of the Host cast out. The story sounds all too familiar. But this time, it’s worse. Lucifer hadn’t gotten the rest of the Heavenly Host thrown out of their home. Castiel had.

The next thing Castiel registers is that he has no idea where he is. He calls to his grace, urging his wings to unfurl before he remembers. No wings anymore. He falters. No grace anymore. He breathes out a shaky breath, the air filling his lungs so they expand against his ribs. No matter how many lungfuls of air he gulps he still feels hollow and breakable like a bird’s bone.

Somehow, he finds a road. His damp trench coat clings to him uncomfortably like a once familiar skin that’s yearning to be shed. It’s empty. There’s not a car in sight, certainly not the black sheen of the one car he’d like to see most right now. He doesn’t know what else to do so he picks a direction and he walks. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

When Dean doesn’t know what to do, he paces. It annoys Sam to no end, especially when he’s trying to do the whole “recover from almost dying” thing. Dean won’t say what’s bugging him, but Sam knows. It’s Cas. They saw the angels fall, hell, one of them splashed into the lake right outside that church, and Dean isn’t taking it lightly.

“Any phone calls?” Dean calls, his voice tight, as he makes his way back into the living room after an aimless trip to the kitchen.

“Nope. Why, got a hot date?” Sam manages to quirk a smile in Dean’s direction.

“Shut up. I’m just worried is all.”

“Worried about what?”

“Oh, you know, nothing really, except that slightly inconvenient apocalyptic halo meteor shower.” Dean crosses his arms resolutely across his chest and finally sits down. Granted, with an undignified huff.

“You’re allowed to care, Dean.” Sam knows he’s trying to do the impossible yet again. Nothing can get through the impenetrable wall of emotional constipation that is Dean Winchester. Dean fixes him with a blank stare. “About Cas,” Sam supplies.

“Cas is fine. Always is.” His tone is dull, emotionless. Sam opens his mouth to probe deeper but Dean stands. Conversation over. “I’ll be in my room.”

Cas almost thanks God for the trucker that picks him up in the middle of the night, but he’s certain the gratitude would fall upon deaf ears. A faithless angel, he muses with a wry smile, who would’ve thought he’d be the type.

“What’s the joke?” The trucker asks, glancing at him briefly before turning back to the road.

“Oh, nothing. I suppose I’m just happy to be heading home.” The words taste wrong when he says them. The Winchesters are all he knows, but that doesn’t mean they feel the same way. Sure, he had given up everything for them once upon a time, but that was someone else’s story. A different Castiel who wasn’t yet schooled in the art of power hungry betrayal. He winces. There’s no way they’ll take him back.

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