#I HAVE IT THUMBNAILED AND EVERYTHING... HALF THE FRAMES DONE...

[galaxymooing]

god give me the strength to continue my oc lyricstuck i'm about halfway through

[m1stm3]

now playing…

sloppy seconds!! by lay bankz

↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡

this is filth y’all pls know that b4 anything

cw’s!!: nawt proofread :3, stsg x fem!reader, hcs!! but i got a bit carried away, phone sex kinda? they send you stuff, suguru fucks satoru on camera, no use of y/n :3

- they were both away on an important mission and for the few days they were gone they were so mean

- it wasn’t abnormal for them to send pictures or videos of themselves when they were away just to make sure you knew they were safe

- but the pictures and videos they were sending you on this particular mission were nothing short of cruel

- it started off cute, a selfie sent by satoru featuring the two of them, the caption mentioning them stopping at a hotel for the next couple of nights while they reconfigured something with the mission

- the next thing was sent by suguru, a video starting with a quick shot of his upper-half lazing over the edge of a luxurious looking bathtub before the camera flipped to capture the back of an unaware satoru who seemed to be studying his face in the mirror

- “just get in, satoru.” you saw satoru open his mouth to retort but stop when he saw the camera. you watched as he turned around, the towel around his hips just barely showing off his v-line.

- “you filming me without asking?” he teased once he was close to suguru, the microphone picking up the sound of a quick kiss and water sloshing before the camera flipped again, the both of them now in the frame

- “we’ll text you after we’re done in here.” suguru flashed a small smile as satoru blew a kiss to the camera before the video ended

- you didn’t hear anything from them until hours later, your brows furrowing at the series of notifications popping up at the top of your screen

- you opened up the group chat between the three of you. there were 12 new attachments from suguru that were simply captioned “wish you were here <3”

- you smiled softly at the message before clicking on the first video, the dark thumbnail keeping you unaware of the content

- your face burned while you watched, your lips parting slightly in shock. everything about it was downright sinful, your lovers tongue-to-tongue while satoru whined softly at sugurus hands on him. the sounds in the video alone sent heat straight to your cunt.

- you took in a deep breath when the video ended, grounding yourself before swiping to the next attachment.

- this one was a picture of satorus torso, white streaks of cum covering his stomach and looking away from the camera with a dark flush on his face. the only part of suguru you could see was his hand placed on the other man’s waist. fuck, you wish suguru had taken a video of satoru finishing.

- your thighs rubbed together as you continued swiping, pictures and short videos of satoru on his knees while sucking sugurus cock only making you more and more desperate for them to be there with you

- your phone dinged from another message. “watch the last vid with sound” sent by suguru

- you swiped through the next couple of photos (not without studying them intently, of course) before reaching the last attachment and clicking your phone volume higher

- the first shot of the video alone had you drooling, sound be damned. a delicious angle of a whiny satoru getting pounded from behind while sugurus free hand roamed over the curve of his ass

- satoru whimpered something unintelligible before pressing his face into the pillow below him, causing suguru to let out a chuckle from behind the camera

- “what was that? do you have something to say to our love?” satoru only nodded weakly in response, choking slightly at a particularly hard thrust.

- there was a shuffling behind the camera for a moment before it switched to a smirking suguru who leaned forward to hand the phone to the man squirming underneath him

- “go on, tell her what you were saying.” sugurus voice carried from the background of the video, his movements never stopping despite satorus obvious struggle to form a coherent sentence

- your jaw drops when you hear satoru let out a muffled whine of your name into the pillow, raising his head to look at the camera

- he looked almost angelic, flushed red all the way to his chest with tears clinging to his lashes

- he let out a curse, eyes falling shut for a moment before looking back at the camera. “miss you so much, baby… miss your pussy so much-” he cuts himself off with a groan caused by suguru pulling his hair

- suguru leaned forward, grabbing the camera from him. “isn’t he sweet?” he chuckled. “can’t say i don’t miss you just as much, though… we’ll make sure to give you all of the attention you need when we get back, isn’t that right ‘toru?” he flipped the camera as he spoke, pointing it to a nodding satoru

- “we’ll see you soon.” suguru purred from behind the camera before ending the video

- you sat in flustered shock for a moment, sending them a message before slipping your free hand under your waistband. fuck, they were mean…

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's episode...

[spoilers below cut]

AY I CALLED IT! To the anon who asked me about it, we are getting a silly episode today :D

I'll be honest, that arc got me burnt out with all the theories and teasers. Sure was fun but man, it's like coming home from a party. Now I can take things easy. Well, hopefully since the Puzzles figurine already dragged me back to my corkboard, I have no idea what the Team's planning smh /pos

why not have a good ol' time today, huh?

(the following is my live reaction:)

hey 4, I did see Gaslight District and dude, it looks like a movie. like how??? glitch surprises me everytime.

oh yea, and also bc james half-jokingly said that he's stop voicing 3 if we didn't watch the premiere. I mean, I already was planning to, no worries there :)

oh the intro, it never gets old

😨 oh... my god... <- my organized ass

"hey, Four" sorry but the fact that they called him 4 🥹 and technically this would be 3's second time. everyone, write that down

(and I did say it too, huh?)

oh, you mean the microwave 4's grandpa (read: SMG1) gave away? /hj

*sonic voice* oh yeah, this is happening!

put me in coach, todo quedara bien chingón después que acabamos. ✨bellísimo✨ diría yo

Oh, maybe next time for your presentation, luigi

...and there it is 😌↕️

how much food did that fridge....? nope nvm. only in the SMG4 universe *cheesy laugh track*

gross, yes, but Mario ate way worse stuff before. he should be fine, I still feel bad though

can we take a moment of just 4 here? :)

done? ok good

wait... was that a callback to the infestation episode?

well, that makes sense

*concerned microwave noises*

OH GOD MEGGY NOT THE HAIR

welp lesson 1, chat: always tie all hair up before cleaning

there we go, one room down! ooh, ramen sounds nice

...wait, say that one more time? "you don't know what me and those chopsticks have been through together"?

oh god.....

Western Spaghetti, is that you?

don't mind me, chat. i'm just going to uh.... be in my pillowfort for a bit

we were so close, man 😔

c'mon bob, you can't keep hoarding like this

well, we found one of the chopsticks

WOAH 😦 Mario really did it... and he might puke, GO GO GO

AAAH HIT THE BRAKES

ooh.....

oh god, it's even worse

4, you already got knocked out cold once, we can't let you go through it again

same, 3 😔↕️ same

hey swag, just. just take the microwave bud. don't mind this.

"The Castle's had a good run." ....i'm sorry, what?

I need to pause this. I need to leave the room. Everyone, take 5.

*40 minutes later* ......I don't. what am I supposed to say?

the Team had Swag say "the castle had a good run, time to nuke it", LITERALLY have him pulling out the IGBP thumbnail? AND THEN gave 4 ptsd flashbacks? just like that???

everything in my core just sank through the ground and into my grave! why, team, why? dude.......

oh, 4 :( *head in hands* I know bud, ik

idk how 4 does it, man. i would've crashed the fuck out

*sonic voice* hey Shadow, long time no see :D

the rats too?!

ok fine, that did get a chuckle out of me

there's the chopsticks, maybe you should store them under your beanie or smth

I mean, Meggy, you've always been unhinged in a silly way ahlkg;kl

THAT'S HOW WE DO IT 👏 LOCK IN

........the frame's missing. "wha?" the boarded-up door, see?

did you really think that I, Ink, would not know every detail about my mortal nemesis, the boarded-up door? tsk tsk, ofc not. Not while I'm a theorist. Ha, working on reference sheets has its use, mhm

AGAIN WITH THE NUMBER 4, I'M ON TO YOU, TEAM

sorry, Swag, no nukey time!

STOP THE PRESSES. LOOK AT 3 DOING A CELEBRATORY HOP:

you did? good.

also yeah, 4 I feel you bud :(

For sure.... *IGBP war flashbacks*

oh the cafe, my beloved. one day we'll see you soon.

uh oh.....

well um.... eggdog's playing with beeg outside, right chat? (for my sake, please nod) /j

Congrats to PlatinumLightJJ for your art being featured at the end credits! 🎉 love the lighting!

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Man, what an episode, huh? A lot has happened over the past few days, especially bc of the movie, but nothing like another silly episode for our meme show :)

From the looks of it, we actually got a new writer on the Team! Please, everyone, give a warm welcome to Evan Besser!

Lovely to have you here, friend! Not that you're gonna see this, but we look forward in seeing what you will create. While it is our silly little meme show, it has a special place in our hearts because of how much we've connected during its powerful, exciting, and emotional moments. Of friendship, (found) family. Loss and change.

As Boopkins said in IGBP, love wins. Love always wins, and it's been true every time. I offer the best of luck to you 🎉

As for the rest of you (aka chat), Evan (he/they btw) may be on Tumblr, but I expect yall to be respectful to them, as we do for the rest of the Team. Please do not send harassment or push them past uncomfortable boundaries. This is a pretty chill community, simply remember to be aware and kind, okay? coolio 👍

Now with the pleasantries out of the way, let's talk about the actual episode! Admittedly, it caught me off guard that both Bob and Meggy occupied some of the rooms in the Castle. Bob I get it, sure, he lives in the dump, but Meggy does have her home. Then again, it's not 4's Castle, it's the Crew's. 4 just happens to own the property and live there. In some past episodes, Melony has slept over at the Castle instead of her apartment, so it's not out of the question. Plus, I could never imagine 4 rejecting them a place to stay if they need it. Once again, their Castle. (However.... *stares DIRECTLY at the unfinished 2nd floor*)

If it wasn't obvious already, I LOVE cleaning, and I wouldn't mind sitting through Luigi's presentation frfr. (And the episode had to be trash, yea ik.) And about the scene with 3 & Mario in the kitchen, I actually wanted to bring in a bit of behind-the-scenes from editor Star:

"Got a little surprise for SMG4 fans again! The extended version of my 1st scene for today's vid: Mario Cleans The House!" (clip shown below) — Star

I always loved the behind-the-scenes stuff and sharing it with you guys :) It kinda goes hand-in-hand with the moment 3 wanting to go back to his clean cafe. speaking of, I MISS THE CAFE SO BAD.

Speaking of that scene, it was indeed a funny bit of 3's plan of shoving a bunch of spoiled food into Mario ADJL;'LJK. Not the best plan there, bud. (and yea, I'm allowed to say is as someone who's friend-shaped 😊↕️)

I do love the callback to the infestation episode for Bob, I appreciate that, idk how to describe it. And I'm not sure if the Team intended this or not, but I also loved the subtle callback to Western Spaghetti and Meggy's attachment to certain materialistic things bc of her past, I totally get it. And her eventually throwing the chopsticks to the bin, I actually didn't mind it.

Yall might come at me with pitchforks but it was kinda similar to how 4 was in the Mario PC episode. 4 was given a choice to accept a deal to save his past work, and he immediately declined. In some way, he learned from IGBP, not fully but it's a big step in the right direction. Same here with Meggy, she was very attached to those chopsticks bc, like she said, they've been through a lot. Like her beanie given by Wren. But she saw what it truly meant and decided to move on, dropping the sticks in there. Again, a step.

Then, there's that door. What a coincidence that as soon as 4 said "where are we supposed to put [the trash]", the door is right there in the background. Hmmmmmmmmmm, istg the Team had this door out to get me. TEASING US. *shakes vengeful fist* we shall meet again, my mortal nemesis….....

And now, probably the whole reason yall are here for, let's talk about 4:

It is absolutely insane that the Team did that! Not just ptsd anymore, they outright say it in the show, "hey, remember when this happened to you?" I still can't wrap my head around it. Regardless, I did feel SO bad for 4. ik how Swag is, gotta love him, but BUDDY, YOU CAN'T SAY THAT! :(

4's already suppressing his trauma and guilt from IGBP. He blames himself for the whole incident when he was possessed for most of it, he lost his home the first time. Ofc he's terrified of it happening again, of losing his home the second time. Honestly, If I were him, I would've pushed all the trash and everyone out the door, and then curled up in my bed for the rest of the day. With everything he went through, I wouldn't be able to handle it. "oh, I can just nuke it like I did in the most traumatic moment of or life, it's a lost cause" <- you would see me on the news. And ofc he wouldn't do what I would do, he's 4.

He somehow held back, still doing everything he could to save it. And y'know what would make it worse, if this was the first time 4 learned that the Crew was willing to nuke the Castle while 4 and the rescue trio were still in there. Not that I blame the Crew, it was possible for the red monster to spread across the kingdom and put everyone in danger. But it is a bit messed up that the Crew didn't warn them to get out of there before they did the act. idk what to think man..... regardless, that's a post for another day.

Back to the topic, 4 definitely belongs on my "saviors in blue" list. And ofc, adding it in as more proof to the horus eye/glitch segment of my theory:

His left eye is in the frame, the true side of him. Unlike in WOTFI 2024, it was with his right (his perfectionism side) when Puzzles brought back that ptsd the first time. One where he was scared of the incident happening again, the other's a reminder that he was the "cause" of it happening.

Now there has been some talk about about how his perfectionist side slipping through the cracks and seeming like he learned nothing out of IGBP. I suppose I should bring in my thoughts into this (yea, you can get your pitchfork ready 😔). I do love when 4's guilt and trauma come back in moments like these, and as co-ceo of the goop!4 theory, I can appreciate it with a "HELL YEAH".

The in-universe explanation I can provide of his perfectionism is that he's a content creator. All he wants is to entertain people and make them happy, ofc he wants to deliver the best of his work out there. Also, as a Meme Guardian, it's a part of him and his duties. But realistically, it's sometimes like that. As someone dealing with ptsd myself, those old habits/traits that caused the incident slip through in what we do. The least we want is for that incident to happen again, we'd go through extreme panic if we're remotely close to it, but we sometimes do said traits unintentionally.

For a person like 4, who has been suppressing all of it for a long time, it would be harder for him to recognize them immediately. And like in the Mario PC Virus episode, that was very paralleled to IGBP, 4 didn't have the same hesitation. Sure, he wasn't dealing with a life there, but he did learn. Up to now, like in the past arc, he prioritized his friends more than anything. Even if he was injured. It's understandable why he's dealing with his ptsd in an unhealthy way, even if it isn't right. I can see why people may have fixed feelings about it, but those are my thoughts.

The not in-universe explanation is the change of writers. Not that it should be an excuse but it's hard to pick up the pieces, as someone who works in production.

*sigh * yea, if you want to push me down the stairs, you can 😔 /lh

Well, that's all for me, folks! Sorry it took so long to get this out haha. I knew some of you were looking forward to my reaction, especially bc of 4, but it's sweet to know that you guys care what I think, so thanks for sticking by me 💙 It's good to see the silly episodes again after a month of theorizing. Anyway, I'll catch you on the next one and remember: numbers always go first!

.....the Team really wants me to finish the goop!4 theory website, don't they. /silly

[creaman]

Hi there! I apologize for taking up your time, I am just so curious: When you tackle a comic, what does the process behind it look like?

Asking because I found myself scrolling through your blog once again and couldn't help but marvel at all the beautiful effects you use, at how flawlessly the structure guides the viewer's eye across each page, how the graphic weight seems to always be in just the right places…, and wonder how you learned doing this. Everything you put out looks incredibly professional and I aspire to reach your level of skill 😌❤️

Thank you Finz!! You're no bother at all, I'm an open book. This is such high praise for a guy that really doesn't have a set process, I feel like a hack. Ha. Rest assured my style is still developing. Besides the referencing of the linework and composition of official comic books, (practicing by redrawing panels for fun), explaining the process makes me feel like a serial killer but I will do my best.

(WIP Riddler panel, scrapped Scarecrow composition)

My comics usually stem from a single panel or concept — I like to focus on/emphasise particular panels of my pages, the heavy hitters, the main piece that catches your eye. I know I'm not a profoundly technically proficient artist so I prefer visually interesting elements and formatting, i.e. drawing characters outside their frames, negative space, notation, perspectives etc.

(Kung Fu Panda 4 sketch god I hate Kung Fu Panda 4)

I like to establish 'main focus' panels, the bits of the comic that really, well. make people want to chew on it. This is where the technical effort is concentrated, really, and the rest of the comic is generally build around these concepts.

('Restaurant Balthazar' focus panels)

Textures and effects are done on individual panels first, then the entire page as a whole to even out the unity. Generally, blocking in shadows, hatching for visual interest + middle tones, then textures/half-tones, then highlights.

(Script excerpt WIP)

I'm not a writer per se, but having a vague 'script' in your pages helps with pacing and direction. Comics are a versatile story-telling medium. I only really do scripts for comics longer than 2 pages. An optional but recommended strat is to send your script to a friend for a second opinion.

(Script excerpt — 'Restaurant Balthazar', annotated by @vincepti0n I don't know why he drew a face in the middle)

With the script crudely slapped together, I rough out the thumbnails and composition with the text, prioritising coherence and clean integration of previously mentioned 'main focus' panels.

Settling on a composition sucks the hardest. Drawing is fun, thinking makes brain hurty. Variety is good! Close-ups, wide shots, visual metaphors. Every panel is its own artwork.

The text bubbles are usually added in post, yes, but I'm just one guy and I don't have a writer to call me a good boy for doing things correctly. Bite me.

(Early 'Restaurant Balthazar' drafts)

In addition, keeping the text graphics in mind help create a sounder composition wherein even if the panels don't read cleanly left to right + top to bottom, the text can stagger and create the same reading order effect.

Panels and concepts are constantly tweaked, and my comic process is still highly experimental. A lot of industry standard comics aren't illustrated to their full potential due to deadlines and such — I strive for visual epiphany by treating each panel as its own artwork, and every page as a a bit of a mural.

(Old art hurts the soul)

Constantly experimenting allows you the insight of looking at your current art in comparison to your older works. In more recent works, I've been blocking in more shadows wiht lineart with thinner lines and more line weight, and learned to integrate the subject characters with less plain, abstract backgrounds.

TLDR: I have no idea

[linkdedruid]

READER WEARING LIVIOS CLOTHES RAAGAGAGAGGSSJJSJSMKSSBJSJSJS IM SO NORMAL

Obviously. looks at the other requests Completely normal...

Livio's voice floats through the half-open door to your room. "Hey, have you seen my-" They stop mid-sentence as they see you sitting cross-legged on your bed with reference books, textbooks, and printed reports littering the surface. You're hunched over your laptop, eyebrows furrowed in heavy concentration, as you work on your thesis. The very sweater they were just about to ask if you'd seen is falling off your shoulder.

You look good in that color, they realize. Not only that, but the way you look up at them with your glasses slipped low on your nose has their heart thudding and their cheeks warming. You give them a sheepish look, glancing down at the cloud-soft sweater you borrowed.

"Sorry, I should've asked first." You apologize, sitting up and rolling your shoulders.

"N-no, it's okay. It, uh, it looks good on you." They stammer slightly, picking at the chipped nail polish on their thumbnail.

Looks good is an understatement. Livio's pretty sure you've never looked better than you do now, wearing their clothes so casually. They've never been more thankful for their own broad shoulders than when you move to extricate yourself from the research nest you've built yourself and the wide neck collar slips just off your shoulder. Just the small glimpse of skin revealed in the motion has them feeling weak. It's not even suggestive, so why do they feel like they're about to burst into flame.

"Really?" You ask, looking up at them, as you nudge the bottom of your glasses frames to scoot them back onto the bridge of your nose.

"Y-yeah, you can keep it...if you want." They offer. Normally they don't let anyone borrow their clothes. Not after having grown up in the orphanage with very little to call their own. So, why are they doing so now? What is it about you that makes them want to give you anything and everything you could ever want.

"Thank you, Liv!" You chirp, a wide grin spreading across your face and making their heart skip and stutter in its rhythm. It's only made worse (or better, really) when you throw your arms around his waist in further display of your gratitude.

Oh, they're done for...

[candycoatedrox]

had to make a poster for my school project this year and it took me like 5 days and i am very proud of it yippeeeeeeeee

(id below cut because it is VERY very long)

[ID: A poster with a light blue background and a lot of text on it. A large, handwritten header at the top says "Original Animated Short Part 1!" with sparkles around "original" and yellow lines around "Part 1!" for emphasis.

A simple cartoon person, Poster Molly, with curly hair and a sweatshirt waves hello. She says, "Hi there!!" The text under her reads:

"My name's Poster (blanked out for personal information)! Some of you might recognize me from last year… Well, I'm back and better than ever!! Last year, my focus was on comics. But this year… This year, I've set my sights on something bigger:"

"Animation!!" in large font with yellow lines around it for emphasis. Poster Molly is underneath, holding her arms up excitedly like she's presenting the word. Text underneath reads:

"I wanted to create an animated short with my original characters, synced to the song 'The Other Side' from 'The Greatest Showman' soundtrack."

Drawings of two characters are underneath. The one on the left has an arrow pointing to it that says, "this is V." It is rendered in slightly glowing cyan lines, with everything inside the lines showing through to the near-black background. It floats mid-air with a smug expression on its face, and has cat ears that seem relaxed. It has three tentacles in place of hair that swoop forward.

The character on the right has an arrow pointing to her that says "and this is Wade!" She is an Inkling from Splatoon, with purple tentacles that fade to turquoise, tied into a ponytail in the back and long in the front. She has a medium brown skin tone and golden eyes, and the top half of her right eye is a bright turquoise.

Text continues: "But that's a big project..."

At the top of a new column, the text continues: "Animation involves a lot of drawing. Don't believe me? Let's do some math... 24 FPS (frames per second) times 60 seconds equals 1440 drawings for one minute!!

To cut down on drawings, animation is usually done on "twos" — a new image is shown every other frame, effectively reducing the FPS to only 12. But that's still 720 images per minute...

The process of creating an animation, from start to finish, is usually broken up into three major stages: Pre-Production, Production, and Post-Production.

First, Pre-production! This stage consists of concept art, character design and development, storyboarding, and pretty much everything else that comes before the actual frame-by-frame animation. This stage is when model sheets, turnarounds, thumbnails, storyboards, and a timed animatic are made. (It's also when scripts, music, and vocal lines are written and recorded — but luckily, I get to skip that entirely!)

Next, the bulk of the work (and time!) goes into Production. Production is the actual frame-by-frame animation, and is usually split into two parts: keyframing and "tweening," also known as "inbetweening."

Finally, Post-production is the shortest stage. It consists of clean-up, coloring, adding effects, and editing. My plan was simple: I'd spend the first half of the year on pre-production, and the second half on production, with about a month left at the end of the year for post-production.

At the top of a new column, Poster Molly scratches the back of her head apologetically. "Hoo, that was a lot of information! Back to the fun stuff..."

Text below her continues: "Around the end of December, I realized I wasn't very far along in the storyboarding process. I only had the bridge finished, which was about a minute and a half long — less than half of the full song! Considering my original plan was to have the storyboards done by the end of January, that wasn't good…

So, I decided to change up my timeline, turning it into a two-year project instead of a one-year project. I'd spend this year working on pre-production and storyboarding, and next year on the actual production and post-production of the short. That gave me much more time to get it all done. Now I wasn't tied to a schedule designed for college students with twice as much free time as me, and I didn't have to sacrifice quality to get it done on time!

Even if I'm only drawing a new, very simple image maybe a couple times a second instead of all 12, storyboarding is still a lot of work! I've had a lot of fun storyboarding and seeing my characters come to life, but it's definitely been tiring. I've had to leave my comfort zone as I try to push the poses and perspective to create something more expressive. Here you can see all (or almost all) of my storyboards for the second half of the song's bridge. It's a lot of work, making these stick figures as energetic as they are!"

A collage of 40 different storyboards is below. They are heavily simplified, with each character being little more than a stick figure with a simplified expression. Text below continues:

"Even with all that time, I'm still not quite done with the storyboards. I plan to finish them over the summer, and dive straight into production next year! Hopefully, this time next year, you'll all be watching my complete, fully animated short!"

End ID]

[topicaltropic]

Video time again! Yay!

I love listening to my playlists, but even more than that, I love listening to my friend's playlists. MGMT when you die is quite frequently featured in there, & more in particular my beautiful friend used it in her wonderful series about her character so it's always been pretty fresh on my mind (I highly recommend checking it out https://www.tumblr.com/mumpsetc/722528720375742464/is-there-some-kind-of-electric-remains?source=share)

A song with a central theme about self destruction by villainizing yourself and lashing out towards those whod want to reach out towards you? WOW! SOUND FAMILIAR? I wonder if some other characters conflict aligns with that theme. Maybe I'd even make a pmv out of it. So I did

Wrote out a outline of the story beats like last time but skipped thumbnailing bcz its a pmv

Here's where I'd say I wasted the most of my time. First I wanted to get outside of the comfort zone of the brush I always used because I felt I had been relying on it too hard (and the horror if I was nothing without it), so I was like "for this video I HAVE to use a different brush it'll give it a different vibe etc it'll be great" but actually I hated it.

(I genuinely cannot stand this version so I can only deign to share the frame of them being stuffed into the calzones. It may look relatively okay but the signs of wrongness are there.)

Then I was like "no you know what I'll do it in mspaint. everyone loves mspaint Hollyleaf The Wolf Pmv was done in mspaint and thats so good" So I did that and 1. I don't like that mspaint has layers now but maybe I'm just a pussy 2. I sucked

(The way I drew her here bothers me so much. Absolutely lacking in distinctness and personality. Utterly Souless. I got scared looking at this and thinking how it reflects back on to me as a person. Also just too busy from the lack of a tight color palette and time consuming if i decided to actually color every single little thing. Incoherent all together.)

so I've wasted a week not being able to decide wtf or where I wanted to even start this project

But its ok because next I hop onto krita. this time I make the canvas not too wide but not as small, play with a pen and stick with it, and call me goldilocks the way it was juuust right.

The only reason I could complete this is because my friends are the fucking goats. I couldnt have finished this without their encouragement but also it would not nearly be half as nice to look at without all their feedback

Now finally: Some roughs that I paticularly liked and Some frames that didnt make it in because it's little awkward and too janky

I think in the final version for img 1 doesnt have as much despair or awareness? it fits the description of not feeling the effects of too much ice cream yet comparetively to the draft where she seems incredibly pained, both versions work i guess. img2 I think the doodler being inside her was probably a incredibly physically and emotionally painful process and also i dont believe some schewpid collar could contain eldritch chaos. img3 originally i was suggested to have picture terry blink but it looked really creepy to me. img4 this angle feels weird and the timing would be too fast.

I tried multiple. multiple times but the editing and timing still seems wrong so please forgive the roughness of it all

If you liked this thank you so so much it means everything to me 🫶

if you didn't that makes two of us 🤝

if you read this far lets do an art trade! or request me something and ill doodle it <3

Scary Dndads Pmv - MGMT When You Die

[daveinediting]

The year so far has been about up-scaling and posting YouTube videos with custom thumbnails. Hundreds of clips with a lot more to go plus managing a database of the work done so far including the data attached to each clip, resolution, captioning, playlists, series, show of origin, geographic location, and so on.

This year so far has also been about projects carrying a lot of question marks. A lot of elements we need... but the client isn't making those elements available yet for whatever reason. A lot of questions about intent... but those questions are going unanswered so far for whatever reason.

In both circumstances, wrangling YouTube videos and dealing in question marks, prioritizing thinking is key. It's giving myself time to think through both processes because they're tricky. Because they’re complicated.

In the case of the YouTube videos, there are adjustments and improvements I’m making along the way because I gave myself time. Because I allowed myself to occasionally come up for air instead of relentlessly cranking out videos.

Don't get me wrong, cranking out videos is the point. But feedback's built into my process. My own feedback. As in Am I doing something wrong here? Is there another way I to do this this? Is there a better to do this? What have I done so far? What's still in front of me? And so on.

Here's a little story that captures the reason for these questions:

A long time ago I was creating a stop motion video using my DSLR with a shutter cable. At the beginning, I framed up the scene and then started moving figures around, snapping a picture with the shutter cable each time I advanced the scene, working this way as fast as I could. It still took a lot of time... and I was totally jazzed to see the finished work. Which turned out exactly as planned....

...until about halfway through when all my figures move quite intentionally out of frame. Just BAM. Out of frame.

I wasn't double-checking my work, you see. So I wasted about half my effort by plowing relentlessly ahead.

Actually no. I had to start over. From scratch. However, in setting everything up again, I hit on a better idea of what to do this next time around. And that lesson was not lost on me. My process is one of iteration and course correction even when it's on the fly. 

Sure, if I have to do something in one go, I can do it. My work kicks ass, though, when I take the opportunity to put more thought into what I'm doing before I do it, while I'm doing it, and afterward.

So.

If there's the time, I take it.

If there isn't the time, I put as much thought as possible into what I'm going to do. The 48 Hour Horror Film Project was like that. I had from early afternoon Saturday 'til around three or four the next afternoon to do the edit, sound design, music integration, color correction, and coordinating with the composer and then the writer and director.

The amount of time I had was never gonna change. 

But.

I did spend the entire week before that edit getting ready for it. 

The Real Road Adventures series was a bit the same way. We were using all new production and post production tech for these shows and spent weeks figuring out the details and setting up a process so editing would just flow once we were into the schedule.

Even my composing efforts were front loaded. The time I had to actually composed, record, arrange, and mix all the music for the series was also never gonna change... so I spent weeks beforehand logging all the virtual instruments, sounds, and sound effects I had at my disposal. I marked which were my favorites. I tagged each one according to what I imagined its use to be in the kind of series I was cutting.

That effort paid off, by the way. Whenever my brain started reaching for a different idea, those ideas were easy to manifest with sounds I already identified (ish) for such purpose.

Anyway.

At this point, I’ve got the YouTube process pretty well in hand (but for the ever expanding database that requires constant tending to). As for the question mark projects, well, there are clients and there are clients. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, even if they haven’t sent you the elements you need, you can conjure them. In my case, the missing elements in the script are things I can make a pretty decent educated guess at. Which is what I did. Based on my own research, I created animations that illustrate the sections of script in question.

So...

Am I good to go?

Of course not. I’m fishing for feedback from the client. A bit of direction.

I’m also strategizing a little with other undefined parts of the script that I’ll have a go at for similar reasons. To give the client something to see. Because that’s how it is with some clients. They have to have something they can see before they can start guiding you in the right direction.

Yeah.

The year’s starting with brain-teaser projects.

Not impossible. Not chaos. Not frustrating.

I’ve just...

Gotta think my way through.

[theseshipsshallsail]

There’s a new club in the Village - Infinity emblazoned in bright, neon letters - and naturally, the building is jam-packed with society’s outcasts on its opening weekend. Oliver grimaces, pressing his third beer to the side of his face, yet the condensation does nothing to soothe his overheated skin. It’s like a furnace of writhing bodies, and with every bead of sweat that bisects his neck to soak into his collar, he can’t help but wonder why he ever agreed to come in the first place.  

“Drink up,” Vanessa says, brandishing a bright amber concoction as she slides into the booth opposite him. “You look like you need something a little stronger.”  

Oliver raises an eyebrow as he returns the bottle to the table, then plucks the wedge of orange peel from the rim of the proffered glass. It’s been three years since he tasted a negroni, and the potent combination of gin, Campari, and vermouth sends his mind reeling in directions he usually fights tooth and nail to avoid. 

“Remind me again why you brought me here?” he asks, trying not to wince at the bitter aftertaste. “This isn’t exactly my scene.”

Vanessa scoffs. “Well, if you ever left your study...”

“I’m up for promotion!”

“You’ll be up for an ulcer if you don’t slow down. Besides, you deserve to let loose after... you know.”

You know, meaning his divorce, and the eighteen month shit-storm that preceded it.

Vanessa has the office next to his, and in between general grousing about University politics they’ve become close friends. It helps, of course, that she understands his situation all too well, and even though her parents never tried to strong-arm her to the altar, she and her girlfriend still have to hide their relationship from the rest of their colleagues.

Oliver sighs as he takes a second sip of his drink. “It’ll take more than a one night stand to loosen me up,” he tells her, and the filthy smirk that curls Vanessa’s lips has him tempted to bang his forehead against the table.

“Whatever tickles your pickle, Professor.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Hell if I know.” Slurring somewhat, she taps their cocktails together, and Oliver laughs as she leans forward, poking him in the chest. “Listen, Ollie, you and Micol did a spectacular job of making yourselves miserable, but at least you stayed faithful ‘til the end. Why not enjoy yourself, yeah?” 

“Why not indeed?” 

He’s aiming for sarcastic, yet his tone falls somewhere short of exhausted. She’s right, he realises, but Oliver hasn’t had much interest in men or women for a while. He’s not so deep in denial to admit his heart still belongs to another, and being hopelessly in love with someone he can’t have has done a real number on his libido.

“Damn! This place is heaving!” Simone says, slumping in her seat when she returns from the bathroom. Slinging an arm around Vanessa’s shoulder she drops a quick kiss to her cheek, and Oliver averts his eyes, the casual intimacy leaving him yearning for the impossible. “A few too many student-types for my liking, though. Makes me feel like I’m back in the theatre department.”

“Makes me feel like I’m pushing thirty,” Oliver mutters, painfully aware of the significantly younger crowd as he tugs at the cheap material of his shirt. Too many curries and not enough exercise has made him self-conscious of the few extra pounds at his waistline, and depressingly, twenty-eight feels ancient in comparison. 

“You wanna call it a night?” Vanessa asks, and Oliver nods absently as his gaze catches on a couple in the middle of the dancefloor. 

Caught in a world of their own, they make a striking picture. The taller of the pair is bleached-blond and athletic, his arms wrapped tightly around the slim waist of the man in front of him in a surprisingly protective gesture. Oliver can’t see his partner clearly from this angle, but his skin is pale and shimmering as they move to the beat, dark curls falling in a tousled mess. Whether it’s by artful design or sweat-damp from dancing, he can’t quite tell, yet Oliver is hypnotized by the way they bounce as he loses himself to the music, obscuring his vision until the other man reaches forward, gently brushing them away.  

The bass pounds in his rib cage, and Oliver’s throat feels constricted as he watches the brunette link his hands behind his lover's neck. Profile half in shadows, he raises up on tiptoes to whisper in the shell of his ear, and Oliver experiences a crisis of tenderness when he butts their temples together. Something squirms in his stomach. Something raw and envious. Memories flare, unfair and brutal, and he immediately blames the burning of his retinas on the relentless assault of the strobe lights surrounding them. 

“Oliver? You okay?”

No. 

Definitely not.

The jostling crowd causes the blond to alter their position, and Oliver’s head spins from more than just the alcohol as his blood runs cold in his veins. 

“Elio…” he murmurs, vaguely aware of Vanessa’s stifled gasp when she tries to get a better look.

“Your Elio?”

He wants it not to be - wants his eyes to be deceiving him - yet there’s no denying the truth. All that he’s forgotten - all that he’s clung to - coalesces in a rush of unslaked longing, and between one blink and the next, Oliver remembers everything. 

“Not anymore,” he whispers, but then, why would he be? 

Elio was seventeen when they first met, and Oliver isn’t naive enough to think he hasn’t fallen in and out of love many times since then. He’s beautiful, intelligent, talented beyond measure. Was he really so arrogant to imagine he would still be single? Pining for him, maybe? Saving himself? And for what? A six week romance one too-hot Italian summer? Something his cowardice cut short with a long-distance phone call?

He was, wasn’t he?

Arrogant. 

And so very stupid.

“Of all the gay bars in all the world…” Vanessa takes a swig of her piña colada as he continues to spiral. “I thought you said he lived in Italy?” 

“He did,” Oliver replies, picking at his thumbnail. “He moved here for school.”

“And you didn't contact him?”

“To say what?” His ears ring from the shrillness of her tone. “Hey, Elio. Remember that time I broke both our hearts ‘cause I’m a gutless schmuck? How about I buy you a coffee to make up for it?”

“It would’ve been a start.”

“It would’ve been selfish,” he says, tearing his eyes away. “He has enough on his plate with Juilliard. I’d only get in the  -”

“Juilliard?” Simone’s low whistle interrupts his self-reproach. “Impressive.”

“Son of a professor,” Oliver explains. “I always knew he was a genius.” He gathers himself with a quiet huff. “Though he’ll probably say he knows nothing.” The spark of nostalgia is crippling, and it takes everything he has not to break down on the spot. “I should go,” he says, draining the remains of his drink as he rises to his feet. 

“Oliver -”

“Why don’t you come back to ours?” Vanessa offers, making to follow, but whatever expression is on his face causes Simone to catch her by the wrist.

“We’re here if you need us, alright?”

“I know,” he says, eternally grateful for their support as he pushes some cab money into her hand. “Get home safe. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“You’d better,” Vanessa tells him, obstinate in her concern, yet all he can focus on right now is leaving.

The swirling thoughts inside his head are all-consuming, but Oliver is determined to reign in his emotions for a little while longer. Ignoring the way his shoes stick to the tacky vinyl flooring, he grits his teeth as he snakes his way through the crush of humanity. He needs space. Fresh air. Hell, a damn time machine wouldn’t go amiss. He has nobody to blame but himself, and he’s halfway to the exit sign when his pace grinds to a halt, his masochistic streak unable to resist one last glimpse. 

A flash of irrational panic makes him breathe in deep - hold it for a count of three - and when he turns to scan the roiling bodies that fill up the dance floor, he finds them immediately. The shock doesn’t lessen, and if Oliver thought his heart had broken when they’d clung to one another on a train station platform, it’s naught compared to when Elio tips the other man’s chin up with the same fingers that used to play his body like a finely tuned instrument. White noise fills his ears as he ghosts a kiss to his lips - two chaste pecks at first - and then harder. Hungry. Mouths open. Tongues swirling. Deep and dirty. 

Just the way he likes it.

Fool that he is, Oliver doesn’t turn away. But he’s not the only one. Their bawdy display has garnered a small audience of the jealous and horny, and when the cat-calls eventually die down he notices a clearly disappointed red-head stalk past them on route to her table of friends. 

Time has not domesticated him, it seems, and Oliver feels like crying as the world returns frame by frame - the oscillating pulse of the dance track. The lightning burst of colour from the laser system above. An innate sense of powerlessness floods through him - the depths of which he hasn’t experienced since Elio sobbed against his chest in an attic bedroom - and a heavy weight settles in his belly as he recognises the cues and rituals that were once directed at him alone. 

Elio has obviously flourished in his absence. His body language is looser, more relaxed, assured in a way his younger self could only dream of, and Oliver allows an almost-smile as the couple laugh for a moment before turning to walk away. 

His fingers itch for a cigarette - a habit he’s struggling to waive - and the next thing he knows he’s taking a seat at the bar, a double shot of bourbon in his hand he doesn’t remember ordering, and a screaming admonishment from his better judgement to not do anything stupid. 

All I had to do was find the courage to reach out and touch, Elio said once, rife with self-mockery, and Oliver’s advice was to try again later. Was this it? Their later? And if not now, when? Because whatever his feelings of bitterness - whatever his misguided envy - if he lets this opportunity pass him by, he will always wonder. Always look. 

In truth, he already does. 

Ever since Samuel mentioned Elio was moving to the States, he’s carried the idle fantasy of crossing paths in some random book store, eyes locking across a busy street, a name - his, theirs, both - shouted across a bustling coffee shop. Of all eventualities, though, he hasn’t prepared for an Elio who might not be happy to see him. Who might dismiss him. Cast him aside like some ill-fitting chapter in the editing process. The context is all wrong, and for it to happen like this is akin to being plunged into the icy waters of the berm.

“Accidenti!” an achingly familiar voice says from somewhere behind him. “Are all Americans incapable of taking a hint? Or is it just an East Coast thing?”

“It’s the accent, mio amico. Fries their brains.”

“Never mind their brains,” Elio replies in the same lazy drawl. “I think you’ve sprained my tonsils.”

There’s a snicker to his left, and like a moth to a flame, Oliver peers up into the mirror behind the bar, only to find his living nightmare mere meters away, sharing a cigarette. Elio’s still wearing the same bracelets he did that summer, and three years of sleepwalking collapses around him as Oliver hunches over, palms sweating. 

“Seriously though,” the blond continues. “Look at this place! Wall-to-wall entreés, and you won’t so much as skim the menu. You’re spoiled for choice, compagno.”

Elio scoffs as he brings the filter to his lips. “Didn’t I tell you choice is an illusion?”

“As is time, according to Adams.” The man slings an arm over his shoulders. “And here you are, free as a bird, wasting the perfect opportunity.” 

Elio flips him the middle finger. “Stronzo,” he says, leaving Oliver more confused than ever as he studies him over the rim of his glass. “It’s a curse.”

“Self-inflicted, maybe.”

“So what’s the answer? And don’t say forty-two.”

The guy chuckles. “Variety,” he says, signalling the harried bartender. “Things didn’t work out with the violinist - I get it. È la vita! You’re not in the mood for pushy red-heads? Fine. But don’t sell yourself short. Trust Fund Tina’s not the only one checking you out.”

“Perhaps.”

“What perhaps?” A knowing smirk shoots in Oliver’s direction. “See for yourself.”

It’s like experiencing the first tremor of an earthquake. Elio was always a force of nature, and bracing for disaster, Oliver feels the fault lines buckle beneath him. He thought he was done letting fear and shame dictate his life, yet even now, at peace with his true self, he can’t bear to witness the seismic shift between past and present. Instead, he falls back on avoidance, tearing strips off a frayed beer mat until the hair prickles at his nape.

He can feel it - the instant his fate is sealed - and taking a deep breath Oliver returns his eyes to the mirror, meeting Elio’s stunned features. Dark brows climb towards his hairline as the happiness on his face shifts into something else. Something measured. Unrecognisable. A blank slate, almost. For a moment, Oliver fears he’s going to ignore him completely, but then Elio straightens his spine, offers the half-smoked cigarette to his friend, and with a few whispered words strides forward with purpose.

His daring is a law unto himself, but the look he’s giving him now exudes superiority - omniscience, almost - as if he can read every thought that’s going on inside Oliver’s mind, and has already deemed them wanting. It shouldn’t be such a turn on, yet his heart skips a beat regardless. Then another. Every instinct in his body tells him to reach out, to hold Elio’s hand, tuck those wild curls behind his ear, but it’s no longer his place - if it ever really was to begin with - so Oliver takes a deliberate sip of his whiskey, scared and aroused simultaneously, before swivelling towards him.

“Oliver.” His name on Elio’s lips - three smooth syllables - and he feels reborn. “Long time no see.” Hesitating, he offers up a pack of Luckies. “Fumo?”

“I shouldn’t,” he says, dragging trembling fingers through his hair. “I told myself I’d quit. God knows it won't take much to -” 

“Tempt you?” 

Heat rises to Oliver’s cheeks. “Yes,” he admits, and Elio’s smile is a shallow, brittle thing. 

“Well, you know yourself,” he says, returning the cigarette carton to his pocket. “Don’t let me ruin your good intentions.”

His flippancy is like a red rag to a bull, and Oliver’s hackles rise as he sets his drink on the counter, irritated enough by Elio’s calm exterior to try and provoke a reaction. “Is your boyfriend not the jealous type?” 

All he receives is an eye roll. “Bruno’s not my boyfriend.”

“Could’ve fooled me. From what I saw earlier.”

“You saw nothing,” Elio replies, defensive. “We’re friends. Roommates.”

“Roommates?” Rising from his stool, Oliver takes a step towards him. “That kiss -” 

“Is none of your business. Not anymore.” 

It hits him like a punch to the gut. Oliver’s lips part, but no sound passes between them. He’s being irrational, he’ll accept, but old habits die hard, and through sheer force of will he quashes down his guilt, knowing better than to use it as a weapon. 

“Of course,” he says, chastened. “You’re right.” 

“I usually am.” 

“Elio…” This isn’t how he wants the conversation to go. “I know it’s too much to expect your forgiveness, but please don’t be angry with me. We were friends, once. Before anything else.”

“I’m not angry.” A beat. “Not anymore.” Tipping his chin, Elio folds his arms in front of him. One more barrier despite the brush-off. “I’m processing.“

“Processing?”

“Yes, processing. Originates from the Old French proces. Related to the Latin processus, and from the verb procedere in Middle English.”

“Wise ass.”

“Sempre.” Elio shrugs, watching him openly. “What are you doing here, Oliver?”

“My friends saw the flyers,” he says, bypassing the here, specifically, when Elio’s attention drops a few inches lower, and he realises he’s staring at his ring finger.

At the white line that’s all but vanished since he signed his way to freedom.

“You’re…”

Oliver clears his throat. “Divorced,” he manages, shuffling his feet. “Almost three months now.”

“Divorced?” Elio’s mask slams back into place, the distress in his voice palpable. “Why?”

And there are so many things he could say to that - the stress of his job, money, differing expectations - but this is Elio. His first love. His forever love. He, above anyone, deserves the truth. 

“I think you know why.”

“Do I?” That same phony indifference. “What the eyes see, and the ears hear, the mind believes.” 

“The truth is never that simple.”

“Not for us, it seems. Not in this world.” Elio gives his head a small but firm shake, blowing out a frustrated breath. “You know, tonight was supposed to lower my stress levels, not raise them,” he says, granting them a temporary reprieve. “But then, you always were hazardous to my blood pressure.”

“Trust me. The feeling’s mutual,” Oliver tells him wryly. “Might I recommend some deep breaths?”

“Deep breaths?” Elio rocks back on his heels. “If I had any peaches I’d be using my right hand.”

It catches him unawares, and Oliver can't help it. He snorts. Overcome by relief. Then he laughs - a weak sound, and damn near helpless - but a laugh, nonetheless. Cupping a palm to his mouth. Moving it to his eyes. Feeling the tears he’s been fighting since this whole debacle began.

“My God you’re incorrigible,” he mutters, the sharp stab of regret cutting him to the core as he glances over his shoulder, and the blond - Bruno - shoots him a wink. “When you said I saw nothing...”

The hesitant curve of Elio’s smile lights a fire in his chest. “There was a girl on the dance floor who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Lucky for me, Bruno’s never been shy about putting on a convincing performance.” 

Oliver winces. “Well, I bought it.”

“Mission accomplished, then.” Elio edges closer. “I could’ve said the same for you, once upon a time.” The air between them grows charged. “Do you ever miss it?” he asks. “Italy, I mean?”

“Every single day.” Oliver finds himself captivated by the smattering of stubble along Elio’s jawline. The touch of smudged kohl beneath his lashes that turns his gaze smouldering. “Do you?”

“In a way.”

“Just a way?” He’s not entirely certain they’re talking about the same thing, and Vanessa’s advice seems all the more pertinent. “Let me buy you a coffee?” Oliver asks, and Elio frowns.

“What? Now?”

“If you like.” 

“It’s gone midnight!” 

“Tomorrow, then. Whenever you’re available.” Suddenly desperate, he closes the gap between them. “I can’t excuse my actions, Elio - I know I can’t - but at the very least I owe you an explanation.”

“Oliver...” This time it’s Elio who reaches out, his usually steady hands uncertain as they entwine with his. “I was young, not stupid. What’s there to forgive? You left because you had to. You married because -”

“I was weak.”

“Cazatte!” The tension in Elio’s body snaps back like a coil. “My father would have carted me off to a correctional facility,” he murmurs, squeezing his fingers tightly. “I’ll never forget those words.” 

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be!” Elio sounds furious on his behalf. “Weak, you say? No. Control over others is the true weakness. Coercion. Conformity. All it does is breed hatred. And that’s not you. Not my Oliver.” 

“Am I still?” he asks, laying his cards out on the table. “Your Oliver?”

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” 

Oliver swallows thickly. “I guess we will,” he says, dropping his forehead to Elio’s crown.

He’s braver at twenty-one than Oliver could have dared imagine, and for the first time in years the dull ache beneath his ribs is replaced by a different sort of craving. The way they fit together so easily, like no time has passed, fans the banked passions within him - the desire to press his lips against Elio’s neck, to nip his way along countless freckles until he can fist those unruly curls and guide his mouth back to where it belongs. 

Flush against his. 

Devouring.

But not yet.

This isn’t leading to sex. Not tonight. This is about reconciliation. Reassurance. Redemption.

“There’s a late-night diner on the corner…”

It’s a whisper against his cheek - so quiet he barely hears it - and Oliver leans down, pressing his face to Elio’s collarbone, breathing him in. He knows this won’t be easy - knows there will be dark clouds before the dawn - yet here they are, older and wiser, and three years might as well be yesterday as the parting crowds provide a temporary island in which to weather the storm.

[pacific-rimbaud]

45 and narcissa x remus (recissa? black wolf? blupin?)

Drabble #45: “Tell me a secret.”

Asylum Seekers

by PacificRimbaud

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Narcissa Black Malfoy

Tags: Angst, infidelity, brief blood, suggestions of violence, swearing, mild sexual content (Rated M) 

On AO3

Fall, 1978

The line to fucking another man’s wife is neither a straight nor a moral one. Would it help if I told you that of the two of us, I might be the werewolf, but the monster, unequivocally, is him?

Fucking is the furthest thing from my mind when I see her for the first time since she left school—four, maybe five years before I did. Hollow-boned and apprehensive as a hedgerow bird, she sits with one white hand splayed open on the surface of the table and the other one in her lap, like she’s waiting for one of us to serve her.

Sirius rounds the corner from Andromeda’s kitchen carrying three fingers of Ogden’s, no ice, in a cut crystal glass and sets it down, slow and noiseless, as though she’ll bolt at the sound of the contact.

She picks up the glass with the hand she’s keeping out in the open, drains it, and does it again the moment Sirius refills it.

She smells like whiskey and blood.

Arms looped around her own waist, Andromeda leans in the door frame, Moody talking close at her ear.

The sisters are representative works by the same artist, in two different moods. Andromeda is taller and more substantial: dark, warm and still, a heavy-canopied forest in an abundant summer. Narcissa is hard daylight and the sharp, mythical line of a distant peak, white-capped in perennial snow.

Her eyes are her sole submission to softness; between hers and Andromeda’s, Narcissa’s are the warmer iteration of blue.

Moody mumbles, his face erased of everything but formless intensity, and Andromeda’s vision fixes on Narcissa’s pale, restless hand, the pads of her fingers lighting on the table again, preparing themselves to take flight.

Andromeda mutters, and then she moves, palming something from Moody and taking a seat beside her sister at the scrubbed dining table.

“They’d like you to take this." Her voice comes in at a crawling crescendo, pianissimo to mezzo-piano, then retreats.

She places a vial on the table: Veritaserum, in olive green glass with a tiny cork.

Narcissa pulls in a breath, filling her belly and then her chest, and then she bends away in violent submission toward the floor, her gut belatedly rejecting what I identify as several days of nothing but booze.

Ted arrives at her elbow before she’s finished, carrying a glass of water.

Two glasses, one wet cloth to her mouth, and a full minute later, and Narcissa tips the cork from the top of the vial with her thumb, and drinks it down.

“What do you want to know?”

Her voice is scraped and austere, wounded with whiskey and sick and some other interior, mechanical insult: crying, or screaming, or both.

“Tell the rest of us what you told your sister,” says Moody, turning a chair around at the table and straddling the seat.

Narcissa’s right hand rises from her lap.

For a moment I think she’s wearing an elbow-length glove, like she’s come from a formal ball.

But she’s dressed in nothing more than a thin satin slip, lace-edged, with narrow strings for straps, skating over her unrelenting leanness, either black or dark, dark green.

It's not a glove.

She’s slicked from her fingertips to the curve of her inner elbow with dried and drying blood, a lavish, painterly layer, thick and congealed. It’s an opaque garment of gore, covering everything but a row of four lines where her weakly pigmented skin shows through, like someone has grasped her arm, then drawn their fingers away.

I don’t understand why she looks at me. Between her sister, her cousin, her brother by a hated marriage, Moody and Alice Longbottom nipping at her thumbnail by the window, she settles her wide warm eyes on me.

I watch the tide rise inside her.

I watch it breach the barrier.

I watch her flood.

She closes her glazed fist loosely, fingertips touching her thumb, in the way you would make a compassionate cage of your fingers to carry an injured bird.

“I tried to help.”

*

She has a flat in Muggle London that her husband knows nothing about.

It’s small, purchased with her private money in another name. She only has two rooms and a bath, but she’s cleaned it with magic, repaired it, made it sharp and neat and softened it with pale fabrics, made it private, and made it her own.

“Why me?”

It’s the first thing I say, after I’ve come through the door, and just before she closes it behind me.

She doesn’t answer straight away. Instead she pours herself a gin from a cupboard in the galley kitchen, and asks me whether I’d like one. I would, but I tell her no, thank you, and she sits on her sofa, ankles crossed underneath her thighs, and tells me why I’m here.

“Because of the way that Sirius looks at you.”

“And how is that?”

There is so little in the way of the unintentional to her that it’s unnerving.

The tilt of her head isn’t a tick or a quirk. It’s a communication.

I could press the issue, but she and I would both understand the deflection.

Call it what you will in another language, in English there’s only one word for love.

For Sirius, and for me, I believe it’s enough.

“Why not him? Andromeda?”

She’s amused by me.

I can’t help but wonder what else she delights in.

Her hair falls over her shoulder, iced gold against the fabric of her white wool jumper, while I draw a plan of Malfoy Manor to her specifications.

The entry. Staircase. Ballroom. Drawing room. The room where she sleeps. The one Lucius keeps for himself.

Where Tom Riddle lays his head down on the nights he stays.

Where else he might be found.

I don’t push for more than she gives me.

When it’s time to go, I roll the diagram, shrink it down, and shove it into the bottom of my trouser pocket next to my wand.

“Thank you,” I say. “For your honesty.”

It makes her laugh.

*

The next time I meet her in her flat, it’s uncomfortably close to a full moon, and I half gag on the smells of two different men clinging to her body.

She’s washed with an intensely herbal soap, but underneath that is a tinge of nervous sweat, and every unctuous, enzymatic marker of sex.

We cover things the Order already knows, and that she knows we know, but we both understand the nature and necessity of what we’re doing.

It’s safer for her, I think, to start slow, without fully understanding why I would care.

“Good luck to you,” she says while my hand finds the doorknob.

She doesn’t bite her lip. There is never a twist to her mouth.

She’s practiced to rote. Her performance of herself is without error.

I turn halfway around.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

*

I spend the hours of my turning in a vast, borderless desert of physical suffering.

I map it with my own blood, and by the time I wake, it’s a void I can’t recall.

*

“Try this next time.”

She sets a pot of ointment that I can’t afford on the table in front of me.

I leave it behind when I go.

*

She keeps rare and beautiful wines that I refuse to drink.

When I arrive at night on a Wednesday, two months into our regular, irregular meetings, she’s so glassy with ethanol that I nearly leave.

I don’t think about what she wears at home.

When she’s here, she dresses down, in satin trousers and jumpers that fall away from her lustrous white shoulders.

I wonder if this is home.

The surface of her wine rolls and coats the interior of her glass as she lowers herself to sit.

My gut pings with anxiety at the unnecessary closeness, but then she leans away, and rests her head on the leather arm of the sofa while her knees fold against the back.

“I’m going to tell you about death,” she says.

I hear the wine on her breath, and lick my own lips.

I take names, where she recalls them. Where she doesn’t, I make ticks beside dates and locations.

She finishes a bottle, and opens another, her thin arms flexing with the turn of a Muggle bottle opener.

Does she feel safe here? With her magical signature tucked away with her wand? It’s folded between the pages of a day-old newspaper, on the table beside a wingback chair neither of us ever sits in. She never so much as glances in its direction.

Half the new bottle disappears inside her.

“He smells like blood when he comes to my bed.” Her performance falters. “Every time.”

I realize, too late, that the curtain has lowered, and that the house lights have come on.

I’m not prepared to see her this way.

“Which one?” I ask.

She smiles, her mouth a narrow bow.

“All of them.”

*

I walk home in the dark, staring at my hands.

I feel an urge, sharp and angular and immediate, that can I only explain as the opposite of sexual hunger.

What I want is for my palm against her flesh to cancel and negate every other hand that arrived there before it.

I would smooth my skin against every inch of her.

Outside, and in.

I’m not angry. I don’t know what I am.

I won’t touch her for the world.

I’m desperate for her to ask me to.

*

“I can’t be her handler anymore.” I can’t look at Moody when I say it.

*

A week later, Moody glares at me over the rim of a soup spoon. “She won’t speak to anyone else.”

*

I emerge from my next change three kilos lighter.

I couldn’t afford one of them.

In the mirror in the bath, I run my fingertips through the bloody trenches of my ribs.

*

“Oh,” I say, dumbly. “You’ve cooked.”

I haven’t seen her since her last drop a month ago, and I’m grateful for the smell of garlic and onions, seeped into everything and overwhelming whatever secrets her body keeps failing to keep from me.

Standing at the Muggle range, she holds a spoon out over her cupped palm.

It’s more shocking than anything she’s ever done.

I open my mouth, and think, briefly, about the weight of a pomegranate seed.

My mouth blooms.

*

I don’t know what I need. I look for it inside the cunts of the women I meet in the discos of Muggle London.

They’re sweet, and warm, and smell like cocaine and strong perfume and laboratory hormones, and they feel fine.

They feel fine.

Sometimes when I’m inside them, I think about white-blonde hair and narrow hips.

I think about the time I saw her wearing a single red glove, ending at the inside of her elbow. 

When I’m looking for what I need inside of other women, I think about her.

I’m looking for her.

*

“You’re moving too fucking much,” says Moody, never once looking up from his parchment. “Go out.”

He doesn’t make suggestions.

So I go.

The gleaming street reeks of urban petrichor, and the steady incursion of moisture tells me about a new hole in the right side of my left boot.

I’m waxing gibbous inside, something I’ve never tried to explain, but it encompasses something like an unreachable itch, and an ache in the marrow, and a skin-crawling restlessness that I’ve tried exorcising through bone-jarring movement and gallons of liquor, by screaming in train yards and flattening the cilia inside my ears with catastrophic decibels of music, through aggressive sex that turns me into someone I no longer know.

I dance, curled into the form of a brunette with silver eye shadow and no knickers under her shining nylon dress.

I’m stretching my own skin, ready to hurry up the inevitability of what I can already smell between us, when I see her.

She’s wearing a tight silver dress and a glamour that would fool nine out of ten wizards.

Dark hair, dark lips, dark eyes. She’s left her breasts unchanged. Left the unpadded divots of her ribs beneath her constricting dress. Left the perfect lines of her long, long legs.

I follow her out when she goes, and at the mouth of an alleyway I stop five paces behind her, and call out her name.

*

She’s already pulling at the frame of my belt buckle, but she does ask.

When I fuck her for the first time, against a brick wall behind a bin full of wet newspaper, she’s wearing a face that doesn’t belong to her.

I smooth my hands up her thighs.

I slide my fingers through the pulse of damp between her legs.

I erase anything she needs me to.

*

“Was it—”

I’m barely through the door.

An hour later, I wonder if I’ve ever been naked next to a woman.

I have.

I never have.

She lets me in again.

And then again.

Then again.

“Don’t come here if you smell like another man.”

I say it while I’m inside.

She takes shallow, open-mouthed breaths.

“That’s not fair.”

“I know. But I don’t care.”

I extract promises she can’t keep from her flesh while it quivers below mine.

*

While my bones construct a wolf from the materials of a man, I leave my body behind me, howling in a voice that isn’t mine.

I find my way into a dream about the scent of her hair, soaked through with both of our sweat.

* 

“Tell me a secret.” Her open mouth lands against the skin of my belly and then slides closed, a gorging, formless kiss. She skirts my aching cock with a generous deliberation. “I’ve told you all of mine.”

“Not all of them,” I say.

I’m panting like a dog, sweating through sheets we ruined three hours ago.

She looks up at me, hair draped over one warm blue eye, the perfect proportions of her mouth still sliding beside my cock, her legs wrapped around my calf, her knickers slipping against my thigh.

*

I wrap her secrets in a bow, and pass them along to those who can use them.

I keep my hands buried in her hair.

I keep her secrets for myself.

[tinderboxofsillyideas]

ARTISTS! COMIC DUBBERS! ATTENTION, PLEASE!

I have a story for y'all and this story is not so bright and beautiful. I thought I would not talk about it in public, but I can't leave the situation like this, because it's important. I just have to do that, because I don't want people get in the same situation.

I will talk about you @undertalecomictv​. No offence.

One year ago I get a message from David - owner of "Undertale Comic TV” and "Sans Comic TV" on YouTube. He asked me about promotion and using my videos (animations and memes) on his channels. I had a terrible headache at that day and this offer was a little bit strange to me. I asked to clarify how it supposed to work and for some reasons I said "yes" at the end. That was a dumb decision, because I didn't realize what I'll get and why I even said yes. But I don't have any regrets, because I can say a lot of things now. This how our first dialogue looked like:

I have to mention – we DID NOT talk about comic dubs as well, I just made a suggestion like "It will be cool to see comic dubs from you in the future, but that's just a thoughts". We did not talk about any agreement, I just said it and that's all. After half of the year, I got a message with dub of one of my Kustard comics. I was happy to see it, because this dub was very cool and this was the first time when somebody made a dub for me. I was too happy and did not see what I missed. I just… enjoyed. They leaved a links on me in the description and in the video too, so that was totally fine and I shared this dub with my followers in both communities – foreign and Russian.

All was good, I got a couple of more dubs, and I loved them really much, but in one day I saw something what made me feel like "???".  I saw a video on SCTV with a frame from my animation (Bloom meme). It was used as a thumbnail, with erased reply from echo flowers. This video contained comic of my friend @nsfwgarbagedump​

The most important – there was a several pages what me and @hakkids has colored. In this video was no credits in description. Only nicknames of Crude and me (Hakki was not even included but we worked together on coloring and we're still making colors for the rest of the pages). I was confused, because frame from animation was cropped out of my video (I did not post this pic anywhere, I remember that). When I gave a permission to use my videos I did not think they will be used in this way. That's just not nice.

I saw a part two and there was my art again, but none of my content in the video. There was rest of b&w pages and I can't understand why my art was used for the thumbnail if there's none of my stuff in the video. They could use one of the pages or frames from comic for a thumbnail, but they used my stuff because it looks good? That's a clickbait, you know?

Crude had a conversation with them and after that they deleted their comic, both of the parts. I was sad about the fact they did not leave the credits on us like LINKS, because some of the people having a problems with searching artists, and that would be better to leave the links, not only nicknames:

I was too disappointed and had a thought about ask them to stop making dubs on my stuff. I messaged them with this offer, even if I loved their dubs before – there was no way out. I got an answer like this:

After that, I was confused a bit more. They made a dub of our modified Kustard before in one of the compilations. I was happy to see that at first, but Hakki told me one thing, which turned all the tables. They messed up with voices and some specific details, includes the fact they DID NOT asked about permission from Hakki about using Ras (modified Red) in the dubs. Yes, those comics was made by me, but Ras belongs to Hakki and I got a permission to use him in my stories, because hell – we are friends, so we allowed to use our boys in our comics.

If somebody giving you a permission to make comic dubs (but they did not get a permission from me on this either if we look at the situation a bit closer) you have to ask again before using Fan-Characters/Original Characters in dubs. They can have some specific differences and it's always better to ask. Much better to send SAMPLES too, because some people can be picky. If you don't want to make all those "difficult" stuff – just do not touch FC's and OC's. And ask ALL the artists if you want to make dubs with two (or more) characters which belongs to different people. The first one can say "yes, sure!" and the second one can be against it. Respect people! Ask them about their characters!

I asked to delete all the videos with our modified Kustard (or at least cut out the fragments with them), and when I told this was not only my desire, I got a message which made me super confused and angry at the same time. I got an excuse like "we worked so hard, give our permission to keep your videos". I was triggered about it, because I'm already told about the reasons why I asked to delete those videos.

I told about that again and said about I worked hard too, because that's true. Artists spend a lot of time when they working on one picture, so that's no need to talk about making comics or animations. So I had to ask to delete the modified Kustard, OR I'll ask to delete ALL my stuff from the channels. If they'll refuse – I'll strike them down. You can see my full answer below:

And who knows what I will get on my simple ask to delete only modifications…

I don't know, maybe I'm cruel piece of garbage or what, but I HATE when people use excuses like family and stuff. That's super lame and I can explain why I think in that way. You know, all of us have families, somebody has children too but people didn't use this fact as an excuse to make shit and break the rules. If you have a sweetheart and babies – how can you use them like this? It looks like you're only worrying about yourself, and did not want to pay attention to feeling of the artists which works you're using in dubs. I can understand all those things, because I have a family too, just like other artists do. I even have some ill people in my family and we have to pay big amounts to help them, plus bills, buying food, etc. BUT! I DID NOT use all this stuff for this kind of situations! I just continue to work and that's all!

That's the same situation like ask the artist to make you an art for free because you're poor little creature and you have no money to pay for your bills, clothes, etc. NOBODY have to work for free and nobody have to break the low to get something what they want! That's an awful shit, don't do that!

About monetization, huh? You know I don't like liars, I disrespect them, but I disrespect the greedy ones liars even more. My videos was monetized on those channels and NOBODY WARNED ME ABOUT THAT. I just got an excuse like "I asked some artists in the past and they was okay with monetization". Well duh? If one person said "yes" that doesn't mean you can just being a sly shit and don't ask people about monetization their content ever again. You HAVE TO ask artists about that! Somebody can be against it! This content is NOT YOURS, so that's terrible to make moneys on works of artists who probably get NOTHING for their works. Nothing but love and appreciation, and sometimes they even doesn't have this too. And that's sad.

I can understand you have to pay dubbers for their voices and work, David, but you had to ask about monetization anyway. That's just not cool. I don't know about people in your crew and I don't know are they even know about that, but I'm really disappointed. I can say thanks to Jordan Woollen for his voice. Btw – he's good in voice acting and I can be grateful to him for those minutes of happiness. I don’t think that is his fault.

If keeping of these channels is too hard for you – maybe you should find something what will fits you more? Something where you will not need to lie to people or making something like this. I dunno, maybe you can be a better person? Or you just like to make people feel bad or thinks about they're cruel with you… Who knows? You told my stuff has been deleted from your channels, but you didn't. Some of the videos are hidden, and I can see that because I have links. So why are you lying to me again? Just delete them, I'll not allow to bring them back. Because I can't trust you now.

Limited is not the same thing as deleted, my friend.

That was heartbreaking. I LOVED those dubs with all my soul and I couldn't even imagine all will end like this. I just disappointed and this story was broke me on a couple of days. But after I recovered myself, I decided to make this post. I just can't hold it in my soul anymore…

If I got a true apology with something like "yes, I understand how hard to be an artist and how much strength you spent to make arts and comics, so I'm sorry. It was my mistake that I did not tell you" maybe I could allow you to continue to make dubs. But you started to feed me with excuses about how hard that was for you. You totally forgot about my feelings. I don't have any hate to you, David. And I don't call people to hate you for what you've done. I just told them my story. Maybe you lied some of them as you done with me, and now they will decide what to do by themselves. But think about it and stop acting like this to people. Please.

Dear voice actors, I begging you – please, ask permissions before making dubs, talk with artists about all the issues. Ask them about monetization, about their characters, credits, etc. Please, respect their feelings and make a good things! I love dubs and I'm always want to support good dubbers, so don't play with feelings of people. We're doing are best to make a cool stories which you could dub. And some of us ready to pay you for this. Because you’re bring some good vibes with your dubs when you making them with love and desire.

Dear artists – be careful with some kind of offers. Talk with dubbers and ask them about everything. Do not be shy to make it, and if you don't like something – tell them about it before it's too late. Don't be such a softie like I was.

Guys, do not be a dicks, respect each other and try to become better on the next year. Artists, comic dubbers – y'all great while you respect the work of each other. We all have hard work, so be good people and don't lie to anybody. Thank you for your attention, Marry Chrysler and happy holidays!

[3pirouette]

Fic: She Wanted (1/1)

Title: She Wanted By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Spoilers: CA: TFA Disclaimer: They're not mine. Word Count: 3100 Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: Peggy wants to eat Skinny Steve alive.

Chapter A/N: Written for Steggy bingo Bash Prompt “Oral Sex” This is explicit and graphic. No fade to black stuff here. Strictly for adults. If you are not an adult, I highly suggest you skip this particular piece of fiction. ADULTS ONLY. Also, if you are not an adult who enjoys explicit sex acts, please ALSO skip this.

This is filthy. And also the prompt comes back around, I promise, it just takes a while. I’m sorry… or you’re welcome. I’m not sure which applies.

~*~ There were two things Peggy had heard about herself floating around Camp Lehigh.

The first was that she was a prude. Regarding this, she never felt the need to correct people, and it had never come up in her presence, so she didn’t pay that one much mind.

The second was that her particular shade of red lipstick would look beautiful with her lips wrapped around the base of a soldier’s cock, gagging it down. Now this, Peggy couldn’t much argue with. She did, in part, pick her particular color because she thought it made her lips look sinfully good. It made her feel desirable and powerful in a way that had nothing to do with the men around her and everything to do with how she felt when she wore it. If the red did just happen to turn heads, that was a positive side effect. The part about gagging down cocks she could take or leave.

Oral sex never held much of a draw for her. Her experiences, giving and receiving, had been largely underwhelming when compared with actual sex and hand jobs. She thought many of the solders would be scandalized to learn that Agent Peggy Carter, strait-laced Marge, had not only slept with her fiancé before they’d been engaged, but had been quite the experimental teenager.

She’d overheard a comment or two here and there, seen the men adjust themselves as she walked by, but it never fazed her. She was here for a job, a reason, and the meatheads she trained weren’t worth her time or energy.

They could imagine her gagging on their cocks all they liked, it didn’t mean their little fantasy would ever become a reality.

The soldiers at the camp never held her interest. She could appreciate a well sculpted body and wonder what they looked like under their uniform, or imagine how strong arms might hold her up against the brick wall out behind the mess, but her own fantasies were just that: fantasies, and they often vanished once she managed to actually have a conversation with the man in question. If they could jerk off to her lips in the showers, she could damn well slip her fingers between her legs and think about them fucking her from behind under cover of the munitions building.

She had needs, and getting them met in wartime often meant she handled things herself. It was quick and efficient, and had the lovely attached perk of not getting her in trouble for fraternization. If a private starred in a fantasy here and there, it made no difference.

Until Steve Rogers.

Until she found herself eager to get back to her bunk every night just so she could let her imagination run wild as she slipped her fingers into her slick heat.

The first time his face popped up in her mind she was surprised. So surprised, in fact, that she slowed her fingers to a stop, biting her lip and wondering where that had come from. All she could think of was his smile: his charming little smile, and without her notice her fingers began moving again, sliding against her lips and clit, teasing as she thought about his impossibly blue eyes and the way he smiled.

She came, hard, and spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, wondering what had happened.

The next night she tried to fit him into her favorite fantasy: a clandestine meeting behind the munitions building, soft touches of the hands before he pushed her up against the brick wall, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She tried to imagine him lifting her from her feet, and dissolved into a pool of giggles, thinking that she’d break the poor boy in half if she tried that with him. He was sweet and adorable, and his intense gaze made her nipples hard when he looked at her, but Peggy knew that he wasn’t strong enough to hoist her up anywhere, at any time.

The next day she tried not to think of those thoughts as she ran the group of men through calisthenics, but she couldn’t help take a peek at his ass when she walked behind them, couldn’t help but look at the crotch of his trousers as he stood at attention.

She wanted to make his cock stand at attention.

The thought hit her from left field and left her clit throbbing. She crossed her legs, hoping to relieve the painful tingle as blood rushed south, her mind conjuring up visions of what might lay under his baggy pants as she cued them to the next exercise.

Was it thick and short, like Fred’s had been?

Long and thin, like her high school boyfriend?

She’d had a one-night stand with a chap just before she’d met Fred, and his cock curved, long and thick and heavy in her hand.

Peggy couldn’t help but lick her lips, her mouth suddenly dry as her brain wondered if he was circumcised, and how he’d feel in her hand as she pumped him to completion across her chest.

They were on their backs now, Steve trying and failing horribly to complete sit ups. She imagined stepping over, sitting across his hips, and grinding on him like a teenager. She thanked god for the thick army issue clothes as she felt her panties soak through at the thought of taking him, then and there. Sinking down on his dick, long but thin she’d decided, rocking back and forth with her hands on his chest, rubbing herself on him, his dick inside her, his little breathy moans under her.

The whole garrison watching.

Those damn meatheads who joked about her being a prude being shown they were wrong, the ones who wanted her to choke on their dicks jealous that she picked Steve. That she chose Steve.

The image left her breathless, and wanting. It didn’t help that all she could hear were Steve’s little grunts as they flipped and moved on to push-ups. His breathless sounds were exactly how she imagined he’d sound under her.

Peggy wanted to make him breathless. She wanted to make him moan. She wanted to take his cock in her mouth and leave a ring of a red lipstick in the curls at the base.

From then on, he was her favorite nighttime subject.

Her usual fantasies had to be thrown out the window. He couldn’t lift her, couldn’t hold her down with his weight. But she did like to imagine him being forceful: ordering her to slide off her panties from under her uniform and sliding his thin, beautiful fingers up inside her. She liked to imagine him taking her in missionary, something she rarely fantasized about, because she liked the idea of wrapping herself around him, of feeling his whole body pressed up against hers and his full body weight pressing down on her when he’s finished. She imagined he undresses her slow, takes his time. She imagined he would take her with his mouth, slowly and carefully, raking his fingers over her thighs and through her curls, nipping and biting and finding out what she liked before covering every inch with his tongue. Swirling and sucking, his big, blue eyes looking up at her as she played with her own nipples, a slim finger, then two entering her, curling up, pumping in and out, his inquisitive mind trying things and learning quick until she was panting under him.

That was her favorite fantasy.

Her brain told her that he’d be shy about his body, his thin frame and his hip bones sticking out.

It made her want to lick every inch of him all the more.

The day he got the flag down was the day she decided she’ll have him, one way or another. The way he smiled at her from the back of the jeep sent shivers down her spine and to her clit. She rode back with her legs crossed, cursing and loving each and every bump in the road.

When she saw him dive on the grenade, intent on saving them all, selfless and sure, she was done for. She came hard that night, biting her pillow to keep from screaming his name as her fingers worked her sensitive flesh furiously.

She knew Phillips was against picking him, and that worked well for her plans. If he was discharged, she could ask him out. She could take him back to the little apartment off base that some of the girls shared to get some time away, she could lick him from ear to ankle and ride him until he came on the threadbare sofa. When they discharged him, she could have her way with that man and his gorgeous little smirks, his can-do attitude, and his persistence.

Then they picked him.

She barely had three days before he would be undergoing the procedure.

Erskine had, very clearly, told everyone involved that there was a chance of death, and yet they’d all signed up.

He’d signed up.

She lay in bed the night they chose him, hand sitting between her legs but unmoving. She felt no joy thinking that he might have only days to live. That she’d never be able to kiss the cocky smile off his lips or slip her hands in his pants to cup his balls and hear him squeak and moan in surprise pleasure.

She took her hand from her panties and brought her thumbnail to her teeth, worrying it as she stared at the ceiling.

A fitful sleep, and a long day of planning for the procedure, left her frustrated and tired the next night. She knew if she could get off she’d feel better, sleep better, but the worry was still there. She worried that her Steve, somewhere along the way she’d come to think of him as her Steve, would be hurt or lost in the experiment.

She closed her eyes and slipped her hand under the blanket, letting her fingers rest there, her other hand drifting over her breast. She tried to call up all sorts of fantasies, with and without Steve, but none of them worked. She tried one last time, taking a deep breath and letting the fantasy haze over her.

She shows up in his barracks in her robe and nothing else. He is the only one there. She gets on her knees and starts to unbuckle his belt, followed by his pants. He stutters, telling her she doesn’t have to, that he can’t ask her to do that. She smiles, bright red lipstick fresh on her lips, and cups him through the fabric. He moans and his objections are lost. She slides his pants down skinny legs. The thin, blonde hair is sparse, and she runs her nails through it, making him shiver. He’s throbbing, more than half hard. She stands, taking his shirt off and tossing it aside. She licks her lips before sucking a tiny, pink nipple in her mouth, her hand going to his cock as she feels it bobbing against her thigh. She pumps over him gently, slipping his nipple through her teeth before taking the other, her strokes getting more insistent. She kneels, and in one motion takes him in her mouth. She moves back and forth, one hand at his base, the other gently cradling his balls, and he moans. She makes him breathless as she swirls her tongue over the head, tickling that spot just under the tip that she knows is so, so sensitive before taking him as deep as she can go again. Over and over she repeats it, keeping a slow and steady pace. She starts to squeeze him at the base tighter, her hands more insistent as she moves quicker, sucking harder, letting her tongue press against him from base to tip over and over again, finally sucking at just the head until he grabs her shoulders, a stuttered warning coming from the back of his throat just before he comes, spilling his warmth in her mouth and down the back of her throat, over her chin and trickling down to her chest as she lets him fall from her lips.

Peggy came hard, her walls spasming against her fingers, her hand tight on the mound of her breast as she tried to keep from crying out, teeth biting herd into her lip.

She tried to force her ragged breathing to slow. She was shaking, and knew this would not help her sleeping problem.

She wanted to get up and go right then, her heart pounding in her chest and the adrenaline in her system made her brave. She wanted to undress him and let her red nails roll over his ribs, each and every skinny, exposed rib. She wanted to kiss his hip bones and press him back into bed. She wanted to see his face when she sat over him, naked. She wanted to know what it felt like for those fingers to pinch at her nipples, what it would feel like for him to pull and twist and suck on them as she rode him hard. She wanted to know if the sounds he made in basic, the grunts and moans and sighs, are the same sounds he’d make if she took him in her mouth and in her pussy.

Before she could lose her nerve she got up, wiping her fingers on her slip and throwing on the uniform she’d laid out for tomorrow. She pulled her pins out in a hurry and only bothered with eye liner and the red lipstick. Her boots took so long to tie she nearly changed her mind.

She was moving before she could stop herself, and found herself at his barracks, now alone that he’s been picked for the project, far quicker than she imagined.

She stood, staring at the door, fists clenching and unclenching, when the door opened.

Steve startled when he saw her there. “Agent Carter?”

She set her shoulders, determined and far calmer than she felt inside. “May I come in?”

He opened the door wide, even though it was late and dark and if they were caught it could be curtains for both of them. He was far too polite to tell a superior office she couldn’t join him. She could see by the way he squared his shoulders he expects her visit will be about the project, something serious.

Well, this was serious, but in a far different way.

“How can I help you?” He asked in his trousers, undershirt, and stocking feet. His bed was mussed, like he’d just been in and hopped out.

“I’m here on… on a private matter,” she said softly. Peggy licked her lips out of nervousness and couldn’t help but feel a thrill when his eyes dipped down at them.

“Oh?” he asked gently, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yes,” she continued, trying to smile. “Quite unofficial, actually.” She turned away from him, hands fidgeting as she paced. She found she was much more nervous now with his bright blue eyes boring into her. “So unofficial that it could get me sacked, really.”

Steve tipped his head in confusion. “Agent—”

“Peggy, please,’ she corrected him, turning to look in his eyes. “I quite like you,” she blurted out.

His eyes grew wide, his shoulders pulling back in surprise. “You?”

“Yes. Is that so unbelievable?”

“Well, I mean a dame, no a girl- a woman like yourself,” he corrected himself, stuttering over and over again, and she felt a buzzing between her legs as a blush crept up his cheeks. “I’m just…”

“You’re just kind of wonderful, I think,” she filled in, moving closer. “And I needed you to know that before all of this continues.”

He smiled at her, radient. “That’s... I… I’m sweet on you, too.”

His confession warmed her from the inside out, emboldened her. “Then, perhaps, you’ll indulge me?”

He chuckled, and she thought maybe this was the most endearing she’d ever seen him. “I’m inclined to do anything you want right now,” he answered, somehow making it both flirty and a little self-deprecating.

“Oh, don’t say that yet,” she warned in a low, soft voice.

“Is this the part that could get you sacked?”

She smiled. “If we do it right.”

~*~

She spent that night in his bed, learning that he was respectably both average and thick, heavy in her hand but he prefers her mouth and she was happy to indulge. When he slipped inside her he felt like heaven and having his full body weight on hers when he finished felt like the best thing she’s ever known. He was unpracticed, and they fumbled more often than not, but when she came to him the second night things flowed smoother. He licked at her nipples like a dying man scouring the dessert for water, making her writhe under him. His eyes grew wide as saucers, watching her breasts bounce in the moonlight over him as she rode him. He watched her orgasm twice under his fingers, learning quickly where and how she liked to be touched.

She was shaking, from the thrill and the fear, as she left him that next morning to get changed, only to meet him at the front gate, ready to escort him to Howard’s laboratory.

Her heart pounded as she watched him in the pod, as she listened to him scream in a way she’s never heard and hopes to never hear again.

When he stepped out, she couldn’t help herself. She needed to touch him, needed to feel him under her fingers, needed to know he was alive and still the skinny, adorable man she’d fallen in love with.

She remembered herself, her station, and their location, before she managed to make a total fool of herself.

Her heart pounded in a different way now. His fingers were still long and thin but stronger and thicker, his chest was so broad she could curl up on it and stay there for days. His thighs and legs, his arms, every piece of him was stronger and larger and she felt conflicted as all of the blood in her brain started to rush south. She was already mourning the loss of his thin touch, the exposed ribs, the bumps of his spine under her fingers.

But she looked him over again, and knew that her fantasy about getting lifted in his arms and taken hard and fast against the brick wall behind the munitions tent was absolutely a real possibility now.

[chiscribbs]

I love the way you sketch out your ideas. I really want to do stuff like that myself, but I usually just end up writing things out because it’s faster. Most of the time when I try to doodle my ideas I just make rough sketches that I never finish because it feels like too much work. It’s very frustrating. >_

Haha! Everybody has their own preferred method of brainstorming.

Honestly, I’m trying to train myself to write my ideas down first, because I don’t always have the time or ability to sketch everything that I’m thinking. And unlike with writing, I can only sketch a single frozen frame at a time. Which is annoying, because the vision in my brain is always so much more animated and detailed.

Which is why I’ve recently started creating short scripts for scenes that I come up with, and also sketching extremely rough, simple thumbnails just to get the basic lay-out of the scene down.

However - sketching a scene does allow me to remember specific expressions, poses, and oftentimes phrases, pretty vividly!

So if you want to adopt that style of brainstorming, here’s a few tips I can offer:

Don’t try to make a detailed sketch right off the bat. Instead, focus on getting the bare-bones of each scene/image roughly laid out first.  Then, go in and add details to each one as you see fit. This will help to prevent running out of space on your canvas. And also, you may decide to change or replace one of the images at some point, and believe it me it’s much easier and less painful to erase/delete a rough version than a nice, detailed version that you spent a good half hour on.

If you can, use color-coding. I like to assign a certain color to each character, so I know who goes where. Or, if the characters are divided by teams/kingdoms/alliances of some kind, use the colors to help differentiate them by that. **I would highly advise you steer clear of dark or vibrant colors when sketching. You can always go back over with a dark color later, but sketches should be kept as light and loose as possible to start. My go-to’s are usually light blues/greens/purples or the occasional soft red/pink for contrast. (Avoid yellows and oranges!!)

Embrace the folder function. This is specifically for digital art. If the program you’re using allows grouping (whether it’s by folders or another similar feature,) use it. And use it generously. I like to create a folder for the entire page, then smaller folders within that folder for every individual sketch. This makes editing a lot easier. I also like to create a separate layer for every character/group, so that there’s no awkward overlapping of colors or lines.

If you want the sketch to include dialogue, LEAVE SPACE FOR IT. Always plan where you want the words to go and make sure there’s plenty of room to spare. The last thing you want is for the writing to be squeezed awkwardly into a corner or to have to erase part of your drawing just to get all of it to fit. (I’ve done both. xD) The dialogue is just as important as the picture, so treat it as though it were part of the sketch, don’t just make it an after-thought.  Finally -

Focus on what you want to remember the most/what you want the audience to notice the most. Basically, this is what the entire process boils down to; putting the idea in your brain down on paper(or digital canvas) so that you can hold onto it. So ask yourself, first an foremost, what the camera in your brain is accentuating in this scene: Is there a certain pose/expression/action that a character is doing that you really want to remember? Focus on getting that down first. Or is there a certain detail, like a prop or piece of clothing, that you have a specific image of? Make that the focal point. Do you have a particular perspective in mind for this scene? Get that mapped out! Whatever stands out in your brain should stand out on paper too - everything else is just there to help bring the eye to it, so try not to worry too much about making the rest of the image as detailed or compelling as the main focus(in fact, doing this can sometimes distract from the focal point if you’re not careful, so I’d say the simpler the better.)

Sorry that went on a little long, lol. For the record: these are all experience-based, not professional advice. So take everything with a grain of salt, try it out, and see what works for you and what maybe needs to be adjusted to better suit your style. ❤

[miloloveswrestling]

How to gif ~

(a very partial tutorial)

Hey everyone, I’m Milo, fandom contributor since 1887. It had been brought to my attention that some of you might want to learn how to do gifs so I’m here to share the knowledge. Of course it’s only how I do gifs, and it’s not the only way, probably not the simplest way but heh, it’s mine.

First of all: you need to choose the couple of seconds you want as a gif. Seriously, it’s half the work. Think about how your gif will loop, what the first image (and thumbnail) will be and most importantly: work with your platform of choice’s limitations. 1 gif at a time on twitter, 440×220 min, 10 gifs on tumblr, 500px wide, 5Mo, etc.

Material:

Giffing Tool: a powerful tool, free of use but if you have a couple bucks to spare, it’s Pay What You Want.  

Photoshop: The portable CS4 version by Majax31 exists. It’s old but it  does a tremendous job, also, it’s light, ready to use and easy to find.  It’s still not legal though. I happen to use Photoshop CS4.  

Let’s say you want to gif a close-up of some Pro Wrestling Noah boys like any other sane person. Well, excellent choice!

Pause your vid a couple of seconds before the right moment, open Giffing Tool. GT works as a way to record your screen.

New > Hold your click to select the zone

Play your vid, don’t move anything. It looks like nothing is happening but GT is recording. When the scene you want is finished, tap esc and GT will compile your gif, give it a bit of time. The closer you are from the actual size you want, the less time it will take.

In GT’s window, you select the length of your gif a bit better (1), click the size to avoid losing quality in an unwanted resize (2) and save it with the appropriate icon (3, shortcut is S). Step 2 is super important, you need the actual size to be the same as the size your gif will get out. If GT change the size, you will lose quality.

Saving with GT takes time, you can continue to use your computer normally while it does, be patient.

If you bought the full version of Giffing Tool, you can decide to resize your gif here and be done with it! But if you didn’t GT will add a banner you might want to cut with Photoshop or of course you might want to play with colors, size and decide on all the frames you want or don’t want, to the next level with you!

So yeah, now’s the time to edit your gif in photoshop! Hooray! After a lot of trials and error, I found some secrets to make this work. First open Photoshop then it goes like this:

File > Importation (down there) > Video frames to layers

I don’t know about the newer versions of Photoshop but you’ll need to write the name of your gif (with the extension) in the File Name to find it, it will not appear otherwise. Write it when you’re already in the right folder. By the way I remember now that you need Quicktime for this to work but it’s a pretty basic log so I guess this shouldn’t be a problem. Anyway, import it even if it does not appear (as long as you have the name of the file right, it will work): [Mark frame animation] must be checked in the next window and we’re good!

Now comes some work with Photoshop. Before you get started, you’ll need to get the animation window (Window > Animation). You only have to get it once, it stays in your setup for later uses. In that window you can check your gif frame by frame, delete duplicates (fair warning though, deleting too many duplicates will make your gif lighter but also will alter its rhythm, again, trials and errors, test everything!), decide on how fast you want your gif,

Another warning: what you change on the first image of your gif will apply to all the frames. If you wants to change only one, select the one and the layer associated with it. If you wanna change only the first, duplicate it (first icon in 2).

1/ You must use that tool to select the part of the image you’ll need. If you didn’t pay for Giffing Tool, you can use that tool to cut the banner they add. Once your image is selected, use Crop (here Recadrer). With Image Size (here Taille de l’image) you can resize your image depending of your platform’s limitations (on tumblr 500px wide).

2/ The animation window as I already said is super useful, you can delete, duplicate, move around frames.

3/ Don’t get there too fast but this is where you can edit colors and light. Experimentation is key here. Only one thing I can add: remember to select the first frame in the animation window if you want your edit on all frames. BUT put your edit on an empty layer on top of all the other layers in the layer window. If you know nothing about photoshop, a word on layers: here Layer/Calque 1 is hidden, you can make it visible by clicking the empty square next to the preview. If you do that then do the same on Layer 2, layer 2 will hide layer 1. The layer on top is always the one showing first. You can also erase some parts of a layer to show the one under it. Everything is possible in photoshop! Add a frame on the first layer so it shows on all the other layers! Add stickers! Most importantly: try things! fail! learn from it and do it again! If you have questions, I’ll answer them as best I can.

Last thing I’ll add is how to save your gif. You need to use Save for Web... in the file menu. You’ll get a preview, on the upper right corner, change the second setting as GIF.

1/ Check the format

2/ This is where you can check the size of your gif, super important depending on where you want to publish it.

3/ Save... You did it!!!!

It might sound complicated but it really isn’t that much, all the work you’ll do the first time will be useful forever, you’re learning a new skill but thankfully that skill is super easy to remember. And allows all sorts of awesome things! A whole new horizon is opening!

@kazuchikaokada​ 😌 i’m not sure you’re gonna learn much with all that ‘cause your gifs are already so nice?! it depends a lot on vid quality I guess but really you’re probably already doing all that? Maybe if you don’t use photoshop yet it could give you a whole new set of possibilities?! Anyway, sorry if this didn’t help, I hope it’s still useful for someone out there anyway!

[hellfresh]

A cryopod in a spaceship orbiting a dying Earth colony malfunctions and wakes up young Mirda from her stasis. Mirda spends the rest of her life onboard with the other sleeping passengers. She records herself talking to one man, suspended in his chamber, everyday to keep herself company. In her own space-mad mind, she's in love with him. Many times she debated waking him, many times she beat on the glass and screamed at this stranger's frozen face; his visage like a temptation from God.

If I truly loved him I would let him sleep, no? Would I love who he would be, awake? Could he not learn to love me after I've shown him the hours, upon years, of footage I have spent sharing my thoughts with him? Would he not believe this was the garden of Eden, and himself Adam? Would he slip into madness as easily, as hopefully, as me? Would he love me?

Alas, the thought of being scorned by her unrequited and frozen impenetrable love was too much for Mirda. The idea of being a monster could only appeal to her own horrible mind, not the minds of others, she thought. So she shared these deep moments of ponderation in an empty space, the cryopod security camera recording and dictating every last word.

She grew old in front of this cold amalgamation of steel and glass; the subtle transition of her age can sometimes be seen frame by frame. She stuck to her guns, what she knew of love: a lover would not awake the sleeping love, harm him in this way. Love does not harm, but it does yearn and pine and squirm and wring itself dry and go mad. Eventually Mirda dies of old age. The ship decorated, dressed, and lived-in for over 60 years. She died before she got the chance to clean up, before she got the chance to go over her final words, before she figured out how to erase what she'd done here. She wanted to save him the pain of knowing her.

Twas not in the cards for these star crossed lovers, oh no. He watched her, oh, he skipped through a lot but he watched her...

When the clock had finally run out, and it was time to open the cryopods and begin a new life on a new planet, Jason was the last to get waken up. His pod decorated and loaded with tokens of affection. When the security team found the handmade trinkets and sculptures surrounding Jason's pod they assumed there was an intruder on board. Perhaps a family of stowaways living within the bowels of the ship for generations. That idea was forgotten, not when they found her bones, but when they found the tapes.

After watching the first few recordings, the scientists on board decided it would be best to save a copy of each recording for psychological study, and return the whole lot of them to the passenger himself once he's gotten established on this new colony. They catalogued everything, sent in to the greatest halls of study still around, it took 1000 years for the story to reach Earth.

So, after a year and a half, a handful of former ORBSHIP flight 389 passengers recieve a datachip of the video and audio picked up nearby their pod during stasis. For Jason, there was something very odd and almost scary about receiving 145 chips of motion detection footage that shouldn't have even been happening while everyone on board was presumably asleep. The datachips were labeled first to last. With a few hours to burn and without checking the number, Jason loads a random data chip into his computer.

Despite no ghosts or demons present in the frame, the thumbnail that appears sends a quick and powerful shiver down his spine. Familiarity. How? A 35 year old woman sitting with her hands in her lap, frozen mid-sentence in her tattered clothing, she stares off camera, stares up at him. Does he know her somehow? The time stamp says 06/25/5489, over 200 years ago now. Before he presses play, he notices strange and foreign tears welling up in his eyes, tears for a stranger- am I feeing her pain? Why was she so sad? He doesn't yet understand it is love.

[frozenprocedural]

Bless this Happiness we’ve Found

My first entry for Elsarik week 2020! Alarik, of course, belongs to @patricia-von-arundel. Neils and Leisel belong to @couragedontdesertme.

A little background- Duluth is where I went to college, and yes, the Blue Heron is real- the University owns it. And if you’ve never seen a 1,000 foot ship go in or out of harbor, you’re missing out. It’s AMAZING.

Anyway, now for the Elsarik!

Bless this Happiness we’ve Found 

Rating: K

Alarik stood on the Blue Heron's stern, watching the twin piers of the harbor grow smaller and smaller until they faded from sight, and he could only see the great expanse of water in all directions. 

The melancholy weight in his chest was new. On previous excursions, he'd either be in the lab, frantically preparing his research, or on the bow of the boat, looking ahead, always ahead. He loved his trips aboard the vessel, reveled in the chance to work in the field, away from the stuffiness of the classroom and lecture hall. Out on the water, setting up equipment, getting samples, gleaning new information- once that had been all he'd wanted. If he could, Alarik would have spent all his days aboard the vessel.

Until Elsa came along.

……….

Alarik looked down at the well-worn duffel, packed neatly and efficiently- the byproducts of his numerous excursions. He played with the stiff leather handles, struggling to tamp down the uneasy burn in his gut. Soft, familiar footsteps brought his attention to the door, where Elsa stood, something clasped in her hands. She gave him her familiar half-smile, one side of her mouth rising higher than the other, before stepping in and handing him the object.

It was a small, framed photograph of the two of them in Enger Tower- Anna had been there that day and captured a cherished moment- Alarik, an arm around Elsa's shoulder, had his head thrown back in laughter. Elsa's hand was covering her mouth, and even with the photograph's small size, Alarik could make out the mirth held on her eyes.

"I had it printed on waterproof paper, and the frame is designed to be shatterproof and leak-resistant. It should do just fine on the trip."

Alarik looked up, meeting Elsa's eyes. "Elsa, I don't have to go, I don't want to go. I've been on plenty of trips, they can go without…"

Elsa closed the distance between them, bringing her lips to his. 

………

Alarik carefully, reverently, lifted the frame from his duffle and tucked it into a small shelf above his bunk. This trip only had two other researchers besides himself- Neils and Leisel- as well as a crew of four, so he did not have to share a bunk with anyone else. 

For that, he was grateful. 

As Alarik continued unpacking his belongings, his fingers brushed against a small, unfamiliar object of hard plastic. Frowning, he pulled it out, revealing a USB drive wrapped in paper. He pulled the paper free to find a note written in familiar handwriting 

Just for those times when you need cheering up. See you in 2 weeks.

-Anna

Intrigued, Alarik pulled out his laptop, and as soon as it booted up, he plugged in the drive, prompting the name "Operation Cheer Alarik" to show up on his screen. The drive contained only one file- a video clip with no thumbnail. He opened it, and laughed when the video began rolling, his memory going back to that day.

……………

Alarik and Elsa strode through the aisles of the grocery store, talking about anything that came to mind, as they were wont to do- a weekly ritual many would find mundane, but they viewed as a chance to simply enjoy one another's presence.

As they stopped to peruse the seafood selection, a familiar pop rhythm began to play through the story's speakers.

"I stay out too late

Got nothing in my brain

That's what people say…"

A slow grin made its way across Alarik’s face, and he lifted an eyebrow at Elsa, wiggling his hips.

"Alarik… what…" Realization dawned on Elsa's face, and she stepped back, shaking her head.

"Alarik Geatland, absolutely not. We. Are. In. Public." 

"But it's Taylor Swift, darling! I just have to! I keep moving, can't stop, won't grooving, it's like I've got this music in my mind saying it's gonna be alright!" He sang, jerking his hips back and forth and shaking his shoulders.

Elsa groaned and swatted at his hand when he extended it to her, pinching the bridge of her nose while he continued to sing and dance around her, paying no mind to the small crowd gathered around them with their phones out until a student called out, "Yeah, shake it, Dr. G!"

"Don't encourage him!" Elsa cried. Alarik put more into his movements, shaking and gyrating with his wide grin, singing with gusto. Several people in the group joined him, belting out the chorus as they clapped and cheered at his performance. Alarik took an opportunity to spin around, shaking his rear at Elsa, who buried her face in her hands with another groan (although he would have sworn he caught her peeking between her fingers). As the song came to an end, Alarik swung around once more and gave an elaborate bow as the crowd broke into applause and whoops. As Alarik straightened back up, Elsa finally pulled her hand away from her face with a sigh, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you quite done?” 

If Alarik didn’t know Elsa any better, he might have thought that Elsa was angry. As it was, the small hint of a smile forming and the twinkle in her eyes told him that despite everything, she’d found his little show amusing. 

She was far less amused when the videos showed up on YouTube the next day.

………

Alarik shut the lid of his laptop and leaned back with a smile. He glanced back at the photograph and brushed a finger over Elsa's image. He still missed her, but the video- bless Anna's heart- had eased some of the ache. 

"Doing alright there, Dr. G?" Leisel leaned against the doorway in her usual easy manner. 

He nodded. "I… I am now. Thanks Leisel."

She jerked her head upwards. "Come on up. Yelena says we're about 5 minutes from the first drop point, and you hate missing those." 

Alarik glanced once more at the photograph, then stood and followed her out.

He would be alright.

………

Two Weeks Later

The Blue Heron’s high-pitched horn sounded- one long, two short, and the lift bridge responded in kind, bringing a smile to Alarik’s face.

Home. They were home.  

As the Blue Heron glided between the two piers, Alarik knew that the museum's loudspeaker giving information on the boat would have drawn at least a small crowd from Canal Park, but he paid them no mind. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on the south pier, nearly empty of pedestrians until…

A flash of blonde hair- there she was. Standing at the foot of the bridge, watching their arrival, one hand lifted in greeting, and if Alarik squinted, he could make out the small, special smile that made his every day. 

Elsa, just as she promised, was seeing him home.