#Note that this works best with neon colours ^^

[prylc]

For the glowy effect I just used the same colour of the light and bounce light and just used an airbrush over it ^^

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You ask, I deliver 👀👀✨ @an4mations

Remember that this is just my own personal take/discovery and that it might not be 100% accurate! I'm still learning after all ^^

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For people new to art and might not know what the diff terms mean...

Hue -> Colour (basically the original colours like red, orange, etc.)

Value -> How dark or light something is

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[aangelinakii]

ROSEMARY.

— stay with me, as we cross the empty skies.

summary : roy can't believe he always gets free backstage tickets.

note : yes my religion is roy harper at music gigs and what

bass heavy and lights low, roy harper can't stop himself from jumping up and down to the addictive thrum of the song blasting his eardrums, can't keep his eyes off the girl at centre stage, backlit by the neon sign reading the name of the venue.

she owns the room, filled with sweaty dancers, here just for her, owns the stage, where her band plays separate lines but works in perfect harmony, just for her; sticks beat against drum, fingers pluck at bass strings, picks shred at electric guitar.

the colour of her guitar is the same as the blood roy has yet to clear from his knuckles; when he should've been helping jason take down a drug ring, roy called in back-up and left early, just in time to make it for the last few songs of her set.

every time she plays she sounds amazing, with the way she can bend her voice, using it like an instrument in of itself, and with the way her fingers peel up and down the chords as her other hand strums, pick between fingers.

she steps forward, picked hand falling to her side, brushing against the red plaid skirt, ripped at the hem. her other hand comes away from the neck of her guitar and grabs the microphone, all music coming to a soft whirr — no drums, no bass, just the essence of it fading — and she sings the last lines of her song, voice like an eldritch siren, begging the sailor crowd to climb on stage so she can take them away.

her breath catches in the mic, feeding back her last pants as her chest heaves up and down, tired being an understatement after singing and shredding for an hour-and-a-bit straight.

lights blink away, the only light left being the green neon emphasising her silhouette.

the crowd goes wild, cheering, clapping, whistling, completely buzzing with energy. they want an encore but roy knows you won't give them one, you never like to lengthen out your stay, not when there's a loving man with tattoos and tight hugs waiting for you.

used to them by now, after so many gigs, roy can push his way through the audience near-effortlessly, heading in a bee line to the backstage doors, where one of the venues ushers stands guard.

all roy needs to do it flash a smile and the usher steps out of the way — you're expecting him, and roy's the only redhead in the place.

walking through that backstage door is like stepping through a portal; the door closes behind him, leaving the usher outside, and all noise from the crowd dies down, muffled through the walls.

your bandmates are carrying their instruments off-stage, some laying them down against couches and chairs, some packing them away in their respectful cases. roy gives an encouraging smile to whoever catches his eye, patting a few better-known members on the back as he passes, but his attention is set on finding the lead singer, the main face of the band.

once he finds her, he wraps his arms around her front and lifts her off her feet, spinning her around like the dark swan she portrays on stage. her boots are back on the group and she turns around, eyes and smile wide.

"oh, roy, i'm so glad you could make it!" you grin, launching into him with arms tight around his torso, head pressing against any inch of him you can gather.

roy would be stupid to not reciprocate, and he pulls his arms around your back, the leather of your jacket cool against his hot skin.

"you know i'd never miss your gigs for the world," he sighs into your hair. "although i did actually miss a few songs, but i caught my favourite."

"that's all that matters to me," you reply, peering up at him with eyeliner-smudged eyes, though the way you look at him removes any sort of edge you had going on during your performance, staring at his cocky features like he's the best thing in the world. in a way, though, he is. your most popular song is written about him; everybody who listens to your music has, either knowingly or unknowingly, danced along to lyrics about roy harper.

roy brings a hand up to brush over your hair, moving back slightly to peer down at you in return, a content smile moving along his lips.

a few serene moments pass, where you're simply basking in one another, in a way you've never felt so connected to anybody else, and you give a small gasp. "oh!"

roy's ember eyebrows raise, but he watches and allows you to pull away, his grip slackening, but his hand takes yours before he can lose you completely.

"i've been writing a new song."

"already?"

you're dragging him down the corridor, slightly dark and grungy, a light flickering overhead, to where your mahogany guitar is perched against a stand, beside a black wooden box.

"of course, already," you respond as you take a seat on the box and pull the guitar into your lap.

crossing his arms over his chest, roy remains before you, looking down at you like an icon looking down at his worshippers, although he's considering switching positions.

he focuses in on your fingers as they pluck deftly at the strings, focuses in on the chipped maroon nail polish that matches the electric guitar you play on stage. for everyone outside you're a rebellious singer who writes songs about anything and everything. in front of him, you're just a girl who loves music, and doesn't need any other reason to play than it feels good. you're not here for the crowd, not here for the money (although that's a plus), roy knows you're here to share your love with the world.

and, for that, roy loves you.

[adddddiiii]

Unexpected Encounters

Contents: Boss!Grayson Hawthorne x employee!reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, one use of y/l/n

Your first day working at Hawthorne Foundation had been nothing short of overwhelming. Between the flurry of introductions, navigating the massive building, and figuring out how to keep up with your enigmatic new boss, Grayson Hawthorne, you were utterly spent.

Grayson had been... commanding to say the least. Polished and poised, he seemed to glide through the office like he owned the very air inside it. You'd hardly gotten through your introduction before he'd handed you a file and said, "I need this checked and organised by tomorrow. Don't fail me."

The weight of his words stayed with you all day. By the time you'd left the Foundation, you decided you needed a drink — and maybe a loud, crowded space to drown out your thoughts.

Which is how you ended up at a club downtown with a couple of friends. The music was pulsing, neon lights casting shadows and colours across the packed dance floor. You were nursing a cocktail at the bar, finally starting to unwind, when you felt it: the unmistakable sensation of someone's gaze on you.

Turning slightly, your eyes locked with a pair of familiar steel-gray ones.

Grayson Hawthorne.

Your stomach dropped. What the hell was he doing here?

He was leaning casually against the bar a few feet away, dressed sharply in a black button-up and dark slacks. If he'd noticed your panic, he didn't show it. Instead, he stared at you expressionlessly, lifting his drink in a silent toast before pushing off the bar and walking toward you.

"Miss y/l/n," his was voice was smooth and low and somehow audible over the music. "I didn't expect the see you here."

You blinked. Your gripped tightened around your glass. "Mr Hawthorne," you replied, doing your best to sound composed. "I could say the same."

"Grayson," he corrected. "We're not at work now."

Outside of the sterile walls of the office, he seemed different. More relaxed, though still uptight.

"I didn't think you were the clubbing type." You raised an eyebrow at him.

His lips twitched into a slight smirk. "I could say the same."

You felt your cheeks heat. "It's been a long day. I needed a break."

"First days can be exhausting," he said, his tone lighter than expected. "But from what I saw, you handled yourself well."

The compliment caught you off guard. "Thanks."

Grayson tilted his head and studied you like you were a particularly interesting puzzle. "You're unlike most people I work with."

"How so?"

"You're not afraid to look me in the eye." He took a sip of his drink. "Most people avoid it. Intimidation, I suppose."

You let out a breathless laugh. "Believe me, you're still intimidating."

He chuckled, a low, warm sound. "Noted."

For a moment, the two of you stood there. The chaotic energy of the club continued on around you and the weight of his gaze was almost too much to bear, yet you couldn't look away.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked suddenly, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You stared at him, caught between disbelief and intrigue. "Are you serious?"

"Completely."

You hesitated for only a moment before setting your drink on the bar and taking his outstretched hand.

As he led you to the dance floor, you wondered if this night was the beginning of something you'd never see coming — and maybe something you couldn't resist.

[shapelytimber]

do u have a colouring tutorial / tips n tricks up anywhere???

Well no, but I can share my usual process :))

Hi hello, welcome to my personal hell : colors ! It's the part of the process I struggle with the most, and how I do it really isn't efficient or time saving <3 so take what I'm about to tell you with a grain of salt ! I went to art school n shit, but this is not something that comes easily to me. (Also note : I'll only be talking about how I color lined drawings, my process when painting is pretty different)

Ok so first thing first, the most important thing to do : define your light source(s), and the overall lighting ambience of your drawing, even if you don't have a background. To do so : let's do a quick n dirty black and white ! Why black and white ? When you select a color there is three parameters you have to keep in mind : saturation, warmth and value. Beginning in black and white simplify things by only making you think about values. Please note this black and white is only a sketch, and that when adding colors in it will inevitably change.

Step two, where hell begins ! But before questioning every life choices that brought us here, some basic things ! Our sun's light isn't yellow it's orange, and that works for a lot of artificial lighting too be it flames, warm lightbulbs... So unless you are going for a colder light, or something else altogether like neons or alien planet, use orange ! And if you are familiar with the color wheel, you know that what contrasts best with orange is blue, so shading with blues to contrast with the light works great. Of course there is a billion scenario where this does not apply and I could go in more details but the general tip here is : contrast warm colors with cold colors.

But let's come back to our black and white, it's time to add some colors with my trusted friend : 👄🌸✨gradient map ✨🌸🫦 (and others). Let's apply a gradient map to broadly and rapidly put down the major colors of our piece ! My favorite is a light orange and dark greens one but to each their own, depends on what you are going for

And now..... It's time to fuck with it ! I use a combination of "color lookup" layers (photoshop filters), levels, saturation (because I love my colors *very* saturated), special layer types (color, multiply, lighten...ect...) to add specific colors but not fuck too much with the light and warmth, and sometimes I tweak the color balance. Rinse and repeat until you have something you are somewhat happy with. pro tip : at this point you'll have stared at your drawing so long you'll not be able to objectively know what it looks like anymore. So this is a good point to stop drawing for the day, do something else, go to sleep and come back the next day with fresh eyes. Borrowing the eyes of a trusted friend is a nice bonus and helps having a second opinion on what the hell you are doing (thank you to my friend quiji who usually receives discord messages at 3am with a photoshop screenshot and a message "does it look ugly or is it just me ;;")

And now for the final and longest step !!!!!!!!!! Well just gotta make it look good- but we now have a solid base to work out of (or a shit base that I'll change my mind and radically alter at this stage but shhhh, this is a scenario where everything goes right), so all colors we'll add at this stage will generally not stray to far from what we already have ! At this stage I'm focused on 1) having everything have it's "right" color, 2) having every important element highlighted and clearly visible (for this it helps to keep a "hue/saturation" layer with saturation turned all the way down at the very top of your layers : it's a quick way to switch to black and white and make sure you're not fucking up you're values too much) 3) remember I'm not going for realism and 4) create *interest* ! To create interest, I vary the way I add colors and shadows depending on the texture I apply them to :))) here are some fun examples :

And voila !

and the final black and white, to show that it did change a lot but the general values are still roughly the same :

Hope that was useful fjdjdk

Tldr : one must love and cherish the color wheel, cruel mistress with many secrets. And ugly colors are very important

[sailtomarina]

Right Foul Git

Fury pulsed through your veins as you stormed through the Burrow, chasing after the fleeing Weasley who’d ruined your day.

”Ronald! You are a right foul git!!”

”I said I was sorry! It wasn’t supposed to be you!” he yelled over his shoulder, not slowing in the slightest. 

You passed a mirror and stopped to glare at the reflection. Your usual tresses had been transformed into a violent shade of neon green. The colour seemed to glow from within, and no spell you tried would change it back—not finite incantatem, nor colovaria.

You hadn’t even intended to take a shower here, but, after a rushed morning getting out of your house to meet up with Ginny for an early run of flying drills, you later found yourself soaked from an unexpected downpour. She’d insisted you stay for lunch anyway and pushed you towards the washroom.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t showered there before; you’d stayed overnight for plenty of sleepovers in the past. Most of the time, you were there for Ginny, to giggle over boys and dream about joining the Holyhead Harpies. But sometimes, sometimes, you were there hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

Ron hovered in the doorway to the garden, breathing heavily and eyeing you in anticipation of your next move.

”If not me, then who were you trying to prank?” you asked, settling down on the back of the sofa and putting the wizard at ease. Your fury had turned to exhaustion. Chasing after Ron wouldn’t help your situation, even if hexing him would probably make you feel better.

He opened his mouth to reply, but it was another voice that answered your question.

”I believe I was the target.”

Your heart stopped at the familiar voice, one you’d missed ever since the twins left Hogwarts in a burst of fireworks.

Fred leaned against the fireplace, brushing off soot and Floo powder, while George raised his eyebrows at the sight of you before running up the stairs. You leapt to your feet to do the same. After all this time pining after Fred Weasley, and this was how you finally saw him?

”How was I supposed to know she was going to shower here, much less wash her hair?” Ron grumbled, his complaint verifying the truth of Fred’s claim.

You froze in place as Fred approached, his eyes appraising the damage. “You used our product, but messed with it, didn’t you?”

”What of it?” Ron replied.

”Is this all you, or did Hermione help?”

Ron’s nostrils flared as he held Fred’s accusing look for a handful of beats. You thought he might try and take credit for the obviously impressive spellwork out of protection for his best friend. Who else could have weaved together such ironclad charmwork other than the twins?

Then Ron deflated. “Hermione might have helped,” he admitted. “How could you tell?”

“Other than the fact that none of the obvious spells work? The colour.”

This time it was you who spoke up, confused at the reasoning. “The colour?”

Fred nodded. “Green’s an obvious choice, but the vibrancy of it reminds me of those highlighters she’s so fond of using.”

You giggled at the reminder of how Hermione did adore marking up her notes with neon shades of yellow, pink, and, yes, green.

“Lucky for you,” the twin continued, “I have an idea of how to fix it.”

Two sighs sounded–yours from relief that you wouldn’t be a beacon everywhere you walked, and Ron with the foolish thought that he’d be let off the hook. You could bide your time, however. Revenge was best saved for after the target let down their guard.

“C’mon, you,” Fred murmured. He placed his hand along the curve of your spine, a gentle pressure that had you involuntarily clenching as you stepped away from the sofa.

George was nowhere to be seen as you both made your way up the stairs and down the hall. You’d thought Fred would steer you towards the washroom, but to your surprise you instead found yourself guided into the twins’ room. 

“Why not–”

“Shhh.”

You sucked in a deep breath against the finger he held to your lips as he shushed you. He left it there, using his free hand to shut the door, the lock sliding into place with a foreboding click.

“As much as I’m sure you want to go back to normal, I must say that the green looks quite good on you.” Fred smirked, pulling his fingers away to thread them through the loose strands framing your face. He tugged at them lightly. “Almost seems a shame. I wonder…”

He leaned in, then, brushing his cheek along yours, to inhale deeply. You nearly stopped breathing, the idea that Fred Weasley standing this close to you, breathing you in, as good as a full body-bind curse.

“Mmm, I like the fragrance. It’s very pleasant.”

Now this you agreed with. You’d noticed the sweet florals when lathering your hair, notes of bergamot threaded through the jasmine. “What does it usually smell like?”

Fred pulled back only slightly, enough to look you in the eyes with a small smile on his lips. “Vanilla. Boring, I know, but universally liked.”

“I like vanilla,” you breathed out.

His immediate smirk sent a rush of heat through your body. You knew without even looking that you’d probably flushed bright red. Why did you always have to speak your mind?

“Is that so?” he mused, tucking the lock of hair behind your ear. “What else do you like?”

Part of you wanted the door to burst open, for either George or Ron to make general nuisances of themselves and save you from this moment. Despite the way Fred hovered near, how his fingers trailed as they released the neon strands and brushed across your shoulder, you couldn’t believe he’d actually be interested in the way you hoped. He was a natural flirt, using his words as much as his body language to play with those stuck in his web.

Was that such a bad thing, though? You liked to play, too. You liked vanilla, but you also liked lavender, olive oil, honeysuckle, and rosemary.

“I like you,” you said, before doubt could kick in, holding his gaze and daring him to make the next move.

His lips twitched, but rather than speak, his eyes held your own before drifting across your hair and then down to your mouth. “It just so happens that this particular cocktail of charms requires a very specific trigger.”

Why was he talking about your hair, of all things, right now? You’d just confessed your feelings, and here he was returning to the reason he’d brought you up here in the first place.

Fred chuckled as he met your eyes once more. “Hermione is such a meddlesome brat.”

“Why are we talking about Hermione right now?” you asked, unable to keep your annoyance from creeping into the tone.

“Because even though you were an unfortunate victim, the end result remains the same.”

You wanted to shake him for his continued vagueness. “How so?”

“Whether it was me or you, she knew that once I figured out the formula that I would have no choice but to take the same course of action. She’s known how I felt far longer than even I knew myself.”

“Fred.” You were fed up with the mystery. “What course of action? How do you undo the magic?”

“It’s simple, really.”

You jumped in place as his hand brushed you again, only this time he kept the pressure firm against your waist to pull you even closer to him. He used his other hand to tilt your head up, at the perfect angle for a kiss.

The sensation of his soft lips on yours erased all concerns from your mind. All you could feel, taste, and smell was Fred–the warmth enveloping you, the slip of a tongue asking for entry that you gave, the hint of chocolate he must have eaten earlier, a slightly smoky but not unpleasant aroma that always clung to him. His hold on you tightened as he leaned deeper into the kiss.

It wasn’t until a tingling sensation washed over you that he pulled away, the motion almost reluctant in how he kept both hands in place. You struggled to gather your bearings in the aftermath, drugged in the lingering daze.

“Good as new,” Fred said, only he sounded hoarse like he, too, was in need of recovery.

Your eyes focused gradually on the ringlet of hair he held up between you, the once neon green once again a familiar shade. You breathed out a sigh of relief, then focused on the blue eyes still gazing intently down at you.

“Why did you lock the door, Fred?”

The movement hadn’t escaped you. It had, in fact, nagged at you without pause.

“I didn’t want to be interrupted.” He didn’t say anything more, continuing to stare.

You decided to push. Now that you’d gotten a taste, you wanted the whole damn meal. “It was just one kiss. No different than mistletoe.”

He frowned at the comparison. You could barely hold back your smirk. Now who was the playful one? “Is that really all you thought it was?” he asked, obviously perturbed.

This time you were the one to take hold of him, fisting the fabric of his shirt and pulling him with you as you let gravity guide you onto your back. His indignation transformed at a comical speed into an excitement that lit up all of his features.

“This is George’s bed, you know.”

Rather than revenge, you thought you might treat Hermione and Ron to whatever their hearts desired. Books, broom polish, anything. They’d given you the push you’d needed to speak your heart, and you couldn’t thank them enough.

“I don’t care. Just kiss me, you git.”

His laugh sounded bright as you yanked him down into you. Nothing more was said, but, then again, your actions spoke more than enough for both of you.

Written for the FB Weasleys, Witches, & Writers Humpday 7/17 prompt, “Right foul git!”

1675 WC

Cross-posted on FB, Tumblr, & AO3

I just re-upped my violet lowlights, which is how I came up with this premise! Much of the story was written while I sat under the dryer with my head all wrapped up in toner.

[gingerbreadmonsters]

heartless guttersnipe

or: roses are red, violets are, uh...

gn!reader, no content warnings, ultra-sticky gooey fluffy stuff. magenta? i hardly know her! written for sylent for the skyside holiday exchange – hope you’re having a wonderful festive season and a happy new year! inspired by on the street where you live from the musical my fair lady. lasko going round the mulberry bush in 900 words or less.

It’s Saturday afternoon, and it’s the million-dollar question.

Is it weird to like purple paint so much?

Not a conventional question, to be sure. But it’s not as if Lasko has ever been the conventional sort, so that’s probably for the best.

It’s not even really purple – it’s lilac, apparently, which you seem to think is far superior, and he’s not about to try and argue over it.

How has this even happened? Not so long ago, he’d never really thought about lilac at all, the colour or the flower. He never seemed to notice it anywhere, never chose it for any particular reason. It’s not an especially common colour, is it? It certainly wasn’t in his mind, at least, so why would its absence be anything of note?

Not anymore, though. It’s as if it’s everywhere he turns, bright and beautiful, effortlessly drawing his eye like nothing else ever has. Lilac, lilac, lilac. He notices it all the time, something pleased and warm fizzing in his mind every time – it’s like he dreams in lilac, now, the vague impression of some sweet haze drifting through his head. It’s airy, pleasant on his tongue, light and soft like angel cake.

The smell of wisteria, thick and heady. If he were any less sane, he’d think he was going mad.

He’s not upset about it, though. It’s not a bad thing. How can it be? It’s his favourite thing to see, he’s looking forward to it all week. It’s smooth and cold against his fingertips, glossy in the afternoon sunlight, steady and heavy and solid. It’s ringing in his ears, burning in his chest, and his legs ache but he won’t say anything.

Perhaps he’s been right all along. When you put it in so many words, it does seem like a slightly strange obsession. He’s not going to deny it. But that won’t stop him, doesn’t change it – because it’s not actually about the paint at all, is it?

It doesn’t have to be purple. It could be red, it could be green, it could be blue or pink or neon yellow, for all the good it would do him. If all the lilac in the world disappeared tomorrow, why would he care? The colour doesn’t matter – it’s never mattered, not to him, because what really matters is that lilac means… oh, god, it’s because lilac means you.

Orchids blooming under his tongue, delicate lavender that drags him down to sleep. Maybe it’s silly, but it’s true, it’s always been true. Ever since that very first Saturday, hands full of flowers and twenty minutes early, he can’t keep it out of his head.

He keeps coming back, and no matter what he does, it’s always the same. When it’s pouring with rain outside and he’s leaving wet footprints all over the thin carpet in the corridor, when it’s Sunday night and you’ve both got work tomorrow, when the lift is out of order and he’s gasping for air as he staggers up the flight of stairs between the fifth and sixth floors that he swears is steeper than all the others – it’s lilac paint he sees, silent lilac paint that says hello and waves goodbye.

You can’t blame him, can you? Of course it makes his heart race, of course it fills his head with light and his voice with laughter. Lilac paint means he’s here to see you, it means that any minute now, you’ll open the door and wave him inside, and he’ll be swept up in the lovely storm that is your voice, your smile, your hand in his. It’s the pastel background to all his dreams, the brilliant sky at sunset. Blackberry kisses stain his lips like a bruise, sweet wine dripping down his shirt.

Lasko takes a deep breath, shifts his weight, and rings the doorbell.

It’s a very ordinary scene. It happens every day, in every town in every place – the bell rings, and then the door opens. Two moments that come as a pair, and only a tiny gap in between. Anticipation, the lightning flash of nerves, white hot and blinding. The sound of footsteps, slightly muffled, coming closer with every second. There’s no time to think about silly questions, not now, no time to think about anything but what’s on the other side of the door.

Is it weird to like purple paint so much?

Well, perhaps it’s true after all. Perhaps it really is a pointless obsession, a symptom of the lovesickness. The stars in his eyes glitter like amethyst, fingers sticky with plum juice – cut him open and he bleeds violet. Knowing it doesn’t change a thing, because it’s far too late for him, doomed romantic as he is.

The sky is brilliant and blue, and there’s someone on the doorstep, million-dollar questions be damned. It’s bright, it’s sweet, it’s kind. Aubergine, amethyst. It’s glossy paint in the afternoon sun, it’s a handful of flowers in purple paper, and it’s always Lasko Moore, heart in his throat and stomach in knots, staring at a few inches of lilac-painted wood and waiting for you.

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

masterlist

[socialist-autist]

hello there!!! I noticed you had WTNV in your request list, and I was wondering if you could write some romantic headcanons for Cecil x a reader who loves to paint and make art? No worries if not, but thank you!!!

The art of relationships.

fandom: Welcome to Nightvale. pairing: Cecil x gender neutral artistic reader. summary: Headcanons and scenarios about Cecil with a partner who is artistic and paints a lot. genre: Fluff, slice of life. warning(s): Mention of arguments. word count: 828 words. authors note: Sorry it's so short! I tried to ask around my artist friends to see what they'd like in a partner but I'm not an artist myself so some details might be wrong :(

You first really met Cecil when he invited you on an “up and coming artists of Nightvale” section for the radio.

He asked you out afterwards and you went to a café together.

It doesn’t surprise anybody when you two start officially dating.

Cecil loves listening to you talk about your work, whether that would be painting or any other art. He finds it fascinating.

He admires you a lot for being able to create, and on such a high level too. He understands and celebrates the importance of art in society, afterall.

At first, Cecil compliments you work A LOT. He talks about it to you, the radio, his family.

Although, eventually you explain that all the compliments were nice, but you preferred if he kept it a bit more sporadic.

Eventually, when your relationship progresses, you start asking him for some criticisms and advice. In public he still only compliments you.

Although, if you draw a landscape his first critique is always the presence of mountains. You can usually get him to back down by explaining it’s an artistic stylistic choice.

He’s not very good at judging whether your art work is actually good though. He also gives really weird advice sometimes, as if he could see a dimensions to your work you can’t.

Cecil loomed over you as you continued to paint, watching your work and concentrated expression carefully. Once you finished the detail you were focusing on, you leaned back a little and looked up at him, “What do you think?” you asked softly. He hummed, observing your work before sighing, “Well, apart from the…mountains, it looks okay. Aren’t the colours a little weird?” he asked, still looking at the painting. You frowned, looking at your beautiful, lifelike colouring, “Would you prefer if everything was neon?” you asked, amused. Cecil clasped his hands together happily, “Yes! Good idea!”

You’d think the way Cecil dresses would bother you, but you can actually see an art form in his random, clashing and neon fashion.

Overall, he’s really supportive of you and does his best to encourage you and support you.

You work for hours at a time sometimes, getting lost in your painting, so he takes care of you during this time, bringing you food and water.

You best bet your work is getting displayed everywhere too. No matter what you paint and what style you do, your works are up in his house and his booth. He’s so happy to talk about it to anyone who will listen.

He’s your number one customer and advertiser, the man cannot shut up sometimes, recommending you to everyone.

He’s also your biggest defender. If anybody speaks bad about you, he is coming for them, live on radio. Better expose jerks than let them just keep speaking badly.

One of Cecil’s favourite things about you being an artist is the perfect opportunity to work in parallel with you.

You’ll be painting, and he settles down somewhere in the room to work on his scripts or research work, not talking to eachother, just enjoying time together. Sometimes you play music or a show in the background.

Although sometimes, he can be a distraction as he is not a quiet or discreet man.

He struggled to understand when you were teasing about him leaving or stopping something versus when you were serious, which led to some fights. But you worked it out eventually.

As your relationship deepens, he sets up a small area in his radio booth for you to paint at while he does his show. This is rarer because Station Management isn’t a huge fan.

Sometimes, you come onto the show as a guest to talk about art history or different art techniques.

Cecil looked at you, entrenched in your work in the corner of his booth, “Listeners, I wish you could see them when they work like this” he gushed quietly into the microphone, “They look so cute! And so focused” he said decidedly, taking one more moment to admire you before turning back to his show, “In fact, listeners, if you ARE curious, they have a gallery going up at the museum this weekend- oh how exciting!” he added as you shot him a playful disapproving glance before returning to your work. He’s gonna get into trouble with all this free advertising for you one day.

Being so curious about your work, it’s only natural Cecil would try out art too. Under your guidance of course.

He tried out painting and a few other art types but none really stuck. He enjoyed it nonetheless, even if he also got really messy.

He made a portrait of Koshek that hangs up in your hallway. He’s all wonky and a little bit more terrifying than usual, but still cute. You like looking at it.

In the end, despite his lack of artistic talents and slight struggle with boundaries, he’s a good and supportive partner.

You couldn’t ask for better.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Black Light 8

Warnings: namecalling, violence, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: thank you for waiting! Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

Jazzercise in the park sounded like a great idea when you signed-up. You didn't put much thought to the demographic until you showed up. Amid the grannies dressed in their most neon oranges and hottest of pinks, you stick out like a sore thumb. Still, you don't mind the excuse for some fresh air and to make some friends.

A sheen of sweat breaks out on your forehead and you feel the fitness flowing through you. You look over at Gladys as she nearly puts you to shame with her spry lunges. You sigh and look to your other side, wishing Hottie was there. Too bad she has work.

You follow the instructor, a woman in her late fifties, Sonya. She hops and bops to the vibes of Wham as she hollers at you to get moving. You find yourself bouncing all over the place, the pedestrians along the path and the sitters on the benches watching at all angles. You might look ridiculous but it feels great.

You jump a bit too far back and crash into another body. You expect Meredith and her tight spirals flowing over a sweatband, but instead find yourself on the path, nearly stampeded by the large body heaving and sweating. You get your balance and untangle yourself from the stranger. Not a stranger at all.

August's curls are slightly dampened with his sweat, his skin glistening, as he wears a sleeveless black muscles shirt and even drabber shorts. A little colour wouldn't hurt.

"You," he snarls as he steps back.

"You!" You cheep brightly, "are you here for Jazzercise too?"

"What? I'm running--- Typical. I just can't seem to shake you. Like a bad cold."

"Hm, is there a such thing as a good cold?" You tap your lip, "maybe if it helps you build immunity--"

"Enough," he checks his watch and sighs, looking down the winding paved path, "I don't have time for this."

"I don't either," you put on a scowl, "you know, I'm out here tryna get in shape and you're running into people--"

"You jumped in my way," he accuses.

"My bad," you put your hands up and step off the pavement, "as you were."

You spin and dismiss him. You come join Gladys as she runs in place and you focus on Meredith's barking demands. Whew, this is awesome but you're gonna be in bed for at least a day recovering.

🧸

You walk home alone, enjoying the sunshine and the song birds flying around the statues. You follow the trail to the gates and onto the street. It's not very far from home, a couple blocks if that. You feel the adrenaline fading and the nip of fatigue that underlies it. You can't wait to chill, and maybe take a shower.

You pull at your shirt, trying to air out your sweaty torso. As you turn onto the next avenue, you hear a step out of rhythm. You look over your shoulder but only find a Ford Fiesta driving down the road. You shrug and carry on.

As you come to your house, you see the drive way is empty. It's not surprising. Your mom and dad are social people, more so since you aged into college. Hottie says it's a midlife crisis, but you expect they just feel free now that you're and adult. Well, you do your best.

You hop up the steps and take out your keys. You leave it unlocked as you stop to take off your shoes. The only thing on your mind is a tall refreshing glass of water. You don't think orange pop is a great post-work out refresher, as bubbly as it is.

You go into the kitchen and fill a glass. You head out to the deck, leaving the sliding door open as you sit in the shade. You drain almost half the glass before setting it aside on the patio table. You lean forward and undo your fanny pack, putting it next to the water.

You lean back and close your eyes. You really should get washed up. You're a little smelly. Oh, maybe Hottie's done. You can't remember when she said she worked until.

You drag yourself to your feet and finish the water. You leave the empty glass in the kitchen and stop to look at the crooked whiteboard on the fridge. You fix it and turn your attention to your phone.

Your mom texted you during the class. Her and your dad drove up to your aunt's for their big summer blowout. The same one they seem to have every week or so.

You go upstairs and to your room. You undress a piece at a time. The body suit wasn't a great choice as you peel it away from your skin and the leggings catch around your ankle. Ew, you feel nasty.

You wrap yourself in a fresh towel and walk down the hall to the bathroom as you message Hottie to check in. It's a perfect night for a sleepover. Your dad always drinks too much when he's around your uncle.

You put your phone on the counter and swing the door behind you, not caring that it doesn't clasp. You put the towel over the bar and slide back the frosted door. You bend to crank on the faucet letting the water heat before stepping under it.

You bask in the steam and wash away the residue of your workout. You take your time, a rare chance to do so. You step out and find the whole room foggy. Jeez, like a sauna or whatever.

You grab your towel and pat yourself dry, swathing yourself in the cotton before letting the steam out into the hall. You hum that George Michael diddy as you come down to your room and hit the high note just as you find an unexpected figure on the foot of your bed. It's not your teddy bear.

Your heart drops and you barely keep the towel from doing the same.

"August?" You gape in confusion, has the steam made you delirious?

He smirks, the first time you've seen anything but fury in his features. You gulp loudly and clutch the knot of the towel. You don't like that little light in his eyes, like a wolf about to feast.

[asher-writes]

welcome to arcadia; installment six; Cyber

Prev instalments: | Government | Blue Oak Forest | The Landscape of Sight | Education in Arcadia | Diversity and Disability

Cyber: The largest city in Arcadia.

Book Three takes place largely in Cyber, initially referred to as "Section 50", one of the few places that actually retained it's pre-war scientific designation many years after the war was 'over'.

Settlement Designations

Settlements in Arcadia are termed as 'towns', 'cities' or 'settlement' depending on the quantity of people who live there. Cyber is designated as a city as it has over 1,000 occupants termed as 'living there'.

Cities tend to also have a legal chart of residents, which smaller settlements won't need. Towns have less than 1,000, but more than 100, and settlements are usually clusters of about 20 people.

Because Cyber has a legal chart, it doesn't actually include the amount of people who go there for the tourism, the money, the gangs, or 'illegal' settlers. Permits are required to work and live there, but many businesses will operate under the table so they don't have to pay tax. Or pay a fair wage.

This is important for the plot of book three, which digs deep into this underworld.

Resources in Cyber

Cyber's biggest resource is technology. Food is grown there, and water is treated from underground wells that are pre-war, but it's the tech that brings in so many people.

Although all the characters have been there, Edward lived and worked there for three years prior to taking up residence in Obsolete. In his account of Cyber - briefly - when he talked about his past, he notes that one of the largest markets are for scavengers such as himself. That means people like him would go out into Arcadia and return with pieces of technology that could be sold or stripped apart here.

However, Cyber makes most of its money through tax. Although technological and electronic exports are done from here, they come at a high price that the average person cannot afford.

Cyber Cell / Safehouse

The safehouse in Cyber is categorically illegal because they cannot afford to pay tax, and charity is not a classification in this world. Therefore, they operate as an average dwelling with connections throughout the entire city. This is the first time the characters have actively been working against the law in the series.

Aesthetics + Design

Six generators run the entire city. It is almost constantly lit up and nobody seems keen to spare the electricity. Though Ari questions why it's not until the end of the book that any of them get an answer.

This aside, Cyber is made up of tall buildings and narrow streets, almost perpetually blocking out any real sunlight. The buildings are lit up with neon signs, and the streets lined with cold blue streetlamps. The place is busy at all hours, and runs in shifts of different people coming to and from work, or shopping.

People come to Cyber just to stare at it, every street bright with light, every building casting a glow on the cobblestones beneath them. Noise, music, chatter, fills the entire air.

There is not a moment of peace here.

The citizen and the city

The people here are more diverse than anywhere else, but tend to be loud, culturally. There's also more variety in clothes and hair colour. Tattoos and piercings are more accessible here. Back street healthcare is not uncommon, but those involved do generally have the best interest of their patients in mind. People here can vary from callous and cruel, to kind-hearted and worrisome about the future of Arcadia.

There are many types of work here that aren't offered elsewhere - as well as the opportunity to train and study. So, there are many types of people in different trades.

There are a lot of tourist businesses. Trinket shops, video game cafés, even a museum and art gallery.

There is legally a red-light district, which April jokes about having worked at one night for some extra cash after losing his money in a game of poker (which he doesn't know how to play).

There are a portion of people who want that technology to be shared, or to let more refugees into the city, but are counteracted by a lack of resources by the city council.

They are a democratic society that tends to operate separately - although still under - the main governing body of Arcadia.

Notes

Ari spent a few months in Cyber whilst he was a university tutor. He did not enjoy it.

In book 2, Eli mentions that his pacer was fit in the hospital at Cyber because the hospital in Sight didn't have the tech at the time.

April spent almost a year in Cyber, working with a group of 'techies' that were "trying to build poison into bullets."

The last time Ana was in Cyber she nearly got arrested for getting into a fistfight. Luckily the person she punched was already a wanted criminal, so instead she got a bounty reward.

[gaijin-fujin-resonance]

REZISTO

On first listen, it was the little electronic squiggle that hooked me. Sure, it’s the prowling panther bassline that shapes the song and gives it its swaggering, slightly menacing power. But it’s that repeated hook of three descending minor notes that scratches at my brain like an itch.

Rezisto is not as flashy as some of the other electro bangers on the record, but it’s the one I keep coming back to. Maybe it’s the soft yet ominous urgency of the vocals - this is the quality of Imai’s voice that I love best: the same gentle, breathy, whispered sing-speaking that made me first fall in love with his singing style on 愛かわらずの「アレ」のカタマリがのさばる反吐の底の吹き溜り. It’s a relatively quiet song, but it feels dramatic, almost cinematic in its scope. A nighttime song. A song for stalking down dirty, narrow, rain-splashed alleys in a long leather coat, stepping between pools of neon-coloured light. I listened to it on headphones while walking along deserted industrial areas by the river in East Berlin late at night, and suddenly felt like a Cold War spy, a rebel in the Resistance.

The circling, portamento-warped bassline gives the verses their startlingly claustrophobic, paranoid feel. I can never quite tell if it’s a synth-bass or that’s just Yuta stretching the strings to bend the notes. The repeated three-note squiggle comes in first at 0:04, and is repeated, chopped and edited at 0:09 - it runs through the whole song like a pedal point around which the melody stalks like a double agent hunting a spy, bending and changing with the surrounding chords. The electronic filter sweeps drive the song’s urgency with that sense of constant movement. And that flickering, tightly edited, glitching guitar! It’s the most human element to the music, and yet the clever edits make it feel like a simulation, a retreating figure glimpsed only through the VHS static of a black and white security camera.

The song evokes such a specific time and place, it sent me searching through my record collection to try to work out what lost EBM or Wax Trax classic that squiggle reminded me of. So many three letter acronym bands I danced to in dirty Industrial clubs in the late 80s / early 90s: Meat Beat Manifesto. Front Line Assembly. Front 242. Nitzer Ebb. Renegade Soundwave. KMFDM. Ministry, LARD, Revolting Cocks… I can almost smell the sweaty leather and clove cigarettes. And yet that’s the magic that Buck-Tick work: they manage to evoke entire genres, moods and time/places without ever lapsing into plagiarism. The closest I could find to that three-note squiggle was an early NIN song (comes in around 0:14 on Down In It) but run through the extreme EE-EE-OU-OO-OH filter sweep of 808 State’s Cübik (comes in at 0:18)

On early listens, the over-brightness of the choruses confused me, dazzled me a bit too much, like stumbling out of a dark, neon-spangled alley into a four-lane, floodlit boulevard, crowded with people and speeding cars. I wanted the song to drop the sudden major chord cathedrals-of-sound distorted guitar fireworks and go back to the irresistible electronic squiggle. But as I struggled to translate the opaque lyrics, I realised that the contrast is the whole point - the sudden bursts of insight. “嗚呼!” is an interjection something like “alas!” Today, yet again, life will hurt. To be human is to suffer; and in suffering, cause pain to others. That’s an inherent quality of being human, rather than divine. The small quantity of poison, the tiny bit of bile among the blood and flesh and bones.

What are we resisting? What are we rebelling against? Giving in to suffering and pain? I've never really been a lyrics person, but Imai's impressionistic snatches of Stoicism and Hedonism have always urged me to live, rather than merely exist.

Best bit: right after the chorus, when the too-dazzling distorted guitar fades away, and the song goes back to its simmering electronic prowl. When the corruscating,clean guitar slices in like a squall of rain around 1:57, caught and repeated in a stuttering electronic glitch, like raindrops bouncing off a tin roof, or the refracted, sparkling reflections of a warm, lighted window on rain-slicked paving stones. A midnight rainy walk doesn't have to be miserable. In fact, the act of walking, paying attention, deep noticing, can turn even an ugly world beautiful.

[astralis01]

Hello! Hello! Can I have a matchup? I would like a jjk matchup (how we met). Let’s start with the basic:

Personality: I am an INTJ Slytherclaw, Aquarius and a Type 6 when it comes to anagrams. I am a huge overthinker and stress a lot with anxiety. People tell me that I can be blunt which results in people thinking that I can be cold but in reality I try to be a kind person when it is needed. I am a realist and many consider me to be intelligent, often asking me to help with their work. I’m incredibly passionate about things I like to do and have a thirst to know everyone’s opinions as I feel that if someone is left out. I’m a creative person but sometimes my brain just goes blank, I hate when it does. I sometimes follow the rules and can be serious if I wish to be but normally I like to goof off and break rules, adrenaline rushing through my body is just a different feeling I can’t explain. I have a really dry sense of humour that usually is a mix of sarcasm, fandom jokes or self degrading jokes. I’m not that good at describing personality but here are a few kins if it is helpful : Navier, Mikasa, Regulus Black, Annabeth, Shinobu, Shoko ( Jjk), Geto etc.

Looks: I’m slightly chubby and have a pear body shape. Upon seeing me, many people point out my eyes which are hazel with slight flecks of many colours such as green and amber being the prominent ones. I have a button nose and thin heart shaped lips. My face is round and my eye shape is almond. I am approximately 5’3. Two small moles are fixated on my right cheek and underneath my lip. My clothing style tends to be anything comfortable and classy. I prefer to wear black and colours that are darker, you will never find me wearing orange or neon colours. My clothing always consists of a dress of some sort. 

Likes: Chocolate, Anime, Reading, Drawing, Strawberries, Smell of Rain, Sleeping, Being the Best, Baking, Daydreaming, Murder Mysteries, Romance , Name hunting, Pinterest and Flower Languages.

Dislike: Loud noises, Jerks, Slow Walkers, Insects, Studying, Fake People, Self-pity, Getting below 90% in a test, Coffee, Snow and the feeling where your brain is blank and can’t tell what you feel like.

Love Language: Physical Touch and Quality Time

I prefer males and use the pronouns She/her

I hope this is enough information

Oh yup, that was the info I needed. Thanks for the note down below!!

I pair you up with….

GETOU SUGURU!!

Even though your vibes kinda match with Nanami as well, I think you give more friend-kinda vibes. I would probably put the two of you together in the same year and you become fast friends.

Suguru and you bond over perhaps training cursed techniques and martial arts. Of course, the descent into falling into love is a little stranger. He slowly starts to keep chocolates in his pockets, even having some on his missions. He sometimes picks up flowers from the local shop down the mountain to give you some, all carefully arranged.

He even starts hunting down your favourite manga and anime in stores so that both of you have something common to chat over the meals.

Of course, this friends tease him a lot but he doesn’t seem to mind when he sees your smile.

Suguru sometimes sits in the communal kitchen, flipping through the pages of the latest novel that he had borrowed from you. Even though, almost all the plots seemed similar to nowadays, but all he had to see was the brightest grin from you and he’ll start again.

The fridge is now full of sweets, courtesy of both you and Satoru, and he doesn’t mind much, even indulging in them sometimes, even when he doesn’t have an overtly sweet tooth.

He hears your footsteps first, even before he hears you. He has learned how to distinguish between all of the others footsteps. You come tumbling in and then asked him, “Whatcha reading?"

You peek right above from his shoulder, your slight breathing sending shivers down his spine as he closed the book to show you the title.

“Oh, it’s the one that I lent you! How you liking it so far."

You placed yourself right beside him and he said, “It’s good, the characters are finally getting together, I think."

You smiled and said, “It’s a romance novel, darlin’ "

His heart stuttered in his ribs, your little quirk was gonna be the death of him someday. One day, he accidentally heard you call that to Haibara and for a moment he lost all his affection for his junior but the next moment you called that to Satoru and all his fears erased.

You, who would treat Satoru as a sibling would never date him.

“Do you think you could help me with the history of curses work,” he asked, knowing fully well that, coming from one of the major clans.

“Of course, could you show it to me?"

As he pulled it out, he noticed as you moved even closer, now with the pencil you had grabbed from his bag, thinking deeply. God, he really loved when your face pinched in when you worked.

As you explained, all he could imagine was the latest mission you had tagged along where you single-handedly wiped the floor with a semi first grade.

God, he was so whipped, wasn't he?

[noroi1000]

Hello! Hello! Can I have matchup if it’s open?

I would like a Jjk male matchup. Let’s start with the basic:

Personality: I am an INTJ Slytherclaw, Aquarius and a Type 6 when it comes to anagrams. I am a huge overthinker and stress a lot with anxiety. People tell me that I can be blunt which results in people thinking that I can be cold but in reality I try to be a kind person when it is needed. I am a realist and many consider me to be intelligent, often asking me to help with their work. I’m incredibly passionate about things I like to do and have a thirst to know everyone’s opinions as I feel that if someone is left out. I’m a creative person but sometimes my brain just goes blank, I hate when it does. I sometimes follow the rules and can be serious if I wish to be but normally I like to goof off and break rules, adrenaline rushing through my body is just a different feeling I can’t explain. I have a really dry sense of humour that usually is a mix of sarcasm, fandom jokes or self degrading jokes. I’m not that good at describing personality but here are a few kins if it is helpful : Navier, Mikasa, Regulus Black, Annabeth, Shinobu, Shoko ( Jjk), Geto etc.

Looks: I’m slightly chubby and have a pear body shape. Upon seeing me, many people point out my eyes which are hazel with slight flecks of many colours such as green and amber being the prominent ones. I have a button nose and thin heart shaped lips. My face is round and my eye shape is almond. I am approximately 5’3. Two small moles are fixated on my right cheek and underneath my lip. My clothing style tends to be anything comfortable and classy. I prefer to wear black and colours that are darker, you will never find me wearing orange or neon colours. My clothing always consists of a dress of some sort. 

Likes: Chocolate, Anime, Reading, Drawing, Strawberries, Smell of Rain, Sleeping, Being the Best, Baking, Daydreaming, Murder Mysteries, Romance , Name hunting, Pinterest and Flower Languages.

Dislike: Loud noises, Jerks, Slow Walkers, Insects, Studying, Fake People, Self-pity, Getting below 90% in a test, Coffee, Snow and the feeling where your brain is blank and can’t tell what you feel like.

Love Language: Physical Touch and Quality Time

I hope this is enough information

Sorry you had to wait so long! I had it in the editing queue and completely forgot because I had your matchup in another note.

I think your matchup is Itadori Yuji

I chose you a boy with a sunny smile.

Not everyone has to be the same for someone to fit together. Just like your case. You are not identical, but you have something in common.

Yuji calls himself stupid. But his wisdom is also demonstrated in other ways, not only as intelligence on basic topics. He is intelligent and strong. But he keeps telling himself he's stupid. He would like to constantly put others above him. He cares about someone more than himself. This is where his social intelligence shows. Seeing that someone deserves help. Seeing that only he can help in some way. And coming up with an idea so that no one gets hurt.

For some time he had clearly known that there was death and life. He didn't paint life as the most beautiful and perfect. There is everything in the world that people would not want. He became a positive realist. Life is cruel and you can't pretend otherwise. But you should focus on what can make you smile, right?

It cannot be denied that he is a sociable person and tries to establish a common language with everyone who is closer to him. He never wanted enemies. But he doesn't like people who are fake and mean. But they are part of the real world. Wanting to lead a carefree life and not have to look at the horrors, he cannot forget about everything that ensures safety and happiness. Rules can be broken. If these are the rules that make you unhappy. If you're safe even if you break it, what do you have to worry about? The most important thing is that nothing bad will happen.

He will do everything necessary to make his loved one smile.

Yuji doesn't like idleness or anything slow. He has so much energy that cannot be exhausted. Anyone could be tired or bored. But he still doesn't lose his energy and will run around like a playful puppy. That's why whenever you want some wild experience that will make your heart beat so fast, you can count on him to go with you. First of all, he will go with you so that you don't go alone. Secondly, he will go with you to know that you are safe and sound and will return home. Third, he will go with you to have some fun.

When it comes to volume, he can be really loud. But you can turn his volume knob to make him quieter. Once he senses that you don't feel comfortable with loud sounds, he will turn it down as much as you want.

As I mentioned, he has a lot of energy. With it you won't be bored, and there won't be anything monotonous and slow. Perhaps he will want to have a little competition with you? But knowing your passion for winning and being the best, he will definitely let you win just to see your smile. He could pretend to be the person with the worst results just to keep you happy.

He is addicted to everything you like. He likes almost everything. There is nothing he hates. He will adapt to any food and activity. He is so flexible in the relationship that he can be anything.

Best friend and beloved.

His favorite love is certainly spending time together and touching.

[romanticallyghosting]

small compilation of ways i keep the sketchbooks nice and spicy looking. couldnt tell if you actually wanted this or nah but have it anyways. as a wedding gift

literally always have highlighters nearby in a pencilcase. if not those, coloured pens work just as nice, and sometimes even better due to how little they make everything else bleed. but i had a set of highlighters w me 24/7 at school and they only lasted like, 6 months? cuz of how much i worked them to death

i have a small hoard of.... around 30 or so sticky notes in diff colours and patterns. used to use them way more but theyre a nice way to either make quick backgrounds or cover up mistakes when drawing w pens. on a similar note, i also have an entire folder of scrap paper i use in place of that sometimes, just from random things. mb candy wrappers, or tea boxes. yknow. just fun paper.

people always look at me like im insane when i say this, but i adore sketching with pens right away. pencils make everything muddy and smudgy, pens dont smear and are, obv, in a shit tonna colours.

sometimes, i pick a colour for a day and roll with it. for example, i randomly pick a red pen to doodle with during class, and then only use the red pen for the rest of the day, and the next day is like, idk, a blue one. i like how it makes days easier to tell apart, but this may just be a me thing

washi tape !!!!!!!!!!! can be used to stick in random wrappers or notes OR used to secure the sticky notes from earlier so they dont peel off that easily (although i usually use a gluestick for those anyways)

acrylic paint is a friend. a good friend. best friend (right after pens). good for fun bgs, could be fun t just mess around w!! i was lucky enough to find proper NEON acrylic paint tubes as well, to add to the eye bleedingness!! theyre fun, everything can go on top of acrylic [:<<

stickers. adore stickers, cherish stickers, marry stickers. theyre nice. i love stickers. esp smiley face ones

anyways yeah. ily

saving this. SAVING THIS!!!!

TY LOVE I WILL CHERISH THESE TIPS

[micallum]

May I copy your notes? (Melvyn Jaminet x OFC)

PART I. ACQUAINTANCES | AO3 LINK 2249 words

Image by @oscar-piastri from x

Full disclosure: I have never written rugby fics so please do not be mad if I do not get things right, okay? Thanks.

Disclaimer: I DID NO PROOFREADING, SORRY.

What makes a jock? Is it the muscles or the attitude? This is not something Maisie has given much, or any thought to at all. She signed up for a good college, kept her grades up and enjoyed her clubs and spare time as much as she could. Getting that degree in Marketing was the ultimate goal, and she was methodical about her studies. Having a scholarship was a good incentive to always find a way to make things work. 

Without a doubt, her bags were too heavy, but there was no helping it; she needed her books and her different coloured pens and markers. She had a peculiar transparent plastic bag, which she used to get into the library and sign out books to study from. 

That morning she had already been to the library and took out two books. Each for a different class. 

She enjoyed the kind of lessons Professor Claude was teaching. He had two assistants, one of which helped with practice lessons and the other one which helped record and upload all classes to the school’s students’ website. 

Her seat was always near the center of the classroom, and she found herself trapped in the graphs and economic theories Professor Claude went on and on about. The seats at her sides had been empty for almost two weeks. She knew it was a difficult course and it only awarded a couple of credits, but she liked it.It helped that it only took three hours of her time to be in the classroom. Maisie made the best of the empty seats next to her, getting comfortable by placing her bags on one of the seats and spreading her notebook and pencil bag on the space for the other person to her left. She put her water bottle to her right and often forgot to drink while furiously copying the examples from the board in colorful notes and doodles. 

It was that morning, on the first lesson of the week, that a seemingly new student showed up a good 45 minutes into the 60 minute lecture. He had broad shoulders and a strong build, he was one of the tallest guys in the class. Not unlike other students, he wore a pair of shorts and a shirt. The odd thing about him was his empty-looking backpack. 

He walked in and walked to the back, in a swift move he pulled both of Maisie’s bags up and placed them on the next seat over before sitting down as if the bags weren’t ridiculous in weight. 

Maisie’s eyes were glued to the screen where the professor was showing another theory with a formula. Her hand kept writing on the paper and her mouth was agape, completely immersed in the work ahead of her. 

The strange student looked at the screen for a moment and then his eyes turned to her. He leaned to his right, and reached out to play with her pencil case. 

“Hey.” He whispered. “Have you been here the whole time?”

Maisie blinked, “what?” she whispered back. 

“Did you arrive to class on time?” He kept his voice down, fingers tossing the small fur ball on the zipper of the pencil bag. 

She hummed in confirmation, nodding slowly without missing a word of the class ahead of them. 

“Cool, so...uh... may I borrow your notes?” He wondered. 

Maisie put her pen down and reached for a neon green gel pen, which made the stranger leave her case alone. She eyed her notes quickly, wondering why he was speaking to her in the first place. “I don’t think I know him…?”

“Uhm…” Maisie was unsure how to reply. 

“... and that will be all for today, we don’t have time for the next topic. See you here on Thursday.” The professor announced and a couple of students started asking him questions right away. 

“So?” She finally looked at him. 

He looked strong and big. He was hunched over, leaning towards her a bit. He smiled like a little kid and his eyes showed a gentleness true to a kid. 

She gave in, she had to. She couldn’t bring herself to say no. Not when he gave her that sweet boyish smile. She forced herself to look away and mumbled he could take her notes after Thursday, begrudgingly admitting she liked to revise for that class on tuesdays. To which he nods, thanking her. 

“I’ve got some catching up to do.” He said while she picked up her stuff. 

Once the two stood up from their chairs, the clock read 9:02 o’clock. Maisie still had another class that day at 10am but with some spare time for a coffee. She thanked the stranger when he handed her the two bags. Not without noticing how it seemed to weigh nothing for him while she felt her entire body leaning towards the side the bags were hanging from her shoulder. 

“My name is Melvyn, by the way.” 

“Maisie,” she shook hands with him and began walking outside. 

Melvyn followed and once outside the pair said goodbye only to meet again at the same spot on Thursday. 

It turned out Melvyn was not too good at sitting down and quietly listening to lectures. Maisie did ask why he was taking that class. He was working towards a Business Major, so he needed it. Besides, he was in the rugby team so he needed to keep his grades up or he would be kicked off the team. 

“Oh, so you train every day?” She asked him as he put away her notebook in his large backpack. 

“Yeah, sometimes early morning, sometimes evening… I swear I am not this bad in every class. I don’t know what’s wrong but Professor Claude puts me to sleep so I end up tuning out.”

Maisie shrugged, unable to relate to his feelings. “Don’t worry about it, just please make sure to give them back on Monday. I will be in room 305B at 10am.” 

Melvyn tilted his head to the side, “do you take psychology?” 

She sighed in surprise, “well… yes.” 

“Cool. See you then, Miss thing!” He turned to walk away, leaving her with a simple wave. 

“Later…” She pulled her bags up and turned the opposite way. 

In her head she was hoping he wouldn’t lose her notes, but just in case she had taken pictures of the last few lessons. She wondered why he wouldn’t also take pictures instead of taking her notebook with him. But who was she to judge? Maybe he knew he wouldn’t copy them then. Or something… 

The borrowing of notes happened again the following week, with Melvyn showing up on Thursday with a sleeveless shirt and a couple of long kinesiology bands. She got curious and asked after eyeing it for a good minute. 

Melvyn was nonchalant about everything, or so it seemed. He told her about his games and how rugby worked. Maisie admitted she had watched a few matches growing up but had not followed any teams since starting college. 

“Ohhh, you should come to see us play on Friday! We’re good, you know?”

Maisie’s cheeks turned pink, “Friday?” She blew air out of her mouth, “I’ve cinema club on Fridays.” Melvyn shrugged. “But good luck!”

The two waved and walked in opposite ways as usual.

This type of exchange would go on for almost a full month, with Melvyn handing back the notebook every Monday at 10am as she walked out of her psychology classroom. They would talk for a while in the hallway and then walk away. The friendship grew at a slow pace, and happened organically. On Thursdays Maisie knew he would be outside, most probably leaning on the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. She did not bother her notebook away, she knew she was going to hand it to him. 

And she was surprised when Melvyn brought up the topic of a paper. He had to write a paper for his Real Estate Class. It was worth almost half the grade, and he was worried he would not be able to hand in something coherent. 

Maisie asked him if any of his friends was taking that class with him, to which he replied by saying most of his friends were on the team too and studying sports sciences. She was the only friend he could rely on for this. 

The paper was not due until the following week. So there was still enough time for Melvyn to get it done. He put his hands together and swore he would beg her if he had to. 

“Please don’t.” She sighed outside of the classroom. 

Looking down at her watch she realized they had been talking for almost 20 minutes. It was her coffee time, so she began walking towards the stairs so she could get to the small cafeteria in the building next door. 

“Come on, Maisie!” He made playful puppy eyes at her as he followed her. 

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes, “We can meet in the library tomorrow. I will reserve a study room at 4, so be there on time.”

“4pm?” He lit up, hands dropping at his sides. “Got it, thank you Miss Beau!” 

Maisie frowned, turning to him “Excuse me?” 

“Beaufoy, right?” He gave her a small side smile, grabbing his cap and pulling it off to put it back on but backwards. “That’s your last name, yes?” 

Maisie nodded, reminded that she always doodled her name on the top of every page in her notebooks. A habit she kept from elementary school. 

“What’s yours?” She asked, realizing that she did not know his last name. 

“Jaminet,” he pulled the door open and the pair stepped into the fresh morning air. “See you tomorrow then!”

He was a jock, no doubt. Melvyn was able to write the paper, the problem was that his ideas were spread throughout with little order. Maisie read over the text on his computer and began making notes on a sheet of paper. She did not need to take the class to know how to properly present this. 

Maisie then explained to him what her notes meant and told him to start over but basing his new draft on the first one. Melvyn almost seemed shocked with the idea of writing another draft. Why not just edit this one? Maisie pushed his cap off his head and told him to listen to her. 

The result was much better, so the rugby player admitted her way was better than his. After only 3 hours the paper was clearer and easier to read. Maisie rubbed her eyes after the final read of the day. She gave him a thumbs up and advised him to check his sources again, adding them and then it would be ready. Melvyn smiled from ear to ear in glee thanking her profusely. 

Outside the weather was beginning to get colder, with winter hitting the country oddly late in the last months of the year. It was dark and Melvyn felt guilty about sending his friend home in a bus. 

“When’s the next one?” He asked her as they walked towards the nearest bus stop. 

Maisie covered her mouth, hiding a yawn from him. Her eyes showed tiredness but she remained her usual cheerful self. 

“Hm? In 20 minutes, I think.” The pair stopped in front of the bus schedule at the bus stop and confirmed this. 

“Why don’t you let me give you a ride?” Melvyn offered sheepishly brushing his bearded jawline with his hand. 

She thought about it for a moment, to be honest she did not feel like waiting 20 minutes when she could be home in half that time. But to make Melvyn go out of his way to take her home? She was about to say no when a couple of drunk students walked past on their way to their dorm room across from campus. 

“I-” the two of them looked at the drunk twenty-somethings. “Yes please.”

Melvyn nodded, showing her the way to the parking lot. He helped her put on his helmet since he did not have another one and then announced he would not drive too fast. 

There was no way around it, Maisie had to hold on to Melvyn. Although he did not seem especially excited or bothered by it, she decided to not make a fuss out of it and simply wrapped her arms around his waist, holding on to her own arm at the front. 

Not even 10 minutes later she was getting off the bike right in front of her dorm building. Melvyn made a mental note about it, they had never previously spoken about their dorm situations. He was in a sort of unofficial fraternity, sharing rooms with other players from the team. In the meantime he was amused to learn that his friend was in the strictest catholic dorm. 

“Thank you!” She put the helmet on his hand. “I’ll see you on Monday. Good luck with your game tomorrow!” 

He stayed seated on his bike, “Aren’t you coming? I think you would like meeting the guys…” 

Maisie blinked, “sorry, my sister’s in town tomorrow.” 

Melvyn nodded, remembering the vague comment she made about it the day before. He waved and pulled the helmet on as he waved. Maisie went inside and waved from there through the glass doors. 

Why did Melvyn feel disappointed she could not make it to his games ever?

To be continued...

[kurazaru]

I MADE COOL NEW ART

This is some shit I made up on my own and I'm proud ✨i love it so much just like the last one. Ik this stuff won't get half as many notes as anime art but I think this artstyle is v fun . I loved playing with the bright neon colours nd honestly making this was so much fun nd it was also v relaxing ✨ I'm gonna start making more of these; nd if I get bored then well, whatever lol I'll try something new again.

Alrightty now abt some personal life stuff which most of you won't care abt but here i am coz I just needed to share: i feel like one of my best frnds doesn't like me that much anymore.. whenever I try to make plans with him he's always telling hes busy nd can only do weekends and places near where he works, but almost every other day I see him post stories abt him going out with his other frnds DURING WEEK DAYS. I can't do weekends as I like to stay home and be at peace and be with my family, and my home is like a million kilometres away so it takes me a min of 30 mins to go like anywhere. And weekends are usually when I hv dentist appointments and stuff like that ( i hv implant treatment going on). I've asked him to go on next weekend (by clearing all my plans) and he has said ok too but I feel like jes gonna cancel last minute. What do I do TvT

[thedirectedimageardn716]

Week 10 Peer Critique (from Alex)

(Highlighted in blue for what i am achieving)

Notes from Alex:

Title could be changed but he Iikes it

Strong images Don’t need a huge number of them just need to be powerful

Too many colours 1-2 colours He loved the blue colour match ie NEON

Pull it back a little bit ?

Scape between letters and words

He doesn’t think that is the hero image Def better ones

More space between image and text

Font change Editing eg capital letters

Image on page 3 is good !!!!

Page numbers too big and too close to the edge

Swap ideas with a comms designer

Bigger as a book with more white pages between images

Page 6 don’t work best together

Could be a fuller the toilets image

If the image doesn’t go heavy lifting kill it

The best stuff needs to be early on !!!

Page 10 the first image needs to be stand alone on a white page

End of the day end of the book??

Drop at the bottom of the page should be the biggest cap

Add more of the funny images

Try different crops

The line length of words is too long

Page boarders can be wiggled around

Find ur main images and use more white pages will create a strong book

Close ups are working well

Page 16 pick one and stick with it too similar one will be more powerful

try a bit of colour grading

Lots to play with !!!

The full bleed is really working

Page 17 hero image ?!??!! Makes you grab the book Can repeat the image inside the book

Full bleed on one page

Page 19-20 reworked

Try bring artificial light into the space for a reshoot

Blue light

Floor detail close ups

Take a lot of images get bored in one area

Cropping would really work in post/ in camera