#found a brush i really liked and sort of blacked out in the process

[wonboos]

i know nothing about soul eater 🔥🔥🔥

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #5

Time is funny when you’re half-dead, fully annoyed, and accidentally adopted by the Goddess of Death.

Clockwork would say there are no accidents—only inconvenient truths and divine meddling. That’s probably why Danny Fenton, fifteen-year-old ghost boy with a penchant for sarcasm and trauma, had found himself dropped into the Nine Realms like a glowing, confused kitten tossed into a pit of wolves. Except in this case, the wolves wore armor, carried swords, and were burning a village in Odin’s name.

He arrived mid-battle. Because, of course.

Green fire blazed from his hands instinctively, not because he wanted to help some random Asgardian villagers (okay maybe a little), but because he didn’t like bullies and the Einherjar were real assholes. He knocked one out of the sky, punched another through a stone pillar, and then got personally tackled by a blur of black and green.

The Goddess of Death stared at him. He stared back, mildly terrified but also annoyed because she hadn’t brushed her hair in 50 years and still looked better than him. Her crown formed, antlers arching like the jaws of a beast, and she asked, “What in the Yggdrasil are you?��

Danny blinked, wiped blood from his cheek that wasn’t even his, and muttered, “Ghost. Teenager. Lost, I think?”

And Hela—executioner of a thousand realms, general of Asgard’s greatest conquests, secret eldest child of Odin—looked at this scrawny glowing boy with plasma in his veins and something inside her cracked. Maybe it was maternal instinct. Maybe it was madness. Maybe it was because he shot a sarcastic thumbs-up at her after kicking a berserker into a wall.

But she didn’t kill him.

Instead, she took him to her quarters in the Golden Palace, cleaned his wounds with unsettling gentleness, and when Odin came asking, “Where did this strange creature come from?” she looked the All-Father dead in the eye and said, “He’s mine.”

Danny had no idea how this escalated, but suddenly he had a new Asgardian name—Dánjal Helson. It sounded dramatic and ancient and weirdly metal. He hated it. But he didn’t fight her on it. Not when she started teaching him how to channel the dead, how to split his ectoplasmic form into spectral blades, how to walk through the veil between life and death and come back laughing. She was a terrifying mother, but she was his.

And then Odin banished her.

Danny had screamed at Clockwork, demanded answers, but all the time ghost said was, “This was always meant to happen.”

So he did what any teenage ghost king with mommy issues and interdimensional authority would do—he broke into Helheim.

Well. He didn’t really break in. He sort of… floated. Slipped. Ghosted through the borders of the dead and found her throne, jagged and thorny, surrounded by skeletal wolves and screaming winds. She was sitting there, bleeding shadows, eyes dull with millennia of betrayal. And when she looked up and saw him—her boy—she fell to her knees.

He ran to her.

She touched his face like it was a miracle. He said, “Hey Mom,” because apparently sarcasm is how you process godlike trauma.

Years passed. Danny became King of the Infinite Realms. The title came with annoying paperwork, wars against spectral tyrants, and weird tea with the Ghost Council. But he always made time to visit Hela. They trained together. She told him Asgardian legends. He taught her Earth memes. Once, he showed her a vine compilation and she laughed so hard a bridge in Niflheim collapsed.

She taught him to wear a crown with violence.

He taught her to say “yeet.”

Then Odin’s death happened.

Thor and Loki were on their redemption road trip, bonding and yelling and discovering truths. Odin croaked in Norway and, with his last breath, whispered something like “She’s coming. My firstborn. She will bring death.”

Thor assumed it was a warning.

It was, in fact, an invitation.

Because instead of bursting out of Helheim and heading to Asgard for vengeance and chaos, Hela just looked at the hole in the sky and said, “Hold on.”

She turned to Danny, who was floating upside down in his ridiculous green cape and crown of bone-fire, holding a ghost-summoning staff like a bored wizard with ADHD.

“I think I’m free.”

Danny blinked. “Cool. Wanna rule a death dimension with me?”

“Yes.”

And that was how Hela, Goddess of Death, became the terrifying, unhinged, protective Queen Mother of the Infinite Realms. She wore black armor, sharp heels, and lipstick made of shadow. She smiled when ghosts bowed to her and summoned dragons when demons threatened her son.

Danny tried to stop her from vaporizing a ghost that called him “soft,” but she just said, “He insulted my son. I will end him and salt the afterlife with his ectoplasm.”

Meanwhile, Thor and Loki were having several consecutive mental breakdowns.

“She’s supposed to be here!” Thor yelled, pointing at the now empty Helheim portal.

“She’s going to destroy Asgard!” Loki added, pulling at his hair and possibly having a crisis because he found a baby photo of himself and her and now has emotions.

They go to Earth. They go to Sakaar. They go everywhere trying to find Hela.

And then they finally, finally track her down to the Infinite Realms—an interdimensional mess of floating islands, undead bureaucrats, and haunted palace ruins where the sky bleeds green and time doesn’t work properly.

They arrive and find her seated on a throne beside a floating teenager with white hair and eyes like starlight.

The boy yawns. “Oh, hey. I’m Danny. You’re my uncles or whatever, right?”

Hela looks up. “You’re late.”

“Who is he?” Thor demands, pointing at Danny like a confused golden retriever.

“My son,” Hela says proudly, brushing Danny’s hair out of his face. “Dánjal Helson. King of the Infinite Realms. Also, the reason I haven’t erased Asgard from existence.”

Loki nearly faints.

“WHAT?”

Danny, bless his chaotic heart, just shrugs. “Yeah, hi. Ghost king. Time travel shenanigans. Clockwork nonsense. She adopted me during one of Odin’s genocidal field trips. I’m adorable, apparently.”

Thor tries to process this.

Fails.

Loki sits down and mutters something about therapy.

“You were supposed to destroy everything,” Thor says weakly.

“I did, darling,” Hela replies. “I destroyed my need for vengeance. I found something better.”

Danny grins. “Family.”

Suddenly Fenrir bounds in and tackles Danny because the giant wolf is basically his oversized murder-dog. Hela sips a chalice of glowing mist. Loki’s eye twitches. Thor is whispering to Mjolnir for emotional support.

Then the doors burst open.

It’s Skulker, Fright Knight, Ember, Spectra, and a dozen other ghostly rogues arriving for court. They bow before Danny and Hela. One of them screams because Hela smiles.

Danny raises an eyebrow. “Mom, please stop terrifying my council.”

“They like it.”

“I like not having heart attacks.”

Loki is losing it. “I was the adopted one. I was the weird one. Now there’s a ghost boy who’s half-dead, calls the Goddess of Death Mom, rules a dimension of horror, and has diplomatic immunity in the Nine Realms.”

Hela stands.

“Correction. We have diplomatic immunity. And he is my son. Touch him and I will unmake your soul.”

Danny leans against her like the chaos gremlin he is. “Aw. Love you too, Mom.”

Fenrir howls. The sky flickers.

Thor turns to Loki and says, “I think we have a nephew.”

Loki replies, “I think we’re going to die.”

Later, when Surtur rises and Asgard faces its prophesied doom, it’s Danny who appears in front of the fire demon with a floating crown and a sarcastic grin.

“Yo, Surtur. You’re doing a little too much.”

Surtur roars, “Who are you?”

“I’m the Ghost King. And that’s my mom you’re threatening. Back off.”

Hela watches from a floating throne made of bone and cosmic spite. Her son glows brighter than any sun. And for the first time in ten thousand years, the Goddess of Death laughs—truly, freely, joyously.

Because Danny isn’t just her son.

He’s her retribution.

He’s her redemption.

He’s hers.

She will burn the realms to keep him safe.

[fresitasmoribund]

What Ifs and How It Was

-`♡´- pairing: Poly!Wolfstar x Fem!Reader

-`♡´- summary: A late-night conversation with your best friends—Sirius and Remus—leads to playful confessions. The three of you assume enough time has passed for any romantic feelings to fade. But the awkward silence that follows suggests otherwise.

-`♡´- contains: confessions, kissing

-`♡´- masterlist

-`♡´- word count: 3.9k

You’d never believe the whole “friends-of-the-opposite-gender-can’t-exist” nonsense. It always kind of seemed like an excuse. A way for people to justify turning casual friendships into something way more complicated than they needed to be. In fact, you hated hearing it. You always brushed it off with a sigh or an eyeroll. After all, you had plenty of friends who didn’t fit into those narrow definitions. Until that one night.

You weren’t much of a pub-goer, but that night, something strange pulled you there. Maybe it was the dull hum of the city that night. Or maybe it was the promise of a drink you didn’t have to make yourself. Either way, you found yourself tucked into a corner of the first loud, dimly lit place you could find. You nursed a glass and enjoyed the atmosphere, staying just close enough to any brawls for free entertainment, but safely away from getting hurt.

During your little adventure, you stumbled upon a very drunk man, and his very apologetic friend. Actually, it was more like he had stumbled into you – literally.

Sirius Black was an intoxicated mess of long, unruly hair and had the kind of energy that could ripple through the air like static electricity. One minute, you were sipping your drink, minding your own business. The next, you were knocked sideways by a body that practically materialized out of nowhere. You tried to catch your balance but only ended up stumbling backward.

“Shit! Sorry! I didn’t—” His own laughter interrupted him as he tried to untangle himself from you.

Before you could even process the situation, another presence appeared – calm, collected, and letting a string of “sorry”s fall from his lips. Remus Lupin, his sober friend, helped both of you up with a surprisingly gentle grip.

“You alright?” Remus asked, his voice soft but sincere. His eyes roamed over your face with a mix of concern and just a mild amount of amusement. You found yourself nodding before you could even stop yourself.

Sirius, meanwhile, was still rambling apologies, his words tumbling clumsily over each other in a way that made it clear he wasn’t entirely control of his brain at the moment.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to—” He paused, staring at you with wide, doe-like eyes. “But, hey… you’re alright. You look alright. Maybe even better than alright.”

You blinked – slightly confused – before shaking your head with a smile.

“It’s fine. No harm done.” You straightened, brushing yourself off.

He turned toward his partner, his attention already shifting to something else.

“Moony,” he slurred, nudging his shoulder. “Get the beautiful thing a drink, yeah? It’s the least I can do after practically throwing her across the pub.”

Remus gave him a pointed look with a raised eyebrow, but he didn’t object. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket for some cash. A small laugh bubbled up from your throat. The absurdity of it all made you suddenly realize how amiable they both were together.

As Remus went off to grab the drinks, Sirius took a step closer to you. Thinking back on that moment, it had been a little too close, but it felt… oddly natural. He grinned, still a little wild-eyed. You could tell that despite the graceless introduction, he exuded a sort of warmth that was impossible to ignore.

“So,” he started, as if you’d known each other forever, “Why are you at a place like this by yourself, gorgeous?”

It was cheesy, and it was a clear attempt at flirting. You’d find out that the drunker Sirius got, the worse his flirting was. You never let him live it down from that day on. But in that moment, there was something about it – the light in his eyes, the tilt of his head – that made you grin.

Before you could respond, Remus returned with drinks in hand. He was a little bemused by Sirius’ antics but was clearly used to them.

“You alright?” He asked, handing you your drink with a small smile.

You accepted it gratefully, still processing the oddness of the situation. “I think so. I’ve survived worse.”

Remus chuckled softly and stepped back, more comfortable now that the initial awkwardness had faded. Sirius, however, was still standing a little too close to you. His smirk widened as he took in your drink and then glanced at Remus.

“See?” Sirius said, raising his glass. “I’m not completely abysmal.”

Laughter passed between the three of you, the unexpected bond sinking in quietly.

Even then, you still had the firm belief that you could strictly stay platonic with friends of the opposite gender. They couldn’t count, right? For starters, there were two of them. And, you quickly learned, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were an inseparable package deal.

Okay, maybe you did have a crush on both of them at one point. But it was almost like they actively tried to make it impossible for someone not to be at least a little infatuated by them. Remus had a quiet charm—the kind that lingered in his soft-spoken words and surprising wit. His pensive gaze always carried an air of controlled intensity. It felt like he was trying to understand you down to your very soul – but never in a way that felt invasive. He carried himself with a reserved elegance, shoulders slightly hunched. If you ever had the pleasure of picking up on a mumbled retort of his, you were sure to laugh. The scars that crossed his face only added to the enigmatic air of mystery around him. He was always your source of calm – perfectly balancing Sirius’ chaos.

Sirius was a natural flirt – his beauty so striking it was almost cruelly unfair. He carried himself with a confidence that tipped toward arrogance, but never quite fell over. That was thanks to the way he could charm the socks off anyone in a heartbeat. He tended to look at people like he could eat them alive if he wanted to – in a violent and sexual way. Everything about him was larger than life – his laugh, his humor, his confidence – and it was hard not to be swept up in his orbit.

They didn’t shy away from touching, either. Sirius didn’t seem to know the meaning of personal space – always draping himself over the nearest friend he could find. He’d sit too close, his thigh squished against yours. Or he would lean in too close to make a point, lips quirking into that devilish smirk whenever he noticed your cheeks flushing. And Remus, although more reserved and respectful, was the kind of person who would grab your hips to gently move past you. Or he’d kneel in the middle of the pavement to tie your shoe before you even realized it had come undone.

There were loads of times that you could have justified having a crush on them.

Like that one time you’d walked straight into a pole, and while Sirius was laughing his ass off, Remus wore a worried look on his face.

“You alright, love?” he whispered, his hands tentative as they cupped your face, tilting it gently to inspect for any damage. His touch was warm, and for that brief moment, the whole world seemed to fade away. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed the comfort until it was there.

But it wasn’t just his hands or the softness of his voice. It was the way his brow creased in genuine concern for you, his amber eyes scanning yours as though searching for something deeper than a bruise.

“You had me scared for a second. Can’t have you broken just yet, can we?” His lips curled into a smile, his thumb gently brushed against your cheek.

You managed a sheepish laugh, waving him off with a dismissive, “I’m fine.” But even as you spoke, he remained. His hands fell from your face to your shoulders, steadying you. Sirius grinned, striding over to you both.

“Oi, let me coddle her too.” Before you could react, he slung an arm over your shoulders and pressed his cheek to the side of your head. “You’re alright, love, aren’t you? Say it’s so, for my sake.”

Or that time you’d brought Sirius a drink at a party.

He was talking someone’s ear off when you found him – gesturing wildly as he launched into a tirade. It wasn’t unusual for him to dominate a conversation. His voice was always a little louder than necessary, and his laugh could cut through the room like a knife. He was magnetic, in that way only Sirius could be.

You didn’t even think about it as you grabbed his empty cup and swapped it for a fresh one. You slid it into his hand so seamlessly that it took him a moment to notice. But he always notices when you do something.

When it seemed he finally did, he stopped mid-sentence. He glanced at the new cup and then at you with a look of exaggerated delight, like you’d just handed him a winning lottery ticket. Without missing a beat, he grabbed your face – careful not to spill his drink on you – and planted a big, dramatic kiss on your cheek.

“Oh, I just love you, darling,” he beamed, eyes sparkling with mischief.

And then, just like that, he turned back to his conversation. He picked up right where he’d left off, as if nothing had happened.

How could anyone not be totally, madly in love with them?

… Definitely not you. That’s for sure.

Your feelings seemed to die down when they began dating each other about a year into the blossoming friendship the three of you shared. It was only a matter of time for them, and you knew that. They shared a longer history, and, truthfully, you had assumed they were already a couple when you first met them. You had even offered advice to both men on how to approach the topic with each other. You were happy for them, and despite the coupling, there was never a time the three of you weren’t together. The dynamic didn’t change much, either. Well, aside from those moments when you’d step out of the room for only a second and come back to Sirius practically devouring Remus’ face.

The soft, creamy glow of the table lamp illuminated a small portion of the room they had designated as yours after purchasing a flat together. Sirius is sprawled casually on top of Remus, his chin resting on his folded arms. You are next to them, propped up on your side, a pillow tucked beneath your elbow.

While Sirius casually leaned into teasing you as he often did, Remus just… was. The way his hand subconsciously finds its way into Sirius’ hair, twirling a lock between his fingers, spoke volumes without either of them acknowledging it. You knew them both like the back of your hand – their habits and quirks as familiar as your own heartbeat. But in those quiet moments, you’d find yourself wondering what it would’ve been like if the timing had been different. What if you were a little braver?

No. You are grateful for what you have now.

“Remember our first impressions?” Sirius asks suddenly.

Oh, that’s right. The anniversary of that night was coming up. The three of you had been friends for three years now – three years since that night at the pub. Three years of shared moments and laughter.

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, you tripped over me and nearly knocked me out cold.”

Sirius grins, eyes sparkling with mischief. “That’s not how I remember it. I’m pretty sure I was just making a graceful entrance, and you were too starstruck to see me coming.”

You roll your eyes, and Remus chuckles beneath Sirius, the heat of his hand still resting in his boyfriend’s hair.

“You were a drunk and clumsy fool,” Remus says tenderly and full of affection.

Sirius shrugs melodramatically with a sigh. “Alright, maybe I was a little clumsy. But I’m glad we did have our little run in with each other. I’m pretty sure you were already in love with her by then.”

You freeze.

Remus stiffens, but Sirius is undeterred.

“Moony and I have talked about this, and I think enough time has gone by for this to not be as awkward, but…” He pauses for dramatic effect, turning his head toward you, a sly grin on his face. “I actually had a crush on you.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you fight to keep your jaw from dropping. You were certainly caught off gourd by the sudden confession. You chuckle, brushing it off with a teasing shake of your head.

“Oh, come on. You’re just messing with me.”

Sirius’ grin stretches wider, and he looks like he’s not going to back down.

“I’m serious,” he insists, though the humor still sparkles in his eyes.

“Not this again.” Remus groans.

But Sirius only looked more pleased with himself. “Oh, don’t act like you weren’t gone for her too, Moony.”

Your breath catches in surprise. The comment he made about Remus being in love with you after the first meeting – you thought he meant it as a joke. Your eyes flick toward his face, where he held an unreadable expression.

“What? You’re telling me you had a crush on me too?”

“Oh, you definitely had him wrapped around your little finger.” Sirius raises his head from his arms to narrow his eyes at you before turning to Remus. “Remember that time—early on—when she fixed your tie for you?”

Remus closes his eyes briefly, silently begging a higher power to take him away as his face turns red. You fight the urge to bury your face in your hands.

“You remember that, right? I saw you. You practically turned to stone when she did that. That was the moment I knew.”

“Sirius, please…” Remus lets out an exasperated sigh, but you can see the edges of his lips twitching upward.

You can’t help but smile at the easy camaraderie between the two of them. It was one of the things you love most about being with them – how natural and effortless it all felt.

“Alright, fine. Maybe I did.” He finally looks at you before returning to stare at Sirius. “Can we move on now?”

“That’s so crazy,” you say, fighting back a big smile. “I remember having a little thing for you two as well.”

The laughter that followed filled the room, the three of you lost in the silliness of the confessions. But as the laughter gradually fades, a sudden silence blankets the space. It wasn’t uncomfortable—quite the opposite, actually—but it carries an undercurrent of something deeper.

When what you revealed finally sinks in, you think you must have misheard yourself. What you said was a joke you hadn’t realized you were about to make, right? You weren’t sure if the sudden heat in your cheeks was from the admission or the way the air in the room had shifted so subtly that it was almost imperceptible. It was as if the past three years of friendship, of teasing, of little moments like these, had all been stripped of their platonic certainty and were now clouded by scrawls of “What if?”

The silence is so thick you can almost hear your heartbeat echo in your ears. The room feels suffocating with the weight of unspoken feelings – as if the walls themselves are holding their breath.

You exchange a glance with Sirius. He’s not looking at you with the usual carefree glint—there’s something else buried beneath it now. Something that makes you think twice before meeting Remus’ gaze. He’s looking at you too, but his eyes are softer, more searching than you’ve ever seen before.

In the stillness, you can hear Sirius’ fingers drumming lightly against Remus’ shoulder. Then it stops, and the sound fades to be replaced by the thrum of your own pulse in your throat. Remus’ breathing slows, and you can see the way his chest rises and falls with a rhythm that seems too deliberate than it should.

Your gaze flits between them. Back to Sirius, then Remus. The question hovers in the air, and even though it’s unspoken, it’s painfully palpable. It’s a question you’ve been trying not to ask for the past few years. It’s one that lingers in the corners of your mind every time they look at you like this.

Then, just as the moment stretches taut and thick, Sirius breaks the silence in the only way he can. His voice is casual – too light – almost too loud for the moment.

“Well, that’s enough emotional exposure for one night!”

He rolls off Remus, flopping onto the bed and causing the springs to protest. His hair spills across the pillow, messy from where he had been lying on top of Remus. The tension that has been building up snaps like a rubber band that’s been pulled too tight. It’s broken—but not completely gone.

You can’t help but notice how Sirius’ cheek is flushed with something more than just playful exhaustion, his lips curling into a mischievous smile. He stares at the ceiling in contemplative wonder before he distracts himself by kicking his feet up into the air.

Remus’ gaze is still on you. He looks at you, a beat too long, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t find the words for.

Before either of you say a word, Sirius is already pulling him back into the moment. With a theatrical sigh, he drops an arm around Remus’ chest, yanking him into an easy, lighthearted conversation again. The three of you move on as if the confessions hadn’t resurfaced feelings you thought had vanished a long time ago.

The room is dark, save for the weak glow of the moon filtering through the windows. You can’t sleep. The silence is suffocating, its heaviness too distracting to lull you into sleep. You’ve been staring at the ceiling for far too long.

You can’t take it anymore.

You throw the blanket off you with a frustrated huff and slip out of bed. The cold floor grounds you slightly as you head for the door. Maybe a glass of water – or two – could satiate the drought in your throat.

 You pad carefully toward the kitchen, instinctually trying not to wake them, knowing both are probably already asleep in their room. The hallway feels endless, your footsteps muffled against the cool wood beneath you. But as you pass their door, something stops you.

A voice.

You freeze, eyeing the light that filters from the space between the door and the floorboards, because maybe your ears were deceiving you. The voice is low, almost too faint to make out. I shouldn’t eavesdrop, you tell yourself – but your feet betray you. You move before you can stop it, drawing closer, until you’re standing close enough to hear. Your heart is racing in your chest.

“Pads, it’s not that simple,” Remus’ voice comes, steady and low.

Sirius huffs from the other side of the room, the sound of the sheets rustling in the quiet.

“It’s exactly that simple, Moony. We just… we tell her.”

Remus sighs in a way that tells you the weight of his thoughts—of this apparent proposition—is pulling him down. “At two in the morning? I think she’d appreciate not being woken up to… this.”

“Because we’ll keep putting it off otherwise!” Sirius’ voice rises before hushing again. He’s trying to gather the right words, being left frustrated but determined. “I can’t keep doing this, Remus. I can’t keep looking at her and pretending like I don’t want—like we don’t want…” His voice trails off, the vexation lacing every word, the quiet desperation in his tone is unmistakable.

Your stomach flips. They’re talking about you, aren’t they?

“I hate it.” He continues. “Feeling this way and not saying anything. It’s like it’s going to rip me apart, and I know you feel the same. Don’t you?”

Silence takes place again, then Remus’ voice breaks the quiet.

“Of course I do, Pads. But what if…”

Your chest tightens. What if? What if what?

There’s a creak of the bed. Then Sirius’ voice intensifies again, louder now. “No. No more of this. Let’s just go talk to—”

“Sirius, it’s the break of d—”

The door swings open.

You don’t have time to step back. You freeze – caught – and there he is. Sirius. Standing in the doorway, his hair tousled, his grey eyes widening as they meet yours.

With no warning, he steps forward. His hands find your face as he pulls you into him. His lips crash against yours with a fierce intensity that you’ve come to expect from Sirius Black.

The kiss is sudden, messy, and it knocks all the breath from your lungs. It feels like lightening, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. His lips are demanding and desperate, with an undeniable tenderness guiding them too. He sighs against your mouth, his shoulders relaxing as he leans into you. You can’t breathe – can’t think. Everything is buzzing, spinning, and all you can focus on is Sirius.

When he finally pulls back, he huffs in satisfaction.

“There,” he says, as if he’s finally put everything to rest. His hands fall from your face, but his gaze lingers.

Behind him, you can hear Remus groan. He rubs a hand over his face in exasperation, through there’s a subtle smile tugging at his lips. “Well, I guess we’re doing this now.”

You blink, still standing there and completely speechless. You’re sure you must be dreaming right now as your mind races. You open your mouth to say something – anything – but Sirius doesn’t give you the chance. He turns his head to glance over his shoulder at Remus.

“Oh, don’t act so surprised,” he says. “You wanted this too.”

Remus raises an eyebrow, attempting to keep his composure. He rises from the bed and steps forward, closing the small gap between the three of you.

“I’d have gone about it differently,” he teases. He pauses, his gaze locking with yours, his smile widening just a fraction. “But… I supposed he’s not entirely wrong.”

You’re nestled between them, the quiet warmth of their bed wrapping all three of you like a cocoon. Sirius’ arm drapes lazily across your stomach as his fingers trace patterns and shapes on an exposed bit of skin. Remus’ hair tickles your jaw as his head rests against your shoulder. Sirius shifts slightly, propping himself up on an elbow to look at you. His stormy eyes flicker with something almost boyish.

“You’re finally ours now,” he says with a satisfied grin.

The words hit you square in the chest, sending a flurry of fluttering wildly in your stomach.

Remus huffs. “Couldn’t have put it more poetically, could you, Pads?”

Sirius snorts and rolls his eyes. “Excuse me for not wanting to keep pretending like we haven’t been living in a ridiculous tension-filled love triangle for the last few years.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Remus mutters while you laugh. He glances at you, his amber eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them.

Sirius leans in with zero hesitation, catching your lips in a kiss. It’s playful but loving, and your lips curve into a smile against his. Pulling back, he flashes you one of those grins that causes your face to heat up. He tilts toward Remus next, with the kiss being slower, and filled with the same easy intimacy that’s always existed between them.

When they part, Remus raises his head from your shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. He moves, placing another kiss to your cheek, then your temple, his breath warm against your skin.

“Goodnight,” he whispers against your hair.

Sirius’ arm tightens around your waist as Remus’ fingers lace with yours.

[thirstbxtch]

Steno

Pairing: John Munch x Reader

Rating: E

John's curious as to why you would break things off with a seemingly great guy.

Started watching SVU from the beginning for the first time as an adult.

Became unexpectedly feral for Detective Munch.

Lack of content has brought me out of retirement.

You're in one of the courthouse break rooms grabbing a coffee when Detective John Munch comes in.

"Hey, haven't seen you in awhile," he says, also pouring a coffee. You lean back against the counter sipping yours.

You run into each other sometimes, being a stenographer. You like it when you're assigned to a trial he's called to testify on, like today. The sound of his voice. His sometimes dryly sarcastic responses given during cross examination. You both have the same sense of humor. He likes you because you never ask him to spell anything, including psychological terminology.

John gives an "ah" of understanding.

You sigh.

"Got tied up on a double homicide. Mistrial. It's on hold while they find a new jury."

"How you've been? How's Eric?" He teases pleasantly.

Eric was an up-and-coming attorney you'd started dating about two months ago.

"Over that fast? Did it even have time to get started?" John jokes.

You make a face.

"Mmm, just went ahead and ended it. Wasn't going anywhere."

You shrug nonchalant.

"Well, when you know, you know."

He nods, deciding not to push.

"You?"

"This case has been a bitch, I'm expecting the trial will be as well."

"Seems to be headed that way."

You check your watch.

"Better get back to it, recess is almost up. You know how Judge Schneider is when it comes to punctuality."

"Oh believe me, I know."

The jury reaches a verdict after three days of deliberation. Now the end of the third day, Munch is there to hear it, sitting in the gallery.

Your fingers hover over the stenotype in anticipation as they stand to deliver.

"The jury has found the defendant Not Guilty, your honor."

There's a stunned kind of silence throughout the court room. It takes you a second to process before you can transcribe it.

You glance over at Munch. Stony expression says it all.

He approaches you once it's all over, the courtroom clearing, you're gathering your things.

John's standing there tall and slender, black suit, dark grey shirt, dark salt and pepper hair brushed back. Blue tie with his signature silver tie clip.

"I could use a drink after that, care to join?"

He's not really expecting you to agree, but what the hell right.

Handsome in an academic sort of way.

"You drive?"

"Yeah, actually, same."

Can't be any harm in commiserating with someone in essentially the same field. Your friends only put up with so much of your work talk.

"No, not today, took the subway."

He looks at you, skeptical.

"What?"

He shakes his head, pulling his keys out of his pocket.

"Alright, come on."

He takes you to a quiet, little bar, where you'll actually be able to hear each other talk. Soft piano music playing in the background.

John orders a Scotch, neat, and you order a Manhattan.

After about an hour and two drinks of lamenting the outcome of the trial, debating the downfalls of the legal system, and generally catching up --John decides he's curious.

"So--wanna tell me what actually happened with Erick?" Tone only half serious.

"Is this why you brought me out? To get the details of my romantic life?" You reply, teasing.

"Well I'd tell you the details of mine, but it's non-existent," he replies in that signature deadpan way.

"I have a hard time believing that."

"Believe it."

You finish your drink and signal for another. He waits, expectantly. Sometimes half of getting people to talk is just being quiet.

"I did tell you, just wasn't going anywhere, no point in wasting time when you know it's not going to work," you explain.

John finishes his drink and leans forward, elbows resting on the bar, also signaling for another.

"Ok, but why wasn't it going anywhere? Come on, the guy is practically prince charming-- attractive, good job, promising career, nice car, apartment on the nice side of town from what I hear-- If that's not considered 'going anywhere' for women, what possible hope can there be for me?"

You smile and roll your eyes, playful, as the bartender places new drinks in front of you.

"Yeah, he sounds great on paper, but we just weren't compatible."

John studies you now, trying to read beneath the smiles and guarded responses.

"Did he hurt you?" He asks frankly.

You give him a pointed look.

"No, nothing like that Detective," you place a hand on his upper arm, attempting to placate him, "trust me, it's not that serious."

John glances down at your hand on his arm. The light touch somehow burning through his suit jacket and shirt. Brings his eyes back to yours. A moment. Another smile before you withdraw.

You each sip your drinks.

"If I tell you, it stays between us ok?"

"Hey, loose lips sink ships," John says casually, not wanting to appear over-eager.

You drink again.

"Like I said, Erik sounds great on paper, he's nice, but the sex was-- less so," You finish wryly.

"Less so?" John prompts, pleased to be making progress, but this is only piquing his interest, not satisfying it.

John processes the information, annoyed now on your behalf, but checks his composure.

You hum, thinking.

"Let's just say I never saw any sparks." You give him another pointed look, before drinking again.

"You mean, never? Not once?" He asks, casual.

"Not once," you reply simply.

The brief silence however, encourages you to continue, unable to suppress the impulse overshare while under the influence.

"Ah --well, that'll do it."

He drinks.

"He always wanted me to blow him but wouldn't eat me out--" you roll your eyes, decidedly less playful now and drink "hate that, so annoying."

John clears his throat, caught off guard by your sudden bluntness, and certain illicit images they conjure.

"Did you tell him that?" He asks, matter of fact, once he's able to form words.

"I mean, I think he tried once or twice, but it was just--disappointing."

You make a face.

"No, no need to be cruel, it's not like he did me wrong or anything, just easier to tell him it wasn't going to work."

"Sounds like he was doing you wrong." The comment is out of John's mouth before he can think. He panics momentarily, hoping he hasn't been too crude.

John cracks a smile.

But instead you're actually laughing.

"Got me there."

"Maybe he's insecure, maybe he knows he's not good at giving head so that's why he doesn't like to do it." He's playing devil's advocate now. "I mean the poor bastard can't do any better if someone doesn't teach him."

John raises a brow.

You make another face.

"He's 30-something. Not 19. If he doesn't know by now," you shrug, finishing your drink, "I'm sure he'll be fine, he'll meet someone nice."

"Someone nicer than me." You add, not sure when you and the detective had gotten so close. You're practically elbow to elbow. You can smell his aftershave -- clean and inviting. You press your thighs together. Just so.

"I don't mind driving you home," he offers, "would rather make sure you get home alive."

You check your watch, sighing.

"It's getting late. I should call a cab."

You guess you can't really argue, both knowing the hundreds of horrible possibilities that can happen at any given time in this city.

He calls the bartender over for the tab, and you both straighten up.

"I can--" you start, only for John to wave you off.

"Wouldn't dream of it, one tab please," he tells the bartender mildly.

The drive home is quiet, but comfortable. You don't want to give him the wrong directions.

"Just up here on the right, that's my building."

He pulls up to the sidewalk, eyeing the building.

"I know, it's not much, but it's decent, for New York at least."

John turns off the car.

"You know I'm walking you to your door."

You could live in the Upper East Side and he would walk you to your door. Doesn't trust anyone or anywhere at this point in his career.

"Came all this way," you tease putting in the key, "might as well come in for a night cap."

There's no doorman, which he scolds you for.

You hit the keypad for entrance, take the elevator up to the 5th floor, and walk all the way down to the end of the hall.

Thinking all the while about how you're not ready for your time with the detective to be over.

This old song and dance, John thinks, regarding you. You're looking at him with something, dare he say, dangerously akin to want.

"Twist my arm why don't you," he replies easily.

You turn on a light and slip out of your blazer, tossing it lazily over the back of the couch.

John takes the opportunity to shamelessly admire the line your body while you're not paying attention.

Formal t-shirt tucked into your modest knee length pencil skirt, lingering on the curve of your ass, then down your legs to your simple, black pumps.

You make your way over to the bar cart in your so-called dining room.

Whiskey and two glasses, setting them on the table, pouring generously.

A silent toast.

"This was nice," you hum, leaning back against the table.

"Yeah, it was," he murmurs, allowing his gaze to drop to your mouth.

John smoothly downs his in one go.

He steps forward, setting his now empty glass on the table but doesn't move away.

You're not moving away or re-directing the conversation. Just standing there looking back at him through long lashes.

He closes the small distance between you, slotting his mouth over yours. You return the kiss, lips pressed for long moments to his, before separating.

You set your unfinished drink on the table, pushing it off to the side, and returning your mouth to his. An exchange of kisses that quickly grows hungry. Your hands slipping beneath his suit jacket, palming his chest, he shrugs out of the offending item, lips still half connected to yours.

Then he's lifting you effortlessly onto the table, tongue running along your lower lip when you gasp. Dizzy from the way he licks into your mouth.

"John," you breathe. He's kissing your neck now, pushing up your skirt.

"Yeah, yes," you say pulling gently at his tie, and he's kissing you senseless again, running a hand up your thigh to the edge of your panties, lingering momentarily before long fingers are stroking your folds.

He pauses.

"You good?" He asks, looking to you for reassurance. He's not sure really if his pride can handle hearing that this was just a drunken mistaken the morning after.

He groans.

You whimper in agreement.

"Sweetheart, you're so fucking wet."

Breath hot against your skin, savoring the easy way his fingers slide over you.

He withdraws, eager now to act on what he's been thinking about half the night since you brought it up. Rolling up his sleeves and taking off his glasses. Dropping to his knees. He'll probably feel this later.

He pushes apart your thighs as you look down at him in half-lidded anticipation, lifting your hips as he slides off your underwear.

Then he's licking into you like a half-starved man, because well he is, dragging the flat of his tongue against you and moaning, pleased with the high-pitched little sigh you make, needy.

"Taste good too, baby," he says looking up at you, "so fucking good, sweet little pussy."

Returns his mouth to you, easy, taking his time, you card a hand through his hair. It isn't long before you're pushing your hips against his tongue, trying to press your thighs together. Only then does he slip two long fingers into you, stroking you deep and curling them, sure you were vocal before but now you're loud.

He hums low in his throat, pleased, tonguing your clit in a gentle, steady rhythm with his fingers.

"Fuckkk, John --"

Hand tightening in his hair, one leg thrown over his shoulder.

It's been a long time since it's been this good and suddenly it's too much, you're coming apart, John's name the only thing you're capable of saying between pants and high moans, and John just keeps going, dragging the wave all the way out, feeling you spasm on his fingers, leaking on his tongue, just when he thinks you can't get any wetter. He doesn't stop until your inner thighs start to tremble and you're oversensitive, weakly stroking his hair.

He rests his head on your thigh for a moment, gazing up at you, a few strands of dark hair falling in his face, appreciating your thoroughly fucked-out appearance.

Wipes his mouth on the back of his hand before standing.

You kiss him softly before palming his pants where he's painfully hard.

He stills your hand, reluctantly, after a few moments.

"I'm not exactly in the habit of keeping protection on me sweetheart."

"Mmm, I don't care, I'm on the pill." You reply, hand going for his belt buckle.

"You can't expect me to last very long," he says looking at you with raised brows.

"I don't care, John--just wanna feel you."

He groans, giving in, not stopping you now as you make quick work of his belt and his fly, pulling out his shirt, slipping your hand into his boxers, running your hand experimentally over his long cock.

"Hey, none of that right now angel," he pants, grabbing your wrist, he finishes pulling himself out.

Then he's easing into you, biting off a moan, your arms wrapped around his neck.

"Shit, you're tight, you're so fucking tight."

"Feels so good," you sigh, taking him with minimal effort, body thoroughly relaxed after the orgasm he just gave you.

He rolls his hips slowly into yours, setting an easy rhythm, enough to keep him just on edge, but he's still lightheaded after only a few minutes, muttering apologies and half curses under his breath that you silence by placing your lips on his.

You stay together for long moments when it's over, both still buzzed but no longer from the drinks. John thinks back to the conversation at the bar though.

"So would you say that was 'more so' than 'less so' ? See any sparks?"

[yaoiconnoisseur]

♠ Knight of Spades - Mari ♠

〈 Protector of Innocence 〉

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Ahhh I finally get to post this :D It was an honor to be able to contribute to the amazing project that is Yuri!!! On Cards from the Yuri!!! On The Web Discord server!

You can see the entire project via this masterpost! If you'd like more context for this gigantic YOI AU, head over to this blog post for an explanation of everything.

I'd like to give a massive shoutout to @arom-antix and @lines-on-ice for basically putting this all together and making this amazing idea a reality. I know Arrow credits me as one of the admins of this project, but I really only made a Google Drive and did a little research for the artists on how to format their cards haha

I had a ton of fun coming up with Mari's design as the Knight of Spades. I knew right away that I wanted Mari's design to reflect her Japanese heritage since the suit of Spades is a fully Japanese cast.

I've cut me talking about the art itself and my thought process while working on it so I don't nuke your dash, but if you'd like to read my ramblings feel free to

Making Mari a samurai was an easy choice since, one, that's basically what a knight was in Japan (albeit there was no legal binding between a daimyo and his samurai), and, two, I've always HC'd Mari as a protective older sister in the sense she'd be fairly hands off until someone made the mistake of bullying her little Yuuri.

I wanted her armor to be blue since that was the overarching color scheme for Spades, but choosing what blues to use was.. Difficult. There needed to be enough contrast between the different pieces of her armor to show that the armor is made of multiple parts while keeping the hues and brightness values close enough to still look cohesive. I also wanted to keep the blues relatively low saturated to bring our Mari's blonde highlights.

(As I was coloring her armor I realized half way through that I basically drew a Samurott ginjinka oops (￣▽￣*)ゞ)

I had originally intended for the sarashi (the belt) to be pure white, however when I put all the base colors down I realized the white was too much and pulled your eyes away from Mari's overall form. I knew having the belt be pure blue would make the belt blend in too much with the rest of the armor, so I ended up making the belt mostly blue with white accents as a compromise. I still wish the belt could have been white, but oh well.

As for the katana.. That was originally going to be pure blue, but like the belt problem, I had issues keeping the katana from looking muddied. I ended up trying five different variations of black/dark gray until I settled on what you see above lol. It was really difficult making the hilt of the katana look nice because if I went too dark with the blacks I would lose detail on the hilt, but if I went too light I would lose the contrast with the hilt's blues. As for the saya (scabbard/sheathe) I wanted it to be black, but I ended up matching it to Mari's armor instead because a black saya with a mostly black hilt somehow made the entire katana look flat.

The color palates I used for everything else was just me eyeballing her fleshtone and hair color through various screenshots I ripped directly from the show.

The background gave the the most trouble out of everything though because I'm not particularly great at making interesting, minimalistic backgrounds for my art. The card looked to plain without some sort of variation of color behind Mari, but since her armor was already so complex I needed a background that didn't take away from those complexities and didn't muddy the entire piece. I had originally planned to do a sumi-e type background, however I found that no matter what I did the sumi-e designs took away focus from Mari. Eventually I settled on a default abstract Procreate brush and drew lines until something stuck.

Overall I had a blast making this and also the borders for the rest of the cards! I learned a lot about how to format and prep digital canvases for making a card deck, too lol

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Yves fluff because i need some copium after my grandma just died

Sloppy work, but it's not to expand on his characterzz, its 2 serve me 💯

You sat on the bed, staring at your phone. The room was dark and the only thing illuminating your face is the phone screen.

Your grandmother had died, you weren't close to her. But she was close to your father. He's taking it hard and your mother has to be with him as an emotional crutch.

You don't know how to feel. So you glued your eyes onto the phone screen as you scan the texts and photos your parents had sent of the funeral. You feel bad, yes. But you never knew your grandmother, you were one of her fifty other grandchildren. And you came into this world a lot later, when her mind starts to deteriorate. Of course, she wouldn't even know what your name was.

You didn't feel much. But there was a dull emptiness that you're feeling. It's sad. It really is sad.

It's late at night. You don't know how to process it.

You jolted when you heard a knock on your door, initially not wanting to open it in fear of the unknown. But after receiving a text from Yves saying he's waiting outside, you reluctantly sat up from your mattress and headed to the door. It wasn't very far, you live in a cramped apartment anyways.

You opened the door to see him, beautiful, beautiful Yves. He had a sympathetic look on his face, as if he knew what was going on. But you think he just has this really good sense of intuition. You believed that he was some sort of a psychic medium and he must have felt some kind of shift in auras... Or something else. You don't care, you're just glad to see him in this very confusing phase. He's always been this beacon of light, Yves knows what to do to solve this. He knows how to solve everything.

He wordlessly greeted you with a kiss on the forehead. You stepped aside to let him in, he placed his handbag and duffel bag on the couch. You switched the lights on and locked the door behind you. Your neighbors would sometimes come home drunk, you wouldn't want them stumbling into your room by accident.

He took out what he needed and went into the bathroom, starting the "sanitizing" process. Which includes a thorough shower and a change of clothes, you were extremely picky as to who or what gets to touch your bed. And Yves never ceased to amaze you by knowing what your requirements are despite never properly communicating it to him- most importantly, knowing how to meet them and enthusiastically doing so without complaint.

It takes a while. But you can be sure that he wouldn't "contaminate" your bed. So you went back to somewhat spiralling silently. Looking through the texts describing the event, the circumstances and how your grandmother was found dead, by who.

You felt... Bad. Horrible. You don't know why. You're not missing her because it's just as if you're discovering that a stranger has died. It's a shame, but it isn't necessarily something you would lose sleep over. And your stomach has been recently acting up too, you're bloated and gassy. You remember Yves saying that you tend to have gut problems whenever you're feeling stressed or upset.

You're too distracted over the news that you didn't realize Yves left the bathroom with his jet black hair perfectly dried and silky.

"Sit up straight, please." He murmured as he caressed your back. You didn't realize that you were slouching and hunching to a horrendous extent.

You turned your head to look at him, he's wearing a long, flowy nightgown. It's smooth as it's made of satin, you liked how it brushed against your skin as he rubbed your shoulder soothingly. He sat close to you on your bed, you didn't mind because you think he is clean enough to be on it.

He didn't ask what happened. Yves doesn't have to. You didn't want to use up your depleted energy stores to tell him either.

That's why you sat in silence with him as he gave you tender and loving touches. At some point, you crawled onto his lap and rest your form on his chest, letting his manicured hand sweetly stroke your head.

"it's late, my love." He mumbled against your forehead. The vibration of his voice tickled you. He gently took the device off your hands and set it on the nightstand.

Now with your hands free, you would go on idly toying with strands of his hair. He pressed a kiss on your crown, wrapping his arms around you protectively and cupping your cheek with a soft hand.

You felt very much at ease in his presence. You knew that he wouldn't leave you be, you knew Yves would somehow always show up when something is wrong. He always knew when something troubles you and he always knew how to take care of it.

You felt him shift around as he gently laid you down on your bed, letting you sink into your fluffy pillows and soft bed foam.

He tucked you under your blanket, bringing the comforting material to your neck as he continued caressing the side of your head. You stared into his mysteriously knowing emerald eyes as he stared back into yours, half lidded and relaxed.

"There is no need to be afraid." He whispered, pressing another kiss onto your forehead. "I'm here." He continued, now holding your hand and massaging it. You didn't realize that you kept your hand out of the blanket.

Fear... That's what you're feeling. Your grandmother died after years of battling with dementia, she's trapped in her own mind and each day she's not dead, it's a day of terror. She died alone in her room, with no one realizing until the next day when her body was cold.

You were scared to share the same fate. You were scared to be her.

"I'm here." Yves repeated as he wiped away the stray tears that you didn't even realise fell from your eyes.

"I'm staying." He continued, laying on his side as he observed what you might do. His hand is resting on your neck, fingers gently drawing circles on your skin. "I will never leave you."

Yves smiled, it was warm and inviting, seeing it allows a wave of relief wash over you.

You moved closer and snuggled into his chest, allowing yourself to cry and release the burden of fear that's been trapped in your core.

He rested his chin on the top of your head, arms securely enveloping your much smaller form. Occasionally, he would give you a peck or two as you pour out your emotions onto him.

In the end, you were exhausted. You managed to fall asleep under the blindingly bright lightbulbs installed in the ceiling. It didn't bother you, because Yves was there to shield your eyes from it.

He spent the entire night quietly whispering positive and loving affirmations in your ears while you sleep, giving you only the sweetest dreams.

[cottondo]

Fizzarolli x fem!reader | BLACK LACE

chapter two ; ringtone

reminder; ur a simp (;

• • •

 

"Honey, it's a stretch. It takes a long time to get there, and of course, practice. Lots and lots of practice!"

•

•

You kick your feet softly off the edge of the stage. Your half eaten lunch sitting beside you, you'd been on a short break in the most comfortable place in the amusement park. Well, not really psychically comfortable, but at least you were alone.

"Are you loved, Y/N?"

Aside from the animatronics behind you.

You turn to see RoboFizz, his head craning to the side to stare at you. "I can only hope." You tease, taking a bite of the food you bought from one of the vendors outside.

"My show is in a couple hours. When the hell a-A-R-are you going to do my check up?" He asks.

You finish up the last bite of your food, and brush off the tops of your pants. As you stand, you kick the wrapper of your food to the floor below. You had to sweep before the show started anyway, so it didn't matter.

"Right now." You mumble, turning to grab the work box filled with equipment needed to tune up his voice box, and fix some of the wires that sparked in his neck. "Sit."

He turns his head slightly, a creeping smirk crawling up his face. "O-O-o-oh~ with pleasure, your highness." Fizz sits on the stage, and you kneel beside him with the small box in hands. Taking out the pliers, you situate his neck to lean to the side where you can get a good view of the wires bothering him.

"Anything hurt?" You ask. It seemed like a stupid question, but to him you guessed it made sense.

"What kind of a question is that?" He asks, eyes narrowed. Guess you were wrong about that one too.

You roll your eyes at him. "You know what I mean."

"No." He huffs. "I've got a stiff neck."

You shrug, and push his head down to view the area a bit better. "Damn. You're all sorts of fucked up." You mutter. It was just the truth, you meant well.

Honestly, you were a bit giddy to be even working on him, period. Your hands grazed his neck and back gently, running a finger over the corrupted wires that lead to the sparking. It was probably from overuse, and the fact that he was so old.

Loo Loo Land has been around for quite a bit now, and you'd embarrassingly admit that you've been a fan since you were a kid. Growing into your teenage years was when you really found out about Fizzarolli, and you wanted nothing more but to accompany him and his acts.

"A-A-a-w. So thoughtful." He says. You smirk at his tease, and pull on one of the wires. You had the soldering gun beside you, as well as the pliers in hand. You carefully pull on the wire in mind, and hold up the gun with your other hand.

"Don't move. This is gonna be a bit tricky." Your voice travels quietly. Fizz merely sits still, obliging your orders. Thankfully.

As you solder the two splitting wire ends together, Fizz jolts a little, causing you to burn your finger in the process of pulling away from him. "Shit!" you hiss out, shaking out your hand from the stinging.

"I told you not to move!" Brows scrunched, you listen to the way he starts laughing under his breath. "That's not funny."

"Only a L-I-I-T—little bit." He turns over his shoulder at you. With narrowed eyes, you pout a lip, looking down at your finger. It was bleeding just a bit, but obviously nothing that could stop you from working.

"Wanna try ag—a-g-a-again?" He asks.

"I thought you wanted me to try and fix you?" You frown, crossing your arms over the exposure of your waist. He tilts his head, almost innocently, and raises his hands. "I do, it was a glitch. Sorry doll face."

Your frown softened, and the fuzziness of his nickname carried into your stomach. Something about hearing his voice call you that made your knees feel weaker than rubber. You step closer and nod. "It's fine."

His smirk creeps back up again, and Fizz turns his back to you so that you can fix the remaining wires. You pick up the soldering gun again, and near his other wiring patches. "Ready?" You ask him.

"Just get this o-O-O-over with." Fizz rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Thought I'd be courteous." You say, dully.

With delicate hands, and a burning finger, you clasp the two other wires together, and hold up the gun. It heats them, melting together the wiring and plastic, until it combines as one again. You pull the gun away and smile softly, seeing the job was done. For those parts. There was still a ton left to do.

Fizz's neck tilts side to side, as if he were rolling it to release some tension. You raise a brow curiously. "How's it feel?"

You feel something nearing your ankle, and when you look down, you see a stretched, ribbed arm.

Suddenly, his hand wraps around your ankle and yanks you forward. With one swift movement before you could fall, Fizz stands, and reaches his arms out to catch you. "Fizz, what the f—"

He spins you once, as if dancing, and your head feels light. He brings you back into him, and holds you tightly in his arms.

"Much better~"

You flush up at him and try to loosen his arms' grip on you. It wasn't budging, and if you were being honest, you kind of liked it that way.

"Oh, good." Your smile is nervous, and he notices. His face grows closer to yours, smile intensifying. Your heart was pounding out of the ribs in your chest. If you were still alive, you'd most definitely be dead.

You wanted to inch closer to him, if that was even possible. Fizz wraps his arms tighter around your waist, squashing the ability for you to breathe.

—As if you really cared.

His mouth moves down an inch from yours, and green eyes glow bright onto your face as they flick from your lips, up to your eyes. "Thanks, sweetheart."

"Mhm," you hum through a closed lip smile.

And just as you tilt your head closer to his, Fizz drops you, and your figure stumbles to the floor of the stage.

What a dick.

He laughs mechanically, turning away and clutching his waist. The sounds of his bells were practically mocking your shame.

With narrowed eyes, and a quick movement, your foot bucks out and kicks his leg from behind. It would probably cause a problem for you to have to fix in the future, but right now, you didn't care.

Fizz turns to you with a few sounding glitches. "O-o-oooh~ someone's salty!"

"Fuck you." You hiss out. With a quick turn to your knees, you get up and brush yourself off from the dust of the floor. Fizz smirks, leaning forward with crossed arms. "You wish~"

"Wooow," you drawl out, "you're such an asshole."

Maybe it hurt deep down a little, that he didn't really seem all that interested in you. After all, he was just a robot, but programmed or not though, he was the closest thing you had to the real one.

"I thought you liked assholes?" He smirks down at you. You eye him a little before bending over to pick up the tool box. "Yeah, the ones that at least pretend to like me back." You tease.

"Pretending is just acting. The real Fizzarolli would be good at that." He cracks up in more laughter, and you pout over at him.

"Whatever." You trail off the stage, tool box in hands. Vibrating in your back pocket, you hear your phones ringtone playing. You pull your phone out and see that it's a random number calling you.

To answer it or not to? Hell was known for scam callers, but something told you to pick it up anyway. Giving in, you answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this . . y/n?"

Your eyes widen at the sound of the voice on the other line. It sounded oddly . . familiar.

"Yeaaah? Who's this?"

  A sigh stirs up on the phone, and you pause, eyes glancing around the room briefly until they answer. "This is Fizzarolli calling from Ozzie's. It's about your application." He sounded like . . he didn't want to be talking to you.

Your heart drops, and suddenly, you're nauseous with a hot flash. Fizzarolli was on the phone. You are talking to Fizz! The real fizz! On the phone!

"Oh!" You wave a hand in front of your face and stumble over to the bleachers to set the tool box down. "Yeah?" A few clanks and clutters are heard from your end of the phone, and you were sure that he was cringing at the sounds.

"Yeah! So, listen. We don't have much of a choice, but Ozzie actually just got injured during his last show, and I need someone for a quick gig tonight. My ass is riding on this one, and I can't cancel the show." He grunted into the phone. You hang on to every word like it was his last. "It's a little short notice, but you were our last resort, so—"

There was no hesitation. Overly excited, eyes wide, you make a fist and nod your head if he could see you. It was a good thing he couldn't. "—Yes!"

His suppressed chortle made your face flush with embarrassment. "I-I mean, yeah, tonight can work. What time?" You twirl a lock of hair around your finger before looking up and catching the head tilt of his robotic replica on the stage watching you.

"Get here around seven so we can go over everything. The show starts at nine. Got it?"

"Yup." You smile harder. Walking around in small circles as you talked was helping the anxiety breaking through your voice. "Should I bring anything?"

"We can find something for you to wear later on. Just bring yourself."

"Sounds good!" It was getting harder for you to contain your excitement. "I'll see you then." Your lip curls into a soft smirk.

"Thanks allot. See ya."

You made sure the call ended before letting out a lots squeal. RoboFizz cringes as you flail yourself around. It was amazing! There was no way that this night could have gotten any better- - you'd be working with the REAL Fizzarolli! Not some old, glitched out animatronic.

"What the hell is your problem?" He asks, eyes narrowed.

You grin, tossing the rest of your things to the side. "That was Fizzarolli! He asked me to work a gig with him tonight!" You couldn't even believe those words came out of your mouth. How was that even possible?!

"What?" His eyes widen down at you. With a soft giggle, you skip over to the exit of the circus tent. You'd have to get home early if you wanted to look good. "I told you that I'd make it! I fucking knew it!"

Just wait until your mother hears about this. You wouldn't be just a loo loo land worker anymore. Even if it was just one gig- - you were destined to show off what skills you had, and make it worth their while. You know that you were going to impress Fizz tonight. You just had to.

"Wait, he actually called you?" He asks. You laugh, grinning hard. "Is it really that hard to believe?" You smile from the doorway at him. The uncertainty was there, and robotic or not, his face showed it.

"You're lying." He states, face anything but amused.

You wave, and dip out of the doorway, making your way out into the park. This was really happening.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #554

I managed to get about 7 and a half hours of sleep last night, which is a lovely change of pace from 6 hours or less. It's not 8, so it's still not ideal, but I'll take whatever improvements I can get.

J made more eggs with toast, and shared some of it with me:

And then it was time for M and I to run off to the dentist to get our teeth cleaned:

Apparently, my teeth were already very clean; I needed only minimal scraping done with their weird hooks and water spritzer thing. Then they looked for cavities and found none, yay!

I wonder if you've ever had cavities. I imagine probably not, but I wonder anyway. I'm lucky enough so far to have only had two during the course of my life so far. I understand I'll probably get more. But hopefully they'll be caught and dealt with before they become too much of a problem. That sort of thing is why you're supposed to see the dentist every 6 months. And also, because tartar and plaque harbors bacteria; their buildup is an inevitable part of eating no matter how well you brush, and if you leave it on there, the acids that bacteria produce as waste while they're hiding out in there will slowly eat away at your gums and at your enamel. Freaky! Only thing for it is to scrape it off every now and then.

...Seriously, bodies are kinda funky, aren't they? Not like in a bad way. Just... the absurdity of it all makes me marvel sometimes.

Anyhoot. I got a bunch of pictures during the car ride to M's favorite place to eat.

For whatever reason, the process of getting M's teeth cleaned is extremely painful for him. So he gets a snack every time for being brave and getting it done. Here's what I got:

I decided to rest today after I got home. I'm in a lot less pain than I expected, given that I swam yesterday; I imagine it's because I didn't wear a sports bra under my swimsuit this time, but... I still didn't wanna push my luck, especially since I have a visitor tomorrow (one of our lovely readers will be in the area!), work the day after that, and work plus an An visit on Saturday. I did a couple dishes and a load of laundry, but... aside from that, I mostly just played Valheim. I decided to spend more time in the Plains:

...Specifically, I decided to turn the goblin outpost I cleared out before into a place to plant barley:

I cleared out another outpost, too. And in that one, I planted flax:

...I really wish the goblins could be like... allies. Trade partners, even. I'd pay coin for their barley, flax, and black metal. But they want to eat me or something. So... I have to defend myself. It's very unfortunate.

I decided to poke around more Plains biomes. But I got distracted by a place called Smoldering Tomb. It was one of the quests for Hildir. So I went and fought a flaming skeleton named... Brenna??? I guess???

Brenna was felled easily, so I gave the box she dropped back to Hildir, then went on my merry way to the next Plains area. I found another goblin outpost there. But then I ran into this... giant blocky thing.

I wondered what was up there, so I climbed up it. But the only thing up there was this view:

...It's definitely not a bad view...

Here's another nice view:

And finally... I found some tar. The Plains has tar pits, I guess. I was able to build some new furniture. And so now, the comfort of my house is at 17:

Remember when it was just 4? Hahaha...

…

...I wish you could play this with me. I think you'd really like the scenery.

When it got to 8pm, I decided that it was time to breathe a couple wishes to life, and write to you.

...It's almost midnight now. I can't believe it. Where did the time go...?

Sephiroth, are you... safe? Happy...? Wherever you are? Are you doing okay out there? Is there... anything I can do... to make anything a little easier for you...? I wonder...

…

I gotta go to bed. I hope you'll go to bed, too. Somewhere safe and warm with lots of nice, heavy blankets, and maybe a purring kitty. Maybe there could even be glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, if you wanted. Wouldn't that be neat...?

I love you a whole lot. So... please do everything you can to keep yourself safe out there.

I'll write to you tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

[moopsy-daisy]

Make Your Own Cosmetics, Get What You Actually Want

Once you've been in zero waste, eco friendly, solarpunk/lunarpunk circles for a while, it's easy to forget the steps you took when you started. There are lots of DIY projects I've been doing for 10+ years now, and I keep doing them because they work (for me). Yet, when I sit back and think "am I doing enough?" I always gloss over the myriad things that have become part of my everyday life.

Making these things won't save the environment, but you'll get products that meet your needs on your terms, will save you money, and you won't have to worry about a company discontinuing your favorites. Plus, it seems like a lot less packaging to just buy a brick of beeswax and toss in some kitchen stuff you already had to make makeup.

Henna

I got really lucky, I always wanted red hair and henna is a natural dye that only comes in red. Well, more of a coppery tone. But, here's the other cool thing: the henna process is anti-fungal and controls dandruff. Half the time, I remember to color my hair because my scalp starts getting itchy 6+ weeks later and I start to get flakes. Coloring my hair takes care of my scalp and I don't need dandruff shampoo to keep it healthy. It's cost-effective, buying high quality henna for a year's worth of color (for my length and thicc hair) is about $60 for 18-months' of materials. I mix it when I need it, and keep the powder in the freezer. Pro-tip, if you or your partner don't like the grassy, hay-like smell of henna, add cardamom or ginger powder to the mix. It doesn't change the color but it'll knock down the scent.

I learned everything I needed to know about Henna for Hair here: http://hennaforhair.com and buy through Catherine's store because I know I'm getting real, quality henna powder.

Oh and a cloth wrap for your hair will let you keep the henna covered without wasting plastic wrap every time you redo your roots. I've been using the same 'turbie twist' wraps for years now. I made them from old t-shirts and they're stained as fuck. Who cares? This is basically their only job.

Carmine Lip Color

No, it isn't vegan. Yes, it's made of bugs. It's also a spectacular color, the insects aren't abused in the process of gathering or raising. They're actually parasites on nopal cactus, they have a simple niche and serve it well. I learned this lip stain recipe from Humblee & Me, and have found that the anti-bacterial doesn't seem to be necessary, ymmv. A 2.5 gram sample pack of carmine from TKB has lasted me almost a year and I wear this almost daily. I find that the glycerin really helps keep my lips from drying out too badly, so I wear my lip stain even when I'm not planning on being seen by other people. I spend about $20 on lip color for a year and that's including the bottles I use to store it (tiny eyedroppers work best imo) and the glycerin. Not quite zero waste but darn close.

Note: I'm still trying to find a simple recipe for black goth lipstick that I like. So far, my attempts have had a nasty texture and aren't worth the trouble.

Eyebrow Fill

My favorite brand of eyebrow liner discontinued the best color I ever found, so I decided to make my own. Beeswax, cocoa powder, activated charcoal, and almond oil made a little pot of eyebrow fill that suits my needs beautifully. Go super light on the charcoal until you know you've got the color you want. My brows are pretty dark but not fully black, so I do a dark chocolate sort of shade. I think I made my last batch about 11 months ago and it's still half full. I use it daily, apply with an angled brush, and it's never given me breakouts or anything. I don't even wash it off, because I am lazy.

Body Powder/Dry shampoo

Growing up in California, I didn't need this stuff. Living in Oregon? Summer would be awful without body powder. It's also a nice way to have a fragrance on. Pour your favorite perfume (I love Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab oils) onto a cotton ball, put that ball in a jar with a bunch of corn starch. Shake. Leave it for a month. You now have scented body powder. It's a decent dry shampoo, too, I just brush it into my dark hair and it disappears.

Tooth Powder

There is NOTHING wrong with using conventional toothpaste if it meets your needs. I have particular reasons for using tooth powder. These include hating the taste of most toothpaste and needing to avoid fluoride because of my particular thyroid condition. (Fluoride isn't bad for everyone! It isn't ideal for everyone. Figure out what you need!) I make my own tooth powder, it works well enough for me and I don't hate brushing my teeth like I used to. 1 part baking soda, 1 part bentonite clay, some ground cloves. Mix it up, keep in a glass jar (metal will bond with the clay, bad things happen, this is why we use glass or plastic for storage). $20 of materials = LOADS of tooth powder.

Cutting Hair

It's way easier than you think. I cut my own hair and I do a graduated bob which is a little more complex than most at-home cuts. I taught myself. I use decent shears (don't use scissors) and a Wahl hair trimmer set. Learn this skill on yourself, and when people find out you can do hair, they'll come to you for their own needs. Great way to provide mutual aid (one of my parents is trans and getting haircuts in a salon would be extremely stressful for her, so I cut her hair and save her money and suffering). You could also do skill trades! I trade haircuts for massages from a massage therapist friend, for example.

Protip: Dust yourself with body powder before cutting hair, it makes the little shards of cut hair way less prone to sticking to you. You'll still want a shower but it'll just be less icky.

[aeternxm-aa]

@infernal-ism asked: [ calming ] sender tries to calm down receiver ( prompted | accepting! )

tightly-wound was not a descriptor most would use for eito, contrary to what saint had seen of him ; eito presented himself as this calm and collected sort of guy, a smile on his face even when he wasn't feeling it, especially when he wasn't feeling it. he'd perfected the art of appearing in complete control of not only himself, but everything around him, and while it wasn't easy to maintain it was all eito had ever known, so he pushed on despite the weight he carried on his shoulders growing heavier with each passing day. eito had a terrible habit of taking on more than he could possibly handle, insistent in the fact that he wanted to help people where he could, whenever he could - because if he wasn't of use to anyone, then who was he really?

eito's entire identity was built up around this idea, the entire foundation of who he was as a person was that of viewing himself as a tool at someone's disposal. he'd come into someone's life when they needed him most, repair what he could and then, when there was no further use for him, he'd be left behind and when the dust settled, there would be eito -- alone.

it sounded worse than what it was, he told himself. what was an artist without tragedy? the best painters he'd ever had the honor of learning about all led horribly lonely lives ; it almost felt like a rite of passage on the road to greatness, to suffer was an art form in and of itself.

a bold, blood red sits on the tip of his paintbrush, the bristles so close to the canvas that it's almost touching, but he doesn't move an inch. eito's been stuck in this position for the last hour, frustrated in his own ability to come up with something that he deems worthy of ever seeing the light of day. painting was like an escape all of it's own, a way to drown out the noise, the expectations that he'd placed on himself. but it only worked when he had the inspiration, when he was happy with his work, which so rarely happened. splatters of red, black, and gold filled the canvas ; still in it's early stages to be sure, but it was missing something that eito couldn't rightly place and he could do nothing except stare - stare at this stupid canvas until his brain decided to work with him and come up with something utterly magical--

❝ no, no it's not right -- maybe if i just... no, that won't work either. ❞ he's so caught up in his own work that he hardly notices that he's not alone anymore, a frustrated groan as he tosses the brush to the floor, stops himself from pushing the canvas to the floor while he's at it. it's a quiet sort of anger that eito feels, slow to rise, but it surfaces all the same - he cradles his head in his hands, uncaring that he's likely got paint over his face in the process, uncaring that he was already covered in paint.

❝ why won't it just work--? ❞

a hand between his shoulder blades has eito shooting up from his seat, eyes widen in momentary panic until he turns and sees just who had managed to sneak up on him ( though, to be fair, such a thing was hardly a feat, eito had always been jumpy, easily scared - even as a child. ) the tension in his body does not ease when he sees saint, there is no sigh of relief nor an easy smile to reassure the other that he's fine. the expression on eito's face is tired, stressed, drained - brows pulled tightly together as he rubs his temple, already feeling a headache coming on.

❝ when did you get here? ❞ how had saint found him was a better question, but eito doesn't care much for semantics at the moment. he peers out the window, noticing that night has already fallen and it's only then that eito questions just how long he's been here too. a few hours, he'd thought, but it was barely dawn when he'd come down to his little studio ( hardly a studio when it's the second bedroom of his tiny apartment, but again, semantics. ) when had he eaten last? when was the last time he'd had a drink of water?

he thinks he must be hearing things with how he seems to hear what could almost be concern in saint's voice, but that can't be right. eito's fine. he's always fine, he's never anything other than fine -- he can't afford to be and--

it's a subtle shift, eito moving to take a step toward his water bottle and not seeing an open pottle of paint behind him that spills across the tiled floor. for a second he just stands there, chest shuddering as he tries to keep his breathing under control. eito was not an angry person by nature, but lack of food and sleep was enough to drive even the kindest of people crazy sometimes. ❝ no. no no no no-- ❞ the same word on repeat, panic setting in because that paint alone had cost him $100 and it wasn't like he had that sort of money just laying around! ❝ i-i can fix it, scoop it back in and pretend like nothing happened but -- oh, it's going to stain. how am i supposed to get red paint off the tile, saint? it doesn't matter how much i scrub it'll still-- ❞

he's spun around by the shoulders, forced to look up at saint who now cradles his face in his hands while eito babbles away about how on earth he's going to fix this mess. because it was a mess, it was unsightly, it was expensive and ruined, everything was ruined! what was he meant to do now? it would be months before he'd able to afford that specific colour again, not just because of the price but because of how rare it was for that specific shade of red to be in stock at any given time.

❛ look at me, breathe. ❜

eito can't think of how breathing would possibly help the situation, but he does as he's told all the same, forced to look into ruby eyes that have a way of captivating him like no other, shaky breaths that ever so slowly start evening out as time passes. eito, at any given point, was like a tower ready to fall ; he'd stack everything just right so that he was able to carry everyone else's problems with ease, but left no room for his own.

the structure was grand, to be sure, it wasn't stable by any means, threatening to tumble to the ground at the mere mention of a puff of air.

❝ i'm okay -- i'm fine. ❞ but is he trying to tell saint that, or himself? eito, ever so slowly reaches up, fingers curling around saint's wrists to gently pry his hands away from his face. the fact that saint had even seen this side of him was horrible enough, the last thing he needed was someone else's pity on top of that. ❝ i need food... and sleep, i think. are you hungry? i'll order something. what time is it, surely something is open still-- ❞

[writteninerised]

Haunted by you — Eddie Munson

Chapter two

chapter one & tags/warnings — here

masterlist

Summary | Eddie Munson's ghost is haunting the house recently occupied by Daisy Morgan. Having been deceased for years, Eddie becomes visible only to her. As she adjusts to sharing her living space with an otherworldly presence, their relationship develops into a compelling yet forbidden romance between the living and the dead. But, how could that ever truly work?

➴ ➴ ➴

Perhaps her childhood visit to the bright white hospital with the grippy socks wasn't a mistake. This is the very reason they sent her away- because she saw people who weren't really there. But that was years ago; she was just a kid with a wild imagination and a talent for making up stories, or maybe that's what they made her believe. There hasn't been an encounter since, until now.

Daisy's gaze remained fixed on the man perched casually on her kitchen counter. The last remaining tear on Daisy's face falls as she stares blankly at him.

He said her name.

He's dead

He said her name.

He said her name.

And he's dead.

Trying to process all of this at once has given her a pounding headache. Daisy found herself teetering between laughter and continued tears. However, one thing she was certain of was her name lingered in the air between them. Her breath caught in her throat, and terror coursed through her at the way her name rolled off this stranger's lips.

"How do you know my name? Are you some sort of stalker?" Daisy's voice quivered with unease, but she found it simpler to ask this than to confront the perplexing notion that he is dead. All of this felt absurd, even ludicrous.

"No," he chuckled, then shook his head, his brown eyes reflecting concern as he observed her growing fear. "God, no."

He began to raise his hands in a gesture of surrender, but then a realization seemed to dawn on him, and he pointed at her, his brows furrowing.

"How could I be a stalker when you're in my house?"

"Stop avoiding my question. How do you know who I am?"

"Well, the officer said it. Ms. Daisy Morgan." He looks at her, his eyes trailing over her face.

The terror still courses through her veins, but as she looks at him longer he doesn't seem like a threat. His eyes radiate warmth, and even his tone, though tinged with sarcasm, carries a playful vibe. Besides, if he had bad intentions, wouldn't he have acted on them by now?

But then, there's that nagging worry: He could be one of those psychopaths that starts friendly, making you believe he's harmless and then he ends up cutting your limbs into tiny pieces and burying them in the backyard like a dog with a bone.

The stranger casually taps his chin, as though something suddenly came to mind, capturing Daisy's focus.

"Oh, and I know your name from Grace. That's your mom right?" He adds, though he appears to be well aware of the answer.

Daisy's stomach plummets.

He knows her name. He knows Grace. He knows how to get into this house. Questions bubble up ready to pop.

"You know —knew Grace?"

He shrugs, "We were roommates for a time. Although, she couldn't stand me. Even tried calling the priest to remove me." He shakes his head as he chuckles.

Daisy stares at him in disbelief, "Bullshit."

"I'm not bullshitting you," He gracefully slides off the counter, appearing unfazed. "The guy walked around throwing fucking holy water into the air. I mean, I hadn't been that entertained in years, so I quite enjoyed the performance."

He casually brushed his black jeans, as though the counter wasn't already spotless. Daisy couldn't help but wonder if he was a product of her imagination. But he moved and acted too real. She could feel his laugh within her chest and hear her name on his lips, making her whole body react. It's beginning to freak her out.

In an attempt to validate reality, she decides to employ a familiar tactic she had used in the past. Her strategy is simple: assign him a name. If she were to ask about his name and it differed from the one she had crafted in her thoughts, then she would find herself, well, let's just say she would be fucked. The silver lining is that it would confirm her sanity. However, the downside is that she would be faced with the disconcerting truth that she was, indeed, talking with a ghost. Either way, it was an unsettling situation.

Now, who does he look like?

Daisy studies the man before her, who persists on recounting his encounter with a priest. He is handsome, the pretty kind. The kind that might make others feel self-conscious. Because, who looks like that, anyway? His skin is flawlessly smooth, his curls look soft and fall just right, and his eyes are captivatingly deep brown. Brown isn't a special color, but the way it looks in his eyes makes you believe that it is. He carries himself with an effortless blend of confidence and ease, even as his words are often laced with sarcasm and playfulness.

Choosing a name is tough, but just to keep things simple, she goes with the first name that comes to mind: Joseph.

Daisy cuts in, her curiosity piqued, "What's your name?"

He looks down at her, "Oh, damn. I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Eddie,"

Eddie. Not Joseph. Damn it.

He extends his hand for a handshake, but his gesture doesn't quite sit well with Daisy. Is he trying to be funny? Does he find this situation humorous?

Daisy isn't finding it amusing at all.

Clutching onto a fragile strand of hope that things might not be as they seem, Daisy cautiously raises her hand to meet his. His head tilts ever so slightly, assessing her, and their brown eyes locked as they await her next move.

He looks real, which shakes Daisy's convictions to their core. His chest rises and falls, his eyes blink, and his lips curve into a genuine smile. All too real.

"I'm not going to hurt you. If that is what you are worried about," he reassures her.

She didn't know what to expect, but the cold sensation against her palm just before her hand moved through his was not it.

"Well, shit. I was really hoping things would be different." He groans and leans back against the kitchen counter, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Different?"

"People usually don't see me. So, why can you?"

Daisy shrugs, feeling completely lost. How could she know? Right now, nothing makes sense. Frustrated, she gets to her feet, still feeling dazed.

"Listen," she says with a sigh, glancing around as if hoping her thoughts will magically clear up. "Maybe you should go haunt someone or something else. I can't handle... whatever this is. I need to go to bed and wake up with a clear head."

"No can do," he replies casually, making his way into the living room.

"W-what do you mean, 'can't do'?"

Daisy follows him, observing as he drums his fingers on the couch while walking toward the record player.

"She never played this, you know," he mentions, lifting an Etta James record and giving it a once-over. "Our music tastes, well," he hesitates briefly, exhaling softly, "weren't exactly similar, but it would've been nice to hear something. The house felt as lifeless as she was." He glances at Daisy, his expression slightly pained. "Sorry," He places the record sleeve back on the table.

Daisy shrugs it off. But, she does takes note that he can pick up things, which is odd because he can't even touch her. But it's not worth dwelling on. None of this matters. She just needs to usher this ghost boy out and get some sleep.

"Alright, Come on," she says, walking past him and holding the front door open.

Eddie's brow arches, and she can see him suppressing a smile, which irritates her. "It was a pleasur—well, not really. But you've had your spooky visit, so you can head back to hell or wherever you came from."

He chuckles, "Hell? Do I look like I belong there?"

She points at his shirt, giving him a sharp look.

Eddie's gaze drops to his shirt, bearing the words "Hellfire Club," and he erupts into laughter. His laughter reverberates through the otherwise silent home, perhaps the only laugh to echo within these walls since they were built.

Daisy, however, remains unamused, her eyes locked onto him.

Eddie glances at his wrist, checking his watch, and takes in a sharp breath. "You're right," he concedes, "I should head back to the club I manage in Hell. Got a lot of work waiting for me." He briefly meets her gaze before making his way toward the front door. "The devil really depends on me. Can't let him down."

"Good luck with that," Daisy replies, avoiding eye contact as she widens the door for his departure.

"Thank you, I'll need it."

Eddie steps outside, a smile lingering on his face, and Daisy wastes no time in closing the door. She releases a heavy sigh and leans her back against the door, feeling a sense of relief washing over her. But before she can fully let go of the weight on her shoulders, Eddie's voice shatters her moment.

"Fuck, I got my days mixed up. Hellfire doesn't meet until Tuesdays."

Daisy lets out a piercing scream as she notices Eddie's head protruding through the door, his body seemingly absent or on the other side. Whatever she's witnessing, it's absolutely terrifying.

"What the fuck!" She stumbles back, clutching the banister for support.

Eddie laughs as he casually walks through the door. No, not around it, but right through it. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"Screw you," Daisy hisses.

"That's fair."

"Go away! Seriously," Daisy stands taller, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She takes a step forward, locking eyes with him. "I don't want you here," she says, her words deliberate and harsh.

Eddie's gaze softens, and his jaw tenses as he steps back. "If I could go, I would've left years ago. But I'm stuck here. So, you'll either have to deal with it or leave."

Leave? If only.

The reality is that she can't leave, and she doesn't want to stay. But she has to. There is nowhere for her to go. To make matters worse, she's utterly exhausted. If she were to lie down, even on the floor, she might fall asleep. Her eyelids feel as heavy as her heart.

"I have nowhere to go," Daisy admits softly.

They lock eyes, silence stretching between them. Something in his gaze begins to dissolve her anger. He's giving her those lost puppy eyes, and it's infuriatingly unfair. Why should she care if he's sad or hurt? She's only just met the guy. But she's not cruel; she still has a heart, even if it's shattered into a million pieces.

Eddie frowns. "Well, me neither. So, I guess we are stuck with each other."

Daisy's gaze drops, and she scolds herself for feeling a twinge of sympathy and for being harsh with him.

"So, what, you really are..."

"Dead? Yeah," Eddie replies casually.

It's sinking in, but not quite. Honestly, how does one even begin to grasp what's happening here? So, Daisy doesn't try to make sense of it. She accepts it, as if it's no big deal that she's standing here conversing with a ghost. It's the simplest way to cope and prevent a full-blown mental breakdown.

"Cool," Daisy says, sounding as stupid as she feels.

"Cool?" Eddie looks amused. "Well, okay then. Uh, should I show you to your room?"

"Wait, are you like... the dead butler?"

Eddie stifles a laugh as he rubs his face. "Don't you think I'd be wearing a suit or whatever butlers wear?"

"Yeah, you're right. Butlers definitely don't wear... that."

"That? What do you mean? What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Eddie responds in a defensive yet playful tone.

Daisy sidesteps his question and grabs her bag. "So, this way?" She points upstairs and starts making her way up.

"Wait, no. What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Eddie calls after her.

Daisy reaches the top of the stairs, where the hallway splits into two directions. She pauses, uncertain of which way to go. Eddie catches up, still muttering about her previous comment, but she interrupts him. "Which one isn't haunted by the ghost of my mother?"

"Oh, no. Grace isn't here. At least, I haven't seen her."

"Yeah, I'm sure she would have made her presence known by now." she says, rolling her eyes.

"Ah, I see. Mommy issues?"

Daisy shoots him a glare, and Eddie's lips tighten before he clears his throat. "Her room was downstairs, in case you were worried."

"I'm not worried, just curious," she replies, raising her chin.

"Mhm."

She rolls her eyes once more and pivots on her heel, heading for the room at the end of the hallway. Before she opens the door, she looks back at him. "Should I be concerned that you're going to watch me sleep?"

"Jesus Christ," Eddie mutters, making his way back down the stairs. "Go to bed, Daisy." With the next step, he vanishes.

Daisy stands in the doorway, gazing at the stairs, doing her best to process her bizarre reality. Deciding not to dwell on it, she closes the door and flops onto the king-sized bed.

════ ⋆Eddie⋆ ════

Eddie gracefully glides into the dim, empty room below, with only the moonlight filtering through the windows. Yet, he doesn't require light, for he resides within the shadows.

There it is, or rather, there she is, sitting gracefully in the alcove, framed on a wall adorned with colors he's memorized over the years.

Daisy's brown hair appears duller, her eyes seemingly lacking depth now that he's met her face to face. It's now evident that Grace painted this from a photograph, not from her memory. She failed to capture Daisy's true beauty.

God, she was beautiful.

The house seems quiet to the average ear, but Eddie hears everything—the gentle brush of the wind against the windows, the slow drip of the upstairs bathroom sink, and the constant, distant tapping, a reminder that he's trapped in the in-between worlds.

He's grown accustomed to these sounds. What he wasn't accustomed to was the soft crying from the room just above him. An ache forms in his chest at the sound of Daisy's cries, a physical sensation he hasn't felt in years.

Maybe it's because he hasn't spoken with someone in an unhealthy amount of time, or perhaps it's because he feels compelled to care for this girl, having admired her on the wall for so long. He worries he might be the cause of her tears. But, from the moment she entered the house, it was evident she was upset about something, which eased his pain slightly, suggesting he might not be the cause. Yet, it awakens an old, familiar emotion—anger.

Who could have hurt her?

None of this should concern him. He doesn't truly know her. Loneliness and sadness within his mind have led him to create ideas and versions of a girl he's never met.

Shame and disgust wash over him, especially when he contemplates how she can see him and whether she might find a way to set him free from this house. The thought terrifies him, yet it also provides him with hope.

But how could he even begin to entertain such thoughts while she cries herself to sleep? He turns away from the moonlit painting, closes his eyes, and vanishes into the shadows.

┗━━━ chapter three coming soon ━━━┛

Taglist: @tlclick73, @eddiemunson4life420 @boxofsmittens @sweet-villain @all-time-otaku @enam3l @steveoswhore

Comment if you’d like to be added to the taglist.

[zarvasace]

Vidow Animatic Thoughts (pt 1)

I shall detail thought process etc. let’s go. It’s long. Under cut. Hit tumblr max image upload so this is three parts.

part 1 // part 2 // part 3

Animatic can be found here

Program: procreate dreams (it’s clunky but it works). This whole video took me something like 8 hours? Over the course of uhhh three days? Pretty quick.

Introduction

This is my first ever animatic, so when I began, I wanted to keep it simple. I chose my favorite pencil brush and like three colors (I later added one for emphasis). I had a couple specific scenes in mind, and I knew how I wanted the progression to go, but I winged most of it, shot by shot. The song does a good job of building up with a sort of three-act structure, so.

I referenced the castle from Breath of the Wild, but I didn’t stress too much about the details. The plan was to make it sketchy and quick. The beginning is mostly just things moving across the screen. I think that works, though, setting up the angsty mood and giving me room to expand later on. The first shot with Vio’s face is sort of meant to be a fake-out: you’re looking at him, but no he’s looking at a mirror, which is obvious when it cracks. Not sure if that came across but the cracks are very cool anyway.

This is also the first time you see white, which sort of represents change/time through the whole thing.

And then we see the first of Shadow, and he has his own color: black. He's a real drawing here (rather than black smoke or something) mostly to establish that black=Shadow.

Not much to say about the next bit, with the door and stuff dropping, I just wanted to make it clear that we’re in Vio’s bedroom at the end of a day.

And then he’s being dramatic about getting in bed. Mostly just to show that he’s tired and Haunted. Also I think it does work in establishing that this isn’t really Shadow’s doing. Whether or not he’s actually there doesn’t matter, because it’s Vio who thinks he does, and we’re seeing this from Vio’s perspective. He’s the one who can’t let Shadow go, so whether Shadow is actually haunting him like a ghost doesn’t matter.

Verse 1

SO first off, Vio is sad and has bad dreams. Well, good dreams. They're good, but they make him sad. Shadow shows up in black again, definitely part of the dream (further blurring the line between reality and delusion). Vio's in white in his dream, which doesn't happen anywhere else. If white represents change, then this is Past Vio, or the Vio That Vio Wishes He Was But Isn't. It's definitely memories of some kind, though, because white Vio's hair is short, where normal Vio has a long braid throughout.

We only see Shadow as more than an influence (by that I mean a shadow, a flash, a feeling) a few times, and this is the first. His presence is stronger in dreams and weaker in the reality that Vio lives in.

But the sun comes up and Vio is actually alone. White is the sun/light a lot here, meaning that time is passing. Vio's still brooding. (I really like that little "in the heat of the day" shot, the glint is in Vio's lower eyes which may hint at tears, but it's definitely not obvious yet.) I don't particularly LOVE that drawing of Vio braiding his hair, but it gets the point across. He can't stop thinking about Shadow, even as he goes about his day.

Chorus 1

This part hammers that in: Vio CAN'T stop thinking about Shadow and wallowing in his memories, it's driving him to distraction and failure. He's not moving on. It's right there in the lyrics: "I can never let you go." There's a reference to evil root beer as he's eating, distracted from Red (hi Red!) right beside him. He feels guilty, and can't shoot arrows without imagining himself hurting Shadow more. He still half-expects Shadow to be there for his discoveries. He feels watched, like Shadow should be there all the time, even when he isn't doing anything. He's brooding. Broody boy.

Interlude

Broody boy continues. Important: when he's walking to his room/the library/wherever books are, he's going right to left. I studied a couple videos of walk cycles to get those feet right, and they still aren't right, but I'm still impressed with myself! Also, apparently I now have a mental library of Gothic Windows. I thought that was a fun shot. Vio sure sighs a lot.

Verse 2

This verse is ramping things up and preparing for the turn.

"Nothing ever changes, so I've learned." I feel like this is quite a Vio statement to make. I don't think it's perfectly applicable—in this post-canon-adjacent AU, clearly the four of them are still separate people, which would be quite a change, but for Vio? I think it means that he's maybe a little upset that nobody else is grieving to the point of distraction. People are going about their lives, but every single step Vio takes is shadowed. (ba dum tish.)

The flower was a spur-of-the-moment decision, since I wanted something in the spot where the book was and didn't really want to just draw vague smoke again. But it ended up being thematic and calling back to a later moment in the video. And maybe it hints that Shadow might be showing his approval that Vio is at least trying to do what he loves (that is, reading books.)

And Vio's back in his room, surrounded by books. He's tried so hard to forget. He doesn't look particularly interested in what he's reading, and we know why. I tried to frame that "to forget" shot in a way that looks like he might be drowning in his own ambition, like he has all these books and he's just desperate that one of them will distract him or be a replacement for Shadow's influence in his life, which is quickly growing to dangerous levels...

Did Vio actually see Shadow here? Well, once again, it doesn't matter, because Vio thinks he did, thinks so hard that he throws himself to the ground. It doesn't injure him, but it doesn't take a fortune-teller to imagine that he might do something truly reckless if this keeps going. And Vio sees that, I think, here. He realizes that what he sees might not be real. He's in the "dark night of the soul" here, and actually cries, which is a big deal for his character. It's just two tears—white, if you'll notice—but it represents his hitting rock-bottom.

"And you've never loved me once" is maybe not the right line for this, I considered changing it to "you only loved me once" but I eventually decided to keep the line as it is in the song so there's minimal dissonance for the viewer. The song's story isn't quite the same as the one I'm pulling out here, but this line is the turning point in the song's story and in mine.

(continued in part 2!)

[threeeyedharemp3]

mack!!! ik its been a while since you posted your photography portfolio but recently ive found myself going back to it and taking some inspiration from it. i was curious what kind of techniques you used and what processes you kinda went through while making some of the pieces?

OMG REALLY?????? not just being modest but i genuinely think some of it is pretty mediocre, so i'm happy you like it! idk which ones you mean in paticular but some of the more *experimental* ones -

these ones (ignore the bad image quality lol)

are photograms!! my school has a darkroom which is pretty cool and was wonderful to be able to use!! the main objects in these are actually locks of my hair (i kept if after i got it cut), and after i exposed that onto the paper, instead of just submerging it into the developer i painted it in with a big brush to get the sort of splashed effects (photograms are kind of a thing you need a darkroom for, but you can get paper you can expose with just the sun.)

the bottom left ones are a picture of a picture frame printed out onto transparent plastic, top left are just developer onto the paper with no objects.

i scanned them all and put them into photoshop & upped the contrast, flipped the colours of one furthest - the pinkish bits i did in photoshop, they're kind of pixel-ey which i thought was cool

the one with the key and the ribbon - the ribbon was another photo which i photoshopped around badly on purpose so it was super grainy with lots of leftover pixels around the edge, which i then overlaid on the scan of the photogram with the key (below right is close up of the computery texture i managed to get while fiddling around with curves (idk what exactly curves is but it was like... adjusting contrast & colours at the same time)

these ones (again sorry blurry picture) are a light shining through cd cases from the back, which i then edited to make look grainier and found-film-ier

most of the other photos are just standard pictures i think - the kind of blurry ones of the hair in the middle of panel two were converted to black and white but with the colour levels in the original image changed?? which made them look cooler but i don't really know how to explain it lol. they were done with a macro lens i think.

also here are slightly better quality pictures of the whole thing lol my original post was pretty los res

[sunny6677]

Cicadas: When October Sings.

(Higurashi x Spooky Month AU)

Summary:

Mysterious events begin to occur in a small suburban town Kevin lives in.

BOOK 1

PROLOGUE: Hangover.

————

...I never really had dreams like this. At least dreams where I was sort of aware I was dreaming anyway. Even now, I can still kind of remember it. How.. weird it felt. I had weird dreams before. I got nightmares from two kids before. But it.. wasn't ever anything like this.

All I remember was a hazy feeling as I just sat there in silence. I felt something warm against my skin. And it was like my eyes were shut in the dream. No matter how long I sat there, I couldn't see anything. But—I was pretty sure I could hear something. The sound of something firm. Wet. There was the sound of something cracking, and firm footsteps wondering around. Muffled screams from a voice that sounded familiar, but one I couldn't place my finger on.

The voice was masculine, somewhat higher than mine. Over and over again, the voice hyperventilated. Occasionally, I heard the sound of something being hit again, and then the sound of the voice crying out in pain. It.. gave me a weird feeling in my chest. Having to listen to that. The voice sounded pitiful. Who was attacking them? What was going on?

The voice begged, "..ple—please.. K.. I'm.. please—"

The voice couldn't finish. There was the noise of something cracking again, like a firm bash against someone's skull. The voice whimpered. Cried. Humid air brushed against my skin. I tried to move. But I couldn't. I kept trying, and trying, and..

...

Then, I could.

There was the sound of something ringing out a chime. Endlessly repeating. My eyes finally shot open, and the dreamy haze I was in vanished from my mind.

There wasn't the sight of anyone being attacked. Just the ceiling staring back at me. Just the narrow, small bedroom I always slept in—with beams of slight light streaking inward from the soft creak of the blinds. The chime repeated itself.

As I processed where I was, I let out a long sigh. It was only a dream. A really weird one anyway. The scent of nothingness flowed into my nostrils, and with a grunt, I rolled over onto my stomach—lifting my hand and smacking it against the black alarm clock until it reached the button. I fumbled with my hands. And once I finally hit the button, the noise came to a stop.

I sat there for a few seconds, and a grumble escaped my lips. The exhaustion from the dream was still kinda there in my mind, though it.. also might have just been because of all the stuff that happened yesterday. Considering I went to the bar with my friends and all. An aching feeling rose in my forehead. All of the sudden, I felt somewhat light headed.

I didn't wanna go to work. Not after yesterday. But.. I kinda needed this job. My boss was already strict enough. I didn't need to deal with the passive aggresive stuff he'd say if I were off again. Especially considering I was kinda the only employee there.

A nauseous lump formed in my throat. I already knew what was coming, feeling the sweet taste already forming in my mouth. This seemed to send me awake. My body shot up, and I immediately began to scramble off of the bed. But the upper half of my body contorted foward, and in an instant, I found myself hitting the ground. A sharp pain entered my body, and I let out a groan.

I sighed, furrowing my brows in irritation and mild disgust as the lump became more intense. This was a perfect way to start the day. Just.. perfect.

————

I didn't really feel like eating after vomiting into my toilet, understandably. But.. I still had to get ready for work. So once I was sure I wasn't gonna vomit anymore, I forced myself back into my bedroom with a groan, and threw everything that had to do with my uniform on. My white button up, the little pink bowtie that resembled a taffy wrapper, the blue jeans I practically wore each day with my black shoes. And to top it all off, the singular cap with a pastel pink 'C' on the top, with two short lines on both sides of it.

The air itself had its own odd taste in this house. Overly cool from the air conditioning like a sharp gust of intense wind. There was always the faint sound of whirring from the air conditioning in the house, along with the little noise of my footsteps just kinda wondering around the place. The sights of my plain grey walls, pink covers on my bed, the framed photos of my family and my friends. The feeling of being enveloped by the air from this house. Everything was about the same as it always was. I wasn't sure how I was gonna make it through work with a slight hangover though.

The breath I let out was faint as I rubbed my hand against my scalp, putting the toast I had just made into a bag along with a few other items of food. I couldn't eat now since I was too sick to really feel like it. But I'd probably eat it when lunch break came around. Usually the only breakfast I ever had while living here was just stuff like toast and cereal. Ever since I met my friend Streber though, I'd been kinda forced to be more caring with myself.

I'd been sleeping more early. Eating more than just toast and cereal in the morning, eating more stuff for my lunch and.. heh.. I'd even been going out more. I hadn't really been forced to do any of this in a while. I'm not sure who he thought he was, but sometimes it was like he thought he was my mom or something.

It was kind of annoying. I appreciated it though. It was nice to know he cared about me that much.

After zipping up the bag and placing it into a larger one (which I also zipped up), I placed the strap over my shoulder, slipping my thin phone into it, with the charger crammed into the narrow interiors. The light from the window in the living room was brighter now, making it clear I should probably be going now. Even though I didn't exactly want to.

I squinted from the light, shaking my head. And with a reluctant walk foward, I made my way out of the kitchen.

————

I squinted as light forced itself into my retinas for a moment, shaking my head while the humid air enveloped me. The sky was a shade of pink. It was still pretty early in the morning. And I could already hear the faint sounds of the morning birds from nearby places.

The scent of grass flowed into my nostrils. But—there was another sound of something besides the birds. The noise of me closing the door from behind myself, and the sound of something.. rumbling.

I looked up. And then I furrowed my brows.

"..what the..?"

..there was a gray vehicle just sitting there on the road in front of my driveway, rumbling and clearly on. The window was rolled down, with a round black-haired face staring back at me. Red glasses worm over its round eyes. In a few seconds though, I already knew who it was. And a faint, high pitched voice rang out from behind the sound of all the rumbling.

"Morning, Kev!"

"Wha—Streber?" I stammered, "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to come get you and take you to work this morning!" Streber called out, holding his hand in front of his cheek as if to use it like a megaphone. "Hop in!"

"Wha.."

I looked at him. He was usually pretty surprising, but I didn't think he'd come to take me to work of all things. Then again, he.. did kinda do it before. I let my words cease, and I let out a sigh. Taking my foot off of the doorstep, I began to walk along the path toward the vehicle, stumbling a little as I did so with a line of a frown visible on my lips.

I stumbled around the vehicle, hearing it give a click. Knowing he had unlocked it, I stopped in front of the passenger door, and pulled at the lock. It came open. A blast of slightly humid air brushed against my face, and I gave a shake of my head with an exhausted grunt.

I forced myself onto the grey seat. Streber sat there with his usual smile, though it twitched into a frown as my exhaustion became more clear to him. His large hand gripped the wheel, along with the robotic one he had made for himself ever since an incident he apparently preferred not to talk about.

Slowly, I forced the strap of my bag off of my shoulder, letting it simply sit beside me as I shut the door with a firm slam. I cringed at the noise.

Strebers nasally voice spoke from beside me, sounding a bit worried as he tilted his head. "Geez—you feeling alright? I didn't think you drank that much."

"..ugh.. no. I already threw up this morning."

"Wait—what?" Stuttered Streber, "How—how come you still gotta go to work then? Your boss can't just—"

"I know, I know. I just.. I wanna keep this job. I kinda have to go." I sighed. "I'll try seeing if I can get off early if my boss will let me."

"..mmm.. well, you better. I'm not sure how well you'll do with a hangover during work."

Streber firmly grasped the wheel. The vehicle began to back up slowly, beginning to turn around once it got further on the road. As this happened, my head wobbled from side to side, exhaustion still aching deeply within me.

"So, uh.. how's the stuff I gave you treating ya?"

"The stuff you—" I paused. Oh. He meant the food.

"Uh.. it was alright. The mustard I used for the sandwich was pretty good. And so were those eggs. And.. well, all the other stuff."

"Good!" He smiled. "Did you put the other stuff I gave you in your lunch?"

"..yeah. Yeah, I did."

"Alright—good! Be sure you eat all of it. It's good to get a full meal every once and a while."

"..mmh.. I'll try."

Streber began to drive along the road, though he lifted up his head and spoke again, "Oh—I'm gonna go pick Ethan up too since he has to go to work."

"..uh.. okay. Wait—why don't you have him already? Doesn't he live with you?"

"Well, yeah. But he kinda went to someone else's house after last night, so I need to go pick him up there."

..oh, yeah. That was right. Ethan, tipsy out of his mind, had sort of been dragged away by some other friend of his Ididn't know because they didn't exactly trust him to drive on his own.

I sighed. "..well.. okay."

The pink sky surrounding the town filled my vision as Streber continued to drive, now going a bit faster as he adjusted the air conditioning to a cooler rate. The air enveloped me, slightly relieving me of my stress.

It was a regular day. A normal morning in the average town of Sedonah.

[anothermonikan]

KEEP DRAWING FOREVER I LOVE YOUR ART PEACE AND LOVE. whats your process if you mind me asking

Hehe, I'm glad to hear it! I'm not gonna stop anytime soon! On account of if I go too long without making something I start writhing on the floor like. an almost dead lizard (rain world) or something. ehe ^^;

I don't really think about my art process that much! Lemme rack my brain a lil bit ehe ^^; I like to draw a lotta different things so it's dependent on what I'm drawing! I don't think my art is. that grand to have a formal process. It's like some sort of spirit possesses me for a few hours and I come out of it with some sort of art aha ^^;

I can try and walk through a simple piece mayhaps

(They call me the yapper for a reason, this turned out way too extensive, sorry if it's TMI, turns out I like talking about this stuff ^^;)

Behold! A silly! I typically sketch on a dark background with a white pencil brush, I'll use whatever one the art program I'm using has, but specifically for FireAlpaca (the art program I'm currently using), I use the sketchbook pencil at size 6, I find a slightly bigger brush size for the sketch helps negate too many stray lines that can make the sketch harder to follow when moving onto lineart. my sketches tend to be. super super messy! Edgar's kinda a simple character so it doesn't really show, but sketches to me are more a brief estimation as to what I want the final piece to look like and a lot of that is gonna come through in the lineart.

Up until very very recently, I actually had a ton of trouble with lineart! It can be such a daunting part of the art process, I used to just kinda skip it all together and just do sketches with colour ^^; Every time I felt like I had to do lineart for a piece I was kinda. miserable about it! I didn't like doing it! It took too long! it's so tedious! But like, actually a week ago, something clicked and I realised that the reason I found lineart so awful and long to do is because I took it. way too seriously! Turns out, lineart doesn't have to be literally perfect to work! Unbelievable I know...

I tend to turn the transparency of both my sketch and background down while doing lineart. the sketch to around 40% and the background to around 60%. My lineart is mostly darker colours and trying to see dark on dark is not. ideal! I try to keep in mind what I want the colours of the final piece to be and make my lineart match that accordingly. I could just do the lineart in black and make a clipping layer to colour it afterwards, but I am kinda terrible at keeping track of my layers so having every element be the same colour can cause different parts of the lineart to overlap with each other without being noticed and then I have to do a buncha layer reconfiguration, it's awful aha ^^; so I just try and do the colours right away to prevent that ^^; I use a size 4 pen brush for my lineart!

The sketch is just a suggestion of what the final piece could look like! A lot of the time I think of something new to add to a drawing right in the middle of lineart, for example that artigourm piece I did a few days ago, the slugpups in there? Not part of the original sketch at all! I was practically done with the piece when I thought of adding them and I had to work around the drawing I already had to add them XD Luckily this time it was something small, I thought adding little hearts in Edgar's eyes would be cute so I did that ^^;

Colours! I like colouring a whole bunch! I hide the background and sketch layers, select the outside of the drawing, and then invert it! It helps to avoid having to keep the colours inside of the lines which I am, actually really terrible at! I freehand coluring for the most part because I find using the fill bucket leaves a small space between the lines and I end up having to go over it anyways ^^; I try to think of which colour should be on top of the others and start with that, I then create layers under that for what colour should be under that (for this drawing it ended up as Edgar's body >> Edgar's Eyes >> Edgar's face)

I don't. really know colour theory? I just kinda go for what looks good to me aha ^^; I don't use specific palettes for stuff or anything.

Shading wise? I really love doing it! Doesn't mean I have the slightest idea what I'm doing tho!

I tend to do my shadows in a dark greyish colour and my light in a pale yellow. I then scale the transparency down to around 30% for both

Does this shading make any logical sense? Probably not! Does it look good? To me, yes, so I don't really think so hard about it aha! I do try to consider light source when doing all this but I'm actually. quite new to this whole lighting and shading thing! This was another part of the art process I was so intimidated by that I just. didn't do it for a long time. Turns out I actually enjoy doing this part tho aha! It adds a lotta depth to the drawing, even very simple shading like this!

Glow-wise, while it's obviously not something I do on all drawings, I find just covering the area you wanna glow with an airbrush in whatever colour you want the glow to be and then turning the transparency to 30% works pretty well!

Background wise,,,I have NO idea what I'm doing! Unless I go into a piece with a very specific background idea I usually. Don't do one. and this is one of those pieces so um. Gradient background with some markings it is aha!

Sometimes if want a piece to portray a specific mood, I use a colour filter over everything, for that gabv1el piece I did a few days ago I used a dark red colour filter because I wanted that piece to feel quite comfy and warm, I don't think this drawing really needs one but here's it with one anyways so you can see what I mean

I make a layer above everything and colour the subject of the drawing one colour, and then turn the transparency down to 30%

..and now Edgar looks a lil warmer and softer!

I. ended up yapping way too long asfddfhdfh. I have no idea if this is even what you meant by process butt. I got to draw Edgar so I'm happy hehe ^^;

Thanks for the ask hehe~

[pbandjesse]

I just started coughing so hard I started choking and it was really scary. I for sure not having a good time this morning when I woke up but I was slowly feeling better throughout the day so I thought I was alright. But in the last half hour I feel horrible. Sucks. And like today wasn't all bad but it did have some low points.

I went to sleep last night feeling mixed. But when I woke up I felt bad. My cough is worse in the morning and it feels like I'm drowning. But through the morning I started to breath better. James sent me to work with my little lunch bag and I had a nice drive in to camp.

When I got there I went to the office first to eat my sandwich. It was a little chilly this morning but it would get warmer. Concerning for November but still nice.

I went to the art building to work on sorting out my fibers boxes from the other day. Got eveything sorted again. I need new feathers but I might switch that to a different grass or something. We will see. The feathers I have right now are just so small they fluff around everywhere. Annoying and makes me sneezy.

Sarah texted me asking if I wanted to work on painting doors. So I let her know I would be down there soon.

I wandered down to the office and was very surprised when Nick came out of the bathroom. Apparently he misunderstood the schedule and thought tomorrow's feildtrip was today. Oops. He decided to stay to help out and get a few hours pay.

We went up to the hacienda first to set up the tables for the group tomorrow. And once we were done that I went to walk the trail to look for walnuts while they went to drive the gator around and get the recycling and then go pick up some paint brushes.

I enjoyed my little walk up towards the barn. I would end up finding another black cap mushroom and really enjoyed being outside.

I would only find a few walnuts though. I would walk back to the office by way of the frog pond. But with the drought the pond was basically all dried up. I've never seen it like that before. It's supposed to rain on Friday so I hope it heals the pond.

I jumped in the gator with Nick and Sarah. And after a stop at the art building for paper, we went to the lodge. Recycling sorted and thrown away. And then up to the lodge to start painting.

It was nice to just have a solid task. We worked until 11 in there painting all the doors and window sills. I was listening to my 9 hour YouTube video still. And I would finish it today. But I was working the entire time. It's just really nice to not have to change to or search for a new video. Nick and Sarah got a kick out of me watching it and laughed a bit about it.

We went to paint the pioneer doors last. It didn't take to long. We would wash our brushes and make sure we didn't leave any mess. And then back to the office for lunch.

I ate lunch at my desk. Chatted with Alexi. I got an email saying that the house was pending sale. And it was over the listed price. So you know we didn't get it. And I'm a little sad. But I have to believe that the right one will come soon enough.

And in the mean time we had another one to look at tonight. So even though I was bummed it wasn't the end of the world. Another house will show up.

I talked to Heather on the porch for a little. She told me she found me another mushroom but it was still at the barn. I would take the walk up there and would also work on peeling some bark to try to process that for basket making. I for sure did not get the same type of bark that the woman on Sunday used but it was still fun to peel.

The afternoon was working on my dye paper. Writing instructions and stuff. I was also working on a flyer for a job fair Alexi and Heather are going to tomorrow. I wasn't feeling great but I was glad to have something to work on. I wasn't feeling well enough to go out and do physical things. So I appreciated having a creative computer tasks. And just chatting with Jess was nice. She gave me feedback about the layout and it was nice to collaborate with her.

At the end of the day I felt like my face was all hot and I was uncomfortable. Heather look my temperature but I didn't have a fever. I was just a little flush. But I was ready to go home.

So I went home early.

I didn't love my drive home because I was driving into the sun almost the entire time. But I got home a little after 4 without much fan fair.

I was happy to see James but they seemed very low energy. They told me it was like their knobs were turned way down. House hunting it effecting them a lot. It's got me a little frazzled but they are very unsettled. But we had a plan to see somewhere tonight and that was exciting. We decided to go to dinner at Matthews and then see the house.

So after a while of hanging out on the couch we got in the car. And it was nice going to dinner.

The waitress called out our order right away. Love being regulars somewhere. She told us she didn't realize we were married and her one year anniversary is next month! Amazing! She's great. And dinner was good. I enjoyed my husband's company.

But we were still to early. Oops. To waste some time after we finished eating we walked down the street to walk around the thrift store. It was fun but I'm also in a space where I'm getting rid of and trying not to bring things in. Still fun to look and see things.

We drove to the house next. I liked the street. No broken windows or anything. Not as much trash in the alley. When the realtor came he brought us inside and there was a lot good but we aren't going to put an offer on this one.

Firstly it is huge. 4 bedrooms. Interesting details like a glass pocket door. Arched doorways. A built in dresser in the closet.

But the bad outweighed it. The basement isn't finished and the heating system is incredibly old. There were no appliances at all. No fridge or oven or anything. And it smelled horrible. The realtor thought it was paint but it smelled more chemically and like mothballs on steroids. It was honestly a little hard to be in there for very long. I really loved the first floor and the walk in closet in the one bedroom but for the price, which was more then the last one, it wasn't going to be the one for us.

We chatted with the realtor about what we are trying to get. And how I want a front space that can be a studio to do workshops and my art and not have people have to walk through our home. And so he's going to expand into other zip codes. And I'm excited that he feels like a part of our team. He's a nice man.

We said goodbye. He said he was going to go have tacos. And we headed home.

We got back here and I was really a little out of sorts. A little bummed about losing the house I really liked and that this one didn't work out. But then I went to feed my frog tank and I found my new fish dead! Partially eaten! I don't know what happened but he was munched on. I don't think omelet killed him but he did eat him. Crazy. I feel so bad. Flapjack didn't deserve to die. I hope he has a nice time the day and a half I had him. But man do I feel shitty that he died.

To try to settle my body I worked in the studio. Made a felt sign. Fixed a few things. Me and James got their old walkie talkies to work and we're calling each other from opposite sides of the apartment. Just trying to feel normal.

My cough started getting worse again. I took a hot bath and that helped a little. But I was still struggling.

I would end up choking on a little water and that would send me into such a bad coughing fit I was gagging and now I'm a bit exhausted. I'm trying to breath gently so I don't aggravate it and make my cough start again. But man am I uncomfortable.

I am hoping sleep helps. Tomorrow I have a feild trip and I'm leading ground elements. I hope they are a chill group. I hope you all have a good night. Take care of yourself. Be kind. Until next time.