#Quick Easy Winter Projects

[doink]

Capturing Winter Magic: Subject Masking in Green Screen by DoInk – Stuck in a Snow Globe Lesson

Step into a winter wonderland of creativity with our latest blog post and video tutorial! In this guide, we'll explore the enchanting world of subject masking using Green Screen by DoInk, focusing on the delightful and always popular "Stuck in a Snow Globe" project. Whether you're an educator bringing seasonal magic to your lessons or a content creator looking to add a touch of whimsy to your videos, this step-by-step tutorial is your key to unlocking the magic of subject masking in all time favorite Winter project of being stuck in a snow globe.

What you will learn:

Introduction to the Subject Masking Tool in Green Screen by DoInk

Crafting the "Stuck in a Snow Globe" project from start to finish

Tips for optimal subject masking in various scenarios

Enhancing your project with overlays, animations, and text

Real-world examples for inspiration and application

Empowering your creative storytelling with subject masking

Subject masking in Green Screen by DoInk opens up a world of creative possibilities, and the "Stuck in a Snow Globe" project is just the beginning. Whether you're telling a winter tale or creating festive content, subject masking adds a touch of magic to your storytelling.

Unlock the magic of subject masking and transport your subjects into a winter wonderland. Share your enchanted projects with us, and let the seasonal storytelling begin!

[ruinix]

Can you please write a smut story of Quinn Hughes and Y/n in a pool?

Hello, my lovely. I took so long again. My bad. Do you remember Quinn’s photo in the hot tub (one of those he posted)? Yes? No? (I attached a photo at the end of this drabble) Safe to say, i wanted to join him when he put it out. He is just so cute. It's nearly 3AM...so no proofread. sorry. Also I wrote this with midseason in my head and I forgot that it could be winter (or fall?)…let’s ignore that plot hole. I beg. Please. Let's just think is a heated pool. (I keep forgetting about seasons and I am so used to private hot spring pools, my bad. sorry).

Fairylights and Wildflowers

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, (mention of) Exploration of Hobbies (shopping, crocheting, puzzles), lots of Kisses, Semi-Public sex / Pool sex (it's a private pool in a rented airbnb...but it's outside so...🫣), Unprotected sex (use protection, lovelies)

Count: 3737 words | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re taking long. Quinn learned not to bother you when you’re preparing—or whatever it is you’re doing now when you insist on surprising him—a long time ago. Who is he to deny what you want? If you want him to wait in the damn pool by himself until he’s a prune, he’ll do it.

Although, maybe, he thinks that you’re going to surprise him with a bikini. He wonders what bikini you’ll wear. He tries to keep up with your online purchases. It’s easy to track over because you ramble about them over dinner, over calls, over texts, over anything. You like your “retail therapy”—that’s what you called it. Not just bikinis. You buy a lot of things you come across. Honestly, it’s so cute.

One time, you decided to learn how to crochet, so you bought several balls of yarns and crocheting needles. Your first fruit of labor is a misshapen bear. The ears are lopsided. One arm is more stuffed than the other. The eyes are currently mismatched, because one of its eyes fell and got lost, so you replaced it with a different button. Still, it’s a bear. A unique looking one. You love it so much and so do Quinn. When you jokingly said it is now your and Quinn’s first child, he was quick to buy it a small Canucks jersey and hat that is definitely too big, so now it rests on your bookshelf, sitting inside the upside-down hat, right next to your favorite books.

Quinn always finds himself staring at it while he dusts your books. It has grown on him. A clumsy start of a hobby, for sure, but an amazing memory. Since then, you’ve made a couple more stuffed animals then you transitioned to blankets, scarves, and sweaters. While you insist you are still a beginner with the hobby, Quinn views you as an expert, especially when you kept giving him cozy items. They are all so perfect in his eyes.

You’ve inspired him to try to make his own, but his hands cramp up. He always ends up sulking in his armchair, gripping his yarn and needle so tightly, watching you do your own project or read your books. After minutes, you’ll notice him then you’ll be on him, holding his cheeks after you take away his basket of yarns and needle, kissing him to distract him further. What a distraction. It works every single time. So, whenever you pick up your basket of yarns, he will too, patiently waiting—sulking or not—for kisses and more.

Another time, you went all out with puzzles. Some of your game nights with Quinn turned into completing said puzzles. Quinn ends up dozing off after he takes a brief break, for the sake of his aching back, on the couch. He will wake up with you in his arms, blankets over both of you. Every time he just watches you sleep, cursing whenever he can’t reach his phone to kill his alarm, trying his best to close his hands over your ears, but you’ll also wake up, rubbing your face into his chest.

Every time, you’ll greet him, not hiding your greedy inhales of his scent, your hand running down between you two, down over his aching cock.

That’s how you get him.

Fuck morning skates. Fuck meetings. Fuck anything else.

He’ll spend his morning buried deep inside you until you demand breakfast.

Beyond those tiny hobbies, you’ve also been rampant at buying clothes. From pajamas to everyday dresses to evening gowns. You’ve braved several sites. Your experiences are either a hit or a miss. Quinn knows what it’ll be. If you like it, you’ll show it to him. If you don’t, you’ll be huffing as you process a refund. He’ll try to be understanding and mature, but the way you huff and puff makes him laugh.

“Stop laughing!” You are on him, lecturing him about not laughing at you. “Quinn!”

Your whines only push him to laugh harder, teasing you that he wants to see the dress, poking his finger on your tickle points, grinning widely when you squeal and run away. He’ll be hot on your heels, needing to get your mind off your failed purchase, because he rather has you irritated with him than sulking over things. Just for those times, he won’t be talking about how any piece of clothing you put on will take his breath away, because he knows it won’t help with the dilemma.

Now, after he reminisces your online purchases, he settles on the submerged sitting area.

He runs his hand over his face, shaking his head slightly, splashing water everywhere. No one will care about the splatter. It’s a pool. You will care though. You won’t police him into not doing so, no. You will be delighted. You will be amused. You will shake your own head, laughing in your silent amusement, then you will splash him with an expert swipe over the water. It’s fucking amazing.

You’re amazing.

Of course, you are. You planned this little getaway so quickly after you heard that his maintenance day follows a weekend where he doesn’t have any scheduled game or plans. It will be just the two of you. That thought excited him. He didn’t even think of inviting anyone for this getaway. In fact, he never even thought of anyone else joining the two of you. Except for now. What if you invited someone? Well, shit. If you do, then…whatever. There’s lots of room in this place anyway. He’ll make it work.

He looks up to see a glimpse of you from a window. You’re wearing a white fluffy robe. From what he can see, you are skipping. You must be having so much fun. You can be so animatic, so adorable, so excited. He still remembers how your eyes shone when you told him about your successful booking over videocall, smiling so widely as you typed in the address he should drive to, jumping when you greeted him as he arrived. He likes that. He likes seeing you having a ton of fun with your own spending. He loves being spoiled right back.

Although, he wishes that you’ll finally come down.

He’s getting bored.

A little bit.

No.

He’s extremely bored.

He’s already done several laps. He wants to see you now. He misses you when you’re just there. Sighing, he stretches his arms over the edge, half-slouching further on the sitting edge, half-floating. He takes his time, embracing the silence of the night,

He hopes that you didn’t invite anyone else. It’s already getting late. If you had guests, they would’ve been over by now. However, he also knows your friends. Some of them are always so down to last minute hangouts. Tonight, he hopes they’re not. 

Or whomever you invited.

Can’t he just have you to himself?

He’s not really up for socializing this weekend. Can he just be alone with—

“Hi, Quinn,” you greet, suddenly there, leaning over so your face will be in his line of sight. “Having a good time?”

For someone who has gotten impatient, Quinn finds himself unable to speak as he looks up at you, absently nodding and watching your smile widen. He really can’t speak. He almost forgets to breathe. Because the fairy lights are casting a soft glow around your head, perfectly illuminating the strands of your hair that you’ve styled, shining on the pretty skin on your shoulders, your waist, your hips, your legs, and everywhere else. Like every bit of your being is touched by the heavens.

Like you’re a star that’s gazing and twinkling just for him.

You take his breath away.

How can someone be so beautiful? So majestic?  

“Did it hurt?” He asks before he can stop himself.

“Hurt?” you echo, frowning before lowering yourself to sit next to him, dipping your legs into the pool.

Quinn follows every movement of your legs, how the water parts and waves over them. The light and shadow patterns look wonderful on your skin as waves move, refracting every light that hits its surface. It looks wondrous. He glances at his own, not liking how the patterns look on him. He likes it better on you.

Before he gets trap in his head, his cheeks burning white-hot, he finishes, “When you fell from the sky.”

Your grin widens, your eyes crinkling at the sides. A giggle escapes you. “Is that a pickup line, Quinny?”

He looks away. He brushes his hand over his face then up through his hair to push away the wet strands away from his burning face. He nearly chokes as he says, “Yeah. Kinda.”

“I like it.” Your voice sounds closer, so he turns and immediately receives a kiss, making his heart tumble all over the place. “Thank you. I appreciate it. Don’t be embarrassed.”

He nods, reaching to touch your leg, his thumb softly making circles on your calf, adding pressure to massage your muscles. You let him do it, fully facing him, offering him your other leg too. He takes it with his other hand. He’s focused on nothing but the task on hand. That is, until you raise your feet up, your toes wiggle, so he notices your painted toenails.

“You like ‘em?” you ask, biting your lip. “I got them to match my nails.”

Quinn slowly tracks his eyes up your legs, over your thighs, over your tummy, your shoulders, your neck, your face. He inhales and catches the soft powdery and flowery scent of your lotion and body oil. You smell divine. Then he looks at your delicate hands, at your nails that are painted a shade of pink, that compliments your skin tone, with white tips. While your toenails only have those, you have small flowers on your nails and dainty gemstones for their centers.

His heart beats harder as his need to kiss you arises. So, he does. He kisses every decorated nail, his hands holding yours tenderly like he’s afraid that you’ll pull away even when he knows you won’t. He can’t help it when you look like a fairy that may vanish in the blink of his eyes. He can’t afford to lose you. Never. With every kiss on your every nail, on every knuckle, on each of the backs of your hands, he breathes his desperation to keep you.

Can you feel it?

He overturns your hands, kissing your palms. One by one. Even softer yet firmer, his lips pressing down. Despite wanting to taste your skin, he doesn’t. It can wait. He needs you to feel his love. His affection towards you.

He gazes up, meeting your eyes. He holds your hands, his thumbs soothingly rubbing over your palm. He realizes that you are wearing the swimsuit he bought you months ago. It’s simple. A white triangle bikini top and its matching bottom. The white strings in bows look beautiful on your nape and your hips. You’re finally wearing it. It looks so fucking good on you.

If this is your surprise bikini, he’s delighted. Very much so.

“I love everything,” he gulps the lump in his throat, gazing up your eyes like you hung the moon and stars and everything else above, because he bets that you did. Maybe you are a goddess who became human or is pretending to be human. Maybe that’s the reason why you look ethereal. “I love you.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks, leaning back as if you need distance from him. “You’re doing it again.” You almost take your hands away from him, but he holds them firmly.

“Don’t pull away,” he murmurs, coming closer. “What exactly am I doing?” He wraps his arm around your waist. Instead of pulling you which would hurt because of the pebble details, he moves—crossing the little distance between you two—until your lips are mere inches away from his. “My Love,” he urges, repeating, “What am I doing?”

“Looking at me with those eyes, like,” you pause, gulping as you look into his eyes, “like…like you want to consume me.”

Because he does.

He wants everything that you’ll give him.

Everything that is you.

You are everything.

He has never loved someone as deeply as he loves you. You’re it. His forever.

“Do you want me to stop?” His other hand finds your neck, his fingers running through the softness of your hair near your nape, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw.

“No,” you whisper, your eyes dropping to his lips. You inhale, licking your lips as anticipation buzzes the air.  “Never.” Your hands graze over his chest, tracing over his collarbone. “I love you too, Quinn.”

He kisses you like his life depended on it, because it is. Ever since he met you. His love only grows and grows, blossoming like wildflowers of mixed variety. They litter the grass as they dance with the wind, flourishing with every drop of rain, every ray of the sun, every nutrient drawn from the soil. Resilient and thriving. He truly loves you. Every piece of him is devoted to you.

He kisses you harder, letting you feel how deep his love has rooted in his soul. His tongue glides with yours. He can taste the mint of your toothpaste and the sweetness of the fruits you were munching on while you’re getting ready. Berries. Apples. So much apples. He deepens the kiss to taste more of it, savoring how wonderful it mixes with you.

“Oh, Quinn,” you murmur into his lips, mounting his lap, the water sloshing against your bodies.

He also whispers your name. It spilled out of him like a prayer. He kisses you deeper, hungrier, thirstier. He holds you tighter, his fingers firmly pressing into your skin, keeping you to him. He fears if he lets go, you will go away even when your hands slide through his hair, tugging and angling his head. Quinn follows, not stopping the kiss, focusing on how your lips feel against his, your tongue against his, your pussy against his dick despite the existence of your bikini and his trunks.

“Tell me something.” He draws his kisses to your jaw, smelling the scent of your perfume you sprayed behind your ear. “Are we expecting guests?”

“Just us,” you pant, grinding against him. Your actions still, your eyebrows meeting. “Do you want guests?”

“No. Just want you all to myself right now, my Love.” He grips your hips, urging you to move again, groaning when you do. “I was just thinking how I’ll steal you away.” He smirks when you giggle, the sudden worry that you felt falls away. “You’ll like that, won’t you?”

“Yeah,” you say, your tone light, your fingers scratching over his beard. He can see the mischief shining from your eyes. “I love it when we sneak, but I made sure it’s just us.”

“Thank you,” he gasps as you grind down on him. “Oh, my Love. We should go—”

“No,” you cut him off, tilting his chin up, your lips grazing over, making him chase you. “We can do it here.”

Whatever you want.

Your lips are once again touching. Now, he swallows the moan you let out while you swallow his—each of you spurring each other on with the noises that escape you two—as pleasure seeps down his bones, right from his cock. His skin rises with goosebumps, shivers running down while also up his fucking spine. He’s utterly gone and he’s not even inside of you yet. This is what you do to him.

And he loves that.

His hand snakes over your lower back, pressing down to glue your midsection to him. Then while you nip his lower lip, he curves his hand over your ass, squeezing your flesh, making you bite down on his lip harder that he swears your broke skin. You are so close. He sees how your pupils swallow your irises. How your eyelashes fan down with your blinks. How your brows curve upwards and furrowing together. His eyes are getting drawn to the beaty marks you have on your face. All while his fingers slip into your bottoms, sliding between your ass, down to your pussy, feeling your arousal.

“Quinn,” you whine. You bury your face on his neck.

“Someone’s getting needy,” he teases. His finger sinks into your quivering pussy. He adds another. He licks his lip, not tasting any copper which means you didn’t break skin. It disappoints him a little, but that’s not important, because your pussy squeezes around his fingers. It feels fucking amazing. “Is it here, my Love?” He prods the spongy spot that has you squirming.

“Yes,” you sob. You keep grinding down against his cock, up and down, putting pressure against your sensitive clit. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“Have I ever stopped?” He asks, fucking you with his fingers. You shake your head, desperately meeting his every thrust. “Look at me.” You did, panting with your cheeks bright red. His other hand comes up, undoing the ribbon of your top. Your tits spill out. Your nipples are hard and begging to be touched, so he does, softly feeling and pinching the pebbled peak. “How are you so pretty?”

You don’t answer him. Instead, your hand slides down between your bodies, pushing down his trunks. Your teeth clench down on your lip.

Quinn pulls your bottoms to the side, just in time for you to lift your hips. His cock hits your pussy so perfectly. He helps you move down his length. Inch by inch. Both of you moan and are getting so overwhelmed by the feel of each other. Your hands hold his shoulders, sinking those pretty nails into his skin, while his hands hold your hips so tightly that he might leave fingerprint bruises later.

He wants that. He wants to leave his marks on your body, but he craves yours on his. He loves when you leave scratches down his back or just on his shoulder, which you are now fucking doing. Those pretty fucking claws. He curses from the sting, from the excessive need for more, more, and more.

“Harder,” he grits. His hand finds your hair, tugging to crane your neck, so he can kiss and suck your skin, leaving his own bruising marks. “Mark me up, my Love.”

“Oh, fuck, Quinn.” You whine your hips as you sink down cock. Again and again. You whine, whispering his name like it’s a plea, “Quinn. Quinn. Quinn.”

Quinn starts to meet your thrusts, feeling himself touch deeper inside your pussy. The slight tremble of your walls tells him you are close. So close. He is too. His cock aches, needing to release right fucking now, but he holds himself back because he needs to feel you come first. He needs it.

He continues teasing over your nipples, his thumb running on the line of the underside of your tits. Desperately, he nips on your earlobes, sloppily licking his way down to your collarbone to mark everything he can reach. Your movements turn sloppier, your back arching, your moans turning into eager whimpers.

“Let go, my Love. I got you.” Quinn kisses your lips, just enough, pulling away to hear your sounds then kissing you back again. He’s almost playing, teasing, taunting you, making you make more sounds that had his cock twitching in your pussy. “Just let go.”

You do. A breathy scream pours out of your lips, your pussy squeezing so tightly that he can’t hold back. He doesn’t want to hold back. Why would he want to? Your pussy is way too perfect not to fill with his hot cum. He holds your hips down as he spills deep, deep inside you. Panting, he kisses you fully, needing to taste you on his lips, needing to feel more connected with you.

Fuck, you feel so good. Your arms wrap around his torso. Your legs come around him, clinging onto him. You fit around him so perfectly. Like pieces of wood carved specifically to join without nails or screws. Just carved to perfection for a seamless joinery.

“Wow,” you sigh, resting your forehead against his. “This is so nice.”

Quinn hums, savoring your feel. His head is slightly spinning. He blinks slowly as he’s in a daze, marveling how you glow after sex, the fairly lights glinting on your skin. You can’t be real. You’re just so pretty. Incredibly so.

He moves after you when you part from him, mindlessly following you out of the pool, watching you fix your bikini, so he tugs his trunks on to fix it, inhaling sharply as it grazes his sensitive cock, gritting his teeth when it twitches at the mere sight of your ass. He should fucking stop or else he might die because he’s a horny fuck.

He quickly swipes his towel from the bench, helping you dry off, kneeling on one knee so he can dab water from your shins. He looks up, his heart booming against his ribs. He realizes how gorgeous you look from below. He already knows this, but the position is making him think about the future, about him holding a velvet box with a ring that he will have custom-made, about him asking for your hand. To be your forever. Your partner. A possibility for so much more.

The way you’re looking down at him tells him that he might not be the only one thinking about it.

Yet, he stands.

No matter how perfect the moment is. He won’t take this away from you. You’ve made this getaway happen. Your surprises still wait to be discovered even when the surprise of you wearing his chosen bikini for you is already more than enough. He knows you’ve done more. You’ve made this all happen for him. For him.

When he asks to be your husband, the day will be for you. Not him.

He will plan everything out. As perfect as he can. All for you. This can all wait.

For now, he’ll take everything you’ve prepared.

Besides, there is way too much room in this place. He needs to claim you on each surface, after he receives the gifts that have your eyes sparkling with mischief as you grab his hand and pull him towards the house, after he makes you dinner and more.

Here it is (from his post)

Silly boy in the hot tub, we must join him. Jk. (...unless???)

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane Preference] And Their Favorite Hot Drink

Every time I say I want to make at least three, and every time it takes me a month to make three. But between today and tomorrow, I want to post something else with a cozy/winter theme, so stay tuned. Meanwhile, in my little self-promotion corner, I'll let you know that you can find my fanart here, and here you can find a fanfiction I'm working on, if you want to check out my other projects!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 |

Jayce:

Hot tea.

With lots of cookies, not just one or two like nobles who drink tea to be chic.

He drinks tea because it makes the cookies taste better and softer.

And if I told you he prefers fruity tea?

Basically, he likes a strong flavor, and fruity teas have the most aroma, although having grown up as the Kirammans’ ward, he’s learned to drink it in any form.

Viktor:

Sweet milk.

Or milk and honey.

Occasionally, milk, coffee, caramel, and whipped cream if he wants to be fancy, but he never has the time, so it’s usually just sweet milk.

He has such a stockpile that statistically, at least one bottle is expired, but it doesn’t matter; he doesn’t pay attention to those things.

Ekko:

Cappuccino. It’s quick, it’s hot, it gives energy, and the milk makes it sweet enough without adding sugar.

Easy to find and great for the group because it’s not expensive—just steal an industrial-sized can of milk and some instant coffee, and he can make it for more than 20 people.

Tea is problematic because there are no plants in Zaun, and in Piltover, they either sell it in small doses or loose.

Vander:

Hot chocolate, because I say so.

This man was born to be a father, and what do kids love? Hot chocolate.

Hard to come by in Zaun, which is why he always adds chocolate bars or cocoa powder as an extra price in his smuggling deals.

It became his favorite because of the connection it has with his kids and his happy place.

Silco:

Whiskey doesn’t count as a hot drink, and that’s a bit of a problem.

But luckily, coffee exists.

Not American coffee, long and watered down, but espresso.

He holds the small cup in his hands to warm himself, but subtly enough that no one notices.

Jinx:

Sugar.

Not a hot drink, sure, but any drink works for her if it has enough sugar.

Milk and honey remind her of when she was little, tied to special occasions when her parents actually managed to get honey.

But pretty much anything works for her: fruity teas with three tablespoons of sugar, hot chocolate with one spoonful, cappuccino with two…

Vi:

Anything works for her as long as the cup is big enough to warm her hands.

Simple and easy-to-find drinks are great, sure, but no one can convince me her favorite drink isn’t either hot chocolate with rum or a complex, spiced Piltover-style beverage.

She doesn’t mind sweetness but never adds sugar to her drinks—she’d rather choose something with natural sweet notes.

Caitlyn:

Tea.

English breakfast tea with sugar and milk is something her parents made her during festive mornings, so it holds sentimental value.

But the tea she’s used to drinking is Oolong or Yorkshire, typical of the five o’clock tea tradition with her mother and occasionally their guests.

Mel:

Coffee and variations.

In my little artist brain, Piltover has an ethical equivalent of Starbucks, and that café is Mel’s happy place.

Coffee is easier to find for sure, but coffee-based drinks with caramel, ginger, and plant-based milk are absolutely her favorite.

She loves sipping them slowly, savoring the flavors, taking half an hour or more to finish her cup.

Sevika:

Whiskey.

No, she won’t accept that it doesn’t count as a hot drink.

She doesn’t like milk, but if she’s forced to have it, she spikes it with whiskey or gin.

The same goes for hot chocolate.

She’s not a coffee person either; she doesn’t see the point of drinking something so bitter without a real purpose.

[edamameimei]

Perhaps, Even This (Megan Skiendiel x Reader SMAU)

“what a joy, perhaps, to remember even this.”

A year ago, you were known as your friend group’s “sunshine.” You were able to light up a whole room with your energy and everyone could rely on you for your quick wit and easy humor. You lived life simply one day at a time. However, seemingly out of nowhere, that all changes. Now a Junior in university, you find it extremely difficult to do all the things you used to do. Especially being the Resident Assistant for the Geffen Dorms. New residents begin to move in and one them is a girl you could only describe as “radiant." Her name is Megan Skiendiel, and at first, you don’t welcome the positivity but as you two continue to meet and hang out, you find yourself becoming the person you used to be. Will you be able to be that person you were a year ago? Or will everything just stay the same?

tws: kms/kys jokes. this story will dive into topics such as depression, anxiety, reckless substance use, and toxic relationships. if any of those things affect you in any negative way, please do not interact with this story!! take care of yourself!!

tags: smau, crack, fluff, will get pretty angsty at times. university!au, golden retriever!megan x black cat!reader, sexual jokes, lots of swearing, future suggestive themes.

feat: katseye, txt, lesserafim, ive + more to come!

pairing: megan skiendiel x gn!reader

status: on going!

notes: this smau is not a REAL portrayal of the people in this fic and are not based on any real-life events. this was made for entertainment purposes. some idols’ ages were changed for the plot. all pics are from pinterest! dividers were made by me in canva pro!

profiles: hybe crashouts 1 2 dream academy alumni 1 2

chapters:

00. prologue (written)

01. reinforcements

02. roommates to lovers

03. the duet (half written)

04. omg slut!

05. AA meeting

06. mad respect

07. dumb question

08. floor meeting

09. turtles

10. homewrecker

11. picasso

12. hallelujah or whatever

13. u care

14. sounds good (half written)

15. the pigeon

16. poetry slam

17. oh! nice!

18. nonchalant mfer

19. meiyok (half written)

20. lambda

21. favorite person (half written)

BONUS: winter break

22. no homo

23. I'm grown ok?

24. scout's honor

25. kidnapping (half written)

26. yapper

27. jimmy neutron

28. dark room (written)

29. just stay (half written)

30. did u die???

31. redemption arc

BONUS: megan fan club

32. my protege

33. spidey senses

34. the weight (half written)

35. oh. ouch.

36. the beginning (written)

37. let her go

38. breakthrough

39. yn n friends (half written)

40. rescue mission (half written)

41. ur gonna love it <3

42. WWMD ™

43. whiskered dimples (half written)

44. off the hook

BONUS: ill give you a dollar

BONUS: please do

45. ask her out

46. yn's commune

47. bi curious, maybe?

48. the project

49. what a joy

50. to remember even this (THE END)

more to come...

[novlr]

How to write the cold

The way we feel cold is universal, but the way we contextualise it is not. Cold has a variety of connotations for readers, so it's important to decide how to use it, and what mood you want to convey in your scene.

While cold is often associated with negative aspects in writing, if there's anything the winter season teaches us, is that it can be a positive thing as well. Rather than just using the word cold, in your next writing project, try to contextualise it. Describe the weather, the light on the snow, the comfort of warmth after an icy swim, or the fear and loneliness of the dark on a cold night.

Here are our quick tips on how to write the cold:

In nature

Clean mountain air

Glittering ice crystals

Unique wildlife, like snow hares or polar bears

Snow muffled sounds

Steam rising from hot springs

Icy water in rivers and lakes

Overcast and rainy

Bright sun on fresh snow

Icebergs, glaciers, and ice floes

Storms and blizzards

Branches moving and creaking

Frozen ponds

Morning frost on grass

Snowdrops pushing through snowdrifts

Crisp and clear night skies

Wolves howling in the dark

Bare branches scraping against windows

Eerie shadows

Foods and objects

The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg

Heavy winter coats and scarves

Rich, hot meals with lots of gravy

Tea or coffee left out too long

Ice-cream, sorbets, or ice-lollies

Metal that is cold to the touch (like pots and pans or door handles)

Cold beverages straight out of the fridge

An icy bath

Freezer trucks or walk-in refrigerators

Dry ice

Crisp, fresh sheets on cold nights

Ice sculptures

A tap with a drip that freezes in place

Frozen celebratory drinks (like daiquiris)

A single cube of ice floating in a whisky glass

A cold pack for an injury

Character moods

Isolated

Lonely

Aloof

Sad

Comfortable

Snuggly

Focused

Panicked

Indifferent

A lack of affection

Calm and calculated

Disengaged

Serene

Depressed

Awestruck

Anxious

Reverent

Melancholy

Nostalgic

Impatient

Frustrated

Reflective

Character body language

Hunched shoulders

Crossed arms

Shivering

Snuggling into something warm

Rub hands together for warmth

Tight or strained expression

Biting dry lips

Furrowing brow

Glaring against brightness

Tense and rigid stance

Stand close to others

Slow, deliberate steps

Move quickly to somewhere warm

Sitting relaxed in a warm space

Actions and events

Start a fire or build a shelter

Winter hikes

Outdoor activities like skating, skiing, or sledding

Traffic jams or snowed in cars

Frozen lakes cracking underfoot

Dodging icicles falling from rooftops

Going ice-fishing

Long sea voyages

Frostbite

Suffering from a cold, the flu, or pneumonia

Brainfreeze

Snuggling under a warm duvet

Sipping from a steaming hot drink for comfort

Cold-water swimming

Walking to work in the rain

Christmas in the Northern Hemisphere

Chrismas in July in the Southern Hemisphere

Reading a good book by the fire while it snows outside

Positive aspects

While cold is often associated with negative emotions, using it as a juxtaposition can often help to accentuate the positive feelings you want to convey.

If it's cold outside, a character enjoying a hot chocolate under their duvet will give a much more positive impression than if they were simply staying in bed.

The beauty of the natural world in winter, like snow, ice, and winter foliage can also be used to create a scene of happiness and wonder.

Negative aspects

Cold is often used to describe characters who are emotionally detached, calculating, or generally unfeeling. It's become an easy way to clue your readers in to how they're meant to feel about your character.

There are also more creative ways to use the cold, however, like describing the disappointment of forgetting about a hot drink you put down somewhere and only remembering when it's already gone cold, or the feeling of shock after you first step out of a warm shower.

Helpful synonyms

chilly

frigid

icy

wintry

frosty

cool

nippy

freezing

glacial

brisk

chilled

cool

polar

bitter

snowy

raw

refrigerated

arctic

rimy

draughty

[strbymacaroon]

Silent Love: Ch. 8 - Epilogue

⊹ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ Chapter Eight

Previous Chapter: A Lovely Night

Chapter One: New Roommate(s)

Master-List: Here!

.・゜゜・ ｡･ﾟﾟ･ ╰┈➤ Sukuna x Reader

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ Sypnosis:

When moving out of your dorm and leaving your eccentric roommate goes to shit, you're offered by one of her friends to move in with him... for free! That is, if you don't mind living with two completely opposite college boys.

However, life isn't that easy, and there's a hot asshole around the corner to piss you off. Especially when he's always up late at night when you're studying, purposely trying to get on your nerves in the most perverse way possible.

You hate him.

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ Genre:

College/Modern World AU. Multiple parts.

Shameless Smut, Thin Walls, Mildly Dubious Consent, Roommates Fluff and Crack, Slice of Life, Kinda Slow Burn, Oral Sex Vaginal Sex, Slight Age Difference, Degradation Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Enemies to Lovers, Spit Kink, Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙ Word Count: 1 ,624

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *･ December 14th, 2023 ☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Monday

The sound of soft groaning and head banging fills the room, you’re sure you heard someone walk out not too long ago, but not you! You feel relatively confident, so much so, you could probably walk out right now and still pass the final with a good grade in the class. Your eyes skim over the test one more time, ignoring the way Kugisaki is practically crying next to you. 

You nod to yourself, whispering to her, “I finished.” 

Kugisaki passes you an exasperated look, practically dumbfounded at how fast you finished the final. Did you give up on it halfway through? Did you give up after the first question? Which… is honestly what she's about to do. 

You gather all your things, you’re sure not to miss anything, because the moment you walk out those doors, you’re never coming back to this class. Never ever. Hell, you could leave your favorite stuffie behind and still say, ‘Forget about it,’ in a New York accent with no regrets. 

Even though you still have to come to the next semester–that's besides the point! You’re leaving, you’re gone, never to come back. 

You’re close to passing Gojo’s desk, when he stops you. You’re mentally crying, wanting to leave this lecture hall as soon as possible. 

“Your project.” He whispers, a cheshire smile on his lips. “Sukuna?” 

You nod, “Yeah, Sukuna.” You place your hands behind your back, “Is there something wrong with that?” 

Gojo passes you a shit-eating grin, before saying, “Tell him I said hi, yeah?” 

You feel your face flush before turning on your heel, letting out a quick, “Nope.” Slip your lips before pushing the doors of your lecture hall open, a heavy weight finally being lifted off your shoulders with every step. This is heaven. 

Thank god you’re finally on break. 

You pull the collar of your white knitted sweater over your face, collecting your brown plaid scarf with it. The winter of your college biting at your nose. Luckily, you had some white earmuffs to keep your ears warm. 

The moment you’re comfortable outside, an unpleasant shiver shoots down your spine from the cold. Yet, you’re still reaching for your phone, pulling up ‘Favorite person’ contact. About to send him a text when…

“A fucking skirt? In this weather?” Sukuna pushes himself off the wall next to the lecture hall, narrowing his eyes at you. “Didn’t I tell you to wear something warm?” He lectures harshly while his head tilts to the side ever so slightly. “Didn’t I get you something warm?”

You laugh, outstretching your hand to him, “This is warm. I’m wearing two layers of tights.” You look down at your outfit, “And I’m wearing leg warmers! That’s something you wouldn’t catch me wearing in the summer.” You reason. 

Sukuna shakes his head, his finger intertwining with yours. “Dumbass. You’re going to catch something before seeing your parents.” His head dips down, trying to kiss you, but you twist your head away. 

“I don’t get sick.” You keep your face to the side, smiling subtly, “I haven’t gotten sick since high school.”

Sukuna hasn’t been with someone since highschool, but here he is. Times surprisingly change. “Stop being stupid.” He uses his free hand to grab your face, pinching your cheeks and forcing you to kiss him. 

You giggle into his lips, smiling like an idiot. “I’m no’sh colsh.” You mumble against him, closing your eyes and kissing him back. It feels electric to kiss him, his other hand twisting your hand your back so he can pull you closer to him. 

Sukuna pulls away, “Yes, you are. Your cheeks are freezing.” You’re surprised he understands your mumbled words. He starts to walk away from the building, pulling you along with him, “I’m getting your dumbass coffee.” 

You shake your head, cringing as you look away from him. “You know I don’t like coffee...” 

Sukuna pauses for a moment, “I’ll get you hot chocolate.” 

You smile fondly, wrapping your arms around his, pressing your body against his arm. “Thanks, ‘kuna.” You press your head against his arm lovingly. “Love it when you treat me well.” You sing.

“I hate when you call me that.” Sukuna seethes back at you. 

You roll your eyes, a playful thought popping in your head. A way to mess with a guy who likes you a bit too much. “Sure, you “hate” it so much to the point where you practically came when I whispered it—“

“Shut the fuck up.” Sukuna isn’t looking at you, but the tips of his ears are a deep shade of red. Still, he pulls his arm away from your grasp, wrapping it around your shoulder and pulling you close to him. His words are so quiet, you’re sure if you weren’t paying close attention to him, you would’ve missed it. “You’re welcome.” He kisses the top of your head. 

“How did your finals go?” His voice is back to normal, loud and gruff. Intoxicating. He fixes your scarf. 

Good god, you love his voice. “Have I ever told you I love your voice?” There’s practically hearts in your eyes as you tell him that. 

Sukuna smiles cockily to himself, a bit of pride swelling his chest at the thought of you finding something as trivial as his voice attractive. “You didn’t need to.” He recalls when you first moved in, always listening to him jack off or fuck some random nobody. He looks away, “I already know.” 

You shake your head, collecting your thoughts. “But, no, my finals went well. I feel like I did good on that last one.” You cocked your head in the direction behind you, referring to the building you just left. 

“Really?” Sukuna asks sarcastically. 

You glare at him, “Yes, really.” 

Sukuna presses his lips together, “Sure.” 

You dramatically gasp, “You know what, I’m uninviting you and myself for Christmas.” You turn your head away from him, “Good luck telling your grandpa our relationship was a big lie.” Even if he already knew. 

Sukuna chuckles, “Is it now?” 

You pause, your feet slowing down. You blink a few times, Sukuna’s hand trailing down your shoulder to your hand, and despite the two of you being a few feet apart, your hands are still connected. “Wait… what?” 

Sukuna tilts his head to the side, he’s glaring at you. “What?” You’re looking at him with a dumbfounded look, your eyes wide and sparkling. He furrows his eyebrows at you, turning his face away. “Don’t be a fucking idiot. Use your head.” He isn’t going to wait outside in the freezing cold for a random fuck. 

Sukuna hates how clueless you are sometimes, it’s annoying. 

“I don’t think I understand, I think you have to spell it out for me.” You’re smiling like an idiot now, biting onto your body lip to try to conceal it. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes at you, pulling up his free hand. Pressing his middle and ring finger to his palm, and keeping the rest of his fingers up. 

You part your lips, in a bit of shock, your hand squeezing his for a moment. You move close, standing on your tippy toes and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. You mouth the words against his lips. 

‘I love you, too.’

You’re completely silent when telling him. Sukuna is equally as silent. And, that’s more than enough for you, love doesn’t have to be loud and in anyone’s face. It doesn’t have to be obnoxious. It can be as simple as reading a book with your partner while they watch TV. 

Love can be silent. 

“I think my dad’s been looking for places in the area.” You say softly, “So, I should be out of the house by the time second semester starts.” You poke his chest, “You won’t have to be dealing with me–” 

“You’re still moving out?” Sukuna’s looking at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“Yeah?” You tilt your head to the side, trying your best to hide the smiling threatening to spill on your lips. “Wasn’t that the deal?” 

Sukuna blinks once, his face blank, before he pulls away from you. “I’m not talking to you.” 

You burst into a fit of laughter, rushing after him, “I’m joking, I’m joking.” You chant, waving off the statement with your hand. “You already know you’re stuck with me.” Although, you weren’t a hundred percent certain that extended to your free housing situation. 

“You’re an idiot.” Sukuna says, “A virgin, loser, too.” 

“Wow, I can’t believe you’re still calling me that.” You say, grabbing his hand, which wraps around yours the moment the two of you touch. Softie. “After everything we’ve–you’ve done to me? Shameful.” 

“Whatever.” 

You’re softly smiling at him as you pull away, finding it cute how his hand follows you. “Okay.” The two of you start moving towards the coffee building again, “Have you been practicing your ASL? It’ll be nice if my mom could talk to my boyfriend.” The word feels foreign, but nice to say. 

“I have.” Sukuna turns his face away from you again. 

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, “Knowing one small phrase isn’t enough. Are you lying to me?” You accuse, “You won’t even look at me, you’re totally lying to me.” You huff, a small cloud of condensation leaving your lips. 

His reply is quick and rude, “I’m not.” Sukuna’s not lying, and he’s sure you’re more than aware of that. However, what you don’t know is that everytime he turns away from you, he’s just trying to hide his stupid smile from you, and you’ll never know that. 

Actually, no, that’s a lie. He’ll tell you in his wedding vows. 

I love you all so much! Thank you for giving me so much joy in writing! I hope you enjoyed my Christmas present to you this year! (Last year... 2023)

I have loved writing this series more than anything! <3 and, the support and love you’ve given me means everything. It’s honestly made writing this series absolutely worth it!🩷 Kept me motivated and eager to known what you thought of each chapter.

Hopefully I’ll see you in another story I write!🩷🥹

Tag(s)!: @openup-yourmind, @sherlock-holmes-jr, @maskedpacific, @gasp-a-homo, @diogodxlot, @beahappyhoeee, @tojimeow, @sukunamylovexoxo, @yoontaedotin, @sukunaloverrr, @lanadelreylover4l, @raininginthemoonlight, @blackjanexx, @ethereally-lyann, @fritzzbitzz, @lanadelreylover4l, @chayunwoo, @madamteller, @mazzd4, @haithamsbb, @c-l-ellis, @samysaha, @pi-crust, @shukiinnkm

[dramioneasks]

Christmas Fics (2024) (Part 5):

Keep Calm and Merry On by Melliehart - not rated, WIP - A short flash fiction. It's time for Harry Potter's annual Christmas party, and Hermione arrives with an unexpected guest.

The Science of Choosing a Christmas Tree by aether_dreams - T, one-shot - Draco and Hermione go the the Christmas tree farm to pick out their first Christmas tree together. Draco is very cold and not being brave about it.

Christmas (Cracker) Chemistry by ambpersand - E, one-shot - “Christmas Crackers?” Malfoy asks, holding one up, then looks at her with a surprisingly warm expression. “Cute.” Hermione fights a blush. They’re no ordinary Christmas Crackers. She had George and the staff at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes whip up a special surprise for the Ministry—except she explicitly requested they be red and green, not gold and silver. It’s not that big of a deal. She’ll get over it. Tomorrow. Malfoy busies himself by helping to distribute several tubes on each table without request. It’s easy, working with him in a silent tandem. They’ve done it a few times on shared projects, holing up in her office or his, and quickly fall into an easy rhythm. Every time she sneaks a glance, he’s conveniently looking elsewhere. At the final table, he shakes one close to his ear. “So what’s inside? They’re light.” She hurries over to him. There’s few enough people around that the surprise won't be ruined if she gives him a peek, and the prototypes were perfect. “We’ll have to be quick.” A sly smile pulls at his lips, and he holds one end towards her. “On three?”

A Muggle Christmas Custom by 1sailorjupiter - M, one-shot - Hermione grasped his dress robes, rose up onto her tiptoes, and pressed her lips against his.  It was only a brief peck to his lips, but she had never done anything like it before, and his thoughts were suddenly reeling. When she pulled away and released him, there was no hiding the shock he felt.  He dropped the books in his arm—the noise making Crookshanks jump up from his spot on the couch—and Draco stared at her with his wide, unblinking gray eyes. “W-w-what was that?” Draco stammered. Hermione pointed up at the mistletoe.  “That’s what muggles do when two of them are under the mistletoe at the same time.” “They kiss?” he questioned, glancing back up at the plant. When Hermione Granger decorates their shared Head Boy/Head Girl dorm for Christmas, she decides to demonstrate to Draco Malfoy what mistletoe is when he admits that he doesn't know what the muggle custom involves. Since they are navigating an obvious new change in their relationship, they begin to kiss every time they end up under it together--something that the portraits hanging in the dorm find very entertaining--but will Professors Snape and Dumbledore be more of a help or a hinderance?

Hermione's Crabby Christmas by EllieByrrdWrites (CSKasem) - M, one-shot - Hermione spends every winter observing the peculiar mating habits of a rare, magical species of crab somewhere in Mexico.

Draco Malfoy is not in love by TheStarCounter - E, WIP - Draco Malfoy has a perfectly organized life—sharp, composed, and absolutely free of distractions. Especially the bushy-haired, know-it-all kind. But when Hermione Granger starts showing up in his life more than he’d like—and occupying his thoughts even more—he begins to notice things he absolutely shouldn’t. He’s not in love. Obviously. That would be absurd. But if he were (which he isn’t), it would most definitely be her fault.

May I Interest You by Morethanhistory - T, one-shot - Hermione Granger is a shop girl at Scrivenshaft’s. Year after year, Draco Malfoy visits on Christmas Eve in search of a gift.

12 Days of Kinkmas by Ada_P_Rix, allofthelights11 - E - 12 chapters of smutty one-shots gift-wrapped and delivered right to your inbox.

A Gingerbread House, Crookshanks & Other Challenges by Franzi945 - T, one-shot - Draco wants to surprise Hermione by baking a gingerbread house, a tradition she lost after her parents were obliviated. Draco is sure, "This can't be that hard." But he doesn't count on Crookshanks, who is doing his best to disrupt him...

Almost, Always, and at Christmastime by Molivier - M, one-shot - It’s Christmastime, and everyone just wants Draco Malfoy to tell the truth.

Santa, baby. by emotionalsupporthufflepuff - E, WIP - Draco and Hermione find themselves pushed together on Christmas eve, through a combination of drama with their exes and their scheming pre-teens. What could possibly go wrong?

Scarves, Scars and Second Chances by Elinie - G, 10 chapters - When Hermione Granger receives an unexpected invitation to Malfoy Manor for Christmas, she’s hesitant but curious. As Head of the Auror Department, she’s used to handling crises, but spending the holiday with her enigmatic partner Draco Malfoy feels like an entirely different challenge. With snow softly falling and the warmth of Christmas magic in the air, both begin to confront their shared scars from the war, their newfound roles in rebuilding the wizarding world, and the fragile hope of forgiveness. Through enchanted ornaments, mischievous banter, and a few too many knitted scarves, they discover that healing sometimes comes in the most unexpected ways.

[husbandomail]

my VERY BELATED christmas list: bad at wrapping

“Having trouble there, rich boy?”

“Shut it!” Chazz snaps back automatically. It’s only then he registers the voice. “—you’re not supposed to be in here!”

Male dorms tend to have an odd energy to begin with, but Chazz’s space looks like a winter holiday war zone— snippets of ribbon everywhere, wrapping paper shredded in clear shows of frustration. A tape dispenser lays discarded, the tape itself bundled around the plastic holder in a way that will probably never come off.

And, in the eye of the storm, is Chazz Princeton. Face red, eyes wide, looking the very picture of guilt.

“You could at least knock!” He bites out. He’s awkwardly hunched over something, his broad shoulders hiding his current project from your wandering gaze.

“I did,” you hum; when you take a few steps closer, Chazz scrambles to rearrange himself, draping his coattails over whatever he’s hiding. “You were too busy cussin’ up a storm to hear me, I guess. What’cha got there?”

“Nothing.” Chazz petulantly crosses his arms. “I’m just wrapping things. Get out.”

You’re not the directions-following type. Instead of listening, you drop yourself to the floor next to him. Whatever’s hidden under his coattails is shaped oddly. “Looks like you’re struggling.”

Chazz’s face turns a different shade of red. “I know how to wrap things!” He bites back, opening his mouth to keep arguing.

“Knowing and doing are different things,” you snicker. It’s not worth the fight to try and snatch his coat away, so you settle for grabbing another boxed item— what are these, deck sleeves?— and one of the neglected gift bags stacked in the corner with the other supplies. “Shouldn’t ignore these things, they’re way easier.”

Chazz just sits for a few moments, pouting defiantly; resorting to gift bags feels like losing, and Princetons don’t lose. Still, he can’t deny that you are moving way faster than he’d been; progress has been slow all afternoon, but you’re quick about popping things into bags and arranging colored tissue paper.

You’re also pointedly ignoring the way he stares. “D’ya want me to show you how to actually wrap things? In paper?”

“—no,” he’s much calmer this time, “I’ve got it covered.” He’s careful as he turns back around , still trying to hide the item he’d been wrapping when you walked in; this leads to a few moments of awkward stretching as he reaches for the stack of gift bags, swatting your hand away when you try to hand him one. He’ll do it himself, thanks.

There’s some rustling as he stuffs the apparent gift into the bag, peeking over his shoulder to make sure you’re not watching. “I don’t like these ‘cause they’re easy to look into,” he huffs. “I go through all the trouble of finding something for you— aha.”

More stretching as he snatches something off his desk, and then you hear a couple of clicks as he finishes. When Chazz turns around, he’s got that smug grin on his face again as he shoves something into your hands.

About what you’d expected— a gift bag with your name on it. Uh, stapled shut. The Obelisk student is grinning as he taps at the tag.

“Do not open before Christmas.”

[paw-prints-vn]

Stumped and searching for the perfect premise, you stumble upon a lone library and the cat people living within.

In Paw Prints you play as an aspiring writer who turns to their dreams for ideas. With only 2 weeks left and a completely blank script, will you make it in time to join the contest and get published?

Paw Prints is a quick and easy read. Enjoy the winter vibes, and embrace the nonsensical yet inspiring nature of your dreaming mind.

~11,000 words

2 endings

3 cat-tastic characters who only want what's best for you

Mad Libs minigame

Your nameable purr-fect pet cat (who also wants to help)

Play it here!

This project was made for Winter Visual Novel Jam 2023

[vampire-meta-knight]

Goth DIY: Altered Clothing part 1

Since some of you crafty goths were interested in seeing the clothing I've altered, I decided to compile it all in one place! I hope I can inspire your creations,give you ideas, and teach you new techniques. This will be a long post, since I've been making alterations to my clothing since high school, which also means some of these projects aren't as polished as others, since they were made when I was newer to DIY and have mistakes I've since learned from, but that's okay! Goth doesn't have to be polished and perfect, and don't let the fear of mistakes stop you from creating!

I've already done posts about the shorts and pants I've gothified, so part 1 will focus on t-shirts, camisoles, and button-up shirts. Part 2 will have sweaters, skirts, and dresses. Some alterations are as easy as adding safety pins or lace trim, and others involve more sewing. Lots of these are very beginner-friendly projects and take less than an hour. All of these items were completely plain when I got them--anything metal, lace, embroidered, or painted that you see was added by me. I'll add more about each garment in the image descriptions. As always, feel free to message me if you want better or more thorough instructions or DIY advice. I'm here to be a resource to my fellow crafters! <3

(Also, please pardon the cat hair and my hair on the clothes--I don't take perfect pictures. A couple pics are also old since those shirts are in storage so I could make room for my winter wardrobe, so you'll notice a change in backdrop and a dirty mirror.)

Let's start with t-shirts and camisoles! Use an old shirt, a thrifted shirt, a shirt from Walmart, etc.! I like to get plain unisex t-shirts from Walmart and paint on them using freezer paper stencils, bleach them, shred them, and/or add safety pins to them. The camis also came from Walmart, and I changed the necklines and added lace trim to make them cuter.

To make a sweetheart neckline on a cami, you can cut it, or you can just pinch the middle and sew it into place (I did that for all of them except the black and white one--that one ended up a little lower-cut than I meant it to, so I decided to stick with the pinching method). The lace trim I used on the black camis isn't stretchy, but still works just fine, as long as you pin it into place while you're wearing the shirt and stretch the shirt a bit as you sew to maintain stretch in those areas. Stretchy lace, like I used on the pink and red camis, works a bit better, but is harder to find. I still like pinning the lace while I'm wearing the shirt to get the placement down, but if you wear a bra, make sure you're wearing the one you plan on wearing with the shirt while placing the lace. I found it doesn't sit right with bras that fit a little differently than the one I based the placement on.

The long-sleeved Emily the Strange shirt has a neat detail, albeit a wonky one because my placement is a bit off sometimes. You'll notice two little striped triangles at the bottom. I cut slits in the shirt and added triangles of striped stretchy fabric, then sewed zippers over top of them to hide the seams and add extra detail. I also sewed the zippers on with red thread for contrast.

My button-ups are a bit more involved. I treat them like how I treat shorts--patches, lace, embroidery, pins, grommet tape, D-rings, charms, chains, oh my! The pink one is my most recent, and I'm so proud of it. All of the patches came from ToothxNail on Etsy, except the Rat King patch, which came from Katiewhittleart on Etsy. The flowers on the collar were buttons that I glued onto flat-back pins from a craft store (I used E6000 glue). Made super quick collar pins that I can remove when washing the shirt or put on something else when I want.

The orange button-up was by far the simplest. I just added lace trim to the cuffs and cropped it (it had been high-low, but I wanted to wear it tucked into a skirt and the long back was annoying me). I also added collar clips with a chain that I got at a craft fair, but that's more like styling an accessory with it than altering it, since I can just un-clip them.

The leather jacket is old and doesn't fit well, so I don't wear it anymore, but I kept it because it was my first leather jacket. Adding the sew-on studs and faux-fur trim on the neck took the longest. You'll also notice that a mouse chewed a hole in the outer shell on the pocket.

Part 2

[matchstixx]

The People We Think We Know

Chapter 2

Pairing: Tobirama x fem!Reader

WC: 2,134

CW: Death, mildly graphic description of gore and sickness, mentioned/attempted human trafficking but no actual happenstance

Read on Ao3

[Series Master List]

<- Prev Chapter | Next Chapter ->

This opportunity cannot be wasted; manipulate, scheme, lie, do whatever it takes to survive.

The thought is still disconcerting even after repeating it each morning when you wake up and each night before you sleep, for the past five years. Like a piece of your past self’s morality still trying to maintain structure within this world you’ve been thrust into. Beg, barter, steal? You’ve done it all by now in this 5-year-old body. It’s easy enough, since adults don’t expect you – a visible child in their eyes – to have the mind of a 24 year old. And why would they? It’s not like transmigration is a thing here…or maybe it is? You never finished the manga.

Between rent, tuition, food, studying, class, job shifts, and more and more and more, there wasn’t really any time or leftover money to go buy the newest volumes (and the store clerk yelled at you the last time you tried to speed through the pages, telling you to ‘buy it or get out’).

So, catching up on the Naruto series was quickly reduced to streaming it off some sketchy website on your phone while you were studying – rewinding it every couple of minutes when you missed something important. Then quickly morphed into nothing at all when your parents berated you during winter break about your declining grades because of the distraction.

And slowly, you were being crushed. Already two years behind on your 4 year degree, debt adding up, increasing shift hours, piled up homework and projects. It was wake up, eat, survive, sleep, and repeat, again and again and again and AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN.

And then, there was the accident.

You’d like to say it was quick, that you hadn’t laid on the concrete for 20 minutes, bleeding out, broken bones pressing up through skin, and collapsed lung straining to inflate with each draw of breath. The EMS responders had been kind, you vaguely recall, a pensive seriousness on their faces and reassurances that ‘everything will be okay, just stay awake for me.’ And for a couple moments, you had believed them.

Death wasn’t that bad. The lead up was – for sure – but actual death? It had really felt about the same as being put under at the dentist’s for your wisdom teeth removal. A heavy lethargy and the vague awareness of the passage of time, but ignorant of how long it’d been since you had closed your eyes in the first place.

And when you had opened your eyes again, it had been to a midwife jostling you about for a reaction in a rustic room; a sweaty, exhausted woman collapsed on what could barely be called a bed in the corner and a grumpy man staring down at you with disappointment and disdain.

It was weird being a baby with the mind and awareness of a grown adult. Weird to have a different name and face and family. You had resisted the mortifying experience of being breastfed for as long as your stomach could take (a whole 6 hours) much to the dissatisfaction and worry of the woman who had become your mother in this world.

(A part of you had almost given in to the guilt after hour 2 when the woman had begun crying, pulling at her hair and smacking her head as she pleaded for you to eat. But working through the realization that you had died and been reborn – while maintaining your adult sentiency as a newborn – had you holding on stubbornly to your own pride.)

It wasn’t until you had turned 3-years-old in this world, when you had realized that you had transmigrated into the world of Naruto.

You had been born into a small village made up of outcasts and wanderers, in the middle-of-nowhere-Land of Fire, to farm hands who had barely even read or heard stories about shinobi, let alone seen or met one. For a while, you had thought that you just had been reborn into one of the historical periods of Japan; with yukatas, kimono, and shoji screen doors.

It was a small Senju unit that had shown up in town demanding room and board that had triggered your realization. A heavily pregnant woman was being escorted by the shinobi group, with a 4-year-old holding one of her hands, a 2-year-old grasping the other, and a 1-year-old strapped to her back with a length of cloth. Your mother had quickly urged you to help her clean the empty room that used to be your ‘grandmother’s’ for the woman, the shinobi taking up residence around the house with severe looks.

She had gone into labor later that night and you were left with her three sons to listen to the screams and sobs happening from the other side of the house. The 4-year-old, a brown-haired boy with a bowl cut, had cried the whole time, curled up with arms crossed over his ears and head. The albino 2-year-old had sat eerily still and silent the entire time, holding his swaddled little brother in his arms firmly as the baby snoozed through the noise. You had simply left them be in their own forms of anguish, quietly serving tea and dry, nearly-stale, crackers; your movements closely scrutinized by the red eyes of the younger boy across from you.

The albino boy only reacted once that night, in the moment right before the house went deadly silent; a furrow to his brow and mouth pinching into a thin line as tears flooded to his eyes but didn’t spill.

The Senju unit left the next day, led by a severe looking man. The two boys from last night silently followed him with bowed heads and a little brother in each of their arms.

There was a new grave mound in the cemetery that morning, the dirt freshly dug and covered in the middle of the night while the boys had been asleep.

—

A year and a half later, your ‘parents’ died in an epidemic in the village. Your ‘father’ was the strong, silent type, upset at having been given a girl for a child. Although, stubborn denial had him dragging you out to the fields and tool shed each day to teach you how to work with your hands, much to the begrudgement of your mother. The whole time he cared for you, he would make the standard, berating commentary at your ‘mother’ about being a ‘good wife’ by giving him a son. She had just gotten pregnant three months before she died to the sickness. Then, barely a month later, husband followed wife.

Part of you had felt bad; a weird kind of grief held for people that were simultaneously your entire world, and yet somehow still strangers. There was no funeral, the mortician/gravedigger/town doctor had died within the first 2 months of the outbreak; the villagers had taken to throwing all of that day’s bodies into large pits and lighting them on fire. They would burn for hours into the night, the smell of burning flesh and blood and puss a nauseating thing that would sometimes keep you up at night, retching off the back porch.

You had quickly packed up a bag after a somewhat appropriate amount of grieving time, spent holed up in the house and eating all of the food in the cabinets growing stale and moldy. It was easy to find Father’s hidden money stash, a large handful of bills that he set aside to spend at the dusty bar a few buildings down. He used to tell Mother that he had ‘worker meetings’ with the other farm hands in town, which was actually just all of the married men going out to drink themselves into a stupor and make perverse commentary about the young women in the village. A part of you knows that Mother was aware of what he was up to as she would spend the time teaching you to read and write – skills that your Father had been adamant about not needing in life –, never commenting on the strong smell of alcohol coming from him when he would get home.

A couple of Mother’s nice-ish kimonos get folded up in the bag, hopefully to be sold when the coins run out, and you cut up a pair of Father’s hakama to use while you travel. Then, you take to the road without a single word to any of the other villagers; they’d probably figure you went and died in the woods out of grief.

You learn to avoid the various clan compounds, unfriendly at best or completely hostile at worst to strangers and outsiders, moreso to those claiming to be unaffiliated. Large villages are also approached with caution, the inhabitants of the nicer streets gazing at your stained and dirty clothes with disgust and refusing you sales. You’re mostly ignored in the more impoverished areas; where you have coin, vendors will sell – regardless of your age and lack of adult supervision.

It’s an attempted kidnapping from a group of human traffickers that leaves you without your bag, discarded in your struggle, and clothes ripped and dirty where you had raced through the dusty back alleys of a town in your haste. When you assess the damage later as you’re trying to clean out the stains and mend the large gashes, you decide to steal a mostly empty rice bag behind one of the houses on the edge of the village. The grains fill you for a week and a half before you turn the empty bag into a makeshift dress to replace the pieces of cloth that are practically sloughing off your bony body at this point.

It’s a long 7 months filled with wandering about to new towns to steal food from. Your stomach is gurgling and clenching around its emptiness when you hear the sound of celebration in the distance. Eventually, you come across the walls of a clan compound, the sentries sparse in their towers and quickly distracted by the stone you throw further into the woods. When they disappear, you squeeze through a crack between two of the large pikes of wood, split open with rot and waterlog, and barely covered by a shrubbery blooming with large flowery petals.

From experience, you make your way to the temple first after you can tell that whatever festival is taking place is set up in the main village area instead. Bowing your head to the statue of the goddess in the temple’s main chamber, you mumble an apology and thanks for the food. A brief glare of sunlight across the gold gilding of the statue almost makes you think that the goddess is granting you permission to the food offerings laid at her feet.

You made it halfway through the plate when the miko finds you with an enraged shout.

The ‘innocent, poor child’ ploy you’ve curated over the years easily slides into place when more adults show up. You crank up the pitiful act when the matriarch, ‘Yoko’, looks upon you with a level of adoration that only a woman who draws happiness from raising kids can manage.

You barely manage to keep the surprise off your face when Yoko calls out to the boy in front of you with a familiar name. He stares at you with a wary distrust, eyes flickering to who you gather is his father in deference. The Uchiha compound. Just your luck to stumble across them of all people.

It’s hard to keep the childish expressions from cracking and revealing the more complex intrigue that flits to the surface as you are brought to the clan head’s house. You pretend to take interest in the architecture, using the time to look at Madara and the other Uchiha sons out of your periphery. Madara stares at you with obvious suspicion while the other three, unmentioned by name in the manga and anime, stare at you with blatant curiosity.

It’s odd, seeing Madara before he succumbed to rage and despair. He has so much personality, lofty and naively unstructured goals, and strong attachments to each of his family members. His facial expressions are comical when compared to the serious version of him you’d seen in fanarts and video clips.

You slink into the futon after you shoo him out of the room, the full brunt of all of the events in your new life and the past 7 months hitting you hard enough to bring you to tears. You bite them back and pull the covers over your head to hide the quiet whimpers that seep out.

The tears eventually dry up as the exhaustion starts to pull you under, your mind churning with plans and next steps. There is no rest for the wicked.

This opportunity cannot be wasted; manipulate, scheme, lie, do whatever it takes to survive.

<- Prev Chapter | Next Chapter ->

[tigerspite]

10, 13, 17, 20, 30 :D

Ooo thank you! Sorry this took a few days to get to! Had to have a think about some of these

10. A fic you wrote this year that was different from what you usually write

So it turns out I only really worked on a couple of projects this year, even with what I didn't publish, so I didn't really expand my horizons much! A few chapters of The Devil's Claw definitely pushed outside my usual comfort zone and required a lot of effort and mental rotation to get right, though.

13. Two things this year has taught you about writing

- Sertraline quiets your brain down, and that means you can't come up with ideas as quick or be constantly thinking of things like you were pre-medication (yes this is entirely why my creative output dropped off a cliff!)

- If at first you don't succeed, put it down for several months at a time and go back to it as a new you.

17. Two favourite lines/paragraphs/scenes from this year's fics

I'm very taken with the chapter of Outsider where Ursaviks admits he's too sick to Kell House Devils.

His mate leans in, pressing their foreheads together. Closing his eyes, he whispers, “I want to live quietly. Let me spend my days with you and our children, and our friends, and my mind can finally rest.”

On the flip side, I enjoyed writing Retikis and her long suffering parents in Two Way Mirror!

A little squeak and frantic chirruping said everything for how it tasted when snorted.

Citriks came to her rescue, scooping her up again and brushing the caked on salt from her snout. Taking the hatchling’s hand, she moved it up and down so that she lint-rolled herself and picked up the last few grains, just grazing the sticky tape over her face. Then, as soon as she was clean, she set her down again and gave her a push into a better direction.

Efficient. Startlingly so. That was not the first time that had happened.

20. A fic you wish was more popular

I know Two Way Mirror has a very dedicated fanbase and is INCREDIBLY NICHE, but I wish it had wider appeal and more people heavily invested. It's a pain in the ass to write, the editing is actually what takes up the majority of the time with it because Taniks is very challenging, and I really enjoy what he and Atraks have. Even if not many others have seen how it develops.

In another world, maybe there are more people reading Taniks fic.

30. Five fics you read this year that you'd like to recommend

In The Wake Of Winter by @snooze-mode - I quite enjoyed this! It's not easy to find 'new' and promising authors doing Eliksni justice, but they managed it!

fuck, why not by @ruthlesslistener - This is an actual work of art. Incredibly NSFW but brilliantly written. The first line is incredible, and that sure sets the tone for the rest of the fic!

Liberties by @intrepiddreamx - Again, very NSFW. But I'm never saying no to anything with Variks. A masterclass.

This one isn't a fic, but the Mech Pilot Care Guide was a piece I found really interesting for the amount of care and attention that was taken over it. While it's a very oversaturated and deeply sexualised concept nowadays, I liked how the author tackled it.

I'd like to give an honourable shout-out to @vivifrage , who has been writing the most intriguing 'what if' scenarios with Taniks and Misraaks throughout this year. Mostly to do with a hypothetical pair of hatchlings, and none of it made public, but I love those little jellybeans. I love the amount of angst Taniks has over them and how it ripples through the 'family' even more >::3c

[screenmobile]

What Are Patios Usually Made Of? A Guide for South Bend Homeowners and Outdoor Enthusiasts

A patio is more than just a place to put a few chairs—it’s an extension of your home, a space where you can unwind, entertain, or even work on a sunny day. But if you're thinking about adding a patio (or upgrading an old one), you might be wondering: What’s the best material for the job?

Well, that depends on a few things—your budget, the climate in South Bend, how much maintenance you’re willing to put in, and, of course, the look you're going for. Let’s break down the most common patio materials, their pros and cons, and which might be the right fit for your space.

Concrete: Classic, Durable, and Versatile

Concrete is probably the first thing that comes to mind when you think about patios—and for good reason. It’s affordable, durable, and easy to customize. You can leave it plain, stain it, stamp it to mimic stone, or even add texture for a high-end look without the high-end price.

Why Concrete Works Well for Patios:

Budget-Friendly: One of the most affordable options, especially for larger patios.

Highly Customizable: Can be stamped, stained, or even scored to look like tile or stone.

Durable & Weather-Resistant: Stands up well to South Bend’s changing seasons, from hot summers to snowy winters.

Low Maintenance: A quick wash and occasional sealing are all it takes to keep it looking good.

Downsides of Concrete:

Cracks Over Time: With temperature changes and settling, cracks are almost inevitable.

Heat Absorption: Can get hot underfoot in the summer, though adding shade helps.

Not a DIY-Friendly Option: Poured concrete needs a pro to get it right.

Pavers: The Stylish, Low-Maintenance Choice

Pavers—those interlocking bricks or stones—offer a high-end look with built-in flexibility. Whether you want a simple pattern or something intricate, pavers give you plenty of design options.

Why Pavers Are a Solid Pick:

Great Aesthetic Appeal: Available in various colors, shapes, and materials like brick, stone, or concrete.

Less Prone to Cracking: Unlike solid concrete, pavers move slightly with the ground, reducing cracks.

Easier Repairs: If a section gets damaged, you can replace individual pavers without redoing the whole patio.

Good Drainage: Water seeps through the gaps, reducing puddles.

What to Consider:

Higher Upfront Cost: More expensive than plain concrete, both in materials and labor.

Weeds & Maintenance: If not installed properly, weeds can pop up between the pavers.

Natural Stone: The Premium, Elegant Option

If you're aiming for a patio that screams "luxury," natural stone is where it’s at. Flagstone, slate, limestone—these materials offer a one-of-a-kind look with natural textures and colors.

Why Homeowners Love Natural Stone:

Timeless & Elegant: Each piece is unique, giving your patio a high-end, custom feel.

Durable & Weather-Resistant: Holds up well against temperature changes.

Great for Drainage: The irregular gaps allow water to filter through naturally.

Why It’s Not for Everyone:

Expensive: One of the priciest options in terms of materials and labor.

Heavy & Labor-Intensive to Install: Not a DIY-friendly project.

Can Be Uneven: Depending on the type of stone, the surface might not be perfectly flat.

Brick: Charming and Classic

Brick patios have a timeless, historic feel that never really goes out of style. They’re especially popular for traditional homes and garden patios.

Why Brick Works Well:

Classic Look: Adds charm and character, especially for older or colonial-style homes.

Long-Lasting: Can last decades with proper care.

Easy to Repair: Like pavers, you can replace individual bricks if needed.

What to Keep in Mind:

Can Be Pricey: More affordable than natural stone but still more expensive than concrete.

Weeds & Shifting: Over time, bricks may settle unevenly, and weeds can grow in between.

Needs Maintenance: Occasional pressure washing and sealing help maintain its look.

Gravel: The Budget-Friendly, Easy Option

If you're after something simple and affordable, gravel might be worth considering. It's not the most polished-looking option, but it has a laid-back, rustic charm—perfect for fire pit areas or casual outdoor spaces.

Why Gravel is Worth Considering:

Inexpensive: One of the most affordable patio materials.

DIY-Friendly: No concrete pouring or heavy lifting required.

Great Drainage: No puddles after rain.

What to Consider:

Not the Most Comfortable: Walking barefoot on gravel isn’t fun.

Can Shift Over Time: Needs occasional raking and topping off.

Not Ideal for Heavy Furniture: Chairs and tables might sink in.

Which Material is Right for You?

There’s no one-size-fits-all answer—it depends on your needs. Here’s a quick way to figure it out:

On a budget? Go with concrete or gravel.

Want a polished look? Pavers or natural stone are your best bet.

Hate maintenance? Choose concrete or brick.

DIY enthusiast? Gravel and pavers are the easiest to install yourself.

Whatever you choose, make sure it fits your lifestyle and how you plan to use your patio.

Consider South Bend’s Climate

South Bend gets its fair share of winter snow and summer heat, so durability is key. Materials like concrete, pavers, and stone tend to handle freeze-thaw cycles better than brick, which can crack if not properly maintained. And if drainage is a concern (hello, rainy springs), gravel or permeable pavers can help keep water from pooling.

Final Thoughts

At the end of the day, your patio should be a place where you want to spend time. Whether you're planning backyard barbecues, sipping coffee in the morning sun, or just giving your dog a safe place to roam, the right material makes all the difference.

Thinking about upgrading your outdoor space? A professional installation ensures a smooth, long-lasting result—so if you’re in South Bend, reach out to Screenmobile South Bend to explore options that fit your home and lifestyle.

[freshstitches]

The Winter Wave Hat was a spontaneous project inspired by the arrival of a new family member. I used two 100g skeins of bulky weight yarn in contrasting colors. This project features a simple stacked stitch motif worked in 2 colors in the round. Stacked stitches are a increase and decrease technique used to create wavy color work. Only one color is worked at a time in this project. It's a good starting place for any one new to this technique who wants to practice with a quick and (relatively) easy pattern.

I know it's a strange time of year to publish a hat, but it's still cold enough to wear this today when I arrive in Wisconsin. It's also perfect timing for those of you who live in the southern hemisphere.

🧶

Yarn: BULKY

Small size uses 60g of MC and 30g of CC.

Large size uses 67.5g of CC and 37.5g of CC.

Finished Size: 18" (20") / 46 (51 cm) circumferenceat ribbing, unstretched, to fit 20-23" (23-26") / 53-60 (61-66) cm head.

Needles: Size 8 (5mm), 10 (6mm) 16” (40 cm) circular needle, or size needed to obtain gauge.

Gauge: 14 sts and 19 rows = 4 x 4” square in stockinette stitch on larger size needles.

Find the pattern for sale on my website and on Ravelry.

[twelvroses]

ELIZABETH HWANG was born in Berkeley, California; her father is a music producer working in the United States and her mother is an artist. Elizabeth grew up alternating between dreaming of following in either parent's dream, and at fourteen years old was the only trainee to make it through OHJANG ENTERTAINMENT's LA auditions, whisking her away from her life to Seoul, where she'd train for two years.

Under the stage name LIZZY, Elizabeth first made her debut in 2018, when she was added to the lineup of established girl-group BOUQUET, in which her representative flower was daisies. Although the group enjoyed a middling level of success, Elizabeth's status as a new addition earned her scorn amongst fans, who much preferred the member she replaced. As a result, Elizabeth was subject to hate and scrutiny for the three years she was active as a member of BOUQUET, particularly in thanks to her inexpressive nature; her flat speaking tone and blank resting expression all too easy to project sarcasm or disdain upon.

When the group disbanded in 2021, Elizabeth was quick to pack her bags and get the hell out of her old label, never looking back or publicly mentioning BOUQUET by name again. In 2022, she competed on the fourth season of the survival show nextUP, her last appearance using the name Lizzy, where she finished around the middle of the pack and failed to make a debut. Following the show, Elizabeth seemingly vanished from the public eye, and fans accepted that she'd given up on the idol industry, assuming that she had returned home to America.

However, in 2024, it was announced that Elizabeth had signed to VALENTINE RECORDS; the first and currently only trainee to be accepted since the debut of their three new-gen groups at the beginning of the decade. With her signature long hair chopped to her neck and the firm instruction to call her LIZ, now, the buzz among the few fans still holding a candle for Elizabeth is palpable - by all accounts, she means business this time around.

NAME : Elizabeth 'Liz' Hwang.

BIRTHDAY : June 12 2001.

ZODIAC : Gemini.

NATIONALITY : Korean-American.

HOMETOWN : Berkeley, CA, USA.

FOCUS OF TRAINING : Rap, Vocal.

FC : Kim Minjeong / Winter.

[grawlix-ness]

The Big Sleet and Dingo Headcanon Post V2!

Bear in mind this is largely a collection of subconscious Notes app ramblings I’ve patched together so I may have made a few grammatical boo-boos or repeated myself here and there. It’s almost 4AM, I’m sure I’ve missed things. I’ll continue to add and edit this post should more ideas come to mind. Questions encouraged!

Cw: light implications of child neglect, mentions of drinking and mutant body horror

🔫 Sleet 🔪

Sleet was raised in the gutter. He knows a fair bit more than the average Lower Mobotropolis street urchin because his mom was an aristocrat until she was slandered by her peers and booted from high society. She taught him the essentials, and he learned everything else from scavenging library books. Presently, his education has all but fallen through the cracks. He tries to avoid reading most of the time. What will Dingo think if he learns he’s not the uber-genius he makes himself out to be? Why does he care what Dingo thinks? When such thoughts arise, they are pushed away and buried.

He has cybernetic implants to aid with frequent aches and muscle strain. In the winter, he struggles due to a lower cold threshold, the result of a fur and skin condition. Dingo knits sweaters for him. They’re oversized and kind of a mess. On particularly glacial nights, Sleet isn't averse to sharing warmth, willing to cuddle up and be the little spoon, so long as Dingo promises not to tell anyone. 

He had no friends growing up and was often picked on. His ailments and interest in science made him an easy target. Some of his peers disliked him on the very principle of him having an ex-aristocrat mother. This made him prickly and distant. While others played kickball or tag, he was tinkering with junkyard machinery or eavesdropping around spacer hangouts, dreaming of someday getting off planet and flying to a world that’d understand him. 

He’s quite good with a needle and thread and tailors his and Dingo’s ball outfits himself. Sleet gets his sewing skills from his mother. She was the personal outfitter and trusted right hand of an important noblewoman. As a pup, he adored listening to his mother’s stories of galas and masquerades. During such fleeting moments of peace, she’d also make costumes for him. He still heavily enjoys fashion, having a closet dedicated to fancy capes. 

Sometime in his tumultuous childhood, Sleet discovered there was an Honor Guard. He admired their outfits and swordsmanship. Most of all he wanted to join so he and his mother could live in the warmth and safety of a castle. He even fashioned a costume out of his mother’s fabric scraps, complete with a sword made from a rusted metal pipe. She was quick to dash those dreams and didn’t take kindly to him borrowing her things, especially not for such a “ridiculous” project. During lonesome, existential nights he wonders how differently things could have turned out if he had become a member of the guard after all. 

When his mother was absent or too volatile to be around, Sleet found company in local mechanics.  He learned how to swindle and cheat with the best of them. One shop owner actually took him under her wing, viewing his perceived weaknesses as strengths. 

Sleet first developed the transmogrifier as a kid. He used it not only to defend himself against the local rabble rousers and humiliate them. It wasn’t a complete success, only partially transforming targets, giving them wings or eyestalks and other unwieldy appendages. Transformations were temporary. No less horrifying however. 

He calls himself a jack of all trades. This title is dubious. Thanks to an enriching education from the school of hard knocks, he does have an approximate knowledge regarding a variety of things, though it’s usually limited to topics relating to self-preservation and chicanery. 

Animals don’t like Sleet and aren’t afraid to let him know. It’s become a standing joke. Dingo teases him for it, despite the fact that, because of his stature, toothy countenance, and tendency to squeeze or pet too hard, he isn’t the best with animals either. 

Sleet is a skilled marksman. He prefers distance, specializing in both handguns and long guns. If the weight class is right and the odds are in his favor, he can hold his own in close quarters using an array of hidden fighting knives and some rudimentary martial arts. Sleet simply won’t hear that his cape is a hindrance, even when this has been proven multiple times. All that being said, Sleet is more of a fleer than a fighter. He is an unabashed coward, not opposed to unning away screaming with his tail between his legs. 

While preferring motorcycles, he’s not half bad at riding animal mounts, thanks to the teachings of cowboy bounty hunter and old flame Fleabyte. It is serendipitous that he’s acquired this ability, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to stay on as well after zapping Dingo into a beast of burden. The poor brute has heard a lifetime’s worth of ass jokes from his rider. 

He enjoys strategizing and has free time stored away solely for scheming purposes. These lovingly-crafted plans generally go awry due to Dingo’s haphazard, devil-may-care nature and forgetfulness. That’s not to say Sleet would do better in the bounty hunting business on his own. He has the upper body strength of a wet noodle and a predilection for monologues and theatrics. He needs someone to shake him out of these ego trances.

Sleet uses his hands often when talking. Lots of flourishes and waves, tapping his chin as he feigns uncertainty, balling his fists and involuntarily shaking them when incensed. Little itchy, twitchy movements. Dingo finds it most endearing. 

Though tech-savvy and clever, his anger and pride sometimes get the best of him, leading him to make less than wise decisions, such as forcing machines past their breaking points or abandoning plans the moment his buttons are pushed. 

Sleet is not good at maintaining his hygiene, hence the hedgehogs’ odor-themed jabs. He'll polish and shine his armor until it glistens, yet giving the suit an interior deep clean is far from his mind. He's become so dependent on the power high and protection the suit gives him that he rarely takes it off. Dingo found this strange and a little concerning at first, but Sleet has convinced him that a good bounty hunter is always prepared in case of ambush. The thick polluted air of Robotropolis doesn't do any favors for his mangy fur coat either. So if anyone's a flea hotel, it's Sleet, though you’d be hard-pressed to find any fleas that’d give his scrawny hide the time of day.

Underneath that armor, he wears a black one-piece bodysuit  made of a silky, breathable material, more resilient than it appears. Sleet is skin and bones. It’s why he prefers working with a partner. He went through—or rather left for dead—dozens of other partners before finding a suitable match. Dingo’s hardy. Sturdy. Loyal. Revoltingly sweet. He’s an intriguing oddity to him. Dingo could easily kill him and yet he doesn’t. For a time Sleet wondered if he was just too dim to ever consider betrayal. 

He’s not big on displays of affection or people entering his personal bubble. However, when traversing through big crowds, he always presses close to Dingo, sometimes even reaches for his hand. 

Considers himself sophisticated. He’ll generally greet with a low bow and flourish, allies and enemies alike. Has neat freak tendencies, despite the fact he’s a hot mess himself.  In short, rules for thee, but not for me. There’s often a mental tug of war between his debonair self and the mouth-frothing sewer rat that lies deeper beneath. 

Sleet has a bad habit of late night tinkering.  He isn’t actively trying to be a night owl, time gets away from him. If Dingo doesn’t carry him off to bed beforehand, he ends up hunched over and asleep at his study. It does no favors for his already poor posture and eye bags. 

His reputation precedes him. When he freelanced, many bounty hunters steered clear of him because he was a noted cheat that backstabbed his partners. Despite these unsavory exploits, he manages to reel in even the most disconcerting of clients via ingratiation, boasting a nigh supernatural silver tongue. Those who’ve been tricked by him before cite his wordsmithing as being almost hypnotic. 

He tries his damndest not to acknowledge Dingo’s gaga eyes and honey glow cheeks. More times than one would deem platonic, he’s gotten distracted by Dingo’s chest. Though, to his credit, it’s hard not to when your co-pilot’s almost always shirtless and idly flexing his muscles. Even harder when you’re pinned beneath his chest—Dingo could make tripping over his feet a professional sport. 

💪 Dingo 🧬

Dingo has a sizable extended family, a horde of siblings and cousins back home. His destructive tendencies came as no shock to his aunts who raised him, since the family business used to be organized crime. The syndicate disintegrated long before Dingo was born, other groups like the Toad Warriors and Bear Pack Bikers quickly outcompeting them. 

Has no memory of his mother or father and holds no ill-will towards them. He has plenty of wild theories about their disappearance though. Everything from being lost at sea to being flattened by an asteroid. Whatever it was, he’s convinced it must have been legendary.

Of his litter he is the eldest brother. Barring fur color, none of his family look quite like him. His spots and flopped ear are noted recessive traits. His more dramatic features are the result of an understudied mutant gene. Nobody’s sure where in the family tree it came from. So far as Sleet can glean, it’s one in a billion, a title Dingo wears proudly. He isn’t interested in making connections with any long lost relatives, fearing there could be someone out there better than him at all things mutant. 

Dingo grew up in the outback of Tralius, quite some distance away from the hustle and bustle of Mobotropolis. He was a rambunctious, often rude and aggressive child. A typical schoolyard bully. Sometimes he would lament over his appearance and wish other kids invited him to play, but those moments were short-lived. Fortunately for his peers he could be easily tricked or bribed with sweets. 

Whereas Sleet took up inventing and sewing, Dingo loved throwing his weight around and exploring the great outdoors, wrestling every beast he came across and scaring vacationing campers late at night by pretending to be a Mobian-eating monster. 

In pursuit on foot, Dingo is bad at maneuvering sharp turns. His topheaviness and clumsy feet have cost a number of hunts. 

He has a sweet tooth. One thing he appreciates about the aristocracy is their love of extravagant desserts. 

He is very naïve and trusting. It was worse when Sleet wasn’t in the picture to talk him out of things. A country boy in the big city, Dingo was scammed out of a lot of his Mobium when he first arrived in Lower Mobotropolis. The shell game was just too alluring. 

Dingo is not so oblivious that he can’t rebuke Sleet’s gratuitous blaming. He can be sassy. Those who’ve had the displeasure of working with them can attest that, when tensions are high, they have the propensity to bicker like an old married couple. 

For someone who was raised in Tralius, he is unusually afraid of spiders and other crawly arachnids. He doesn’t enjoy turning into insects either, finding the overall sensation, in his words, icky. 

Transformation is typically painless. He tends to be sore after taking on the more abstract forms. If the strain is really bad, he will go to Sleet and ask to be massaged. Sleet used to refuse, but he has since humored him, asserting that he’s only doing it to check for signs of molecular decay. 

Dingo can morph without the assistance of the transmogrifier, though the process is slower. It depends on how distant taxonomically-speaking the chosen form is from his mammalian base. These transformations are not too pleasant visually or audially, so the remote is preferred.

Dingo’s mutant abilities have some drawbacks. Because of his rapid healing, his body will try to stop him from getting tipsy and keep him on his A-game.  He has to drink by the barrel to feel even the slightest buzz. Additionally, being stuck in one form for too long can leave him achy and disoriented, and if he changes too frequently his molecules buckle and unravel. It’s not a pretty sight. Sleet even theorizes that if he’s in a form for over two hours, he will get stuck that way. They have had close calls before, where after finally being turned back from a Mobini, some behavioral traits of the animal lingered.

Before meeting Sleet, Dingo could only morph if he remained focused, and those transformations were generally simple, such as limb multiplication or extension. The transmogrifier effectively glues his molecules together, meaning he doesn’t have to exert his concentration anymore. Colors are still somewhat of a challenge, tinted with his default orange. Nevertheless, he fools the untrained eye. When tasked with disguising as another Mobian, Sleet coaches him and will always supply him with a hidden microphone. 

After an especially big transformation, Dingo becomes so drowsy he can hardly stand. All that molecular stretching and rearranging, it’s draining. When he wakes, he is insatiably hungry. Which is saying a lot because Dingo already packs food away like it’s nothing due to his bulking regime. 

His accelerated metabolism often manifests in odd cravings, such as tuna and peanut butter sandwiches or pickle and pineapple ice cream sundaes. Sleet wishes he’d partake in his experimental cuisine somewhere else. Preferably out of the Red Whiptail’s cockpit—he gets crumbs everywhere. Despite being an extreme omnivore, Dingo cannot handle spicy food.

When he’s not making unusual combinations, and in turn making Sleet’s stomach churn, Dingo’s a decent chef. Messy, but decent. He’s the more culinarily adept of the two and makes dinner when time allows. 

He likes scrapbooking. Dingo has more stationary and cute pens than he knows what to do with. Unfortunately he’s heavy-handed, so many of his supplies are worn with love. He keeps mementos of every successful hunt. Little knick knacks and trinkets, maybe the occasional tooth from a beaten adversary.

Not necessarily a couch potato, though does spend most of his downtime lounging in front of the TV. He enjoys playing video games, although he’s not very good at them on account of his itchy trigger finger skipping past tutorial levels.  As long as he can shoot or smash things or toss chubby penguins off cliffs, he’s happy. He watches mainly big loud action movies, corny rom-coms, and slapstick cartoons. Sleet believes his screen time will rot the little left of his brain, though he has shown some interest in the historical Delmontian dramas Dingo skips past while channel surfing.

Has been known to boast quite the sailor mouth. It doesn’t happen often, the most foul only invoked for particularly painful offenses like stubbing a toe. Sleet doesn’t know what half the Trailian swears mean and at this point he’s afraid to ask.

Dingo does not like shirts. He especially hates the tuxedos and dresses Sleet makes him wear whenever there’s a bounty on an aristocrat. He tries to keep his grumbling to a minimum because dressing up makes Sleet happy. In casual settings, if more than his shorts is outright necessary, he’ll wear a quippy graphic tank top.

When they go out of town, Dingo always hits up a tourist trap or two, no matter how blatantly overpriced or mind-numbing. He’s a big fan of carnivals and amusement parks. Dingo’s demolished many strength tester games and would most assuredly be banned if he wasn't one of Robotnik's hirelings.

Not the sharpest tool in the shed, true, but he is definitely the more emotionally aware of the duo. When it comes to personal matters, he’s a good listener.

He has a twinge of separation anxiety. It’s not super debilitating, he just gets restless if Sleet is away for long. He can be possessive. This proves a problem whenever Sleet goes Casanova Mode to retrieve information from targets. It’s worth noting Sleet has moments of jealousy too when Dingo manages to hit it off with others, though he’d never admit it.

The hedgehog triplets are aware of Dingo’s crush on Sleet. To catch him off guard, they’ll sometimes slyly allude to it, much to a flustered Dingo’s chagrin.

Finds Sleet’s voice very soothing. It’s so soft and muted. He could listen to it all day. Often he does since, while certainly less exuberant than Dingo, Sleet can be a chatterbox when it comes to aristocratic gossip and comparing blaster models.

Despite being certifiably canine, Dingo makes all manner of noises. He snorts and huffs like a bull when upset and can unleash fearsome, leonine roars. When happy, he rumbles. 

Excitable. Liable to break the nearest object in vicinity from pure exuberation. 

Dingo can’t see well without his glasses. Despite the swanky look, they are in fact prescription. If they’re misplaced or knocked off by a meddlesome hedgehog, his clumsiness is increased tenfold. He is gentle when handling them. 

Dingo wears a bracer on his right leg. In a comedy of errors, he injured his leg as a pup while playing with a slingshot. For reasons unknown, his healing factor neglected to kick in. His knee aches at times. Dingo mostly wears it because he finds it cool and fashionable. 

His fighting knowledge is limited to the concept of hitting, hitting hard, and hitting dirty. He has no formal training, relying on instinct and what he’s seen on television to best enemies. His moves are sloppy and unrefined, but no less formidable. As a mutant shapeshifter, he’s also granted a number of potential forms. Even without Sleet’s transmogrifier, his elasticity allows him to grow in size and turn his arms into whipping tentacles or his hands into mallets. He could finish fights before they even start with this power, however Dingo prefers to milk his battles for all their worth. Some Freedom Fighters have reported seeing him actually play with the battered and unconscious like they’re dolls. 

He is actually well-kempt all things considered. Dingo enjoys bubble baths and singing—or caterwauling, as Sleet calls it—in the shower. His fur coat is soft and surprisingly dense, especially in the winter when it grows out. He sheds and has to brush himself fairly often. If he’s in a good mood, Sleet will help. The mastiff-like skin folds around his neck also have to be cleaned regularly. His mane is naturally bristly, akin to that of a wild boar. It softens somewhat after a good shampoo.

Dingo makes the first moves. He is usually the one who initiates. Trouble is, if it doesn’t involve flexing his guns or pulling a smoldering expression, Dingo’s bad at flirting. His word choice is . . . unique. Lummox that he is, his compliments come across more like threats. Turns out Sleet does not in fact appreciate being called small, fragile, and edible among other things. He’s since tried to alleviate this by writing down pick-up lines on his hand. 

Dingo’s definitely the more doggish of the two. He wags his tail, something seen as uncouth in aristocratic social circles and immature in most other places. He’s wounded himself on occasions by wagging so hard. Dingo also barks when he gets too excited or surprised and, due to his muzzle structure, is predisposed to drooling. If Dingo is proving particularly stubborn about going into a death trap or being used as bait, Sleet can convince him with a scritch between the ears. 

Additional Information

Their partnership was bumpy at first. Their differing personalities clashed and sometimes led to physical altercations. Nothing too dramatic of course, they are still cartoon animals after all. Dingo pulled his punches. Sleet might have been a nag, but he didn’t want to see him hurt.

Sleet and Dingo are both bisexual. Dingo has a slight preference towards men and masc folks. Sleet is trans. He performed his top surgery himself. Despite the quality of the tools he had at the time, his scars have healed remarkably well.

The two are very competitive. Before being hired by Robotnik, on particularly uneventful nights they played board games. They’re both cheaters so they went around in circles for hours. Lots of yelling, finger pointing, and eventually falling into a heap on the floor because they stayed awake all night trying to psyche each other out.

When they manage to squeeze any free time out of their schedule, they enjoy going to arcades and stealing prizes from kids. They also like to take potshots at the irradiated wildlife on the outskirts of Robotropolis and do prank calls—the Robotnik Intelligence Agency being a favorite victim.

Dingo believes that Sleet’s love language is mockery. That might not be too far from the truth. Sleet genuinely doesn’t know how to express himself. He doesn’t altogether know if he wants to. Sleet’s trained himself to think the worst of everyone so he’s not disappointed or hurt in the long run. In truth, Sleet appreciates acts of service. Dingo’s love language is considerably more simple, as things regarding Dingo so often are. Dingo’s huggy, nuzzly, altogether physically affectionate.

Sleet snores terribly. It’s not so much the volume as it is the whistling his nose makes. He’ll never admit to it, and gets flustered whenever Dingo tells him. Fortunately the walls of Robotnik’s fortress are thicker than those of their previous abodes, giving Dingo the chance to rest easy.

Dingo doesn’t understand mirrors. Sleet, egotist that he is, rather likes mirrors. He hasn’t owned any since the incident. It’d be a hassle to clean up glass and find a replacement everytime Dingo popped his head into Sleet’s quarters. Sleet has explained how reflections work to him several times before, yet it never seems to stick.

In his default state, Dingo has a strongman build. Sleet is a beanpole. Without his boots and shoulderpads, he’s slightly shorter than Dingo.

As far as affairs of the heart go, their relationship is unspoken. Dingo’s doing all he can, Sleet pretends he doesn’t see it, as on principle he believes love is for fools. There may or may not have been some wild nights where he had too much wine and slurred a few things suggesting otherwise however. He’s softening up to the idea, even if he doesn’t know it yet. In essence, he’s perpetually stuck in a “I Won’t Say (I’m In Love)” loop.