#The picture looks so blurry. Well i did draw this in small canvas.

[naurasweetarudesu]

Eyes

making this for my own reference

Skarloey Railway member eyes in my humanized ttte AU.

[erismerald]

𝑰 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒕 (Jacob Frye x reader) 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 2

Hello creed, I bring you here the second chapter of my Jacob Frye fanfic, I hope you like it and maybe I would like to remind you that my requests are always open in case someone is interested!

Without further ado, stay safe, and happy reading!

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 1

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Fluff and a bit of teasing ;)

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 3953

𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝟏𝟖𝟔𝟖

Your head hurt a little, and your vision was blurred, you felt moving but you were still, you looked around, the environment you were in was different from the wet and scary street, with a little more effort, you tried to look for details that would help you identify where you were, you were on a train. ... but how? the room you were in was well decorated, you knew that style well, your nanny was doing her best to decorate every part of the house with the rustic and elegant theme of the Victorian era, so none of that had been a dream?

You sat up in bed, feeling your body weakened, you took a deep breath and gained strength to pull yourself together, the clothes you were wearing were different, it was a nightgown, made of cotton, all black with gold details on the sleeves, after all you had really traveled in time. ... but how was that possible, one moment you were with your friends and the next you were alone in the world, flash all the memories of last night had burst into your mind, the dark street, the rain... the man who tried to abuse you, and your savior, who was he? was it him that brought you here? doubts hovered empty in your consciousness, you looked at your wrists small black marks tinged your skin, you felt pain when the palm of your fingers ventured to touch them, without realizing it you let out a 'auch', you couldn't control the fear you felt, you were alone. You wanted your grandmother by your side to calm you down, you grabbed your knees and pulled them up to your chest, and laid your head down lightly letting the tears run down your face, feeling them fall on your hands, you felt small, you felt abandoned.

Suddenly the bedroom door opened revealing a woman, still quite young she must have been in her early twenties, she smiled sweetly at you, no matter how hard you tried to hide under the blanket, that smile warmed your heart and made you smile back.

"I see you're awake at last" She approached with a tray of food that she set down on top of the couch where you were lying "My name is-" she was interrupted by a man, you recognized him, he had been the one to save you, your heart pounded hard when your gaze met.

"Ahhh finally, I'll be able to sleep in my room again" he laughed sitting down in the armchair opposite you, you bowed your head in shame

"Jacob! The girl just woke up, and you're already being a real jerk, I can't believe you're my brother sometimes" The girl said turning her attention back to you " Dear ignore him, he's just a jerk, how do you feel?"

"I... I'm confused just... I feel sick and hot" your voice came out shaky, you were nervous.

"It's because of the fever the doctor said you would feel like this for a few days, but that you would be fine, what's your name?" The girl asked meekly, sitting down in front of you, your gaze shifted a little to the man sitting in front of you, he seemed asleep.

"M-my name is Y/n L/n" again your voice betrayed you, as you said your name the girl looked shocked but interested in you.

"Your family is a great help to our brotherhood, it is an honor to have you here with us!" The girl said with a gentle smile kissing her lips, a feeling of hope embraced your body, would there still be a way back home? But in a flash, you recalled what she had said.

"M-my family? how do you know them?" you asked pulling your body forward-facing the two people sitting in front of you.

"The L/N family has always been a great help in training young assassins" Assassins? What? you didn't want to believe what you heard, all the memories were joining the truth about your family, the story your grandmother told you and you preferred not to believe was really true? It wasn't possible, but why now? why now that you had decided to find out who you were? Why now that you have finally traveled to London? And who were the people in front of you? The girl stood up and stretched her hand towards you "My name is Evie Frye, and that idiot over there is my twin brother Jacob Frye" the words that came out of her lips were like glass tearing your mind, you felt dizzy as if you couldn't breathe right, was all that true? Wasn't it possible? Was it? But how did you end up in their time? Was your grandmother right, weren't they just children's stories?

"How is it possible?" you whispered, both brothers looked at you curiously, " No, it can't be real, I must be dreaming... "Your gaze was fixed on your hands resting on the thin cloth that covered your body, crystal clear tears came out of your eyes, Evie seeing your reaction to finding out who they were hugged your body and pulled you in, you hid your face to her shoulder, letting the sadness leave your heart.

A few minutes passed, but it seemed like hours, your body was still weak from crying, in 18 years of life you had never cried so much, you took a deep breath, hugging Evie's body tightly.

"I know very well who you are" you finally said, Evie knelt down beside the sofa looking puzzled at you.

"How do you know us, love?" Jacob said getting up from the armchair and staring at you, he was much taller than you, and you felt a little embarrassed to feel his gaze fixed on yours, in one small movement you looked away from Evie, you took a deep breath and gathered your courage to expose your whole story.

"My name is Y/n L/n but I am not from here... in fact until a few minutes ago I believed that you two were part of the stories my grandmother used to tell me when I was younger... "I know well who my family is, I just didn't know their true position in this brotherhood, my grandmother used to tell me stories of the Frye twins and the adventures of the assassins to free London from the grasp of the Templars, but I always believed that you were a lie, I am not from here, nor from this time and I honestly don't know how I got here," you said between sobs, raising one of your hands to your face wiping the tears that were falling "I don't even know why I came here, for one second I was in 2020 and the next I traveled back in time to here. .. BUT I DON'T KNOW WHY! I WAS JUST TRYING TO FIND OUT WHO I WAS, WHY DID I HAVE TO VISIT LONDON AND IGNORE ALL THE WARNINGS MY GRANDMOTHER GAVE ME? WHY DID SHE LET ME COME? DID SHE KNOW THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN?" Your crying turned into anger, you felt like your body was going to collapse, you felt dizzy, everything was becoming blurry but something broke your fall and held you tight, with the tremendous effort you looked up to see what had happened, the next thing you knew you were in Jacob's arms, he protected you from falling or passing out, you wanted to talk but all you could say was 'ahh' or 'I...'.

"Okay love I know it's a lot to process but you're not alone here, you have us now, we'll take care of you," Jacob said stroking your hair and holding you close to his body, the beating of his heart helped you calm down. "Now what do you mean 2020? We can tell you're not from here but did this happen? Evie?" Jacob called his sister's name they both looked at each other, and after a few seconds, Evie had an idea.

"Let's wait for you to recover so you can tell us everything straight so we can understand what's going on, but..." Evie stopped sighing "Until you can get back home we have to make you unnoticed, we have to make you mix with the people of our time, only then you will be safe, and since your family is a big influence here in London we can visit them and try to ask for help, what do you think?" Evie smiled at you and you smiled back, you felt your eyes grow tired, and without much effort, you fell asleep.

Your eyes opened slowly, it was hard to sleep with the storm of thoughts that rambled through your mind, occupying every neuron, it was still night, you looked at the clock on the desk, it was 4 am, still so early and you were already so awake, you couldn't deny that you felt anxious and nervous with what was happening, Your body moved from side to side on the sofa where you slept, the rain hit the glass loudly, the sound of the wheels on the rails, the wind whistled lulling your body, but you couldn't sleep anymore, the stress, the fear, the frustration of not being home, it was agonizing, you stared at the ceiling, thinking, those memories were still very fresh in your mind, it would take a while to accept.

With a little effort you pushed your body up, sitting down and crossing your legs, the window above your head was splashed with raindrops that slid with speed, the landscape was beautiful, the city lights in the background made your heart beat faster, Even in another epoch London was still London, still a beautiful, attractive city, without you realizing it, a weak smile broke out on your lips, it was ironic that you wanted to visit a place so much and when you did it was as if it vanished through your fingers.

You observed the room and noticed your bag lying on the side of the sofa, with one hand you pulled yourself towards you and took out your drawing notebook, you appreciated the picture sticked on the leather cover, it was your grandfather who had made it, he made a dozen of them just for you, every time the pages of one finished, another one came on the scene, with canvas for more adventures and emotions, since you were very young that writing and drawing were a way to represent your emotions and represent the world you lived in.

With a few gestures you let your hand flow across the white page, drawing and sketching empty emotions but full of comfort, looking on the bright side, when you return you will always have something to show your grandmother, a memory, the sound of the pencil scratching the sheet of paper, soothed your heart so full of bitterness, 'so this is what it's like to discover who I am? Is this what you wanted me to see grandma?' you thought to yourself, is this the destiny that was destined for you?

You sighed and let your hand fall on your thigh, you looked forward, and saw Jacob's coat resting on the back of the armchair in front of you, a wave of warmth and embarrassment invaded your chest, you felt strange every time you thought about him, he was mysterious but gentle and protective, when you felt his body wrap around yours it seemed that they had connected to each other, and all the negative energies and scary thoughts disappeared, your heartbeat as he did, your breath calmed down as you felt his fingers tangle in your hair to comfort you, without a second thought, you began to draw his face on that once white page, you remembered every detail of his face, the two scars, his unshaven beard, his hazel eyes, his lips. ... he was an attractive man, you would never in your life think of meeting him, but now that you know him, he was something you didn't want to forget, you put the notebook against your chest and smiled like a little child, feeling butterflies playing with your belly.

But something interrupted the moment, that moment when you were no longer present on earth, you were lost, hidden in a world of thoughts:

" Rough night?" A voice coming from behind you, scared every inch of your body, you put your hand on your chest letting the notebook fall to the floor, you recognized the owner behind that hoarse and funny voice, Jacob laughed a little "I didn't want to scare you, love, I just came to check if you were okay and since I saw you were awake I decided to come in" Jacob said sitting next to you, his gaze crossed with yours. "How are you feeling?"

"I-im okay, and don't worry you didn't scare me, I was just lost in my thoughts and didn't even see you coming...." you replied shakily, like a leaf in the middle of a storm, his smile was directed at you, you could feel your face getting warm, it was obvious you were nervous, but why?

Jacob sat in the armchair in front of you, he looked tired, but more importantly, he was completely flushed, your gaze was fixed on his body, his hair was dripping, his breathing was racing, your heart was beating unregulated as if you were in a sprint, your breathing became heavy for a few moments.

"Do you like what you see love?" Jacob teased, bending his body forward, you jumped a little when hearing his voice, and quickly looked the other way, the rain was still beating strongly on the window, but the train had stopped, maybe because of the bad weather? "I was just messing with you, I just came from a mission, and well... since you are sleeping in my room and my stuff is here, I came straight to you." He laughed a little, his laugh was wonderful.

Even not looking directly at him you could feel his smile, unbelievably you were feeling calm again, your breathing was quiet, but you felt Jacob's gaze on your body, something captivated him about you, but he still couldn't know what it was, maybe because you were exotic? Because you were new to him, his gaze was fixed on your neck, the necklace that belonged to him was now adorning your neck.

"I wanted to thank you, Mister Frye, thank you for saving me from that... you know, I wanted to thank you earlier but, I've been busy with my mind-" Suddenly you felt his fingers slip up your neck to your jawline turning your face to face his, his curious gaze was focused on the necklace, he smiled.

"How funny I have a necklace just like that hanging around my neck, matching aren't we" Again his laughter filled the room, you couldn't contain yourself, and a small giggle broke out from your lips "Oh you do laugh too, you have a very adorable laugh" Your face flared, a pink color graced your cheeks as you heard his voice, he was so close. ... his scent intoxicated you, as if you were drunk on his scent alone, you felt your eyes getting heavier, but something woke you up, a fallen drop of Jacob's hair fell on your cheek.

"Shouldn't you take off your wet clothes, or at least dry yourself? Mister Frye you might catch a cold" the words escaped from your lips, the concern was explicit on your face, Jacob found it adorable, but he laughed a little, confused you looked at him pouting, you were just trying to help and he still laughed.

"Darling, my clothes are all here and if you haven't noticed, you're here, it would be inappropriate to undress in front of such a delicate lady, besides I'm used to it, after missions I usually go to some pub to celebrate with my rooks but Evie asked me to keep an eye on you, and I didn't want to leave you alone either," Jacob said sitting back in the chair.

You blushed but nodded, he was right, it wouldn't be appropriate, but something wandered in your mind, he didn't want to leave you alone? Jacob's watchful eyes noticed your notebook lying on the floor, he reached out to pick it up, you felt a wave of embarrassment and shame hit you like a stone, no, a bunch of them.

His fingers slid across the pages looking at the drawings, especially the one you had done the day you arrived in London, he looked like a child watching a cartoon on TV, he was mesmerized.

"Ahm Mister Frye, may I ask you something?" you asked as he looked at your notebook, he nodded without saying a word. "What was this mission you went on?" his gaze was still focused on the drawings, but he took a deep breath and answered finally.

"Y/n you know what an Assassin does right?" He asked, you nodded, waiting for his answer to continue "I was assigned to kill templars and free London from the disgusting and profiteering clutches of theme, today I helped rescue some of my rooks who were taken hostage in the middle of one of their rounds when they warned me,

I ran immediately to save them, they are like a family

family, and I as their leader have to help and protect them.

His words were like melodies, he sounded just like the way your vein described, ruthless, brave, gentle and playful, fearless, you smiled, was it possible for a man like that to be true? Was it even possible that your childhood hero was right there in front of you watching your drawings? Was it really true that after many years of hearing about him, you were having a conversation with him? You felt so confident that for a few minutes you forgot that you were stuck in 1800.

"You are really brave Jacob..." Finally, you said, slowly removing the necklace from your neck and holding it between your fingers, circling it from side to side. "You know I spent years adoring you... wanting to be like you and Evie, my grandmother spent years telling me about your adventures, I remember when I was younger and climbing up on the roof, jumping from window to window pretending to be you, pretending to be with you, and well. ... years later here I am in front of you, talking to my idol, and I still don't know how to react to this situation" You laughed a little sarcastically. You were nervous but you knew you could trust him, when you looked ahead again his gaze went through every detail of the drawing you had made of him, he seemed excited.

"I thank you Y/n, for idolizing me when you were younger, it must come as a shock to you, finally meeting me hum?" He said with a tinny smirk on his lips.

"W-well it is but I think you can even exceed my expectations Mister Frye" You laughed nervously, you tried to avoid looking at him, you were afraid you wouldn't know how to react.

"How do you feel about your family belonging to the brotherhood?" He questioned you as he put your notebook down on the desk next to him, you sighed, honestly you didn't even know what to say, or what to think about it, of course, you knew for many years that your family came from a long line of assassins but, you preferred to believe that it was a lie or just another story invented by your grandmother to entertain your creative mind during the most starry nights, you never imagined that they were real, and you still thought that taking someone's life for the sake of a brotherhood or to protect others was wrong, and you didn't want to be associated with that, so you forgot that story, and went on with your life, but now that you knew that they were real, you were a little afraid to confront them.

"I... honestly I don't know how to answer you, when I was younger, I heard the stories told by my grandmother over and over again, but I never thought that they were real, and even when she talked about the brotherhood I... preferred to ignore it, in my view, it isn't right to kill someone, I thought that the assassins were cruel monsters who had no feelings, so I never really wanted to know that part of the story, but I confess that I am afraid to confront them tomorrow..." Jacob seemed to understand what you were feeling his eyes were downcast, you could hear his heavy breathing, you felt a little worried, would you said something wrong, but something surprised you when his gaze met yours you could see a little fear and sadness in his gaze.

"Do you think I'm a monster?" Jacob asked getting up and walking towards you again, you felt your body harden like a stone, your heart was beating uncontrollably, you couldn't think of anything to answer him, he knelt in front of you, still with his gaze fixed on yours, you couldn't even think, he was very close to you, his hand wrapped around yours and took the necklace you were holding between your fingers "Your grandmother gave you this didn't she? and by some fluke of life you came right to me... tell me Y/n even after I saved you, do you think I'm a monster?" His voice was husky, his touch made you sensitive, his smell made you dizzy, you are hypnotized.

"N-no, I don't think you're a monster, I... just didn't know much about.... I... and by some fluke of life you came right to me... tell me Y/n even after I saved you, do you think I'm a monster?" His voice was husky, his touch made you sensitive, his smell made you dizzy, you are hypnotized.

"N-no, I don't think you're a monster, I... just didn't know much about.... I..." Jacob's hand moved closer to your neck his fingers slid across your skin easily, you sighed deeply as you felt his skin in contact with yours, Jacob smiled, it was funny to see your submissive reaction to him, with a small gesture, he placed the necklace around your neck, caressing the back of it, but before he left, his breath-focused on your ear and with a whisper, he made your world crumble.

"Don't take this necklace off, so I'll always know why you're here"

He stood up and grabbed his coat, you were completely paralyzed, you were blushing, your breathing was heavy and panting, your gaze seemed glazed on him, he smiled and walked towards the door, but before disappearing into the darkness his voice echoed once again in the room "you better get some more rest Love tomorrow we have a long day, it was nice talking to you miss L/n". And with that he left you there alone, your heart pounding, panting, and nervous, your only thought was his voice softly caressing your ear.

You let your body fall back, staring at the window, and the rain sliding on it, you didn't realize that the train was moving again, you just let your mind wander, what would have happened if he stayed here?

Feelings and thoughts left you awake for the rest of the night, before you knew it the birds were already singing, the first rays of sunlight illuminated your smiling face.

[quickspinner]

These Two Hands (I’ll Never Not Know You)

I worked on this for ages, and I just couldn't get it to come out right, so I put it aside and worked on other things. I hadn't looked at it in months, and then the WIP meme came along, and I started looking it over, and it turned out to be ridiculously easy to fix and finish, so here it is at last!

Shoutout to all my artist buddies, whose complaining about hands being such a pain to draw gave me the idea for this fic. 😆 Love you guys.

I don't think I said anything that specifically made it clear, but they're university aged in this one.

It was a beautiful summer day in Paris, with just enough breeze to keep the heat from being unbearable. Enjoying the weather and his music, Luka had no idea how long he’d been sitting there playing on the warm, wide stone steps of the Trocadero. A while, by the sun and the hollow feeling in his stomach. Luka packed up his guitar and slung it across his back. He started to descend the steps, but paused as he nearly trod on something at the bottom. He bent down and picked up the book, plain black and with heavy, weighted paper, like an artist’s book. It wasn’t battered or dirty, like it had been there for days, though the canvas cover was frayed a bit at the corners. Well-used, he concluded, and lost only recently.

Luka looked around, hesitant. He couldn’t see anybody who looked like they’d lost something. He went back up the steps and looked around at the top, with the same result. 

Luka sighed. He got so into his music, he frequently lost awareness of his surroundings, so while he knew some people had stopped on the steps to hear him play, he had no memory of what they looked like or what they’d been doing, other than Officer Roger passing by and giving him the stinkeye. Apparently the officer hadn’t felt like ruining a perfectly good day by hassling about permits and nonsense, though, and once he’d moved on, Luka had played without regard to his audience.

He went back down the stairs, thinking, and then sat down slowly on the bottom step. He felt like an intruder as he opened the book, as he thought of the battered spiral notebook full of embarrassing, half-finished scribbles he carried in his guitar case. He checked the inside of both covers first, but found only the initials MDC. No phone number, not even a full name.

Luka blew out a frustrated breath, fluffing his bangs away from his face. Reluctantly, he began turning pages. 

It was full of...hands. Hands planting a seedling, hands cleaning something indistinct. Hands buried in a lumpy mass. Clay? Or maybe dough? Hands twined in yarn, holding the vague suggestion of knitting needles. What they were doing was usually only lightly sketched in and suggested, but the hands themselves were detailed and bold. It was kind of weird at first, but as he continued to turn the pages, still checking each for some sign of the owner, he began to appreciate the different types of beauty and strength captured on each page. He could imagine the trembling in the wrinkled hands with swollen joints that held a flower stem delicately. There were fingers curved over a computer keyboard, charged with energy, and he could almost hear the rapid smack of the fingers hitting the keys. 

Luka found himself rubbing his fingers together. He’d never contemplated his hands from an aesthetic standpoint. Why would he? They were rough and scarred; his fingers from the guitar, his palms from the ropes and rigging on the boat, from the lifting and carrying required for the constant rearranging of the stuff on deck to make sure they could get around. He’d never thought about whether they were—any of what he saw in these pictures. 

He glanced up and around again, still feeling guilty to be poking through someone else’s private things, but no one was paying him any mind, and he still had no clues as to the owner. He tried to flip quickly, just checking each page for even a hint of where he might go to return it, but with everything but the hands indistinct there wasn’t much to go by. 

He stopped in surprise on the last sketch in the book, staring at the drawing of hands on a guitar. The guitar was just roughed in, once again more of a suggestion than a drawing, except where the left hand rested on the fretboard, pressing into the strings. 

The hands, though, were incredibly detailed, and, he realized with a sudden blush, they were his. He touched his thumb to the ring on his pointer finger absently. The right hand, curved to strum, the pick invisible from that angle but implied, had bracelets matching his stacked along the wrist. 

The nails were colored in, dark like his, but beyond that, he wouldn’t have recognized them without the jewelry and the small curving scar near the thumb of the right hand.

These hands were elegant, graceful, intentional. It had been a long time since Luka last consciously thought about the control he had over his hands, but he couldn’t help thinking about it now. It had taken him years of practice to get there, but when he played, his hands did exactly what he needed them to, found the strings he needed quickly and accurately. Though they were thin, they were strong and sure, equally capable of coaxing a melody and knotting a rope with speed and strength. 

That was what this person had seen in them, at least. 

“Oh!”

Luka looked up and found a girl staring at him with both hands over her mouth, her blue eyes wide. Her gaze flickered between him and the book. 

“Is this yours?” he asked without thinking. 

She nodded slowly, pink spreading over her cheeks. 

Luka closed it quickly and stood up, offering it to her. She took a hasty step forward, grabbing the book gratefully, but somehow got her feet tangled up and yelped as she tipped forward. Luka caught her shoulders and steadied her. “Woah, easy.” He shifted her back until she was solidly on her feet, and let go. “I’m sorry for snooping, it’s just I found it on the steps and I was trying to find a name or something so I knew who to give it back to. I wasn’t having much luck, though, so I’m really glad you came back.” 

“Oh,” she said, blushing and holding the sketchbook to her. “It’s okay, of course I understand. I’m glad it was found, at least. I just...I’m just kind of embarrassed, I know it must look kind of weird, and I usually ask before I draw someone but you were busy and the music was so lovely and I started watching your hands and just kind of got caught up in the moment but I’m really sorry—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Luka said, putting a hand on her shoulder briefly to interrupt as she began picking up speed. “I thought they were cool, and I’m flattered you saw something in my hands worth capturing.”

She smiled shyly. “I like hands that make things. They’re my favorite. I mean, it started just as a drawing exercise, because hands are hard, and so I thought if I just kept drawing them I’d get better. And...and then when I started looking, I got interested, and I kept going. It’s kind of stress relief now. And that probably doesn’t make it any less weird.” She put one hand back over her face, the other still clutching her sketchbook, and made a little whine. “Why am I still talking?”  

“That’s amazing,” Luka smiled, and then hesitated. “Um, are you busy? On your way somewhere? Because if not, I’d really like to look at some more. If it’s okay with you.” 

Her eyes widened slightly, and the flush on her cheeks deepened. “R-really? I mean, sure, if you, um. If you want to. I didn’t really think they were that interesting, to be honest.”

“Well, I do,” Luka said, and backed up to sit back down on his steps, tipping his head to invite her to sit next to him. “My name’s Luka.”

She smiled nervously, perching on the step and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m Marinette.” Luka turned back to the beginning of the book, and began to page through more slowly, pausing now and then to ask Marinette about a picture.

“That’s my grandmother,” she told him, as he looked at a picture of half-gloved hands resting on the handles of a motorcycle. “She travels a lot.” 

“I really like this one,” he said after a moment, pausing at the hands twined in yarn. 

“I, um,” Marinette hunched her shoulders a little bit. “I love drawing people knitting. They all look so different, even though they’re doing the same thing. Everyone holds the yarn a little bit differently, knits just a slightly different way.”

“And this?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “I can’t quite figure this one out.”

“That’s my friend Kim,” Marinette explained. “He’s a swimmer. He was doing backstroke time trials and I just got really fascinated with the way his hands held onto the wall. I didn’t quite get the perspective right, though.” She giggled nervously, and Luka smiled at the sound. “The blurry spots are from when he dripped on me trying to get a look at what I was doing.” 

“I can see it now,” Luka nodded. “The tension in them, and why you did the eyes here between them—”

“They ended up looking kind of buggy, with the goggles,” Marinette admitted. 

“No, I really like it, though,” Luka looked up to flash her a quick smile. “You really get that sense of power about to let loose.”

Marinette blinked. “Y-yeah,” she smiled. “Yeah...thanks.”

“Why make the rest of the drawings so incomplete compared with the hands?” Luka asked curiously, looking up from the book to meet her eyes. “I mean, I get why the hands are the focus, but why make the rest of it so vague?”  

Marinette blushed. “It’s...stupid. I don’t know if it’ll even make sense if I say it out loud.”

“Try me,” Luka smiled. 

“It’s just, no matter how I draw them, it’s not the full picture,” Marinette said thoughtfully, and then glanced up at him with an adorably shy smile. “No pun intended. I just mean that there’s so much that these hands can do and when I draw them, I’m really only capturing one. I’d be fascinated to find out what else your hands can do besides play guitar,” she added, and Luka’s face flamed red, though Marinette didn’t seem to notice anything suggestive about what she’d said as she picked his hand up, examining it. Luka swallowed as she turned his hand over and ran her fingers over the calluses on his palm. “You didn’t get these from the guitar,” she said. “Sports? Or something else?” 

Luka cleared his throat. “I live on a boat on the Seine,” he said, watching her. “I work with a lot of ropes, and I’m always climbing around fixing something or other.” 

Marinette nodded, looking up at him, his hand still cradled in hers. “That explains the tan. What else?” 

“Um…” Luka blinked, trying to think. “I carry sound and boat equipment.” 

“Okay,” Marinette said, still listening. Looking at him like he was a puzzle she was trying to solve. He wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear, or why he suddenly very much wanted to be worthy of her interest, but...

“I...comfort my sister,” Luka said softly, dropping his gaze to his hand again. “She’s nervous, she gets worried. I put my hand on her shoulder so she knows that I’m there with her and she’s not alone. I...I calm my mother down. She’s kind of...passionate, she gets worked up about stuff a lot. I put my hand on hers or on her arm to remind her to take a minute to breathe.” 

“And you help up strangers who trip over their own feet,” Marinette giggled. 

“Yeah,” Luka smiled, looking at her. “That too.” 

“It sounds like your hands do a lot of good,” she said. “Your hands help people. Lift them up. You carry, you support. That’s very noble, Luka.”

Luka’s face heated. “Poetic, but...I think that’s giving me a bit too much credit,” he said, looking down at her little hands on his. He was beginning to be fascinated with their contrast, by the way their fingers looked together. Impulsively he closed one hand, capturing hers gently.

“You’re really special, Marinette,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody that thinks like you.” 

Marinette stared at him for a second, and then looked down at their hands. It seemed to hit her all at once that she’d been holding onto him, and she jerked her hands back, face reddening. “I’m so sorry—I’m being really weird, aren’t I?” Marinette hunched her shoulders. “I’m sorry—”

“Maybe a little bit,” Luka broke in, stopping her from another apology spiral. “But what’s weird anyway? Just something a little different than normal. Unique. Nothing wrong with that. Let’s just roll with it.” He grinned. “Embrace the weird. May I see yours?” 

She looked startled. “W-what?” 

“Your hands,” he said, holding out his own. “May I see them?” 

Marinette couldn’t get any redder but her mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a moment. “It’s okay,” Luka said quickly. “If you’d rather not. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.” 

“No, it’s fine,” she said, hunching her shoulders again. “It’s only fair, right? Gosh, I didn’t even ask you, you must think I’m so—” She made a wordless noise in her throat and held out her hands stiffly. 

“I don’t,” Luka chuckled. “I didn’t mind. It doesn’t have to be fair, though,” Luka said, making no move to take her hands again. “If you’re not okay with it, don’t feel like you have to.” 

“It’s really okay,” she said. Her hands relaxed a little, her shoulders came down, and there was enough sincerity in her smile to convince him. “It’s just, I don’t think mine are anything special.” 

“Hmm,” Luka chuckled, slowly reaching to take her hands. “I didn’t think mine were either, until today.” His hands dwarfed hers as he closed his fingers lightly. Her fingers were slender and elegantly tapered. Her fingernails were short but filed meticulously into perfect ovals. He ran his thumbs lightly over the backs, tracing the veins and gliding over the bumps of her knuckles.  

“So what do you do with these hands, besides drawing?” he asked as he looked. 

“Sewing, mostly. Some knitting and crochet and things like that, but mostly I make clothes. I’m in school for fashion design and I’m always working on some project or other. That’s why my hands are always so beat up.”

Gently Luka turned her hands over, letting go of her left hand to trail his fingers over the palm and fingers of her right, noticing the calluses on her fingertips and one on the side of her middle finger. 

Luka looked up at her and grinned. “You said hands that make things are your favorite.”  

Marinette shrugged slightly, smiling. “It’s worth the callouses. The business stuff, I could live without, but the making—it doesn’t feel like work. I like making things that help people express themselves.” 

Luka picked her left hand up again and noticed a shiny burn scar on the heel of it. He turned that hand up and let go of the other to run his fingers lightly over the scar. “What’s the story here?”

“A boring one,” Marinette chuckled, making a face. “I’m a klutz and I live in a bakery. I tripped and put my hand down in the wrong spot. I’ve gotten lots of burns for various reasons but that’s the only one that really left a mark.”

“Do you bake?” 

“Sometimes. Not for the bakery, but for friends and family on special occasions. I also do a lot of decorating. Cakes and cookies and stuff. I’m a master with a piping bag.”

“That makes sense,” Luka said softly, thoughtfully. 

Marinette tilted her head and looked up at him. “Luka?”

“These little hands create so much beauty,” he mused aloud, marveling. Marinette squeaked and he glanced up at her, a question on his tongue, but he froze instead, caught by her eyes, clear baby blue, framed with dark lashes, and currently wide and staring at him. It struck him all at once as he took in her vibrant blush and pretty parted lips that she was really, really beautiful, and that he’d been fondling her hands for the last several minutes and he should...he should probably let go.

He didn’t want to. 

He didn’t want to let go of those tiny, strong, capable, beautiful hands. 

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” Luka said, and cleared his throat to smooth out his suddenly rough voice. “What you were saying about my hands lifting people up. Your hands...make things beautiful. You take ordinary things and make them better.” He looked back down at their hands, rubbing his thumbs absently across her knuckles as he spoke. “That’s a pretty special gift, Marinette. Making the world a more beautiful place, or even just making it so that people can see the beauty that’s already there...you’re amazing.” He took a deep breath and forced himself to look back at her face. “Would you, um...this is going to sound really forward, but would you go out with me sometime?” 

“O-out?” Marinette stammered, looking rather like she’d just been hit in the head with a board.

Luka tried not to laugh. “Yeah. Out. On a date? Maybe this weekend? I know we just met, but…”

“I’d like to,” Marinette blurted, face red. “That...that sounds really great.” She dropped her gaze for a minute, and then flicked her eyes back up shyly, a slow smile curling her lips. “But if you want my number, you’re going to have to let go of my hands first.” 

Luka grinned back, squeezing her hands instead of releasing them. “Or I could just take you out right now. Are you free for lunch? I’m starving, personally.” 

***

It was another sunny summer day, on the same stone steps, and Marinette and Luka sat pressed close together, the fingers of his right hand threaded together with her left, as she sketched busily on the sketchbook in her lap. They’d been there for a while now, but Luka was comfortable and happy lounging on the sun-warmed steps, humming a tune to himself and trying not to fidget in a way that would tug on the hand Marinette was holding. 

He was staring blankly at nothing, remembering their first kiss. Well. Not their first kiss, standing outside of her home while he held her hands in his and leaned in to press his lips to hers for just a sweet, soft moment. Their first real kiss, when his hand came up to cup her cheek as hers slid back and slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck and he kissed her for real. He remembered noticing how his hand felt so big compared to her face as his thumb brushed her soft cheek, his touch feather-light and reverent even as hers was firm against him. She tilted her face to better meet him, and his thumb slipped down to her jaw, his calloused fingertips fanning out along the side of her neck. He remembered the way she gasped, leaning into his touch, which pulled her lips away from his. He’d kissed along her jaw as his rough palm skimmed down the elegant line of her neck and followed the curve of her shoulder before stroking back up again to pull her closer. How their other hands had met and twined together, fingers locked as they were now, palms pressed tight together. He remembered how the strength in those little hands had surprised him.  

Movement beside him jerked him back to the moment, as Marinette sat back to look at her page critically. Swallowing, Luka seized his moment. 

“Can I see?” he asked as he sat up and leaned over, and Marinette shifted the sketchbook so he could look at the drawing of their joined hands she’d been working on.  

Marinette had teased him a little bit about asking for such a thing, but not too much. He was just as in awe of her art now as he’d been the day they met, and she knew it. Her portraits of his mother’s hands and his sister’s hands were already hanging on his wall, so this was a logical addition to his collection.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, looking over the nearly-finished picture. “I’m loving it, but...I think it’s missing something.” 

Marinette frowned, turning the picture back towards herself. “What do you mean?” she asked, just as Luka shifted his grip on her hand. She looked back at their hands, opening her mouth to protest, but instead her mouth just dropped open as Luka slid a small sparkling ring onto her finger. 

“There,” he grinned, looking up at her face as Marinette did a credible imitation of a fish. “That’s better.” His eyes softened as he looked at her. “Marinette, will you—”

He never got a chance to finish as she tackled him awkwardly back onto the steps, her sketchbook falling from her lap and bouncing down to land in nearly the same place it had almost exactly a year ago.  

[semicolonthefifth]

CROSS Ch7 - La Artilleria

Jason and Charlie drove up north along the Black Road, passing by the vast stretches of open red dirt plains and the rolling horizon of endless mountains. For the past 40 minutes they have driven, speedily going down the Road as Jason kept his focus on the road, whereas Charlie looked to the scrolling environment. Thoughts ran through the young man’s head as he watched the red mountains against vibrant blue skies.

His excitement of Aurora was explicit for all to see, especially as he took in the sights beyond the Black Road. Charlie watched, with an eager grin and an ever-attentive watch. Far off he could see several villages that dotted the landscape, with small cars moving out in between them or toward the Road. The setting was largely vacant, without any other landmarks to stand out within the wasteland.

However his attention soon turns towards Jason Cross, as Charlie relaxes into his seat some more before thinking of something to say to better fill the time. Topics run through his mind, and he feels unsure of where exactly to start - until eventually settled on one and asked politely,

“Excuse me, Jason. If I may ask: how much of this world did you travel when you were part of the Crimson Crosses?”

Jason gives a quick glance over, lazily leaning back as he keeps a hand rested on the wheel. He then answers, a little interested, “Not much, to be honest. We stayed mainly in what the Deltans call Krossim - which is the stretch of open crossing through the mountains here. Up further North, past the Calberi landing station is a giant desert called Conq-Wey-Lay; then South is Taar, where the city of Moreatta is. Of course we’ve only gotten into the tips of either region, never gotten any deeper. Ain’t had no reason to.”

“So you’ve never been to Moresatta?”

“Nope. Again, no reason. I heard it’s nice, safer than life here on the Road apparently. I just don’t have the money or need to ever live in a place like that.”

“I see. You mentioned the Deltans just before; you think we’ll ever see one? Have you seen one?” Charlie seemed particularly excited about that topic, as heard in his brighter tone of voice.

Jason paused for a moment, stuck in thought before finally giving an answer. “Not really. My dad met some in his time, even befriended a couple. Still, the natives don’t much like coming close to the Road, so don’t expect to see one anytime soon.”

“Why’s that? They still have problems with the road?”

“It ain’t comfortable for them. Whole lotta craziness and badness happened for them here, especially on the Road. Been a long time since the wars, longer for us - but for them it still hurts fresh. Many have gotten over it, but the Road is not a place they want to be living near - it’s too different than what they want. In all my time in the Crosses, I’ve barely seen a Deltan walk anywhere close to the Road.”

“Speaking of the Crosses.” Charlie starts, really getting into the talk with Jason. “You mentioned your father a moment ago. Was he in the Crimson Crosses too?”

That got Jason smiling, as he was even more comfortable now while memories of his father came up. He said happily to the young passenger, “Of course! The Crimson Crosses have been a thing since about the War here. My dad served in it, his too, and so on and so forth - right down to Jeremiah Cross and his trusted cavalry. They started out as a pretty good unit working under your government, but when they saw how bad things were turning after the war, they split off and vowed to keep the people safe. They’d ride across the Road, helping villages out and overall giving everybody a gun to feel safe under. Before us my dad, Magnus Cross, probably worked his whole life doing the same thing - even teaching us to take his place when his aim weren’t any good. He kept working, even after our mom died - and he kept raising us good especially after that.”

Charlie, said with some uncertainty after that reveal, “Sorry to hear about that.”

Jason tsk’d, “It’s fine. We uh… didn’t know much about her anyways, other than she had family elsewhere in the wastes. It was when Fred and I were small, but my dad still did a fine job when she went away. He raised us to survive on our own, and in how to aim and shoot like a proper Cross should. We studied the Code that ol’ Jeremia wrote, and we’d go on missions right when Fred and I just turned about 14 years old. Did a lot of things, but most importantly we did our best to capture raiders and brought them before the law. Lotta memories.”

Charlie smiled some, casually looking back at the scrolling landscapes as he said softly, “No kidding. You know, your reports got a lot of attention back home at Tyrell. Radio stations got hold of some of the news that came from here, and they’d relay them as stories for us.”

“You uh…” Jason whispered a bit, amused and curious as he put off a toothy grin, “You saying I’m something of a celebrity back home?”

“Only to a small audience.” Charlie state matter-a-factly, causing Jason to huff out a curse. The young man then continued, “They got popular enough to prompt some collections and archives, but there’s no beating the old stuff. Still, it got me grabbing so much in order to get an idea of what it was like here. There were some favorites: the Black Road Chase; the 8-Man shootout; The Butcher of Red Peaks.”

“Ha!” Jason hollered, his grin fully restored. “The Butcher. Son-of-a-bitch ol’ Hetfield.”

“A favorite of yours too?”

“Oh, Kirk Hetfield? Yeah, a favorite between me and Fred as well. We fought on several occasions, and each time the crazed bastard came back wanting to get back at us. Every time he came around, coming in all red and blood covered and each time we came and slogged a good couple punches his way. Almost became fucking routine, the maniac. Some days we’d just wait by the property, and we’d know that somewhere he was up to his usual business, and then we’d get the call. We became so good we managed to catch him right at the act of his first kill of that very day.”

“Didn’t he carve people up for their fat and meat? We heard he was a cannibal.”

Jason frowned and was taken aback - looking absolutely insulted, “God’s sakes no! Damn assholes in Tyrell making up stories… the man wasn’t a cannibal, not in the slightest. He was just some crazed farmer who just got angry at the government one day, and thought the best way to get under their skin was to start killing farm animals. He only hurt one guy, and that was mostly in self-defence when someone caught him drawin’ and quartering a cow! Absolute fucking head-case! But, you know… he was just troubled, is all. Always under stress; had a lot of hate in his body, and he didn’t know what to do with it most days. My father tried setting him straight once - didn’t work. It wasn't until after several attempts from my brother and I did we finally get to him. I think he’s still out there, and probably way too old to do much harm.”

Charlie was completely silent afterwards, and kept staring on towards the horizon. His face was just blank - still and only ever blinking as his eyes trailed left and right for a moment or two. A long minute passes before he eventually asks,

“How do you draw and quarter a cow?”

“I’d tell ya, but I don’t want to remember. Let’s just say the farmer who owned that cow sold his entire life away for a one-way trip off the planet after that ordeal.”

“Never heard stories like that…”

“You live here long enough and you’ll see all sorts of insanity. Speaking of… we’re about close to where we’re heading.”

Jason begins to swerve onto the dirt, with the sudden shift from smooth sailing to rough riding hitting Charlie the hardest. His gaze to the then scrolling horizon gets shaken up every which way, and all the man could do was hold on for dear life. It takes a moment for him to gather his wits before he asks the million cred question, “Where are we going, exactly?”

“A place to get some answers… and some guns.” Jason replies, pointing straight ahead. Charlie squinted his eyes, getting a good look of what appeared to be… a box.

A lone vertically rectangular box, sitting calmly in the middle of nothing but dirt and the stray rock. The box, from Charlie’s best guess, stood at approximately 6 feet wide around and 12 feet tall, and was entirely constructed from concrete. It was painted in a pure white color, but that didn’t stop the layers of red dirt to add some warmth to its blocky canvas. It also looked like the occasional would-be artist also took their turn at the desert box - even from afar (and closing) - Charlie could make out the blurry, faded traces of graffiti. Aside from the pictures of middle-fingers proudly erect and smiling bullets, there was a tremendous lexicon of slurs and curses painted over each other. Layers upon layers of expletives, especially towards mothers, fathers, and their children born out of wedlock. Much of it had been scrubbed away, either naturally through time or out of the efforts of the box’s owner. Rapidly soon, Charlie could almost make out the most faded out words - and realized that Jason’s car was speeding right towards it.

Charlie nearly screamed and recoiled before Jason made a sharp swerve and came to a sudden stop right before he could hit the box. He was holding onto his seat like a cat, his fingers deep into the leather alike claws. Meanwhile, Jason casually reached into the glovebox and pulled out from it: a gaudy-looking handgun… and a claw hammer. He shoves the gun to his pocket, while keeping the hammer ready in hand.

The two men came then out from the car, though Charlie mostly crawled onto the ground - silently praying that it was there to greet him.

After a couple short breaths, Charlie slowly began to get up and weakly asked, “What was that for?”

“Oh, that?” Jason calmly asked, inspecting the hammer closely, “It’s just how we greet each other here.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” He breathlessly inquired.

“Me and Buddy. We’re good friends.” With that Jason comes over to Charlie, helping him up a bit before slowly making his way around the box.

As the pair came around, Charlie could almost make out some muffled music coming from inside the box - it sounded to be a mix of rap and a language he was unfamiliar with.

Right when Jason and Charlie came to a corner, Jason stops and points at the ground. Confused but too unsure to question what’s going on, Charlie stays where he’s at - all the while peeking out the corner to see what was at the other side.

At the ‘front’ face of the box was another wall, but with a cutout for a window. In the window were several metal bars running vertically, with the hole itself being too small to crawl inside even if there were no bars present.

Meanwhile Jason slowly rounds the corner, sticking to the walls beside the window but never sticking himself out in front of it. Holding the hammer in hand, Jason takes a couple breaths before signaling to Charlie again - this time with a finger wedged into his ear. Charlie does the same for both ears, all the while watching intensely before Jason proceeds to calmly say towards the window,

“Hey Buddy.”

For a split second a gasp is heard, then a record scratch, followed by--

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

A flurry of gunshots sound out from the window! Bullets fly as a skeletal, pale hand sticks out from the barred window and unleashes more bullets.

Charlie jumps back away, hard enough that he manages to throw his full weight against the ground. Jason flinchest, yet is otherwise appearing to be lacking in shock.

Eventually the gunshots give way to the sound of clicking, and almost immediately Jason grabs at the hand and pulls. With it comes an equally pale, skinny arm - attached to a grotesquely bony, pale man whose body is slammed against the bars. He pants wildly, his body writhing like a cockroach trying to free itself from its trapped limb. The man lets out a loud series of groans and whines, all with hissing and spitting. The creature keeps pulling, as if at any point the arm would give away completely - all the while Jason, with his hammer in hand, holds it at the ready as he struggles and yells with a mixture of happiness and fury, “Hey Buddy! Been a while hasn’t it?!”

‘Buddy’ starts to laugh (and cry) hysterically, still writhing in panic as he keeps pulling for his arm to be free. Eventually the man stops laughing and instead lets out some dry, wheezy breaths before speaking in a moist, high-pitched voice, “J-Jason?! Oh God, I didn’t think it be you, ol’ friend! J-just got a bit scared is all! Not’in bad about that, right?!”

“Scared?” Jason asks with mocking concern, “Of what?” Now why would you be scared of me when you’ve been so good up to this point. I mean, you haven’t been messing with me in any way, right? Haven’t tried a little something that would send me to a rager?”

“Honest no! Pos’tively, abs’lutely no! I didn- AAAARGH! AAAAAAAH!” Buddy then screams, as Jason starts pelting the man’s arm with the blunt end of the hammer.

“Better learn to stop fucking lying, Buddy!” Jason angrily replies, “One of these days it’s going to get you killed. Now… try again!”

“Nnnnnngh! Fuckin’!” Buddy growls and hisses, shaking fiercely from the pain. “F-F-Fine! I sorta, maybe, kinda tweaked somethin’ in that rifle a’yours back last week! I knew you were gunnin’ for a bounty up West, but I didn’t want ya killin’ one of my best buyers this month! I swears, I thought you’ve give up an’ go! Not chase ‘em over! No harm meant, honest!”

By this point Charlie had risen back up off the floor, and asks nervously, “So this is a ‘good friend’ of yours?”

Jason explains while gripping tighter at Buddy’s exposed arm, “Oh, it’s just how it is with this guy. Buddy’s just been a very bad guy and he needs to understand that setting your customer’s rifles to explode isn’t what makes for a healthy business. Now that that has been brought up…”

He turns the hammer and presses the pointed claw end against Buddy’s forearm - digging but not piercing the skin. This finally causes Buddy to drop the gun onto the floor, as his own grip weakens against Jason’s. Once it’s been dropped, Jason finally lets go of Buddy’s limb, letting the pathetic creature quickly slink back into the box. All Charlie could hear was whimpering from within the box, as Jason picks the gun from the floor and casually wipes the dirt off from it. As he cleans it, he takes a gander and comments, “Recent trade Buddy? I thought they stopped making this model about a year ago. Can’t remember how far back it’s been since I last saw one.”

Charlie slowly comes from the corner to peer into the window more, and some where he can get the full picture of what exactly was inside the box.

Inside he could see an emaciated, pale-skinned man - and behind him, walls filled to the brim with guns. A ton of guns. A whole arsenal with enough firepower to riddle a village to nothing three times over, and with enough ammo to spare afterwards once the dust was cleared. It was a mad mechanic’s wonderland dedicated to the gun, as all sorts hund and lay every possible inch. On strings and on hooks, wall to wall were firearms of varying levels of deconstruction. Rifle butts stuck out from a crate, and disassembled handguns lay across an entire surface of a table wedged and cut to fit in such tight quarters. There were several boxes of gun cleaning kits, alongside a portable welder and engraving machine. All around he could see at least 49 handguns, 20 semi-automatic rifles, 18 shotguns, 4 small machine guns, 6 heavy machine guns, and a library of ammunition ranging from those that can tear flesh like a blender, and those that’ll explode and rittle you with more holes than a grater.

The man named Buddy was another sight, but for different reasons. Looking to be in his twenties, he was a bony, hunched over man with a sickly pale complexion with very little pink in areas. His fat was practically nonexistent, and from head to two he was covered in grease and oil - making Charlie wonder how the hell Jason could’ve kept a tight hold on such a slipper vermin. His face was crooked in all sorts of ways. His nose slanted downward; his teeth were long and pointy, with deepening shades of yellow with no white in sight; his hair was greyed and as about as sickly looking as his body, with it clumping up due to the oil - made worse by the prominent bald-spot encompassing much of his cranium. Tightly strapped around his head were a set of circular goggles, which dug around his eye-sockets and had an orange-ish tint, either by design or dirty circumstance. The only attire he had on him was a set of underwear and socks, neither one Charlie could safely call clean.

Buddy panted and eventually recovered from his brush with Jason’s hammer, before replying with a scowl and a forcibly casual tone, “Y-yeah. Some b-bastard raider came ‘round and traded it in. Said he got it off some former lawman or something.”

He then casted a glare at Charlie, who promptly stepped back with a slight shock and joined closely with Jason.

Jason, meanwhile, brought the gun back to Buddy. All the while he proceeded his conversation as if the beatings he just delivered never happened, “Right, right. Look, Buddy, we’re just here for two things. Try doing us a favor and at least do one of them right, ok?”

“Hrmph!” Buddy groaned, scratching his belly with his left hand while his right was moving to grab a part far off up the shelves. It was then that Charlie could see the other visible detail of Buddy: his long and disfigured arm. It was jointed wrongly, and two areas before the wrist. It twisted and bent in ways no normal arm should, with the shoulder itself having something of a growth or hump. It acted almost independently from Buddy, with it casually grabbing things off the shelves and walls with its three digits. Aside from a thumb, the hand possessed only two fingers, with them being just as thick as the thumb. The way it squirmed and jittered almost brought Charlie to vomit.

Jason notices, proceeding then on with a late introduction. “Oh right. Charlie, this is Buddy. Buddy, this fine lad here is Charlie: he needs a gun.”

Charlie almost reflexively turns at Jason with a face of pure shock, wordlessly shouting ‘what?!’ while Buddy brings his malformed hand back down and takes a glance at the boy. Jason continues to be casual, explaining to Charlie, “Buddy here is a gunsmith, about the best one here for miles. You won’t find any other gun seller willing to sell you a good gun for a cheap price - especially when he’s playing for no side. He’s also a raging jackass who’ll just as sell you a gun as he would have it fall apart before use.”

“Not my fault it’s the winning strategy.” Buddy gleefully points out as he gives a wheezy chuckle. “Can’t let cheap buyers kill my best customers.”

“Won’t work if whoever survives your pranks decides to come back and burn you and the whole damn shop to the ground!” Jason snaps, before resuming his calmer conversation with Charlie. “Anyways, he’s your best guy for a gun out here if you don’t have a lot to spend. They’re quicker and easier to get around here than anywhere else on the Road.”

Charlie, however, brings up a point of much concern before Jason. “Jason… I have no clue where you got the impression, but I’ve never wielded a firearm. I don’t even have a license; shouldn’t I first get one before we…”

He trailed off a bit upon seeing Jason’s face, and the budding laughter he was trying his damndest to restrain. Eventually it breaks through and erupts, as Jason breathes harshly with every sharp laugh that escapes from him. Charlie gets blushed from the embarrassment before Jason calms down and explains,

“Come on man, there ain’t no license to get on Aurora! You come here, you’re just as free as any man or woman to grab a gun. Hell, there ain’t even a license for a car!”

Charlie ponders aloud, looking a bit worried, “That explains many of the things I’ve seen so far since coming here.”

“Look Charlie, just trust me. You’ll need a gun while you’re out here. I’ll give you a quick lesson once we get the chance, but for now just know I won’t be sitting you with anything too strong for ya.” Jason states, turning from Charlie to Buddy as he then starts on the trade, “So how about it? Can we get some guns?”

Buddy cracks his own neck with a twitch before leaning back and keeping away from the window. He snarls and replies, “Alright… what ya want?”

Jason lists off, “Two UR-5 Wakeman handguns, along with 3 full clips each. An extra box of rounds. One UR-7 Rangers rifle, a--”

Suddenly Buddy starts cackling, taking a sharp breath before exclaiming, “You got some balls if ya thinkin’ of making a buy like that! I know you don’t got the creds for it Jason, so don’t be asking for a rifle you can’t be affordin’!”

“I can afford a Ranger just fine, Buddy!” Jason shouts. “Every farmer and their mother’s got one!”

“Aye, but the price just went up! Sale’s been booming, and supply’s short! Unless you wanting to be as armed as every ‘Farma and his mom’, then you better come back with 850 creds!”

Jason quiets up a bit, eyes widening at the price before he tries to be a little more polite. “Listen, Buddy. I can get the money. The job I’m going on will pay me big-time, and there will be a lot of guns to bring back once I’m done. Just think of it as paying forward on an investment.”

“Fat. Fucking. Chance!” Buddy spits, “I let you off, then everyone will be coming for my neck. If you ain’t got the money for it, you ain’t getting the rifle. Simple.”

Groaning, Jason grabs the pistol he nabbed off Sid and held it over to Buddy. “What about this? This has to be good enough for a trade, right?”

Buddy leans close, eyeing it. Jason holds the pistol in such a way that the grip stays still against the rest of the gun, but a slight twitch lets off a subtle crackle that Buddy is just able to pick up. He rapidly moves back, grimacing with disgust.

“I ain’t taking that hunk of junk! You thinkin’ you can hide trash like that from me? Put that gun here, and I might blast my own nuts off! No deal!”

Jason is just about to start yelling again, even holding Sid’s gun up in the air - ready to throw it down onto the floor. Right then though Charlie interrupts, grabbing Jason’s arm before chiming in with a calm and cool, “I’ll pay for it.”

Things go quiet and calm as Jason looks down at Charlie. His ears perk, and he wonders if he heard Charlie right. The young man looks back at Jason, and as if reading his mind nods and confirms what he heard was true. He then looks at Buddy, as best he could considering the sight, and repeats,

“I’ll pay for it.”

Jason almost suggests Charlie not to do it, but Charlie remains firm and repeats his statement a third time, then adding, “If we need it, then I’m willing to pay for it.”

Charlie is quick to pull out his wallet, and sighing a bit Jason does the same. Buddy grins at them both, giving a full price for both Charlie and Jason to pay off: with the considerable amount paid off by Charlie’s creds, and the last remaining bit by Jason’s. After which Buddy pocketed every bit of it with his normal hand, while the disfigured one automatically slithered up and down the box interior to grab what was ordered. Buddy didn’t even need to look, as the arm felt every gun briefly before finding the right ones to lay at the table - this while he finishes putting the creds away and grabbing the ammunition with his normal hand. After all was collected, Buddy slid out what they bought:

2 sleek handguns with only a bit of grime on them. The guns were fully metallic, with an angular build and box-like slide and muzzle. They both looked a bit heavy.

A semi-automatic rifle, with a scope on top. It was a mix of a wooden body and metal workings, and it had an almost Old Earth Western feel with its curvature and sling. Out of all the weapons, this one was the cleanest.

Then finally the additional ammunition - enough for the job, as Jason hopes.

Jason spent several minutes inspecting each one, checking for any flaws or tamperings. Buddy watched, occasionally twitching in fright whenever Jason sharply turned the guns in any way. After some time, to both Jason and Buddy’s relief, the inspection found all guns to be in good shape - minus some dirt and oil. Jason handed a handgun to Charlie - who looked at it one moment with amazement in finally holding on is his hands for the very first time. It made his heart beat more strongly when he inspected it, and over the initial surprise came in a great weight of responsibility. He dares not to hold it in a way that would seem aggressive - keeping it pointed downward as waits on Jason to finish any remaining business.

“Last thing before we leave, Buddy.” Jason began. “We’re hunting down some gang causing trouble down the Road, and I’m sure you’ve probably sold guns to them at some point. I’m gonna need some directions to where they could be hiding, and so I hope that maybe you’ve seen something of theirs.” He reaches into his pockets, producing the patch he had gotten earlier. Holding it by the window, Buddy is able to get a good look.

After a brief examination, Buddy leans back and says with a grin. “Stone Groove Aces, eh? Bit too small a problem now, don’t ya think?”

“They’re gunning for me, Buddy. Better I deal with them while they’re making it personal.”

“Bah! Who isn’t gunnin’ for you these days Jason.” Buddy coughs, chuckling a bit to himself as he picks a disassembled pistol off a rack and starts to give it a check over. He talks as he works, saying, “Don’t like ‘em though. Bastards, all of them. Get drunk near my shop and start scaring off the good payin’ customers. Their money was alright, but they wanted me to be their sole supplier. Big balls if they thinkin’ of pulling that shit! They ain’t Tarantulas or Jackals, those bastards all new and thinkin’ they big. Heard they got plans or something, making them think they so high and big-time. Only ever met a couple at a time, but I got a good idea where they’re hidin’.”

With his deformed hand casually going under the table, he later brings up a folded piece of paper and hands it over to Jason. He adds, “They’re hiding West, near the Syore Mountains. Go South down the Road till you spot a fort, turn Westward soon as you see it over a hill. If ya’ near the archway, you’re closing in on the right spot. Keep heading towards the mountains till you find a place to walk in through - after that you can use this map here to get a better idea on where they hidin’. It’s all on you though to put in the legwork.”

Jason takes it, inspecting that as well before storing it into his pocket. He begins making his leave, with Charlie following after. On the way out Jason says aloud, “Thank you for your service Buddy. There'll be a lot of guns coming your way once this is over.”

Buddy merely waves them off, all the while grinning to himself. His deformed arm moves up and starts to slide some guns to the side - making room for some future stock.

As Jason and Charlie make their way to the car, Charlie asks worriedly of Jason. “How’re you sure you can trust that guy? He looks and sounds as shifty as you can get.”

“I don’t.” Jason answers.

Charlie gets into the car, confused. Before long Jason too gets in, explaining further,

“Either he’s lying and I come back to kick his ass again - or, he’s honest and he makes a profit off my work. Out of those two options, at the end of the day, he’d rather have the second.”

Partially satisfied, Charlie gives no response to Jason.

After Jason stores the guns safely into his car, and with everything all settled and done, Jason stars the car and turns southward - back onto the Road once more.

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Hi!! I saw you were still doing ships and was curious who you'd see me with out of Queen and the Bo Rhap cast. I'm a Korean girl with straight, dark brown shoulder length hair with bangs and blackish, dark brown eyes. I'm pretty short at 5'3 and I love music (mainly classic rock) and art. I play violin, piano, and dabble in guitar, and I love drawing and photography. Btw, I absolutely adore your blog and writing! Looking forward to your new posts! Much love xx

hiiiii THANK U FOR THE LOVE ahhhh!!!

i had some trouble deciding between two of them for the queen ship but i think i’m just going to choose one and go w it 

ships r below the cut :))

For BoRhap, I ship you with Gwilym Lee!

Yes, yes, the height difference, I know! 

But I think that Gwilym would absolutely adore the height difference just as much as he would adore everything else about you.

Gwilym is 100% the type of boyfriend that is posting videos of you noodling on the guitar, or just idly playing tunes on the piano. But the reason you two had met was because of your photography.

He was looking for some new pieces to put up in his home, and had heard there was going to be a sort of freelance art market happening downtown, and your photography/artwork had caught his eye first. But when he looked up to see who was behind the stall’s table, he suddenly turned into a blundering schoolboy with a hopeless crush again.

“Beautiful work,” he’d commented, making you smile as you came around the table to see which piece he was looking at. He easily towered when you got next to his side, but it didn’t seem to bother either of you as you smiled up at him, receiving a charming smile in return.

"Thank you! Which one is your favorite?”

“I think I favor this one the most.” He pointed to a beautiful landscape photograph you’d blown up onto a bigger canvas, watching as you scanned it for a moment, familiarity running through your eyes. “The color is phenomenal.”

“That’s one of my favorites too. I have it hanging in my apartment,” you’d replied, looking up at him again and admiring the way he was so responsive to all of your words, right from the jump. It showed you he was listening, and it was rare to find a man at these markets that absolutely respected your craftsmanship and didn’t try to mansplain your own work to you.

“Oh really? Where at?” Gwilym asked, intrigued that you both found a favorite in the same piece. His eyes twinkled with curiousity, and you found that your heart was racing as you raised an eyebrow at him teasingly.

“That’s quite a personal question to be asking before you even get my number first.”

He began to apologize profusely, his cheeks turning pink as he smiled sheepishly. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy! I was just looking for some work for my house and-” 

“I’m just joking, no worries,” you giggled, giving him a gentle nudge. “I know these things can get a bit stuffy and seem too serious, so why don’t I do this?” You walked back around the table, pulling out one of your cards before uncapping a pen and and writing a note on the back, then handing it to him. “If you’d like to buy the print, here’s my card so we can talk more about sizes and pricing.”

Gwilym smiled as he took the card, putting it in the breast pocket of his button up as he chewed on his lip, trying to single out whether you were flirting or not. “For business discussions, right?” he asked, although the way he smiled said otherwise.

“Oh, absolutely,” you agreed with the same smile, and then you were off to talk to a new possible customer as Gwilym walked away, reading the note you’d left on the back of your card along with your cell.

It’s above my piano, if you’d really care to know. :) xxx-xxx-xxxx

Once you two had finally started dating a few months later, Gwilym found any excuse to make you play the piano. Sometimes, he actually even pretended he wanted you to give him lessons, which consisted more of you playing and Gwilym watching you with complete ardor in his eyes.

“Wait, I missed that last part - play it again,” he’d insisted one time, smiling sheepishly as you rolled your eyes playfully at the obvious attempt to get you to play again so he could record it.

“If you miss it one more time, you’re in trouble, mister.” With that, you restarted the brief piece you’d just played, Gwilym sneakily holding his phone up to record you from over your opposite shoulder while your fingers moved expertly over the keys, not missing a single note. 

When you finally stopped and realized it wasn’t just his hand on your other shoulder, you laughed and grabbed at his phone, which he retracted quickly and shoved into his pocket as you wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to stop him from running off. But he easily just pulled you up off the bench with him, and you had to ride all the way over to the couch dangling off of him and laughing.

Finally falling back on the couch, he landed with a small ‘oof’ as you fell on top of him, giggling. “I ought to get you for that one, Gwil.”

“You’re too cute to be threatening,” he murmured, giving you a wide grin before quickly kissing your nose. Your hair fell down over his face just slightly, so he tucked it back behind your ear as you tried to look grumpy with him, failing miserably.

“You’re too cute to be mad at, that’s so annoying,” you sighed dramatically, moving down a bit to rest your head on his chest as you pouted. But Gwilym’s hand running back through your hair soon made you forget why were were upset with him, and you were about to ask him if he really wanted to learn piano when an Instagram notification popped up on your phone, making it buzz in your pocket.

Pulling it out of your pocket, you saw Gwilym had tagged you in something, and you opened it to see the video of you playing, the ending showing you laughing and grabbing for the camera before it went dark.

“You turd!” you gasped melodramatically, pretending to pin him down as you attempted to look as mean as you could. “I’m going to get you for that one for real this time!”

But Gwilym’s hands quickly subdued you when they went to your sides and started to tickle relentlessly, his lips matching the frantic pace of his fingers as he peppered kisses all over your face, making you squeal and giggle in pure delight. 

For Queen, I struggled between Roger and Brian, but I officially picked Roger Taylor! 

Although I think you would fit just as well with Brian, I wanted to pick Roger for the reason that I think you have some similarities, but you possess differences that would make a perfect pair that learns from each other!

Seeing your similarities with Brian, I actually think that you would originally meet Roger through Brian. We’ll say that you helped Brian on his solo project, and when Roger needed some help on his concerning some keyboard parts, you were the first person Brian recommended.

What Brian didn’t count on was Roger pretty much stealing you from him - as soon as you two met, you hit it off, and you spent more and more time around Roger, which took away from the time Brian usually had to shoot the shit with you and smooth things over after studio hours. 

But when he saw the way you were around each other, Brian seemed not to mind as much anymore.

“Oh, that was beautiful! Play that again, and put a little-” Roger made a gesture mimicking a slam of a single chord, “at the end, to round it off.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Piano Expert,” you teased, and Roger laughed as he waved off your playfully patronizing of him. Brian was watching from one of the chairs in the booth, where he was fiddling with a guitar that Roger needed him to play a few riffs on for one of his songs.

Brian couldn’t help but notice the way Roger watched your face instead of your hands when you played. Sure, he glanced at your hands every once in a while, but he was increasingly focused on your impressions as you played, and when he realized that Brian had noticed, he sent him a quick middle finger behind your back while you began to finish up. 

When you played the single slam chord to end it, Roger cheered, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek before starting to babble on about how he couldn’t wait to hear your parts on the songs after final production.

When final production had actually taken place and they had their end product, Roger invited you over to his place to take a listen. 

So you curled up on the couch together, listening to his album with a bottle of wine and a Polaroid camera, which you kept taking pictures of Roger with. Although he was no stranger to the lens, he kept insisting that you should be the one in front of the camera, not him. To keep him from stealing the camera from you, you’d sat at the other end of the couch.

“Oh, you’re full of it,” you laughed, raising the camera to your eye before taking another pic and pulling it out once it had dispensed fully. Climbing to your feet, you sat the camera down carefully before you tiptoed over to the drawers on one of his cabinets, setting the photo in it and closing it so it could develop properly. 

Before you turned, you could hear the familiar click of the shutter and the grin on Roger’s face when you turned said it all as he sat the camera back down, then stretched out on the couch with the developing photo. “I bet you look so cute in it.”

“I bet it’s blurry,” you teased, coming back over and crawling back onto the couch with him, letting him curl up around you and grabbing your glass of wine again as he did so. “Could be a bum shot.”

“Oh, it was definitely a bum shot.” You groaned as you realized the double meaning too late, and you reached back to give him a very gentle smack on the shoulder as he cracked up at himself, making you roll your eyes playfully. 

He got comfortable as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close while occasional chuckles still shook his body. “You are something else, Roger.”

“It was funny, admit it,” he giggled gleefully, pressing kisses to your shoulder as he went back to listening to his album, rubbing circles on your tummy with his thumb. “You love me.”

“If you say so.”

“Hey!”

[zelos-official-armrest]

Seoul Limited and Forever with Babyz (Madrid)

I’m about half a year late, but I just want to share a bit of my B.A.P concert experiences both in Seoul Limited and Forever With Babyz tour in Madrid. You know, if anyone’s interested…

First of all, how did I get to Seoul? I applied for a month-long summer university program and I got a smaller tuition fee thanks to my schools being partner universities. Still, it took me about 5 years to get enough funds. I’m not going to talk much about that in here, but it was the most amazing time of my life. I do advise everyone not to ONLY go there for running after a potential Korean boyfriend tho. The culture is so much more than kpop-related fantasies.

Ok, on to the actual topic- B.A.P. While in Seoul, I did want to see the TS building with my own two eyes (so I’d know where to go to throw the tomatoes, haha). Therefore, one evening me and my fellow coursemate/ friend went to look for it, but apparently that day B.A.P and TRCNG had a practice there as it came out. When we approached the building, Zelo was chatting with someone in front of the house, but seeing us coming scared him off and he fleed to the building. I felt so sorry for him, because it must be a common occurrence for them to not get privacy even there by the way he reacted. So, I got nervous because I really wanted to have a picture in front of the building, but I didn’t want to be causing any discomfort to them. Me and my friend decided to take a picture real quick and I kinda got my two half-blurry pictures in front of the building.

Here’s potato me making TS surrender to the Matoki power:

When we stood back a bit, I saw TRCNG entering the house and we decided to leave. While we were walking away, around the corner came Himchan who was, for some reason, followed (basically cornered) by a bunch of blonde chicks (stalkers I guess?). Since I was a bit too close, for some reason I thought it would be really impolite if I didn’t say anything so I bowed and let out „annyeonghaseyo“ (It’s really weird to type it out like that). He answered me with a nod and when he had entered TS, some Korean fans who were following set themselves to wait outside the doors. That was the last we saw them as we moved further away from the place…

Before going to the summer program and buying the plane tickets to Korea, I didn’t know B.A.P would have a concert. When it was announced, I praed for the dates to overlap with my stay. I was incredibly lucky, because B.A.P’s first Seoul Limited concert was on the last day of my stay. The day itself was super-hot (38+ degrees) and I had a lot of troubles from moving out the dorms with all of my luggage etc. In the morning I managed to go to the venue to buy some merch (got myself a matoki whistle and a t-shirt). In the afternoon, there were already fansites distributing free merch (got also 2 banners, but I lost my shiny Zelo banner at the concert T_T). 

The queueing was so different from European stops, where we camp in front of the venes. Here you had a number on a ticket and you just went and looked for your spot in the line and everything went smoothly. I actually had bought two tickets, because I was hoping for someone to go with me (and to get more people to appreciate B.A.P, lol). I did manage to get a friend from the program to come with me, so it was a success. The venue was really well ventilated and the sound system was great. B.A.P had a live band to back them up and they put on a great show as always. Too bad I couldn’t really understand much when they did their talking. In the crowd, there was a couple and B.A.P pointed at them and stated that „This is how you take your girlfriend out. You take her to a B.A.P concert !“, and they continued to chat for a bit. The best things from the concert- Coma rock version, Blind and small snipets from songs fans had selected as the ones they want to hear from B.A.P the most, watergun fight, new solos and tons of adlibs. Even though my ticket queue number was quite big, the stage was so well built that when idols came off from the main stage to those cat-walks, I had maybe only 2 rows of people in front of me making it the closest I’ve been at a concert. 

This is basically how I saw them went they came near:

But there is one thing I found different from previous concerts. I don’t know if it was because I was really nervous about my flights and everything that day, but the crowd in Europe felt more passionate. I guess it is just in the way we cheer. I mean, their fanchants and everything was on point, but somehow it felt more calm and collected that I was used to. Either way, I loved that I could be there with OT6 and that Jongup released his cute MV for Annoying as a memory of that day. Oh, oh, and I finally got on Himchan’s fancam J. Really blurry, but I know it’s me. Thank you Channie!

Moving on to my Madrid experience. At first, I didn’t really plan to go to another tour because I’d already seen them this year, but the fact that there were tickets with best perks I never really managed to get before still available started creeping on me. I had to decide whether to wait for the mess that was Berlin ticket sale or settle for the Madrid one. I decided to save myself from the excess stress and take the Madrid VVIP. I don’t regret going one bit even though the Youngbros organisation was freaking awful. As VVIP holders, we were promised more time at the high-touch than VIP but nothing like that happened. The signed poster was actually just printed on and they had ran out of black beanies before even half the VVIPs could pass the counter.

Just a small look at the merch etc: 

The worst thing was that they messed with B.A.P’s sound system so some time the microphones didn’t really work and the security guys didn’t pay any attention to people fainting in the crowd, which Daehyun and Zelo had to point out to them (Zelo tried to get their attention in Spanish, Daehyun wanted to stop the song to resolve the case) and Jongup threw his own water bottle to fans in need. The concert itself was really good (even though we still missed Bang and were chanting his name from time to time). I loved being able to hear Howler in it’s Spanish home and Zelo went wild with the butt-slaps and butt-wiggles. During Do What I Feel, he threw his towel to the crowd and guess who was the lucky one to catch it!  It still has his makeup on tho :D.

Haha, towel-kun has seen some things... At this point I knew. For 5 years, I didn’t manage to choose a bias in B.A.P. That was the day my bias chose me (lolololol)

The only kind of OK clips that I got from the concert was Youngjae’s acapella “I’m happy” and Jongup’s “Try my luck”, because I was trying to enjoy the concert too much which resulted in my hands being extra shaky. 

There was also a lottery where they chose a random number and a fan for every member got a small canvas bag with member’s drawing and autograph on it. And a hug. At some point, Youngjae managed to hurt his shoulder, I hope he is ok now. Them teaching us the fanchant for All the way up was pretty memorable since they almost booed Daehyun off the stage because he couldn’t contain himself and do the right thing. And Zelo just went like “OMG, it’s our song”. We also had a support project for Himchan where we held his banners and chanted his name.

My high-touch experience. While we were standing in a line, the organisers started to let B.A.P take their positions near the wall. To get there, B.A.P walked through a small bordered area which was right next to where some of us were queueing. I noticed Himchan and told him “annyeong” for which he raised his head, looked at me and just had the cutest smile ever on his face. I made Himchan smile, everyone! I don’t know if he noticed that this is the one person who never manages to greet him correctly (me in Warsaw, Seoul and now Madrid). He was also first in line at high-touch and he was still so extra smiley at me. 

To sum up the high-touch experience, this is basically it:

B.A.P with their beautiful hands vs Me coming from a jungle

And then this 1 second you had to admire all the beauty

I mean, there were so many things I wanted to say (just one sentence to each member), but I couldn’t do anything because it was too fast. I tried to tell them stuff in English or Korean, but they tried to tell me stuff in Spanish and in English and it was honestly such a mess. It was so funny. Then right after we had the group photo so I fastened my steps and got next to Zelo. After everything I just had to go to him. I could tell he did something over my head while taking the picture since he was touching it, but I had no actual idea what. The picture turned out better than I expected. I am not really good friends with cameras, specially when I don’t even know, where the cameraman is or when the picture is exactly taken. Got the cutest photo ever and I will now officially present my short ass as “Zelo’s armrest” since this is what he used me as.

Tbh, I had to photoshop my face on the picture a bit, because the camera reflected on me so bad that I looked like a Christmas tree in a Colgate commercial. Literally.

Anyways, after the short time for pictures, I could pass by all of them again and thanked them, especially Zelo, when I turned around. I love them all so much and I had soft hours for days after we got to know that Zelo shouldn’t have even been on the tour but he insisted to come. Made it all 10 times more memorable and important.

I wish I could also go to Yongguk’s tour. I don’t know if it’s possible, because I have already emptied my bank account for them. So I guess we’ll see what happens. I hope he receives a lot of love and support anyways.

That’s it, folks!

[h0ldthiscat]

still life

here to ruin your day don’t @ me (just kidding pls do)

X

She is a focused painter. Her lips are a thin line and the radio drones in the background. Neither of them like silence anymore. When she paints she wears her hair in a ponytail, like she hasn’t in years. Not Nadezhda and not quite Elizabeth either. She’s someone in between. And she paints, wearing one of his old shirts, one of the two he brought. She swims in it, looking impossibly small and infinitely powerful.

The canvases are modest in size; paint is expensive and unnecessary. But the Centre has made the two of them comfortable, well-looked after. The apartment is bright and clean and close to a supermarket that always has fresh apples. The bed is large, and at night they cling to each other like magnets, afraid of what will happen if they let go.

He stands behind her chair with a cup of tea. Outside the sky is rosy with dusk, and she’s recreated the color perfectly, her brush moving in confident strokes. He kisses the back of her neck where new hairs curl towards her nape.

“Hey,” she says quietly, eyes fixed on the canvas.

“You should get changed. He’ll be here soon.”

“I know. This light is good. I don’t want to lose it.”

He settles into the armchair in the corner, watching her. Beneath his shirt her legs are bare, except for a pair of gray woolen boot socks. He is overcome with the need to tell her he loves her, but he knows she knows. So he sits and reads until she finishes her painting, swishing the brush around in a jar of cloudy water, the signal that she is done.

He comes up behind her again, his arm settling across her chest, and studies her work. A lump settles in his throat when he sees it: the pitch of the roof, the windowsill, the glow from the lamp in the corner. And outside, below, in the driveway, a white car. A hockey goal. Two shadowy figures in the twilight.

“It’s springtime now,” she says. She drops her head and kisses his forearm.

There’s a knock at the door. He squeezes her shoulder and murmurs, “That’s Gabriel.”

When Philip answers the door, Gabriel says, “You didn’t have to come all this way to return the favor of hosting.”

Philip smiles. “But we did.”

Gabriel laughs and pulls him into a hug; the handle of the ceramic dish he brought presses against Philip’s back. They open a bottle of wine, Philip checks the chicken in the oven. Gabriel compliments the wallpaper in the kitchen.

Philip is at the sink when Elizabeth comes in, and hears only Gabriel’s chair pushing back against the floor and a sharp intake of air from his wife, not a sob but something close. He turns to see them hugging, and they stay that way for a long time. When they pull back they both have tears in their eyes.

“It’s good to see you,” Gabriel says finally. “Both of you.”

The painting in the other room catches his eye and she follows him in, talking in low but uplifted tones. Philip hears the sliding of canvas on canvas and knows she’s showing him the others. His own favorite is the view from the bridge, that first night. All the lights alive in the darkness, saying welcome home, saying you are a stranger here.

At first she’d drawn, sketched really. He’d find her on the couch with a pencil, drawing on the back of a bookmark, or a piece of mail. He bought her a sketchbook because he knew she’d never buy one for herself, and that she’d never ask. The paints and canvases had been harder to come by. Most of them are small, but he’s been able to find a few larger ones, even if they are costly. “What else are we going to spend it on?” he asked when Elizabeth protested.

She and Gabriel wander back into the kitchen, talking about how the three years since he’s seen them feel like ten.

“I wanted to come sooner,” Gabriel admits, and Philip thinks he might actually be chastened. “To see you, to say hello. But the Centre advised me to wait.”

They sit at the small wooden table and eat chicken with lemon, some marinated carrots. For a few moments it feels like the old days, those first few meetings when Gabriel had returned to the states. Elizabeth is more relaxed than he’s seen in weeks; she and Gabriel always had a special bond. She tells him about their plans for Odessa in the summer and she lights up, a peaceful smile across her lips, all tension gone from around her eyes. Philip can almost forgive Gabriel everything if it means she’s truly happy, even if it’s only for a few hours.

“You two are heroes,” Gabriel says after the dishes have been cleared and a game of Scrabble sits before them on the table. Elizabeth doesn’t usually play but she joins tonight, her features soft. Her jaw shifts at Gabriel’s words, only slightly.

“We were doing our jobs,” she answers evenly. On the board, she lays down estuary.

“The Centre appreciates your efforts,” Gabriel insists. “And all that you’ve sacrificed.” He meets Philip’s eyes when he says this. A thousand retorts rise to Philip’s lips but he bites his tongue. He meets the old man’s gaze with an unwavering stare, and then Gabriel pulls an envelope from his jacket pocket.

“This was the best they could do for right now, but we’ll keep trying.” He places the envelope on the Scrabble board and Elizabeth freezes. The package is thin, and from the size and shape can only contain photographs.

“We didn’t… who authorized this?” Philip asks. Elizabeth’s eyes haven’t moved from the envelope.

“I did,” Gabriel answers.

Elizabeth reaches for the envelope but she pauses and finds Philip’s gaze. Her hair is still pulled back in a ponytail and for an instant they are twenty-two again, her expression filled with the same fear and longing as the moment they met. She gives him a small nod and he takes the envelope in his hands; it’s lighter than he expects.

“I can’t guarantee any kind of regularity, but… I thought you’d want to see.”

Just as he suspected: photographs. Five or six. Black and white. Taken from a distance. Philip’s heart thuds in his throat as he studies the images of his son: walking down the street with a passel of friends, backpack slung over his shoulder; sitting bent over a book at a desk in the library; driving a car Philip’s never seen before beside a vaguely familiar girl with an afro; Henry on the ice; on the ice; on the ice--

“Where’s…” Philip flips through them again, thinking he missed one, thinking they can’t all be of Henry. There have to be some of Paige. He can think her name but he can’t say it aloud, can’t bear to see Elizabeth’s face crumple. She’s grabbed the stack of pictures from him and grips them tightly, her knuckles white, bending the shiny surface, slack-jawed in wonderment at the image of her boy, her baby boy.

“She’s been a little harder to track down,” Gabriel says, and reaches into his breast pocket again. A single photo this time, more grainy but in color. He and Elizabeth both lean in and squint at the figure with a ballcap pulled down low on her head, hair the color of her mother’s hanging down her back. It’s blurry, but it’s her.

“Where?” Elizabeth asks, barely a whisper.

“Two weeks ago, at a rest stop on the Blue Ridge Parkway.”

“Two weeks…” Elizabeth says, unable to conceal the awe in her voice. It was how she’d sounded when she looked up at Philip in the hospital and said in disbelief, she’s so tiny.

Philip’s throat constricts and he holds Elizabeth’s hand, Scrabble tiles jolting off their squares. Grief pulls at the corners of her mouth, making her chin quiver.

“She’s not running but she’s not sitting still either,” Gabriel explains.

“That was never her strong suit,” Philip says, his voice thick.

Elizabeth makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and they sit like that for a full minute. Gabriel doesn’t stay much longer, and hugs them both before he goes, with a weariness that Philip doesn’t remember about him. A heavy shuffle in his step, his head low and his shoulders stooped beneath the mantle of his thick, gray coat.

_________________

Philip towel dries his hair and puts on a t-shirt and flannel pants, but she’s not in bed when he exits the bathroom. He finds her in the other room, curled up on top of the covers of the bed that was supposed to be for--

“You used all the hot water,” he says, lying down beside her.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, and pulls him closer.

Her painting from this afternoon sits drying in the corner, the pink sunset the only thing he can see in the inky blackness. She is warm against his chest. She works a knee in between his and they shift. Lately it seems like she’s trying to fuse with him, like maybe if they lie close enough nothing bad will ever happen again. They can just float here forever in the bardo, close to something final but safe on stygian shores.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks.

“Anything,” she says.

“Gabriel told me--a long time ago, he told me that you… that the first person the Centre picked for you--”

“I didn’t like him,” Elizabeth says.

Philip smiles into the darkness. His eyes have adjusted and he can make out the moonlight on her cheekbone, her smudged eyeliner, a freckle. “Uh, why not?”

“He was arrogant. Too sure. He wouldn’t have lasted under deep cover. He wasn’t... right. For the job or for me.” She squeezes his knee between her own. “Why?”

“I just wondered if you ever… after all this, I just wonder if you ever wish you’d chosen differently.”

Her hand is on the back of his neck, fingertips pressing, insistent. Her forehead touches his. “How can you ask that?” she whispers.

He can’t meet her eyes. “If we hadn’t been so… different at first, nothing would have turned out this way.”

“You don’t know that. A thousand things could have happened.”

“Yeah…” He doesn’t believe her, but she sounds so sure that for a moment, he thinks she might be right. She kisses him softly with her eyes closed, and he lets the weight of her body atop his convince him some more.

[twinkiplier]

AntiSepticEye Edit Tutorial (PhotoShop)

I’m sure a lot of you out there need some help making Anti edits, or just never knew where to start, or just want to know how other people do it. I like to think I’m pretty handy with PhotoShop, so I made up a little guide for y’all.

There’s also a tutorial on coloring eyes at the bottom!

Step One: Find your image.

Yeah, I know, we’re starting here. Bleh. But it’s really important that you get the right resolution for a picture, okay? So I’m just gonna make sure you get it.

When you search for your image, make sure you’re using the tools and that you’re searching for a fairly large image. Larger than 2MP is the best option, but sometimes doesn’t have what you’re looking for.

When you find the image you’re looking for, hold on - it might not be the biggest size you can find. Make sure you Search by image first.

This should pop up underneath the search bar of the new page. Click on All sizes, it’ll take you to another page with just that image.

Clicking on the first usually brings up the biggest one, but sometimes they’re of bad resolution and you have to click through. If it takes a second to load, chances are it’s nice and big. But wait! Don’t just click and drag.

Make sure you View image to get the highest resolution! It’ll open in a new tab.

You’ll need to right click and Save image as…. This will allow you to save to the desktop, or whatever work folder you’re using. Hooray! Now you have the best possible image to use for this.

Step Two: Prepare the image.

Okay, so you have it now. You need to get it into PS. But before you open a new canvas, hang on.

OPEN. Yes. I’m literally showing you how to open a document. Deal with it.

Now that you have it open, it’s best to crop it to whatever size you want. Just so it’s easier to work with.

It was pretty okay as-is, I just wanted it a little more tight around the shoulders.

Now, duplicate your layer. You can do this by pressing Cmd-J or Ctrl-J.

On this layer, we’re going to adjust the levels (Cmd-L or Ctrl-L). If you don’t know how to do that, just bring the black and white arrows in closer to eachother with preview on. It’ll look right eventually.

Step Three: Basic Overlay.

Start by making a new layer. Simple.

Pick a shade of green. Make it bright, but not infinitely saturated to oblivion. I picked this lovely shade, but it doesn’t really matter in my opinion.

On your new layer, fill in the whole canvas with your green. Ta-da.

In order to actually see Jack under it, you’ll have to change the layer style to “Color.”

It’s still way too bright and saturated, so we’ll need to dull it down a bit by lowering the opacity to... about 50% in most cases.

There, that looks better.

So now, with the color layer still selected, let’s mess around with the Hue/Saturation menu a little bit (Ctrl-U or Cmnd-U) with preview on until it looks good. I settled on this, which was -15 Hue and -45 Saturation.

Step 3.5 (Optional): Using Filter Gallery.

This part is completely optional, but it allows for much more playing around - if you are using a program similar to PhotoShop but don’t have the actual thing itself, such as Gimp, you can skip this step.

So now, we need to make another copy of Layer 1, and place it overtop of the green layer for the moment.

On this layer, we’re going to open up the Filter Gallery so we can mess around with it.

For Anti, one of the best filters is Film Grain. Crank that up to max and you have yourself something pretty cool. Messing around in these can take up hours of time just seeing what horrific creations you can make, but don’t take too long or you’ll forget what you’re doing.

Especially when you discover this button.

Now, what I’ve done is added some maxed-out Rough Pastels overtop of the film grain, giving it a sketched and blurry look.

After bringing that in, I decided I wanted it offset to be more noticeable - but there’s a gap.

So I copied that layer and left it in place, tuning them down to 25%.

There’s still a gap.

To get rid of it, I just select that gap and place a layer mask on the second effect layer.

There’s a bit of a glitch on the edge, but who cares - it’s Anti.

So now, I’m gonna move the green to the top, so it affects everything.

Much better. It kinda looks like a watercolor painting.

Step Five: Adding Glitches.

Now, if you’ve looked over Robin’s edits of Anti, you know his glitches are somewhat subtle and more auditory than anything.

Making sure to use the Add to selection tool, select some bars over the entirety of the image. Just three or four.

Make sure to avoid areas like the eyes and face aside from a few small bars. Now, all we need to do is invert selection (Ctrl-I or Cmnd-I) add a layer mask to the green layer.

Good, that lets a few more normal parts peek through.

Now duplicate that layer, we’re going to do something cool with it.

Turn that entire layer into static, the easiest way is to use Filter Gallery but you can also just tint an image of static green.

Now it’s starting to get a bit more of an Anti feel to it.

I switched the static’s layer style to Hue just so it would pop more, and look just a bit less flat.

Now, because of the hair problem, what I did was chop the layer in half. Turning the top one back into Color and leaving the bottom part in Hue.

Yeah, doing stuff like this requires a lot of layers. It makes things easier to tweak in the long run, especially if you did something wrong in an early step.

If you’ll notice, Anti has a bit of a glow around him sometimes. To replicate that, we need to select Jack - but not just any old way, no. This is the only time I’ll recommend use of this, but we’re using the magnetic lasso tool. Copy the layer of Jack, and do this on the copy.

Just draw around him, it doesn’t have to be perfect and if it looks choppy or messy, good.

Now, select and mask.

Crank up not only the Edge Detection and Smart Radius, but also Shift Edge. That gives it that weird, off look. Use this selection to create a layer mask.

Now comes the glow. Double-click on the layer and you’ll be brought to this menu, where you can add an outer glow.

Mess around with it while you have preview on, just have a little fun. The jankier, the better. If you want to use Divide, make sure the color you’re using is the exact opposite of the color you want it to come out as.

When you’re done, make sure you put the full green layer all the way on the bottom. 

Now, all the way at the very top, we’re going to add an adjustment layer for Hue/Saturation.

Adding +50 makes the whole thing just a bit more saturated, which gives it an Anti vibe.

You don’t want to oversaturate the bits of Jack, though, so make sure you add that same layer mask to keep it inside the Anti part.

Step Six: The Eyes.

It’s coming along pretty well, I’d say. You can stop here, or keep going, make tweaks and add more glitches. It’s up to you, really. Have fun with it. However, if you want to know how to do the eyes, well then. I’m absolutely here to teach you.

First, we need to get real up close and personal. Turn off all the layers except the bottom one, and duplicate that. This is what we’re working with.

You can use the lasso tool first to get a rough approximation of the eyes, then make a layer mask around that, but you need to use the brush tool to refine the layer mask by hand until it’s only the eye.

When the other one’s done, you should have something horrific staring back at you. :)

Now, the first thing we’re going to do is oversaturate the eyes. That’ll make them pop even more.

Turn on the layer beneath it, and you can see it’s just a subtle change but it’s crucial.

Once you turn the other layers back on, though, it’s like we’ve done nothing at all.

So, to fix this, we just move the layer up.

I actually oversaturated them again after that, and it’s such a small difference but it really stands out. Now, if you want to make black demon eyes, it’s really simple.

Just make another duplicate of your base layer, add the eyes layer mask, and then turn down the levels almost all the way until you’re satisfied. Make sure they still shine a little! That’s what makes them look good, and not just painted black.

See? Now we’re really getting somewhere. The last thing is, of course, the Septic Eye. on a new, blank layer, set your brush’s flow and opacity down to 20-30%, and color in the sclera green and the iris a much brighter blue.

It might be a little rough around the edges, so don’t be afraid of using a soft eraser to touch it up. 

Don’t worry if it looks bad up close, either. No one can tell from a distance.

Now, just turn all the other layers on, and voila. Pretty neat, huh?

Here’s the full, finished image. I had a lot of fun making this! Might make a Darkiplier tutorial too, if y’all want that. Let me know if there’s anything you’d like to know how to do, I’d love to help out.

[uniformbravo]

ok so. my day today

basically i spent a long fucking time today trying to Finally get off my ass and scan my traditional drawings so i can post them to my art blog, because like i have been drawing but these days the vast majority of my art is traditional sketches that im too lazy to scan so my art blog never gets updated and i rly want to work on that (i stg some of this shit is literally so old it’s from 2016 but whateverrrrr)

mostly the reason im finally doing this is that i don’t wanna wait too long to post my mp100 shit bc i’ve been drawing a Fucking Lot of that so i have enough to make a few posts now and i wanna get them uploaded while they’re still fresh, u know. the thing is since i was gonna scan those pages i decided it’d be a fun neat idea to scan the entire rest of the sketchbook bc Why Not

well i’ll tell u Why Not, there are several reasons Why Not:

it takes 12 yrs to scan everything because not only are there a shitload of pages but also the sketchbook is too big for the scanner so i have to do some pages 4 times to get all the edges and it’s horrible and bad, legitimately i was standing there for over an hour scanning this book, i put on an hr long video in the bg and got all the way through it and i Still wasn’t done

On Top Of That the scanner is kind of fucking garbage, as scanners are, so i have to take each image into photoshop to edit so they dont look entirely like trash (they still look kind of trashy anyway)

then for the multiple scan pages i have to patch them together so the images are complete / not blurry

then i have to collage all the drawings i want together because a lot of pages are either incomplete or only have like 1 thing i want to show on them so i spend like 100 years trying to arrange everything semi-nicely so that it’s, like, even slightly presentable, Maybe (idk i think the compilations tend to feel really cluttered tbh but Whatever it’s my STYLE), and also i have to take into account tumblr’s formatting so i usually have to make everything fit on a canvas either 540px or 1080px wide (this is even worse for pixel art bc it needs to be exactly 540px to look nice but i digress, we are talking about traditional art here)

so uh yeah that’s my process and Boy is it a Fucking Process

i think im complaining more rn because i have like a year’s worth of sketches im trying to deal with here, like. good god. i spent maybe two and a half hours working on this today (after the first hour of scanning things, just the scanning) and i did not get even halfway through the scans, and that’s just for the photo-editing stage, i haven’t even started putting together the compilations yet

god and like the Other Fucking Piece Of Shit Thing My Scanner Does is it tries to do this Smart Technology Bullshit and decide for itself where the paper ends instead of looking at, like, the actual paper’s boundaries, so even if i line everything up perfectly, a small part of the image fucking always gets cut off and if i were a stronger person i would engage in the full process of scanning the images, taking the flash drive back to my laptop, opening each image one by one to figure out which ones got cut off, going back to the scanner and re-scanning the pages and just repeating the process over and over until everything is in order but as it stands i do not have eighty-five thousand fucking years on my hands nor even a fraction of the mental capacity required to pull that off so we are just going 2 sit down & deal with some cropped images like mature adults

(tbh with all the cons of scanning the art, and there are a Lot of cons, i feel like it would probably make more sense to just take pictures using a camera instead, but on the other hand do not get me started on lighting, focus, unsteady hands, sifting through millions of copies of the same photo trying to determine which one came out the clearest, retaking photos that didn’t work out, back aching from being hunched over the paper for so long trying to get the perfect straight-down angle w/o casting any shadow, etc etc etc)

im just??? honestly, typing all of this out is making me sit back and think why?? why am i even doing this. this is so much goddamn effort for shit that probably won’t get very much attention, which is fine and all but god. jesus christ. im really putting myself through some shit for this

in any case i think i’ll probably be posting some of the more recent stuff first, like all the mp100 shit because like i said i want to post it while it’s still fresh and if i work on this whole project in chronological order u probably won’t see the things i drew this week until like next year hgkdslkdgn

[kadobeclothing]

11 Best Practices for Facebook Cover Photos & Videos [Templates]

When people arrive at your Facebook Page, where do you think they first look? I’ll give you some hints. It’s a visual piece of content that sits at the top of your Page. Its dimensions are 820 pixels wide by 312 pixels tall. It takes up almost a quarter of the screen on most desktop browsers. That’s right — it’s your Facebook cover photo. Sometimes called your Facebook banner, this graphic is one of the most noticeable parts of your Page. It’s therefore crucial that you follow Facebook cover photo best practices.

Facebook Cover Photo Size Optimize your cover photo for the right dimensions: 820 pixels wide and 312 pixels tall for desktop, 640 pixels wide by 360 pixels tall for mobile. If your uploaded image is smaller than these dimensions, Facebook will stretch it to fit — making it look blurry.

Whether you’re using Facebook to generate leads, close your next sale, or create a customer community, knowing how to make and optimize your cover photo is very important. And when you consider the Facebook cover photo dimensions above, it can be tough to balance creativity with the requirements of the platform.

As you can see from the figure above, there’s a lot of space that you can risk cutting off of your final cover photo design depending on where your audience is viewing — mobile or desktop. Therefore, it’s best to focus the brunt of your content in that green space, where everyone can see your cover photo regardless of the device they’re using. Need help getting started? Below, you’ll find 11 Facebook cover photo templates, and just as many best practices to guide you when designing your brand’s banner artwork. At the bottom of this post, find out how to turn your cover photo into a cover video, and check out a few examples to see what others have done.

11 Facebook Cover Photo Best Practices 1. Do abide by Facebook’s cover photo guidelines. It seems like a no-brainer, but obeying Facebook guidelines is crucial to your Facebook Page existing in the first place. I’d highly suggest reading through the full Page Guidelines, but here are a few important things to keep in mind for your Facebook banner: Your cover is public. Covers can’t be deceptive, misleading, or infringe on anyone else’s copyright. You can’t encourage people to upload your cover to their personal timelines. If you get caught violating the above terms, Facebook could take action against your Page. And while Facebook doesn’t explicitly say what will happen if you violate their Page guidelines, it’s probably not smart to get your Facebook Page taken down over a cover photo infraction, so read the guidelines in full and adhere to them. 2. Do make sure your Facebook cover photo size is right. As stated at the beginning of this article, the best Facebook banner size is 820 pixels wide by 312 pixels tall for computers, and 640 pixels wide by 360 pixels tall on mobile devices. You don’t want to spend all this time designing a cover photo only to have it look weird when you upload it to Facebook. If you upload an image smaller than those dimensions, Facebook will stretch it to fit the right size, as long as it’s at least 399 pixels wide and 150 pixels tall. If you want a no-hassle way to make sure your cover photos are the right size, download our pre-sized template for Facebook cover photos here. 3. Don’t worry about the old ‘20% text’ rule, but still try to stay visual. Back in 2013, Facebook removed any reference to the 20% rule on text in cover photos … but that doesn’t mean you should go wild with using text in your cover photo. The previous rule said that only 20% of your cover photo could be text. Personally, I thought that was way too restrictive for marketers, but the sentiment behind the rule was a good one. If you’re going to use text in your cover photo, keep that text concise. Your photo will be much more informative and engaging. You can see how we’ve tried to strike that balance on HubSpot’s Facebook Page below.

4. Do give your cover image a focal point and colors that match your brand. Think of your cover photo as the portion of your Page that’s “above the fold.” If it’s distracting or confusing, people will be more likely to click off the Page. Many of the best Facebook cover photos include a centerpiece to focus visitors’ attention, along with a color scheme that aligns with the rest of their brand. Remember, your social media accounts are extensions of your business, and should give that impression to visitors right away. They also use negative white (i.e., empty) space as an advantage to make the subject, any copy on there, and other elements unique to Facebook (like the CTA button on Facebook business Pages) stand out even more. Here’s an example from Makr:

And one from social media management platform Sprout Social:

5. Don’t try to blend the contents of your cover photo with your profile picture. With some clever design tweaks, you used to be able to manipulate your profile picture and cover photo so they appear as if they’re two parts of the same canvas. You can still do this on your personal profile, but Facebook no longer sets up Business Pages this way. One of Paris’ former cover photos did this nicely:

Now, as shown in the examples earlier in this article, the profile picture is completely separate from the cover photo. We admire your creativity, but don’t prepare your design this way if you haven’t yet launched a Business Page — you’ll be disappointed. 6. Do draw attention to the action buttons on the bottom right. You might’ve noticed in a few of the cover photo examples above that their primary call-to-action (CTA) buttons were different. Makr’s says “Shop Now,” while Sprout Social’s says “Sign Up.” Depending on your business, you can launch a Page on Facebook with a unique CTA button to the bottom right of your cover photo. Take this button into consideration when designing your cover photo, and make it clear in the photo that this is a visitor’s next step. Hotel Urbano does this is a charming way below, using the girl in goggles to draw your eyes toward the buttons she seems to be swimming toward …

Note: While it might seem like a good idea to add directional cues like an arrow to get people to click on the CTA buttons, note that those CTA buttons don’t appear the same way on the mobile app. In other words, it might be confusing to mobile users if you directly integrate the cover photo design with the buttons. I’ll show you how Business Pages look on mobile devices in just a minute. 7. Do right-align the objects in your cover photo. Since your profile picture is on the left, you want to add some balance to your Facebook cover photo design by having the focus of the image be on the right. Take a look at these cover photos. Which one looks more aesthetically pleasing? Right-aligned focus:

Left-aligned focus:

Doesn’t the right-aligned cover photo look better? The biggest design elements (the profile picture, the text, and the Statue of Liberty) are evenly spaced. In Samsung’s old cover photo, your attention goes immediately to the left side of the page, completely missing the name of the product on the upper-right side. Not only is adding balance a crucial element of design, but it also allows for your cover photos to be more visually effective on mobile. Which brings me to my next point … 8. Do keep mobile users in mind. As of 2019, reports Statista, 96% of Facebook’s user base accesses the social network from mobile devices like smartphones and tablets. That’s huge — and it’s exactly why it’s so important to keep mobile users top-of-mind when designing your Facebook cover photo. On mobile, a much larger portion of your cover photo is blocked out because the profile picture and the Page name are on top of the cover photo. Image Credit: Twelveskip Let’s take a look at a real-life example. Below, take a look at what Cisco’s Facebook Page looks like in a desktop browser versus on Facebook’s mobile app. Desktop:

Mobile:

Notice that the sides of the photo are cut off on mobile. Whereas your cover photo displays at 820 pixels wide by 312 pixels tall on desktop, it displays only the center 640 pixels wide by 360 pixels tall on smartphones. Take a look at this Facebook help document for more information. Notice, by the way, how the text in Adobe’s cover photo is cut off on the right-hand side. While it looks best to right-align your visual elements, be careful not to put important content so far to the right that it gets cut off on mobile. 9. Do include a shortened link in your cover photo description that aligns with your page CTA. If you want to use your cover photo to support a Page CTA, make sure your cover photo description also includes a text CTA and link to the same offer. This way, any time people view your cover photo directly, they can access the download link. Here’s this practice in action on Adobe’s Facebook Page:

Make sure you shorten your links and add UTM codes so you can track clicks on them. Shortening and tracking features are available in the HubSpot Marketing Platform and in tools like bitly. (If you want to learn more about how to write effective call-to-action copy for your cover photo description, click here to download our free ebook on creating compelling CTAs.) 10. Do pin a related post right below your Facebook cover image. Have you ever “pinned” a post to your Facebook Page’s Timeline? Basically, pinning a post allows you to highlight a typical Facebook post on the top of your Timeline for seven days. It’s signified by a small blue push pin on the top right of the post, like on Fashion Nova’s Page below:

How does this relate to optimizing your Facebook cover photo? Well, if you’re spending time aligning your Facebook Page CTA, your cover photo design, and your cover photo description copy, you should also make sure to post about the same thing directly to your page, and pin that post to the top of your Timeline. That way, you’re giving people one very clear call-to-action when they arrive to your page (albeit in several different locations) — which should help conversions. To pin a Facebook post: Simply publish the post to Facebook, then click the three dots on the top right corner of the post and choose “Pin to Top.”

11. Do consider publishing a Facebook cover video. You read that right. Facebook Business Pages now have the option to add a video in lieu of a static cover photo, provided they meet certain requirements — which we dug up for you:

How to Make a Facebook Cover Video Post a Facebook cover video by saving a video file at 820 pixels wide by 426 pixels tall to your desktop. Open your Facebook Business page, click “Change Cover” at the top-left of your cover photo, and select “Upload Photo/Video.” This allows you to format and publish the desktop file to your Facebook page.

Facebook currently supports cover videos that are between 20 and 90 seconds long, and a minimum of 820 pixels wide by 312 pixels tall. The maximum (and recommended) size is 820 by 462 pixels with a video resolution of 1080p. Keep in mind that Facebook cover videos play on a loop — once it ends, it automatically starts over if the viewer is still on your Facebook page. With that in mind, make sure whatever you post is pleasant if seen more than once. Extreme, action-packed videos might appear exhausting when played over and over … Once you pull the file from your desktop, you’ll click “Next” where you’ll be asked to select from 10 thumbnail versions of your video. The thumbnail you choose will display for users who hover their cursor over your profile photo before visiting your full Business Page. Facebook Cover Video Examples Cover videos are a terrific option for the video-inclined, and brands across numerous industries have already taken advantage of it to hold their visitors’ attention. Here are some great cover videos to inspire you: REI REI sells outdoor equipment for activities like camping, hiking, running, boating, and biking. The company’s subtle cover video reflects its products, all in one peaceful time lapse of the scenery it knows its audience craves.

Nokia Nokia wants to be everywhere its users are — whether they’re paddle-boarding, scuba diving, skateboarding, or working. Its Facebook cover video embodies its core customer in a visually pleasing way.

WIRED Magazine When your publication changes as fast as the news cycle, it can be hard to keep your readers focused on the stories you feel deserve extra attention. WIRED Magazine uses its Facebook cover video for just this purpose, as shown in the example below.

HubSpot Academy Alright, maybe we’re biased, but our brilliant creative team crushed it with the video below, made for HubSpot Academy. Sometimes, animation is the best way to capture the essence of your brand.

As you can see from these examples, your video should be just as simple as a cover photo. Keep in mind the same guidelines outlined in best practice #1 apply to cover videos as well. Want to see how HubSpot uses Facebook? Like our Facebook Page here.

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source https://www.kadobeclothing.store/11-best-practices-for-facebook-cover-photos-videos-templates/

[paranoiakrp]

         CITIZEN FILE RETRIEVED: MAE JINSOL ...

STATS

name / mae jinsol d.o.b. / 10.31.93 age / 25 pronouns / he/him job / layabout societies / monstrous › possession groups / n/a

TW: violence, blood, infidelity, possession

WHATS YOUR WEIRD?

that mae jinsol. there’s something off about him.

have you heard? it wasn’t a cat that scratched up the mae family’s nanny. it was that jinsol boy. it’s so strange. he’s only ten, isn’t he? what could’ve possessed him. something’s not right with him. have you seen the way he stares?

have you heard? they say some kid fell out of the second story window, but nobody was playing. jinsol pushed him. and he just stared and stared, until the teacher pulled him out of the room.

have you heard? they say jinsol set his own house on fire. he’s so fucked. seriously.

have you heard? have you heard? have you heard?

jinsol has. to match the echoing inside of his own head. blackouts and waking up in the middle of the forest. clothes too thin, bare feet numb, arms torn raw from bramble bushes. an ache in his head. dried blood underneath his nails. it’s like sleepwalking, but worse. childhood memories suppressed. washed over in too many pills and the forced concept of religion.

an urge for violence that creeps up his spin. a reckless abandon. a will to catapult himself out of his own body. lost memories. lost time. a shift in setting, a shift in personality. his body moving unbidden (or is it bidden? maybe he’d like it to, after all). electrical surges and rattling objects and jinsol can’t remember any of it happening. 

mae jinsol has always been off. it’s hard not to be when he’s gripped with possession. when he shares his body with terror, uninvited.

WHATS YOUR STORY?

there’s a box locked away in a safe. inconspicuous. it holds too many papers. the carboard’s bent. a disfigured crumple near the edges. the safe’s locked away in the mae family home. an illustrious looking building. as illustrious as any building can be in a offshoot suburban sort or town. but the family is an important one, connected to the mayor. or, the man of the mae household is. mae youngchul. known for his charismatic nature and ability to put out fires while simultaneously sweeping anything less-than-pretty underneath the rug. no bones left out in the open in the soot-scattered aftermath. long buried in a makeshift grave, a toppled tombstone of easily palatable lies.

layered away are bundles of papers, documents. letters with thick, waxy letterheads. contracts and secrets spilled on fading ink.secrets meant to be kept out of sight. secrets that can be built up to construct the twisted life of mae jinsol.

it starts with a birth certificate. the first lie of jinsol’s life.

born to mae youngchul and kim kyunghee. 

the painstakingly handwritten letters underneath that immediately betray the truth of the situation. secretive whisperings drawn out at the tip of a pen. hidden romance. fun and games, and then not. then she’s pregnant. an apology letter. she’s unimportant in the grand scheme of the town. religious, despite being a married man’s mistress. infidelity, a sin. until you repent, then it never seems to count anymore. jinsol never really understood that. but he’s yet to be born, so it doesn’t matter what his slow-forming opinions are.

i think i need to keep the baby. i don’t have any other options. we need to place him in god’s hands. with all my love,

and here, the name is smudged. lost to time. but her name isn’t relevant to jinsol’s story anyway. mother by birth and not much else. not that it was her fault. not that he even knew for the grand majority of his life.

but with elaborate lies comes elaborate stories. 

the deed to a house, worn and water stained near the corners, in a provence shoved even further out in the countries. bowed apple trees and the promise of pure air ushered in on the coast of an ocean. the papers confirming that a sale has been made for the same property ten months later. 

pregnancy checks and health documents for a woman who is, decidedly, not kim kyunghee. but that’s not the story. the story around town is that her health was declining. she needed better air. more room. and she was spirited off while waiting for the baby to come. there are rumors, of course. some that circle around the truth, or accusations of plastic surgery. 

jinsol’s birth mother is a footnote. the legacy she leaves behind are suspect love letters, and a receipt for a hefty deposit placed into her bank account the day before she left town. 

wonder what happened?

but that question fades with time, too.

jinsol’s life is built from lies.

the house is sold, kyunghee returns with a wailing baby. colicky and fitful. he is hers. they all swear up and down. 

after that there’s paperwork and tax forms for a stay-in-home nanny. because it’s presumably hard to face a child your husband had out of wedlock. jinsol is passed off, and jinsol is largely unwanted. a man who’s focused on a career, a marriage broken and held together with layers of tape. his eyes still wander. despite his circumstances, jinsol is their only child. 

as he grows, his personality doesn’t mellow. he’s fickle and small. sickly, with wide eyes that read peculiar and unsettling when he stares. he has a temper. there’s a few scattered pictures of jinsol as a child in the box. posing awkwardly near his mother’s elbow. a length of space between them. discomfort, something that looks unnatural in a picture with a four year old. 

his nanny raises him. proof is in the forms tied tied with fraying rubber bands. documentation of what they’d done on the day-to-day, or if something went wrong. notes between her and his parents. 

there’s a home video of his birthday party at the park. the tape is scuffed and jumps with static. his parents aren’t there, but his nanny is along with a few similarly aged family members. he looks to be around seven, eight. he’s sitting in the grass, pulling up tufted handfuls while the other children jump and scream. eventually, fingers and hands climb up tp his head, press against ears. an angry expression. and a heavy toy truck locked in his grip as he winds his arm up and brings it down on top of the child nearest to him. the camera shakes, tumbles, clicks off.

the payments to the nanny stop by the time jinsol’s ten. 

there’s also a letter from the doctor, and another receipt for a large sum of money directed into another account.

a detailed account of pain and suffering, costs for potential cosmetic surgeries in the future. slivered gouges left by tiny nails in a fit of fury along arms and face and throat. 

why did you do it, jinsol? 

but jinsol doesn’t know. he’d wanted to, at the time. there’s a build up sometimes. something that compels him. he can’t remember it now, exactly. the sensation as a child. how very easy it was to give in. to let that curiosity for the macabre take over. but jinsol doesn’t remember a lot from his childhood. like spilled paint across a canvas. colors bleeding into each other, until it’s nothing but a blurry mass, a dependency on others’ second hand accounts. 

the lies build.

another receipt. a signed, makeshift contract. a payout to the head of a school and another teacher detailing a nondisclosure agreement. it was all a big accident, don’t you know? how that boy fell out of the second story window.

jinsol wasn’t smiling down at him at all.

gossip is diluted overtime. but strangeness sticks. 

he plays by himself in their home. there are only a few scattered pictures to document his life during this time. his crumpled, forgotten drawings are tucked away too. faces with gaping holes for eyes. intensely scribbled out masses of color. jagged lines, and trees that bubble bright with fire underneath a twelve year-olds unlearned hand. 

his dad tried to occupy his time. keep him out of trouble in a disinterested second-hand sort of way. there were days spent with family he was being pawned off on. and he’d turn a blind eye toward the next girl his father wanted to chase, a slow-growing understanding of infidelity that’s hard to nail down entirely as a child.

he’d get a playdate if they had a kid, too. 

more receipts. a fistful, by now. failing report cards when he got into high school. slips from the principal. missed blocks of classes, and one time jinsol didn’t come home for a week. didn’t go to school either. that time’s lost to a void, but most people called him a stubborn runaway. 

but jinsol never had many friends. just a reputation, and enough money doled out to him that he could pretend like he might’ve whenever he got lonely enough for it.

it was his third year of high school when he pushed the limits too far. when his father snapped. 

there’s another deed, for another house. bundled with it is an insurance payout. a chunk of small-town political documents that have the edges burned off, dusted with soot. the other’s are missing.

their home engulfed in flames. jinsol’s hands smelled like gasoline.

he’d been smiling. his father saw it. 

more lies.

it was a gas fire. a miracle everyone got out alive.

ignore the burnt tips of jinsol’s fingers, and ignore the charred edges of his bangs.

to ensure that this goes according to plan, send him away.

there are stubs for a train ticket, one way. a hospital far enough off where nobody might run into him. if they did, it would ruin everything. after all, his father told the town they sent him away, off to america to study abroad. a blatant lie, but what’s one more too add to the pile?

not that they discovered anything but a seemingly deranged teen. they gave him scripts anyway. enough to zone him out. a detached sort of consciousness. his father wasn’t okay with that, the no definitive answers (who cared about the pills). not for the typical reasons, like jinsol’s well being. he was angry, a destruction of his property and apparent documents. the tipping point, a selfish reaction. so he kept him there, under the supervision of a long-care doctor. 

three and a half years later, and they said he was cleared to go home. that he was cured. or as close as he could be.

there’s a medical report confirming this. confirming his lack of outbursts, that his leaning toward violence has diminished. that he keeps to himself. that the medication must have made a difference. that his father should keep him on this continued regimen. 

so he’s sent back. but whatever unholy thing inside of him isn’t gone. pulled away and dormant, a lulled state under a medical cocktail. 

it is, perhaps, unsurprising that eventually, jinsol weans himself off of them. the pills. handfuls of them stashed away in boxes and loose floorboards. but the act of this, along with the consequences, take drawn out years to come to fruition. there’s still that excuse, that he studied abroad. his suspicious lack of english language skills don’t add up well with the story, but he’s an outlier of a person now. who cares to ask?

for a while, he’s cured. strange still, perhaps. an intense desire for attention, something undoubtedly born from being removed from his life and removed from his own self. growing up all but estranged from his own parents. he spirals. 

another receipt, paid off small town police for parties thrown too loudly. he tries to make up for lost time, an added urgency of recklessness. 

it continues on. 

he’s forced into the small college in town, if only for an excuse that he should be doing something. his grades are still terrible. he’s not sure what he wants to do with himself. what he cares about. everything’s confusing.

and then it builds when the blackouts start again.

the beginning of the year, and a new snow dusted the ground. the crackle of dead, frozen grass underfoot. jinsol can feel it, because he isn’t wearing shoes. it burns through the soles of his feet. an ache he can’t escape. body shivering, a bag of bones clacking together unruly. swollen knuckles and a bloody nose in the middle of a meadow. 

he doesn’t know how he got there. 

but he doesn’t tell. he doesn’t want his father to send him back there. he doesn’t want to lose his mind again. not in that way.

he wakes up again two months later in his own bathroom. there’s blood on his hands, underneath his nails. pools of it across the floor. he scrubs everything down with bleach until his skin’s raw. body trembling. nauseous, inescapably nauseous. he’s already dry heaved six times, but it refuses to leave him.

he won’t tell.

more lies.

jinsol isn’t sure who he is. a collection of lies stitched together. a being that isn’t whole. a paper-doll cutout of a man.

but selfishly, he continues on. he reaches out, an attempt to grasp at people. anchor them to him. a strangeness settles over him. his own paranoia. his own doubt. shapeless memories, a voice that sounds like his own rocketing around his skull. goading and vile. 

jinsol can’t run from what’s in his own mind. 

it’s a secret.

but his father always loved secrets. maybe he’d be proud of him.

[readersforum]

11 Best Practices for Facebook Cover Photos & Videos [+ Templates]

New Post has been published on https://www.readersforum.tk/11-best-practices-for-facebook-cover-photos-videos-templates/

11 Best Practices for Facebook Cover Photos & Videos [+ Templates]

When people arrive at your Facebook Page, where do you think they first look?

I’ll give you some hints. It’s a visual piece of content that sits at the top of your Page. Its dimensions are 820 pixels wide by 312 pixels tall. It takes up almost a quarter of the screen on most desktop browsers.

That’s right — it’s your Facebook cover photo.

Sometimes called your Facebook banner, this graphic is one of the most noticeable parts of your Page. It’s therefore crucial that you follow Facebook cover photo best practices.

Facebook Cover Photo Size

Optimize your cover photo for the right dimensions: 820 pixels wide and 312 pixels tall for desktop, 640 pixels wide by 360 pixels tall for mobile. If your uploaded image is smaller than these dimensions, Facebook will stretch it to fit — making it look blurry.

Whether you’re using Facebook to generate leads, close your next sale, or create a customer community, knowing how to make and optimize your cover photo is very important. And when you consider the Facebook cover photo dimensions above, it can be tough to balance creativity with the requirements of the platform.

As you can see from the figure above, there’s a lot of space that you can risk cutting off of your final cover photo design depending on where your audience is viewing — mobile or desktop. Therefore, it’s best to focus the brunt of your content in that green space, where everyone can see your cover photo regardless of the device they’re using.

Need help getting started? Below, you’ll find 11 Facebook cover photo templates, and just as many best practices to guide you when designing your brand’s banner artwork. At the bottom of this post, find out how to turn your cover photo into a cover video, and check out a few examples to see what others have done.

11 Facebook Cover Photo Best Practices

1. Do abide by Facebook’s cover photo guidelines.

It seems like a no-brainer, but obeying Facebook guidelines is crucial to your Facebook Page existing in the first place. I’d highly suggest reading through the full Page Guidelines, but here are a few important things to keep in mind for your Facebook banner:

Your cover is public.

Covers can’t be deceptive, misleading, or infringe on anyone else’s copyright.

You can’t encourage people to upload your cover to their personal timelines.

If you get caught violating the above terms, Facebook could take action against your Page. And while Facebook doesn’t explicitly say what will happen if you violate their Page guidelines, it’s probably not smart to get your Facebook Page taken down over a cover photo infraction, so read the guidelines in full and adhere to them.

2. Do make sure your Facebook cover photo size is right.

As stated at the beginning of this article, the best Facebook banner size is 820 pixels wide by 312 pixels tall for computers, and 640 pixels wide by 360 pixels tall on mobile devices.

You don’t want to spend all this time designing a cover photo only to have it look weird when you upload it to Facebook.

If you upload an image smaller than those dimensions, Facebook will stretch it to fit the right size, as long as it’s at least 399 pixels wide and 150 pixels tall.

If you want a no-hassle way to make sure your cover photos are the right size, download our pre-sized template for Facebook cover photos here.

3. Don’t worry about the old ‘20% text’ rule, but still try to stay visual.

Back in 2013, Facebook removed any reference to the 20% rule on text in cover photos … but that doesn’t mean you should go wild with using text in your cover photo. The previous rule said that only 20% of your cover photo could be text. Personally, I thought that was way too restrictive for marketers, but the sentiment behind the rule was a good one.

If you’re going to use text in your cover photo, keep that text concise. Your photo will be much more informative and engaging. You can see how we’ve tried to strike that balance on HubSpot’s Facebook Page below.

4. Do give your cover image a focal point and colors that match your brand.

Think of your cover photo as the portion of your Page that’s “above the fold.” If it’s distracting or confusing, people will be more likely to click off the Page.

Many of the best Facebook cover photos include a centerpiece to focus visitors’ attention, along with a color scheme that aligns with the rest of their brand. Remember, your social media accounts are extensions of your business, and should give that impression to visitors right away.

They also use negative white (i.e., empty) space as an advantage to make the subject, any copy on there, and other elements unique to Facebook (like the CTA button on Facebook business Pages) stand out even more.

Here’s an example from Makr:

And one from social media management platform Sprout Social:

5. Don’t try to blend the contents of your cover photo with your profile picture.

With some clever design tweaks, you used to be able to manipulate your profile picture and cover photo so they appear as if they’re two parts of the same canvas. You can still do this on your personal profile, but Facebook no longer sets up Business Pages this way.

One of Paris’ former cover photos did this nicely:

Now, as shown in the examples earlier in this article, the profile picture is completely separate from the cover photo.

We admire your creativity, but don’t prepare your design this way if you haven’t yet launched a Business Page — you’ll be disappointed.

6. Do draw attention to the action buttons on the bottom right.

You might’ve noticed in a few of the cover photo examples above that their primary call-to-action (CTA) buttons were different. Makr’s says “Shop Now,” while Sprout Social’s says “Sign Up.”

Depending on your business, you can launch a Page on Facebook with a unique CTA button to the bottom right of your cover photo. Take this button into consideration when designing your cover photo, and make it clear in the photo that this is a visitor’s next step.

Hotel Urbano does this is a charming way below, using the girl in goggles to draw your eyes toward the buttons she seems to be swimming toward …

Note: While it might seem like a good idea to add directional cues like an arrow to get people to click on the CTA buttons, note that those CTA buttons don’t appear the same way on the mobile app. In other words, it might be confusing to mobile users if you directly integrate the cover photo design with the buttons.

I’ll show you how Business Pages look on mobile devices in just a minute.

7. Do right-align the objects in your cover photo.

Since your profile picture is on the left, you want to add some balance to your Facebook cover photo design by having the focus of the image be on the right.

Take a look at these cover photos. Which one looks more aesthetically pleasing?

Right-aligned focus:

Left-aligned focus:

Doesn’t the right-aligned cover photo look better? The biggest design elements (the profile picture, the text, and the Statue of Liberty) are evenly spaced. In Samsung’s old cover photo, your attention goes immediately to the left side of the page, completely missing the name of the product on the upper-right side.

Not only is adding balance a crucial element of design, but it also allows for your cover photos to be more visually effective on mobile. Which brings me to my next point …

8. Do keep mobile users in mind.

As of 2019, reports Statista, 96% of Facebook’s user base accesses the social network from mobile devices like smartphones and tablets. That’s huge — and it’s exactly why it’s so important to keep mobile users top-of-mind when designing your Facebook cover photo.

On mobile, a much larger portion of your cover photo is blocked out because the profile picture and the Page name are on top of the cover photo.

Image Credit: Twelveskip

Let’s take a look at a real-life example. Below, take a look at what Cisco’s Facebook Page looks like in a desktop browser versus on Facebook’s mobile app.

Desktop:

Mobile:

Notice that the sides of the photo are cut off on mobile. Whereas your cover photo displays at 820 pixels wide by 312 pixels tall on desktop, it displays only the center 640 pixels wide by 360 pixels tall on smartphones. Take a look at this Facebook help document for more information.

Notice, by the way, how the text in Adobe’s cover photo is cut off on the right-hand side. While it looks best to right-align your visual elements, be careful not to put important content so far to the right that it gets cut off on mobile.

9. Do include a shortened link in your cover photo description that aligns with your page CTA.

If you want to use your cover photo to support a Page CTA, make sure your cover photo description also includes a text CTA and link to the same offer. This way, any time people view your cover photo directly, they can access the download link.

Here’s this practice in action on Adobe’s Facebook Page:

Make sure you shorten your links and add UTM codes so you can track clicks on them. Shortening and tracking features are available in the HubSpot Marketing Platform and in tools like bitly.

(If you want to learn more about how to write effective call-to-action copy for your cover photo description, click here to download our free ebook on creating compelling CTAs.)

10. Do pin a related post right below your Facebook cover image.

Have you ever “pinned” a post to your Facebook Page’s Timeline? Basically, pinning a post allows you to highlight a typical Facebook post on the top of your Timeline for seven days. It’s signified by a small blue push pin on the top right of the post, like on Fashion Nova’s Page below:

How does this relate to optimizing your Facebook cover photo? Well, if you’re spending time aligning your Facebook Page CTA, your cover photo design, and your cover photo description copy, you should also make sure to post about the same thing directly to your page, and pin that post to the top of your Timeline.

That way, you’re giving people one very clear call-to-action when they arrive to your page (albeit in several different locations) — which should help conversions.

To pin a Facebook post: Simply publish the post to Facebook, then click the three dots on the top right corner of the post and choose “Pin to Top.”

11. Do consider publishing a Facebook cover video.

You read that right. Facebook Business Pages now have the option to add a video in lieu of a static cover photo, provided they meet certain requirements — which we dug up for you:

How to Make a Facebook Cover Video

Post a Facebook cover video by saving a video file at 820 pixels wide by 426 pixels tall to your desktop. Open your Facebook Business page, click “Change Cover” at the top-left of your cover photo, and select “Upload Photo/Video.” This allows you to format and publish the desktop file to your Facebook page.

Facebook currently supports cover videos that are between 20 and 90 seconds long, and a minimum of 820 pixels wide by 312 pixels tall. The maximum (and recommended) size is 820 by 462 pixels with a video resolution of 1080p.

Keep in mind that Facebook cover videos play on a loop — once it ends, it automatically starts over if the viewer is still on your Facebook page. With that in mind, make sure whatever you post is pleasant if seen more than once. Extreme, action-packed videos might appear exhausting when played over and over …

Once you pull the file from your desktop, you’ll click “Next” where you’ll be asked to select from 10 thumbnail versions of your video. The thumbnail you choose will display for users who hover their cursor over your profile photo before visiting your full Business Page.

Facebook Cover Video Examples

Cover videos are a terrific option for the video-inclined, and brands across numerous industries have already taken advantage of it to hold their visitors’ attention. Here are some great cover videos to inspire you:

REI

REI sells outdoor equipment for activities like camping, hiking, running, boating, and biking. The company’s subtle cover video reflects its products, all in one peaceful time lapse of the scenery it knows its audience craves.

Nokia

Nokia wants to be everywhere its users are — whether they’re paddle-boarding, scuba diving, skateboarding, or working. Its Facebook cover video embodies its core customer in a visually pleasing way.

WIRED Magazine

When your publication changes as fast as the news cycle, it can be hard to keep your readers focused on the stories you feel deserve extra attention. WIRED Magazine uses its Facebook cover video for just this purpose, as shown in the example below.

HubSpot Academy

Alright, maybe we’re biased, but our brilliant creative team crushed it with the video below, made for HubSpot Academy. Sometimes, animation is the best way to capture the essence of your brand.

As you can see from these examples, your video should be just as simple as a cover photo. Keep in mind the same guidelines outlined in best practice #1 apply to cover videos as well.

Want to see how HubSpot uses Facebook? Like our Facebook Page here.

[lordpiplup]

a real bad phanfic from ten thousand years ago when i was in my band phase

2,316 words

Three chapters

Old sfw

Titled ‘Inkluster’

Equation - Chapter One

In the arithmetic of love, one plus one equals everything, and two minus one equals nothing  

Words can be said as easily as ink spilling onto a blank canvas. You knock the ink over, because you're clumsy, and try to be more careful, but it doesn't work, and pretty soon the once blank canvas is saturated with the oily substance. The worst part is, you can't ever erase it, either.

The same ink stains the same places, and everyone you meet can stare at you in disgust because of how much ink you've spilled.

Dan had spilled his ink onto his canvas far too many times, however, and now his canvas was as dark as the night sky, and there was no sign of it ever getting cleaner.

But there was still a chance of it getting bluer.

-*-

flashback 20 years

"Philly, whatever are you doing?" Dan questioned and gestured towards the blank piece of paper in front of Phil.

"I'm drawing a picture," Phil giggled.

"What's it a picture of?"

"You and me,"

"And what are we doing in this picture, Philly?"

"We're sitting underneath a tree and holding hands,"

"Ooh can I look closer? Can I can I?"

Phil hummed in agreement as Dan leaned closer into the table. Dan began to point and exclaim about how good of an artist Phil was before Dan accidentally knocked a vessel of blank paint off the low-lying shelf and it spilled all over Phil's drawing.

"What did you do?!" Phil cried, "Dan why did you do that?"

"I-I didn't mean to, Philly, I was just t-trying to-" Dan began to sob as he collapsed onto the ground.

Phil wiped away his tears and joined Dan on the ground and wrapped him in his arms.

"It's okay, Dan, it was an accident," Phil started, "besides, someday it won't just be a picture". Phil lightly smiled as he heard Dan's sniffles decrease until they were replaced by a warm returned embrace.

"Okay," Dan mumbled, wiping tears from his eyes, "whatever you say, Philly".

Phil smiled once more and grabbed Dan's hand and pulled him up.

"Cmon! You can help me draw a new one!" Phil giggled.

"I'd like that very much, Philly".

-*-

Little did young Dan know at the time that he and Phil were nowhere near holding hands under a tree, because to both of them,

They were just friends.

The angel and the demon. 

Far Too Young To Die - Chapter Two

One stupid mistake can change everything

When someone decides to step outside of their comfort zone, it can either be a good or a bad thing. When someone decides to take it too far, it's always a bad thing.

Dan didn't know any better, though. He just decided that he spent too much time in his house and that he's missing out on the exciting aspects of life. Little did Dan know that the most exciting aspect of his life was in that house, but he refused to acknowledge it.

Neither did Phil.

-*- 

Phil POV

Phil already had a sick feeling in his stomach about tonight. Sure, he was glad that Dan decided to try something out, go do something new, but he didn't think that a party was the best way to do it.

Dan had a problem with drinking, and only Phil knew about it. He wouldn't go around sneaking bottles of vodka at 2 am, but especially when he was stressed, he couldn't keep his hands off of alcohol.

But none-the-less, Phil decided to brush off the bad feeling, because after all, nothing bad had happened from Dan's drinking, so why would something bad happen now?

Dan and Phil arrived the party with a grin plastered to their faces. They hesitantly went around shaking hands, and thanking the host of the party, Tyler, for inviting them.

Dan hadn't touched the alcohol yet, but Phil was still nervous.

Phil decided to socialize, make small talk with some of his old friends, and stayed mainly around the food table while doing so.

The night droned on, and the sky grew darker, and more dull. The party's volume increased, and soon there was yelling coming from all corners of the house. Phil didn't like all of the mayhem. He appreciated staying at home, with Dan, where they were safe. He appreciated the look on Dan's face when he said something stupid, or the grin playing his lips when Phil joked about Dan.

Phil loved Dan. He always knew that. He couldn't deny his feelings for him after so many sleepless nights he spent crying silently to himself about how he could never be with Dan.

But either way, Phil was happy he could spend his time with Dan, despite the rejection Phil saw in Dan's eyes.

As Phil was grazing the food table and congratulating a couple on their engagement, however, he noticed a certain brown haired boy sitting at the bar.

"Excuse me for a moment," Phil said to the couple, faces confused.

Phil raced towards the bar and set a hand on Dan's shoulder.

"Hmm...what?" Dan questioned with a hint of a slur.

"Dan are you sure you want to be drinking tonight?"

"Mmm, of course, Philip, besides I've only had a few...dozen shots or so,"

"Dan!" Phil scolded with his voice growing louder.

"C'mon Phil, loosen up, have a drink or two," Dan hiccuped and patted the seat next to him.

Phil hesitated but in the end agreed with Dan and concluded that he himself was being far too uptight. Phil had a shot. That shot turned into 5. Those shots turned into 15. Pretty soon Dan and Phil were hanging on each others shoulders from hysterical laughter over nothing.

The taste of alcohol burned in both of their throats and their vision went blurry and distorted, but they paid no mind to it.

After a while, Dan took Phil's hand and led him outside where they sat on a nearby bench.

"Dan?" Phil stated, carrying out the "a".

"What?"

"I think I love you,"

"Don't be ridiculous, Phil"

"I'm not! I think I really really like you Danny"

Dan stood up in fury as he dragged Phil towards their car.

As they were about to get into their car, the host, Tyler, caught up with them.

"Leaving so soon, guys? I thought you were having fun," Tyler said, with only a slight hint of a slur.

"Yeah," Dan started, "we decided we were going to go home and rest for a bit. It's been fun though, thanks,"

"But Dan you shouldn't be driving, you look like you're a bit too drunk for that,"

"No I'm as good as a gumdrop Tyler, bye"

Phil cringed at the phrase Dan just made but before he could recall the event, they were already in the car with the engine revving.

"Dan where are we going?"

"Home" Dan said sternly.

Dan POV

Phil didn't love Dan. Dan wouldn't believe any of it. Dan sure as hell didn't love Phil, so he decided with the slightest bit of sober left inside him, that he needed to take Phil home to clear his mind out.

They were driving shakily along the road when Phil asked, slightly louder than a whisper, "Dan...why don't you love me?". Dan sighed heavily  and proceeded to turn to Phil and say, "Because, Phil, I'm not gay".

"Neither am I!" Phil countered, "But I still love you".

"You know what, Phil, I'm done with all of this nonsense. You don't love me! Okay? I don't love you, and you don't love me, and that's how it's always going to be, so you have to listen to me and-"

Dan apparently didn't see the car hurling towards him.

All he saw was the blood dripping down the side of Phil's head, and all he heard was the sound of sirens, before everything went black.

Blue Moon - Chapter Three

We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love

Being dead is like having a lot of weight being taken off your shoulders, but at the same time the weight is ten times heavier.

Dan POV

All Dan remembered was the feeling of falling. Falling so far that it made his head spin faster than his body already was.

He fell for what seemed like hours, then days, then weeks, before he hit the ground. He felt no pain, he only felt confusion. Before Dan's eyes, there was an incredibly large, darkly lit room with hundreds of people sitting in chairs, either crying, reading a book, or just staring blankly into the ground.

Dan felt incredibly terrified of what was laid out before him. He began to back out of the room when two humongous masked figures shoved him forward, and with only a stiff grunt, motioned for him to sit in a chair.

He sat in that chair for approximately 5 hours, just staring at everyone and hyperventilating, while names were being called out every 10 seconds or so. (A/N just realized how much the last three paragraphs sound like school oops ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) Panic set in a long time ago for Dan, and the only thing that rewarded him was stinging eyes. The names being called now just sounded like a faint whirring noise in the back of his mind and only one thing was on Dan's mind,

I need Phil.

Dan gripped the side of his chair tight with his bony fingers and felt the pulse in his hand quicken. Where was Phil? His breathing quickened and he strained his neck out towards the impossibly long hallway to scan for a ocean eyed night sky who set his world on fire.

He glanced at the girl beside him. She had blue cotton-candy-like hair which rained down her back and a black T-shirt and pink paint-splattered jeans. She looked slightly younger than Dan telling by the style and the clear complexion. The girl simply seemed to be reading a small red book titled "Alice In Wonderland".

Dan then glanced to his other side to see a skinny boy his age, with curly dirty-blonde hair that fell over his face, and a T-shirt which modeled his thin size due to the bagginess of it. He wore black skinny jeans and Vans and seemed to be scribbling something on a piece of paper.

That boy at that moment decided to glance up at Dan. Dan could now see his smooth skinned face and bright blue eyes with a faint smile tugging at his thin lips. The boy held out his hand. Dan took it.

"Hello," the boy spoke with a variety of mixed accents which sounded cute together. "Hi."

"I'm Troye, who are you?"

"I'm Dan, nice to meet you."

"Same to you. So, what are you here for?"

"What even is 'here'?"

"You don't know?"

Dan shook his head slightly and tilted it afterwards.

"Well this may sound a bit delusional, but Dan, this is hell."

Dan stared at Troye for a few moments before he suddenly was clenching his stomach from laughing too hard. "You can't actually be serious?" Dan asked with a grin spread across his face.

"I am. I've already talked to the man who everyone's meeting when their name is called."

"And who is this man?"

"You'll have to find out for yourself."

"Okay," Dan sighed with a smile tugging at his lips, "So what are you here for?"

"Glad you asked," Troye began, "I shot a man in Los Angeles."

Dan blankly stared at Troye with a face of horror swept across him.

"I know, it's dark," Troye said, "but believe it or not, he asked for it."

"When was this?"

"Earlier today."

"Then how are you here right now?"

"I killed myself directly after I shot him."

"Why?"

"Because I love him."

"Then why did you kill him even if he asked for it?" "Because it was our only way to be together, because being gay isn't exactly the best thing to be with homophobic people constantly surrounding you."

"Yeah I get that."

"Pardon?"

"Oh nothing. What is his name? And where is he?"

"His name is Connor, and he was just called into the room but it takes a while to walk there and back."

"I would think so."

Dan's grip on the chair loosened and he relaxed into his seat. He quite liked Troye, he was easy to talk to, and easy on the eyes.

"What are you writing?" Dan asked and motioned towards the notepad and pen resting on Troye's lap.

"Oh just some song lyrics."

"Do you make music often?"

"Yeah I had a music career back when I was alive," Troye said with a chuckle, seemingly amused by the phrase.

"What was your name?"

"Oh I just went by Troye Sivan."

Dan's face lit up.

"Hey I think I've heard of you! Your music is really cool."

Troye blushed and dismissively waved his hand.

"You're too kind, thank you."

Dan smiled.

"So," Dan sighed, "we're in hell huh?"

"Yup! Any idea why you're here?"

"Not at all."

"Well, hopefully you'll figure it out soon because I see Connor and-"

I heard someone shouting "Troye!" in the distance and Troye shot up and ran for Connor.

I smiled silently to myself and hoped I could be with Phil soon.

I suddenly heard my name get called out from one of the overhead speakers saying, "Daniel James Howell of London please report to the office at the head of the room."

So I did as I was told.

[abi-box-scrapbook]

STIWDIO MAELOR 2016

It has been very cold in Corris and I have long forgotten what the tips of my fingers and toes feel like.  I have spent much of my time over the past two weeks improving my fire making skills and it turns out turpentine drenched paint rags make for wonderful firelights.  

I found myself in Corris this November as an artist in residence at Stiwdio Maelor, a modest is-what-it-is residency run by, artist and printmaker, Veronica Calarco.  Corris itself is a small village in North Wales, postcard picaresque and seemingly ninety-five percent made from slate, a local resource.  For coffee, wifi, and homemade seafood chowder, Adam & Andy’s cafe is thirty steps from Maelor’s front door and the Slaters Arms is a dozen steps in the other direction for beers.  And splendidly, that’s about it.  

At Maelor I was joined by writer Earl Livings from Melbourne Australia and visual artist Patrick Manning from Albuquerque New Mexico.  Ma friend Yuki Aruga and I shared the attic space together.  Yuki and I have known each other since we met as students at Camberwell Art College, and more recently we began sharing a studio together back in London.  In the second year of college, when we were also living together, we would spend our time eating ketchup and watching Back to the Future on repeat, and working alongside each other once again, we have found nothing much has changed.

Corris is surrounded by the hills and mountains of Snowdonia.  Yuki and I, plus new friend Rowboat, spent the first Sunday a short drive away, walking part way up Cadair Idris.  As the weather was grey, we didn’t reach the top and stopped at Llyn Cau, where we watched the wind drag hundreds of tiny waves from one side to the other.  While we stood imagining how deep the water might be, the clouds continued to follow us up the mountain and collect, hanging above the lake like steam above a big pot of stew.  Standing there in the wind, we regretted that on the way up, when we had become too hot, we had decided to leave all of our extra layers tied to a fence post, to collect on the way back down.  The weather was dull that day but the colours of autumn were dramatic and loud.

After a long while of working in a studio by myself, it has been refreshing to have another body of work developing alongside my own, as well as nice to have someone to say stuff out loud to.  This year, I have watched Yuki paint taxidermy birds and snakes amidst flowers and foliage, suspended midair they delicately comment on the passing of time, nostalgia… death and other topics related to experiencing existential crises.  My own work is rooted more so in the formalities of painting, although the content is undeniably based on landscape, I am more interested in how I can take it apart.  

While sharing the attic space, Yuki and I also wanted to do something vaguely collaborative, so we chose to keep a joint sketchbook diary, a sort of drawing conversation.  One drawing per day, responding somehow to what the other drew previously.  I found it constructive to have some form of combined and consistent thread running through our time on the residency.  The drawings mostly reflected on our day to day observations, the clouds that followed us on our trek up Cadair Idris, the crystal clear reflection of the trees at Llyn Cynwch, the glowing and slightly charred window of the stove, and the views we enjoyed through the van window driving between Corris and Dolgellau.  

   On our last evening, we did a show and tell, where we shared the picture conversation with Veronica, Earl and Patrick, and last minute special guest and previous Maelor resident, Jess Raby.  In all sharing our thoughts on the diary, it seemed the loose visual exchange seemed to compliment the string of short conversations we all seemed to have had at Maelor.  The words we exchanged when we were coming and going, while taking our muddy shoes off in the hallway or at breakfast waiting for the kettle to boil.  Along with a few lengthier and roaming conversations at the Slaters Arms.   

It was in these moments that we would hear from Patrick about his evening excursions.  Almost every dark wintery evening, Patrick went out walking to take long exposure photographs in the woods.  Bit by bit, we would hear from him about where he had headed, how cold it had been, how he had danced to keep warm!, how peaceful it was in the dark and the trouble he had been having with the windy conditions making some of the exposures blurry.  All the time, constructing in my imagination my own nighttime photography.  

At the show and tell we had the pleasure of seeing some of the images for real.  The dark is delicately infiltrated by the streetlights and the traffic in the distance.  If it were not for the long exposure there would have been very little light visible at all.  Given the time, though, in the photographs, the light gently interrupts and takes on new qualities.  In my favourite, the light appears through the trees like a molten gold lake.

Throughout our stay, we had all taken numerous walks through this landscape.  Often in quiet contemplation, though the tall creaky trees, over the broken slate, damp peat, and springy moss footing.  Yuki definitely thrives on the outdoors and would often go out wandering twice in one day.  I, on the other hand, require dragging out of the house, then, once we’re off, I can’t think of anything better.  I have always been this way given the option between going for walks and exploring or staying inside and making stuff.  I need reminding sometimes that the two go hand in hand.  Cue Yuki avec cattle prod.

    A lot of my recent sketches are full of vertical scribbly marks and look as though they were drawn using a seismograph, recording an earthquake of magnitude massive.  Connections like this alone have an effect on the way that I choose to hold and move my pencil, pen or brush, and in turn, also direct me in terms of what it is that I’m looking to paint from.  Lately, I have been on the lookout for mess.  In Corris, Yuki and I could walk out the front door and be surrounded by the woods in minutes, and the woods were messy.  Lots of the leaves had already fallen, so the trees were naked and spindly, and the branches and forest floor below, littered with the debris.  Across the valley, the terrain was mossy green, brown, ochre and burnt mauve, unevenly knitted together.  Reminding me again, of how much I like Andreas Eriksson’s rugged hand-woven yarn canvas’.  Another kind of mark entirely, I have had an urge to try this myself and I would like to work with these knotty and folded hills.

My work usually hops between sketchbook and canvas but lately, I have been relying more on sketchbooks.  Partly because I have done a lot of travelling and logistically they are easier to take out with me but also because, somewhat inexplicably, it is what I most feel like drawing in at the moment.  Possibly, it is the scribbly nature of my drawings which dictates this preference, scribbling is fast and on some level feels throwaway.

The underlying awareness, for a piece potentially being got rid of, destroyed or simply becoming unimportant on its completion has underpinned a few developments in my work over the past couple of years.  I painted a huge piece of canvas for Iavor Lubomirov, knowing that, ultimately, it would be cut up to become part of a series of collaborative painting-sculptures.  Then, on an earlier residency in Peru, I knew that, given the humidity of the Amazon Rainforest, a few of the paintings I did on sheets of acrylic would never dry in time to bring home.  I found a freedom in making this kind of work.  With the piece for Iavor, knowing that the final outcome was out of my control, I felt at ease taking more risks.  And with the short-lived paintings I made in Peru, the act became about putting down marks purely to encourage me to look harder, a kind of focus I am striving for constantly in all of my work, paradoxically even with the work I intend to keep.  

This might seem to infer that my work is indeed primarily about its subject matter.  Yet, as much as I am interested in looking, looking is also the means by which I arrive at any given composition and collection of marks.  Allowing observation to fully guide visual description, while remaining poetically detached from reality.  Plainly put, the harder I look, the more interesting my drawings and paintings are.

I joke that I make better, more interesting marks when I’m not looking at the page at all.  Yet, so often I find it to be true and for that reason I have been paying attention to it, looking for other ways to achieve a similar effect.  Drawing very quickly, unconsciously scrawling or drawing on top of textured surfaces, interrupting any hope of a straight line.  With these intentions in mind, the rules change again when considering working on canvas and on a larger scale.  At Maelor, I instead worked with the practicalities involved with using the smaller drawings to work from, attempting to reiterate as well as enlarge them onto canvas; finding that, re-articulating in paint, marks made with a biro, has its own set of complications.  

On our last weekend, John and Julie Box (me mum and dad) drove over from York with Rufus (dog) to walk with us one afternoon.  We had been recommended the Precipice Walk near Dolgellau.  Rufus went wild the whole time, which terrified me, as for most of the way round, on one side there is a drop, very steep and a long way down.  And Rufus did not seem concerned.  The nutter.  As we set off late afternoon, the sun was low in the sky, spilling a silver light across Cardigan Bay and all the way up the Afon Mawddach.  Fairly breathtaking.

Pulling into King’s Cross Station, I’m missing the views already.  Hwyl fawr!

Other Residencies

Other Trips