#only to create another brush problem..the texture on this thing is different

[xenomorphicdna]

I think, smacking Dreams' puppet over the head with a pole might not be a bad idea,,, problem is, actually getting close enough to hit him without being blasted with a death beam,,,,

Flames tho? He's my creechur, massive eyes and big ears, he's so confused

[strigeart]

Thank you very much, I'm not colour blind. My colours sensibility is 99% (I have just some problem whit some pale shade of green).

You say there are no signs of tanning on in the skin in the comic. There are not even signs of the almost deadly wound he received in the comic, there are any at all, and you know why?

Because, unless it is not specifically required in the screenwriting, the artist will do everything omogeneous to avoid mistakes in the future panels. It's very easy to forget a scar or a brush. You don't know how many times I forgot to draw something in a page and had to open the file to add it later.

Usually, you don't have the time to do so, so you draw it the simpler and omogeneous you can, to make the work simpler and faster.

The palette in the comic is very dark and desaturated, and Kanan has black hair!!!!

You can't use it as an example. Take the covers, maybe, but not certainly the panels, where the colours are all that relevant.

In Rebels Kanan, hairs are chestnut, not black. In the comic, they are black. That should close the case of the affidability of the comic as proof.

In The BB Caleb hair are the same colour of Kanan in Rebels.

The models don't show signs of tanning because, when you do a model, you use texture to color them, also, they literally wear always the same clothes. Kanan don't even have scars or bruises after 3 weeks (supposed) of tortures on Tarking Destroyer.

The colour of Kanan skin is one of a mild tanning. Is the same colour my husband gets in summer, and he's really pale.

Why I assumed you are American ? Because only Americans call people POC, to divide humans in races is something only them and other very racist populations do.

I have a friend from Tunisia who's the most pale person you can imagine. One of my classmate at art school had almost a transparent skin, natural p,atinum hair and very pale blue eyes, another have a pale rose skin, hair the colour of honey and ice grey eye. I'm often mistaken as Arabic in summer.

You say you are Mediterranean, but you remember me a girl who said "I'm Greek because my grandmother was from Greece and I can assure you Greek population is black!"

Ancient Greek, as already told you, define themselves as white, do did the Romans. All the Indo-European populations are white, and they are so since the beginning of history (that canonical starts from the invention of cuneiform writing).

There is a significant raise in pigmentation that only passed the equator. Up the equator, around the Mediterranean basin, you just find people who tan.

There may be some case of people who had darker pigmentation because of the South Saharian ancestor, but they are not the norm.

There aren’t such things as a brown person in the Mediterranean basin. That's just a racist concept that aims to create differences where there are none.

Caleb in TBB, in the winter environments of Kaller, is perfectly coherent with the Kanan who pass most of his time in the Middle East like planet of Lothal, where the sun is stronger!

You are just searching racism where there are none, proving to be racist yourself, classifying people regarding the shade of their skin.

Please, come to Italy and take a look at a foundation shelf. You'll find an amount of shade to drive you mad, and they're almost all for white skin. Just lately you can find some for black skin because immigrations during the last decades.

i will never get over this

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 42

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter

"Dude, you live like this?" 

Loki moved past where you stood frozen to the spot. 

"Technically, not anymore.” He shrugged and walked into the sleeping chambers to the left. 

The rooms Loki used to live in were bathed in the rays of the setting sun, coming through large windows and the balcony overlooking the golden city. Everything was grand and coated in riches, whether it be the plush cushions laid on the floor, or the masterfully woven rugs, so soft they felt like walking on clouds.

Stumbling further inside, you walked past a large sofa. You brushed the fabric with your hand, reveling in the silkiness. There were a few carved chairs and a small coffee table on the balcony. You wanted to sit out there and watch the view. Loki's rooms were located high up over the city, and allowed you to marvel over everything laid down below. You'd spend hours there, unable to tear your eyes away if only it was you who'd been born to all this wealth and grandeur. 

Standing there, careful not to be noticed from far below, you wondered how different your life would have been then. How different would it have been to have all those rooms in a completely separate section of the palace all for yourself, and getting tired just from walking from one end to another. To have shelves so packed with books that they almost sagged, and so many places obviously created for reading them in mind. To have staff clean the impossibly high windows and the plush carpet, so delicate it felt like murder to dirty it up. Or to have a dressing room overflowing with jewels and clothing so fine it made you realise how many official meetings must've required their use. 

Closing your eyes, you smelled the soft fragrance hanging in the air. 

It would be a life of wearing too-stiff, formally pressed jackets and boots always shining as if new. A life in rooms too big and too empty, no matter how many things you packed them with. A life that would make you discover all the secret passages through the palace and outside of it. A life that would make you learn tricks and magic just to entertain yourself even in solitude. One that would make you enjoy visiting other worlds, and learning their history just for the fake sense of belonging somewhere. 

You walked over to where Loki disappeared some time ago. 

The bedroom was large and dressed in easy, pastel colors with a few darker patches of green. The enchanted bag you brought with you was laying next to the perfectly made bed. Only two familiar legs were sticking from where Loki dived underneath it. 

You jumped onto the mattress and felt it bounce with wonderful softness. Rolling over the covers, you delighted in their flowery scent. 

"I'm no longer mad about why no room in the Tower suited you," you said. 

"I'm delighted to hear that." 

Cuddling a pillow, you wormed your way to the other end of the bed, curious about Loki's whereabouts. For all the noises and curses coming from underneath the bed, it seemed as if he were struggling.

"You okay there?" 

"Reaching into my spatial storage used to be easier when I was the size of an underfed pigeon. Can you get me out?" 

Standing behind him, you caught Loki by the feet and dragged him out. The box he was clutching to his chest didn't look remarkable, but neither did his bottomless bag, so you refrained from judging it just yet. 

You plopped onto the floor next to him, watching the magic open the locks. "It’s still there after all this time?" 

"I hid it in a pocket dimension," Loki said proudly. "A similar one to what my bag uses. Now, behold…" 

The box unclasped the last of the clips. There was a golden sheer to the surface of the box, shining through the curved, strange symbols along its edges. 

Loki raised the lid, and took out… a stone. 

"I'm not gonna lie, I expected something more dramatic," you said, weighing the stone in your hand. You could easily hide it in your palm. It had a nice texture, something between polished and rough, and was not as cold as a stone ought to be on its own. 

"Not everything about me has to be dramatic." 

You looked around, to the grand chandeliers hanging overhead. And to the minute details carved upon the furniture. And to the tiles laid in intricate, deliberate patterns that must've taken weeks to plan and execute. 

"...yeah, right."

You gladly gave it back to him. There was something about the stone that just made you uneasy. 

The box it was hidden in landed in the bag, just in case it was needed. Watching it disappear in the void gave you an idea that made a wicked smile blossom on your face. 

"Hey, Loki…" 

Holding his gaze, you slipped your jacket off your shoulders. 

Loki froze. 

"How much time do you think we have before anyone finds us here…?" 

He watched your jacket drop to the floor. 

"...a while, I'd wager," the words came out breathlessly. 

Blood was thrumming in his veins as you crossed the short distance between you. 

A shiver he couldn't quite control run down Loki's back as you leaned in. 

"Make me a pocket dimension - in my pocket, actually." 

Loki blinked. There were quite a lot of thoughts rushing through his head that made it difficult to focus on the jacket you held out to him with a hopeful expression. 

You saw his confusion. "It honestly never occurred to me how useful it would be, but being here, in this place, seems like a perfect opportunity. You said your magic gets weird on the Edge, but here it's free of its influence."

"That's true," Loki admitted carefully, taking the piece of clothing, still warm with life. "May I inquire what you plan on keeping in here?" 

"A sword." 

"What." 

"I want a sword. We've been sneaking around all these guards here, and they always have those really cool swords, and until today I wasn't even aware that I wanted a sword but I do. Really do. Please." 

Loki chuckled. He'd agree even if you weren't making such huge, pleading eyes to him, but it was not something he'd ever admit. 

"How do you feel about paying a little visit to the royal treasure of Asgard, then? I've heard a rumor about a few ancient swords laying there, gathering dust." 

The sheer joy that sparkled in your eyes might've been enough to stop his heart completely, were it not for the bone-crushing hug you closed him in. 

This was something he could definitely get used to, Loki thought, having his cheek kissed. Something definitely worth coming all the way back here, to this place of times long gone, despite the risk. Loki had no doubt that his life would become much more complicated were he to be discovered on palace grounds despite his exile. He could save you, probably, if he convinced everyone he had you under a spell, and had enough time to think of a good reason for that. A few guards wouldn't pose a problem, though - he only worried if they managed to set off the alarm before he knocked them out and-

A pointed cough interrupted his plans just as Loki was finishing the spell off. 

Loki looked at you. You looked at him. 

There was someone standing at the entrance to the room, poised in the final rays of sun breaking through the thin curtains. Someone with a love for dramatics. 

"I see you brought a friend, dear." 

The shiver ran down Loki's back, but for vastly different reasons this time. There were plans against the guards he could use to outsmart them. There were secret passages he might use to sneak through the palace grounds. There were excuses, lies, and half-truths that served him well enough in various instances. 

But none to be used in this one. 

"Hello, mother." 

Loki was not entirely certain why his voice came out so quiet. He was not in a very favorable position, still kneeling on the floor with you and weaving a spell over your pocket. There was little denying to be done about the fact he was supposed to be worlds away, on the very edge of the known universe and not in his old bedroom. Even if he tried, he doubted it would work. 

"It's been a while," he added firmly, with a tight-lipped smile only present for a moment. 

Queen Frigga wore a smile of her own, tugged into the corners of her rose-colored lips. It spoke of things she knew and things she could see, regardless of how hidden they were meant to be. It was not malicious, though - far from it, if one knew how to interpret it. 

She remained poised by the door, in a dress of soft pastel pink. There was little surprise on her face, despite how unusual it must've been to find her own exiled son back without any warning. She radiated calm, commandeered without a hint of doubt. Loki missed her warmth. 

"Mother, there is someone I'd like to introduce to you," Loki helped you up. "This is my-" 

"Oh, finally. If you waited any longer, I'd pay you a visit myself," Frigga cut him off lightly, embracing you gently. She smelled of roses and pine. 

Loki caught your petrified gaze, but wasn't sure what to do either. Being hugged was a better alternative to having the guards called, though. You could take it. 

"As delighted as I am to see you," Loki interrupted the moment carefully, "how did you know where to find us?" 

"Palace has eyes everywhere," the queen shrugged, looking you up and down. "Thankfully, your father only has one."

Loki connected the dots. 

"Heimdall it is then, after all. I knew that bastard would have a sudden change of heart just like that." 

Frigga sighed. Her hands were gentle and soft on your face. "Welcome to the family, love." 

"...um, thank you?" 

Loki masked his laugh with a cough. It was truly a refreshing sight, to have you rendered speechless within moments. He'd cherish that sight for a long time. 

"What about some tea?" the queen asked as if things were already settled. There was very little you would deny her, but Loki did anyway. 

"Time is not on our side, mother. We were only able to sneak out for a few hours, but every moment we risk having our little trip discovered by the Edge. The tension there is… growing." 

"Dear, that place was always full of trouble. Do you have a plan?" 

She switched her focus in an instant, with a frown set between her brows. 

"We do." 

There was pride she was not afraid to show when she stroked Loki's cheek. "I can't wait to hear about your success, then."

Loki took a deep breath. "Well, there's a tiny problem we have to solve before we go back there. There's something we need from the royal treasure…"

Your eyes lit up. 

Frigga smirked knowingly. 

"I suppose with your current status, it might be difficult to get you anywhere close to it," she admitted, already thinking about a way in. 

You nudged Loki in the ribs. "What about your bag?" 

"What?" 

"Get in the bag, and I'll get you through," you explained, sweating profusely under the queen's keen eyes. "No one knows me here." 

"That's a stupid idea." 

"I love it, though," Frigga clasped her hands. "Get in." 

"But we don't even know if-" 

"Loki."

"...yes, mother."

As much as you were proud of your idea, there was one thing that didn't occur to you. Once Loki was gone, the rooms became much more quiet. 

Holding the queen's stare didn't seem like a good idea. Avoiding it didn't either, though. 

The tension made your skin itch, prodding you to move, to do anything, and most likely something stupid. Thankfully, the woman was first to break it. 

"Shall we go?" she asked, stepping towards the door with a gentle smile. 

You didn't want to. You had no idea you'd feel this awkward, even when she was giving you no reason to. Taking the bag, you followed her near-silent steps. 

"I'm afraid we'll have to put you in some less flashy clothes," Frigga mentioned off-hand, walking through a luminous hallway. "Your face might not be recognized, but you might still stand out like this." 

Watching her flowing gown, you were inclined to agree. The palace was no place for jeans. 

Your body was no place for the strange fashion of Asgard either, or at least according to your body itself. Walking in clothes cut to a different fashion was only saved by how soft their fabric felt against your skin. Still, you followed the queen to the treasury, faithfully staying a step behind as any proper servant would, or so she claimed. 

There was no hesitation in her steps as she led you through hallways with high ceilings supported by thin, ornate columns. The stained glass of the widows refracted the sun into an artfully intricate mess of colors. The guards and members of palace staff passed you on your way, but they only bowed deeply to the queen, sharing very little of their attention with you. 

"How do you like it?" Frigga asked casually when you were out of anyone's earshot. 

"I mean, this whole place is… wow. Amazing. I wish I had more time to check everything out," you answered honestly, unsure of what the right thing was to say. 

"Would you like to stay?" 

It was an innocent question, or at least it would be under different circumstances. Here, in the middle of a palace, stranded on your own without Loki by your side, it was a question asked precisely because of those circumstances. 

"I'm afraid my schedule is quite busy right now. I've got a war to stop and a murderer to find - you know, just a casual Tuesday evening." 

"And what happens afterwards?" 

She didn't seem angry, and yet there must've been a reason for her curiosity. You looked down to the bag you were still holding. "That doesn't depend solely on me." 

Frigga didn't smile, but you couldn't feel any hostility from her. If anything, she seemed quite at peace. 

The double set of high, elaborately carved doors at the end of the corridor were undoubtedly a work of art and also heavy pieces of metal, magic and gold. It took the guards a few moments of strained breathing and groans to open them for you, but any thoughts about their job vanished as you followed the queen inside. 

Rows upon rows of shining crystals of all shapes and colors crowded one of the walls. Opposite it stood the mannequins in proud poses and heavy sets of armor. High as you could see, weapons of all sorts hanged from the hooks, capable of supporting a small army. Daggers and curved swords you could recognize, as well as the lances and halberds that made you wonder what kind of monsters had they been used against in the past. 

The huge battle axes caught your eye, but there was no way for you to even lift the ones almost your own height. Beyond them, on the long tables, laid gauntlets and helmets both winged and horned or with steel fangs like a beast's, and further in - even capes made of what looked like scales or monster hide. This was a place of legends you'd never heard. 

"See anything you like?" 

Lost in your thoughts, the queen's pleasant voice startled you and brought you back to reality. 

"Everything and I'm not even exaggerating. I could live in here."

Frigga walked by the neat rows of weaponry. "It's mostly family heirlooms and loot from all the great and shameful wars of the past. There are countless stories behind every one of them, but I don't think we came here for stories. What are you looking for?" 

"A sword. Loki said we could get one from here." 

"What kind of sword?" 

"...a sharp one?" 

"I take it you don't have much experience with them, then?" she chuckled. 

"My world favors guns." 

Frigga passed the first row and walked further into the treasury. The grandeur of large pieces changed into the showcase of precision and stealth as you looked at the countless thin blades, hooks and things you couldn't really name, let alone use. You considered letting Loki out of the bag, both to have him steer his mother back to the weapons you recognized, and to check on him. Making a spatial storage was a tricky thing, he had claimed after wondering if the air would still work normally inside of it. 

Before you got the chance to do that, the queen stopped in front of a plain gray case and opened it. 

"It's a shame so many of those have to spend centuries out of use," she blew the dust off a middle length sword with a slightly curved edge. "I hope this one will serve you well." 

The blade was tinted with gray, as if melted with ash. It didn't shine, which could come in handy during sneaking around. The handle laid in your hand as if it was always meant for you. 

"Once upon a time, it was called Windcleaver," Frigga looked at you with melancholy. "It'll never dull and never break." 

"Thank you," you breathed out. Tearing your eyes off the blade felt impossible. "It's marvelous. I only hope I won't cut my fingers off before I learn how to properly use it. Are you sure I can take it?" 

"What use does it have here?" the queen shrugged, gesturing to the immeasurable numbers in the treasury. "Besides, I've heard my son promised you one." 

You carefully put the sword into your magically imbued pocket. 

"Thank you, seriously," you said again. "For everything. We knew about the risk of coming here, so… thank you for not ratting us out? And, you know, giving me this cool sword. You're awesome. I'd vote for you." 

Although voting for anyone was not a practice often used on Asgard, queen Frigga appreciated the implied meaning anyway. 

"That's lovely to hear," she said as you left the treasury and headed wherever she wanted you to go. "Especially since, as far as I could see, you plan on staying with my son, correct?" 

"I mean, I literally crossed the universe with him, twice, so I guess I do? Look, sorry if I'm not precisely who you'd prefer for your son, but I like him, and I'm not going to pretend I don't." 

You left the palace grounds through what looked like one of the main gates. The road was a wide path with olive trees growing by the sides. There was an embarrassing amount of relief you felt noticing the Bifrost getting closer instead of the dungeons. 

"Asgard is a beautiful place in many ways," Frigga broke the silence after a while. "People are happy and live in prosperity, especially on the palace grounds. But life, even here, is far from perfect. Things happen, and we can do little to control the damage they wreak upon us," she looked at you. In the dimming sun and the lanterns slowly coming back to life as you followed the road, the queen looked every bit the royal she was. "I'm glad that my son won't have to go through whatever happens alone anymore." 

Speechless, you followed her over the bridge and to the round observatory at its very end. Frigga approached Heimdall, speaking in hushed voices, meanwhile you watched Loki crawl out of the bag. With a groan, he slumped to the floor, mostly unharmed, if only a little yellow on the face. 

You patted his cheek, waiting for a reaction. "You good? How was it?" 

"...I'm never doing that again." 

"What if I pay you? I've got like—" you fished in your pocket. "Three dollars, a stick of gum, and a sword." 

"You got a sword?" that seemed to raise his attention as he pushed himself on the elbows. 

"Your mom found me one. She's really cool." 

Loki looked over to the queen conversing quietly with Heimdall. She looked the same as the day he'd been exiled. "She is." 

As Heimdall moved to ready the Bifrost, Frigga approached the two of you, embracing Loki tightly. You were aware of what happened in the past in general, but seeing the consequences of it from up so close put a weight on your chest. Switching worlds for the sake of a mission was a very different thing from being completely banned from your own home planet and leaving it for the final time knowing that you won't be able to see your family of any of your friends and places you grew up in ever again, and even you were slowly growing homesick already. Watching Loki say his final goodbye reminded you of how strong that feeling must be in him. 

"Thank you for helping us." He stepped away. "We were lucky to be found by you."

"Actually…," you hated to step in the moment, "we kind of need to push on that luck a bit more. I really don't want to come off as ungrateful, but we really need a tiny, little visit to Earth too."

"Just for a minute. Maybe two," Loki solemnly swore, remembering your completely-not-sketchy plan. 

"We just need to grab some-… thing," you added to the rising suspicion of Heimdall. "Stopping a war is not an easy thing, you know." 

With a heavy sigh of the queen, a nauseating trip across the universe and back, a tiny case of abduction, Loki and you finally found yourselves back in the familiar mud of the Edge, its stars shining just as bright as when you left it. So much has happened since you were last in the obscure forest of gnarled trees, that it felt like weeks instead of hours. You could say that thankfully, nothing seemed to have changed during your absence, but that would be a lie.

The two of you stared at the Rift. It was still a seething wound in the fabric of the universe, and just as awfully wrong as you remembered, but also - significantly smaller.

"Do you think it's because of the Bifrost?" you voiced Loki's thoughts.

"The amount of energy released by the bridge shouldn't be enough to make such a change, but… I can't see how it can be anything else?"

"So we just ignore it and pretend we haven't been even close to it?"

"Yup."

"I like that plan."

"How about we walk a little away from this floating rip of void while we're at it? I think it would be the wisest if the boy didn't see it just yet. We don't have the time to explain everything to him," Loki gestured to the bag. 

You followed him deeper into the woods, grateful to finally reach the part where life was growing back. It was a relief to leave the muddy, dusty circle of death and despair the Rift created around itself as it sucked all the energy from whatever dared to live nearby. Further away, the Edge showed off its true colors, with wild flowers blooming in tangled masses hanging overhead from the winding branches of trees that had no names. Butterflies with three sets of feathery wings crossed your path in a shimmering cloud.

"This should be far enough," Loki judged, finally putting the bag on the moss. "I still can't believe that Heimdall agreed to this."

"I can't believe your mother agreed to this."

"If you lived in the palace, you'd know first-hand what ideas she's capable of on her own…"

Loki knelt next to the bag and reached down into its depths to bring out a boy. 

The boy was no ordinary thing, both by his clothing and his abilities you were greatly interested in. The bright blue-and-red costume hid very little of how deeply in shock he was over his sudden change of settings, world, and, apparently, plans for the evening. 

He rubbed the yellow and green moss and stared at the feathery butterflies circling overhead. 

"Have I- Have I just been abducted?" Peter voiced his confusion in a dangerously high voice. 

"I'd say so, and since he's technically an alien," you pointed at Loki, "you've got the full pack."

"This is awesome!" 

Peter springed to his feet and proceeded to jump around and touch every single thing around him, startling even more butterflies into hurried flight. 

"I told you he'd love it here." 

"I never doubted it. My only concern remains over his discretion, though," Loki smiled gently, looking at the boy freaking out over the flowers, moss, ground, trees and everything alive and currently running away from him. 

"He'll do well. Hey, Peter," you said louder, "we kinda need your assistance." 

He was at your side in a flash, with hands shaking and eyes wild. "Of course! I knew you'd come back for me, guys, thank you so much, I'll do whatever I have to!" 

Explaining your half-made plan to the boy constantly jumping between hugging both of you and getting distracted by literally everything around him took you a moment. You only hoped he'd remember your words. 

In the end, Loki took the runestone out of his pocket and handed it to Peter. 

"Ten minutes ago I was eating a kebab on a rooftop and now I'm doing magic," the boy cheered. "This is great." 

"Now, focus," Loki snapped his fingers, grabbing a churned, black stone he found in the corpse of the monstrous spider that attacked you. 

Loki gently pressed the stones together and watched them start to glow. 

"You'll have to follow the light and not be noticed," he said, pocketing the spider's remains again. "It should take you straight to the person who wanted us dead enough to cast the curse. Once you find them, you get back straight to us, do you understand? There's a castle behind you and our rooms are right there, over those roses blooming-" 

"There's even a castle? I'm not leaving this place," Peter jumped on a nearby tree to see the palace better. 

Loki sighed, appreciating the hand you rubbed his arm with. 

"I'm having second thoughts if this actually is a good plan," he admitted, too quietly for the boy to hear. 

"We don't really have a choice. You said it yourself, that we'll be closely guarded. After that fight yesterday, they won't let us just roam the palace freely. And we need to know who's working against us." 

Loki nodded, painfully aware of all that. Still, it didn't sit well with him to have the boy involved in  such danger. The Edge had always been a violent place, and with the recent events, that tendency only deepened. 

"Be careful, boy," he said, once Peter was calm enough to listen. "I know we haven't explained this plan with you, but… We really need you." 

Anyone who didn’t know Peter well would think that there were tears of joy running down his face as he put on his mask and disappeared among the trees heading to the palace. Anyone who knew him well would know it was true. 

"Stop worrying," you nudged Loki. "Even if someone catches him, they won't hurt him. Besides, look at him go. He's got it. This is the perfect ground for someone with his abilities." 

"I'm not worried," Loki scoffed and crossed his arms in a very unconvincing gesture. "I just can't wait to find out who's our enemy. And if the court will side with us."

"Heimdall would see it, right? He'd help us if things go very south very fast?"

"I'd like to think so, but the only thing he can do is to inform the guards and leave the decision to my fa-... the king. I'm not sure what he'll do. This whole mission was supposed to let Asgard avoid getting any further involvement with the Edge."

So encouraging.

"I see. So how about we sneak back into our rooms before Faroq and his guards notice we're gone? Or even better - find Peter in our place, already having found that nasty spellcaster."

Loki let his imagination run wild. "...let us go indeed."

It was a good not-exactly-a-plan. Sure, it was a hasty job, written almost entirely on the go and with little thought of alternatives, had the things not worked out. But since it had taken you both to the ends of the universe and back (even with a quick stop midway for a tiny little child abduction), you wouldn't be so ungrateful as to say your not-a-plan sucked. 

A few minutes later, you were sadly forced to change your mind, as you were met with drawn out swords and even sharper stares aimed at you. The guards were posted right on the edge of the forest, where it turned into a little more tamed part of the gardens, and shedding any cover it might've granted you.

A woman in a blood red uniform stepped towards you with a scowl. "You're both under arrest. Do not move."

"That sounds a little harsh for breaking a house arrest," Loki calmly observed, moving to stand slightly between you and her. 

Your hand slipped towards your pocket and a certain gift it held.

The guard spit on the ground. "Not enough for the murderers, though."

Loki and you froze. That was new.

"Could we get some more details about what that guy just said or...?"

The woman looked at you suspiciously. She did not lower her sword, nor did she order the other guards to stand down. 

"Don't act like you haven't murdered them," she only barked out.

"As much as you don't believe us, we have no idea what you-"

"Bodies have been found a few hours ago," she cut Loki off. "A few families, living on the other side of the river. Their lives have already fed the nearby Rifts. Are you happy now?"

Far from it, you wanted to tell her and all the guards nervously waiting for the orders. If need be, they'd cut you down without a hint of regret - you could see it on their faces, in the stern looks and tense shoulders. It wasn't a question of what was the truth behind the murders. The only thing that mattered now was how well you had just been framed.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Canvas

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook 

Word Count: 1,470

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An accompanying drabble to The Holi-Date. This drabble takes place after the events of The Holi-Date and follows Jungkook (a side character) + attending an art class and drawing nude models. 

[ PART OF MY JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY DRABBLE GAME ]

Adjusting the easel before him with one hand, Jungkook concentrated on the blank sheet of canvas and not on what lay beyond.

An entirely nude model spread out on the chaise.

Jungkook had decided to take this class on a whim; it had been recommended to him by Taehyung and really, he should’ve known better. Taehyung tended to have a chaotic streak masked beneath that uber-straight-faced exterior. Still, when Jungkook had mentioned wanting to try out an art class, in order to better understand the work he curated, he had never suspected Taehyung might lead him this far astray.

It wasn’t that Jungkook had a problem with nudity, per se. He was fine with it and obviously, he liked being naked with certain people, but to have a stranger so brazenly displayed like the model before him – Jungkook couldn’t help it; he blushed.

Dabbing his paintbrush in the cup of water before him, Jungkook chanced another glance at the model.

She was attractive, which he found to be part of the problem. At the start of the class, their instructor had recommended separating the model from their painting, but Jungkook found this advice to be somewhat contrary. His favorite works at the museum were those which captured the humanity of their subject; those which solidified the intangible with paint.

It was one thing to accurately display a likeness on canvas. It was another thing entirely to convey a soul, to grant another person insight through a window unseen.

Hesitant, Jungkook lifted his gaze from the canvas again.

The model’s gaze remained fixated on a point over his head and somehow, this made Jungkook relax just a little. Oddly enough, he felt like he was the one on display, not the model. The fact that she was entirely open about her nakedness wasn’t what made Jungkook embarrassed. More embarrassing was the fact that looking at her made Jungkook realize he could never do the same.

Frowning at this, Jungkook fiddled with his brush. When he glanced to either side, he saw both of his neighbors were well underway. It seemed no one else had spent the first twenty minutes of class having an existential crisis over the fact that they’d never dropped trou for a room full of people.

Forcing himself to look once more at the model, Jungkook refused to blink until his eyes watered a bit. He made himself see her – truly see her – until some of the novelty began to wear off.

There; that felt a bit better.

Teeth gritted, he bent and made his first broad stroke on canvas. The teacher had gone over different techniques at the beginning of class; how to hold their brush, how to angle their bristles to create different textures. How fast you needed to paint at some points of the painting; how slowly at others.

From what Jungkook had gathered, this wasn’t a beginner’s class. Again, he cursed Kim Taehyung in his mind. Well, Taehyung would see who got the last laugh when Jungkook banished Vante’s next exhibit to the museum’s back alley, or something.

Actually – Jungkook tilted his head. He might be onto something there.

A teaching assistant had set up their easel before him, showcasing the students how he laid out the model on canvas. Jungkook glanced at this for a moment before he finally began.

In time, his wrist gradually loosened, posture relaxing as Jungkook fell into a rhythm between brush and canvas. He grew less awkward with each glance at the model until eventually, his gaze was as bold as she’d been when she dropped her robe.

By the end of the hour, Jungkook had to shake himself free when the instructor called for them to stop.

“Paintbrushes down!” she said, clapping her hands. “I’ll see you all back here next week to continue – please place your canvases on the drying racks in the next room. You should clean up your stations according to the instructions on the board. Thank you!”

Jungkook busied himself with said instructions and by the end, he felt vaguely pleased as he untied his apron. His painting wasn’t the best in the room, but it was by no means the worst among those on the drying racks.

Assuaged by this fact, Jungkook adjusted his sweatshirt as he turned, nearly tripping when he ran into the model behind him.

“Oh!” he blurted, hair flopping forward as he straightened himself. “S-sorry!”

Noticing his stammer, the model just smiled. “It’s okay,” she laughed, ducking her head. “I kind of snuck up on you there.”

“I – well, yeah,” Jungkook said, a bit embarrassed.

He forced himself to look only at her eyes, and not on the curves he knew lay beneath her clothes. The determined way he stared must have given him away though, since she knowingly smiled and – oddly enough – did not look displeased.

Jungkook belatedly registered this.

“This was your first time in class, right?” she asked with a slight tilt of her head. “I don’t remember seeing you here before.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook managed to nod. “I’ve actually uh, never taken an art class before… I only draw in my spare time. When I have the time, that is. I’m a curator at the Art Museum? Do you know it?”

Looking vaguely amused by his question, she nodded.

Jungkook nearly face-palmed. Of course, she knew it – this woman modeled for a fucking art class. Cheeks feeling about the same temperature as the sun, Jungkook wished the earth would open and swallow him whole.

Unfortunately, the earth refused to listen and remained stubbornly solid.

“Anyways,” she said, tucking her bag close to her chest. “You’ve got a really solid attention span. Very focused. Very deep.”

The corner of her mouth quirked, as though she were laughing with him, not at him and Jungkook felt a strange sort of buzz in the back of his throat. Was she flirting with him? The answer seemed like yes, but Jungkook had left the museum so little recently, it had become hard to tell. Everything about dating felt rusty and strange.

Hell, he hadn’t even managed to work up the courage to ask out the girl he had a crush on. Admittedly, Mina had just broken up with her dickwad fiancé and was in no place to date, but Jungkook wouldn’t even know how to go about asking her out if he wanted.

Eyeing the model before him, Jungkook straightened his spine. She seemed nice, was very pretty and had actually sought him out at the end of the class. Jungkook usually wasn’t the type to casually date, but wasn’t that why he’d sought out this class in the first place? To broaden his horizons, try something new and gain different experiences.

“I didn’t think that you’d notice,” he finally said with a smile. “You were so busy staring at the wall over my head.”

“You really were absorbed in your painting, huh?” Gently, she laughed. “I was actually scolded by my boss for missing the time I was supposed to turn.”

Jungkook blinked. “Turn?”

“Mhm,” she said with a conspiratorial wink. “I’m supposed to turn around halfway through class. I didn’t, though. I wanted to keep facing you.”

Jungkook found his mouth had gone suddenly dry. “You did?”

He was aware he sounded a bit like a parrot, but he’d never been very good at the small talk thing. Give Jungkook a museum and he could talk your ear off, but every day wordplay and chitchat? No good. 

Maybe he could get better, though.

“Yeah,” she said, fiddling again with her bag. “I saw your painting of me and thought it was nice!” Bashful, she smiled. “Will you be here again next week?”

Jungkook, who had been at the start of class seriously considering not returning, felt something entirely different unfold in his chest.

“Yeah,” he said, hair falling into his gaze when he nodded. “I think that I will.”

She smiled and turned, walking out the door and Jungkook was left all alone in the room. He fixated on the podium for a moment, wondering if he’d ever feel bold enough to be a model himself.

It seemed near-impossible, but then again, Jungkook would’ve deemed this entire class to be impossible mere hours ago. He’d been stuck in the same place for so long that any sort of change seemed inconceivable. That didn’t mean it couldn’t happen, though – after all, two new things had happened to him in one day. Who was he to say what would happen tomorrow?

Feeling slightly more excited about next week’s class, Jungkook turned on his heel and he walked out the door.

© kpopfanfictrash, 2020. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[buzzcutlip]

The virus and quaranteening have made us do unthinkable things. Here I am, posting a very self-indulgent piece. I wrote it purely for my own entertainment, then I read @wyn-dixie ‘s posts, had a chat with her, and she’s actually helped me to not overthink fanfiction and to publish the story. It might brighten up someone’s day after all :) So here’s one for the lovely O! Please if you don’t like this sort of real person x reader stories, then don’t read it.

The Kiss Pedro P*scal x you

You tilt your head down to peer at Donkey; his coat tickles. You rub your nose sleepily. The late afternoon light is coming to the room through the cream-coloured curtains. The sofa is soft and the blanket is cocooning your body perfectly. You feel comfortable and groggy, ready to fall asleep again but fighting it.

When you look up, Pedro’s brown eyes are trained to your face. You don’t know what to do with that. He’s wearing a plan gray t-shirt with no logos and jersey shorts. And he'd gone out like that, you almost scoff. As usual, his overgrown hair is a mess. Pedro doesn’t deny to you anymore that he knows how to style it.

“He’s a good sleeping partner, isn’t he?” Pedro says, crouching down next to the sofa, getting into your immediate proximity. Before you have a chance to say something back, Donkey’s ears twitch and he lifts up his head.

Pedro lets out a quiet laugh, stroking his head that’s popping out from under the blanket. Donkey licks his hand lovingly, then jumps down to the floor in a second

Without the dog, the atmosphere changes to heavier right away.

“I bought some strawberries and apples,” Pedro says, glancing over his shoulder, probably to the kitchen area. You nod, not knowing what to reply. This is his apartment.

He shuffles on his feet awkwardly, and you can’t believe that a grown up man can get this self-conscious. You don’t know Pedro like this. Well, not really.

“I’m sorry for before.” The situation is ridiculous. Him, standing by the sofa, looking as a stranger at his own place. You, just having woken up from napping on his sofa. “It’s fine. I’m sorry too.” You keep the words carefully neutral. You are not lying. “I shouldn’t have left like that.” “You needed space.” “I should have said something.” “I whish you had,” you admit, looking down at the blanket, picking up at the loose strings coming off of it. You don’t want to cry, but you feel how heavy the moment is. You are not used to having these talks. Normally it’s all jokes and laughs. You are good friends. If sometimes you think of his hands on you in different ways than throwing you into the swimming pool or tickling you while watching a serious movie, then it’s your own problem. Pedro crouches down again, and you want to point out that Donkey is not here anymore, but this time he reaches for you, laying his hand softly on the crown of your head, his thumb resting on the top of your forehead. He strokes you gently, in the most intimate manner. Your breath hitches in your chest. You don’t do this either. You are affectionate but not like this; actions heavy with maybes and ifs. “I- ,”you breath out before cutting yourself off, not really knowing what you want to say. He’s still looking at you, and his lovely brown eyes are soft and searching. “Pedro,” you say, getting up on your elbow. There’s hair stuck to the side of your face, and before you have a chance to unstuck it from your cheek, he does it for you. Your eyes flutter shut of a moment, heart hammering. “What are you doing?” you whisper. This is not an accident, and you are not reading too much to Pedro’s actions. This is simply not how you behave around each other normally. With a bold move, you take his large hand into yours, squeezing his fingers that had been in your hair just seconds ago. You can hear Donkey drinking from his bowl in the kitchen, and faint noises from the street below. Otherwise it’s quiet; the time is still. To lighten up the situation, you reach and grip his stubbly chin lightly, huffing a nervous laugh. He parts his lips on a soft exhale, the air hitting your own face, and your eyes are forced to flick there. When you dare to glance up at Pedro, he’s looking at your own mouth. Face flushing instantly, you fight not to squirm with unease, completely lost for words. “Can I kiss you?” Pedro says, finally looking up from your lips and meeting your eyes. You bite your lip. Oh god. “Yes.” Pedro shuffles, kneeling up, while you fully sit up. The moves bring your faces much closer, and you can’t believe that you’ve lived up to this moment. One that you had been scared to ever dream about. But you have. More so since the night of the stupid “spin the bottle” game. Boldly, you lean in first, impatient to snap the tension that’s grown around you. You can smell his Loewe cologne and the familiar laundry detergent, as you place a very light kiss on his right cheek. It’s not so about the mouth on mouth action - it’s about the anticipation, the closeness, the way how the bond between you is breaking and being put together again in a slightly different way. Pedro lifts up your connected hands and kisses the top your knuckles, while you are watching him to do so. Then he laces your fingers together. That crease between his brows appears, as if linking your hands was some kind of a scientific equation; as if you were one. Your fingertips slide against each others, and you wonder if you will ever have the chance to map the veins and knuckles with your tongue. Pedro’s breating has grown deeper, you can tell from the way his chest expanses and deflates, brushing against your upper arm. You take in his broad shoulders and his long throat. It looks vulnerable this close up, the thin skin flushed and soft. The next kiss lands there, just to the left from his Adam’s apple. You linger there this time, putting off meeting his eyes again, having him look at you and see what’s showing on your face. You are not an actress with the ability to guard your expression. The skin of his neck is hot against your lips, and after two or three pecks, you open your mouth slightly to get more taste. Pedro inhales sharply, and you literally feel the sound that revibrates through his throat. He tilts his head and kisses your temple, your hairline. It’s sweet and innocent and perfect, being so close to Pedro is also intoxicating. Your touches grow bolder and you stroke his arms and lay a hand on his chest, his heart hammering under it. Pedro tucks your hair behind your ears, brushes his thumbs against your jaw and ear lobes. He stalls there, mouthing softly against the ear shell. Thousands of goosebumps break out everywhere on your body, the hairs on your arms erecting. You accidentally let out a helpless sound, and you can feel Pedro smile against your cheek in return. “Are we kissing yet?” he asks, voice innocent but laced with something darker. You hum, not daring to speak out loud. His mouth is so close. “I just-” you murmur, careful not to brush your lips against his cheek. It would be so easy. “I want to postpone the first kiss a bit,” you explain. “You know, there’s only one first kiss. And I’ve been waiting long enough. I want to stretch out the anticipation.” This was way too honest, you realise. On the other side - Pedro wants to kiss you too. There’s nothing to hide anymore, and you might as well take a full advantage of the situation. And stating the truth - that’s just very you. “Right,” Pedro nods. “I get it.” He is a good boy, not moving an inch, letting you take the lead and do as you please. You kiss the corner of his jaw and then closer to his chin, up his cheek on the point of his cheek bones. His stubble is rough against your lips but you don’t mind. Pedro lets out a content sigh and hangs his head low, letting you work. You tilt his face with a gentle hand to his jaw, turning it and repeating your motions. Kiss to the jaw, kiss to the cheek. One kiss to the corner of Pedro’s mouth and another one even closer. His hand is warm when he lays it to your bare forearm. That’s when you decide to press a single peck to his mouth. Then once more. A dry kiss. When you open your eyes and lean back, Pedro is looking at you. “Good?” you check with a little smile, and he smiles back. You both lean in this time, trading a few longer, close-mouthed kisses. You concentrate on the texture of Pedro’s lips under yours. They are a bit chapped and very very warm, burning against yours. Cupping his face, you run the tips of your fingers through his beard. Just the fact that you CAN is - liberating. His skin smells different from his clothes, that you are used to. More like him; like flesh and sweat and moisturizer. “Will you let me taste you?” It’s Pedro who speaks up now. His words catch you by a surprise. Used to his sweet moderation, this is unexpected, making your cheeks heat up. After a short nod, Pedro palms your cheek and brings your face close to his. This time you part your lips when your mouths meet, catching the corner of Pedro’s bottom lip between yours. It takes only a few seconds before you coordinate your moves. You touch your tongue to Pedro’s instinctivelly, as soon as you feel it against your top lip. The tiny point of a connection sends a powerful spark through your body. You can’t contain the sharp intake of breath as you kiss carefully, your free hand slipping in Pedro’s soft curls. Your other hand is still holding his, palms sweaty. The taste of him is intoxicating. Better than anything else. As the kiss deepens, you pull him on the sofa by his shoulders. Chuckling, Pedro goes willingly and you catch his eyes in the process. His neck is flushed, matching the colour of your cheeks, his lips already look swollen. Or you want them to be. You accommodate his narrow hips between your thighs, the woolen blanket creating an additional barrier between your groins. Pedro leans down and kisses under your jaw. “Sweet,” he murmurs.

[shorkbrian]

Yoooooooo idk if youve done this before buuuuut im always thorsty for alien!readers :))) but could you do an alien!reader with anyone or all of fdom the bakusquad. Cant get enough from themmmm

Bro I’ve been sitting on this FOREVER cause like??? alien reader is such a broad request. Like - what kind of alien? Idek.

So I’m just gonna say that reader is similar to Mina (except instead of acid, it’s sweet smelling liquid that turns into a vapor after a second - calms people down), and took Mina’s place in class 1-A.

(Warnings - NSFW, noncon, reader is intersex. Intersex peeps have a rough time, and ik a lot of questions are ALWAYS asked and people are so invasive and rude, and I’m so, so sorry. Like bruh it’s just another way of having a body... pls do not make it into something it is not. Poor reader takes the blame for the noncon, lots of self-deprecation bc intersex ppl get told a lot that they're “alien” or that they’re different and that's bad - Which it so totally is not!!! Differences are cool!! Anyways, read at your own discretion y’all)

Now, in their society, everyone is used to quirk manifestations creating... interesting-looking physical features. You have some people sporting wings, others with textured skin, some are even literal animals.

So reader really isn’t that unusual.... except their quirk makes them popular with teachers and students. Stressed for finals? Go to reader. Can’t make your students chill? Ask reader to stop by. Reader’s quirk makes everyone calm, loopy, less angry and vicious.

When they get into UA, everyone’s curious about how it feels, curious about the kid that would’ve probably been better suited in class B or in a support class. 

The bakusquad is especially intrigued, because the applications of reader’s quirk could be awesome for a little problem of theirs that screams and yells and destroys things. 

So at the beginning of the semester, reader hears a couple knocks at their door, opens it only to have the bakusquad practically fall inside, complete with a very irate Bakugou.

Denki and Sero propose the idea that reader uses their quirk, helps everyone calm down a bit (we all know Sero’s a stoner, he’s here for the feeling lol). Reader makes sure everybody is down with it, even Kirishima and Bakugou, and when the other two boys nod, reader agrees. 

The air in the room would instantly turn sickly-sweet as liquid oozed from reader’s skin, quickly evaporating into a vapor. The affect was almost instantaneous - shoulders sagging, muscles relaxing, soft smiles playing against faces.

Usually reader wears a masks so their quirk doesn’t effect them, but here, in the safety of the dorms? it’s not needed. They get just as relaxed and loopy as the group squished into the small room.

But apparently, relaxing isn’t the best idea. 

Some people get so relaxed that their inhibitions disappear, similar to alcohol, just without the loss of fine motor control. Denki is one of those people. He sidles up next to reader, runs his hands over their shoulders until he’s pressed against their side. He leans in close, giggles into their ear about how calm he feels right now, how useful their quirk is. 

He’s naturally flirty, so it’s not alarming when he starts like, stroking their hair, holding their hand, practically falling into their lap, complimenting them the entire time, shooting off rapid-fire pick-up-lines like it’s his job. Sero, Kirishima, and Bakugou are lazing in the background, watching the blond drape himself over you.

The pick-up lines devolve into lewd questions, Denki asking what your bodycount is, have you ever blown someone, what's your favorite position? This is a safe environment, and your relaxed, so you don’t mind answering.

Even when he asks what you look like “down there”.

It’s a semi-common question. A lot of people wonder if the pink color of your skin extends to your genitals, if your pubes are pink as well. Your body is alien, do you even have genitals? What kind? Are you a boy? Or a girl? It’s easy to laugh and brush off these invasive questions.

But it’s not that big of a deal here, especially since you’re trying to make friends. You answer the question easily - yes, you’re pink down there, even your pubes. When Sero pipes up and pushes for what exactly you have down there, you shrug - It’s not that big of a deal; you have both.

Kirishima asks to see.

That’s a little weird, so you decline, but Denki whines and pouts, says that it isn’t fair you’re being such a cute little tease, they’re just curious! They’ve all seen each other’s dicks already, it’s the same thing! You aren’t convinced, but your quirk keeps everybody calm, doesn’t let the situation escalate.

Except it does.

Bakugou is relaxed, not yelling, not angry, but still demanding. He tells you to get on your back, and you do, entirely submissive in your relaxed state. You squirm and try to stop him (Bro, that’s weird dude - He shouldn’t be trying to strip you) as the blonde moves to take off your pants, but he casually tells Denki and Sero to hold down your arms, so they do.

The atmosphere is still relaxed, calming, casual, but you feel a tiny nudge of unease in your stomach. The ease with which your quirk pushes that down is extraordinary.

Then Bakugou and Kirishima are looking at you, hands smoothing down your stomach, over your dick, stopping to cradle your pussy. Your squirm. Sero wolf-whistles at what he can see from his position holding down your arm, and you can feel Denki starting to harden from where he’s kneeling across your arm, crotch pushed close to your shoulder.

But everything fine, there’s no trouble. 

Your sweet-smelling quirk batters down your inhibitions and discomfort again.

It’s not long before Bakugou is jerking you off, grinning up at you, while Kirishima is fingering you open, focused on your lower lips as he runs his fingers through them before plunging them inside of you.

The dual stimulation feels good, but this is weird, and you distantly know that without the calming effects of your quirk, this would be bad, and you’d be screaming and thrashing. But Denki’s moving off of your arm, grabbing your hand and guiding it to rub against him in his pants. Sero’s unbuckling his belt, getting his dick out and cooing at you to open your mouth. You go to shake your head, but he laughs, just gives you a light pat across the face, insists that this isn’t weird, you all have dicks, and none of them are gay, don’t worry.

Somehow, his dick ends up in your mouth, choking you.

This is wrong, this is assault, they shouldn’t be touching you, you don’t want them to.

But there’s four of them, and only one of you.

You can only pump more of your quirk in the air to keep yourself calm, listen to the boys discuss your “alien” body as they touch and fondle and explore, occasionally stopping to ask you how something feels. It feels bad.

Eventually, they end up fucking you, taking turns in your pussy, stroking your dick. Sero even tries docking his dick against yours. It feels weirdly good. Kirishima asks if you’re able to get pregnant while he’s thrusting inside, whoops when you tell him you can’t. He cums inside.

Someone suggests taking your ass too, but Bakugou disregards that idea. He seems like he’s the ringleader. You’re pretty sure you don’t want to be friends with them after this. But is it their fault? You’re the one who lowered their inhibitions, you’re the one who made them curious about your body. 

It’s your fault.

so you lay there and take it, let them move you into different positions as they laugh and joke above you.

They get tired of exploring eventually, leave you with cum dripping out of your body, all sticky and sweaty. You’re calm.

You keep your quirk going until you manage to head to the showers, to wash every inch of yourself. You keep your quirk going as you clean up your room, stripping the sheets, washing everything, sanitizing everything. You even move your bed, away from the door and into a corner.

Keeping your quirk active isn’t possible for ever, but you’re going to push it until your body gives out.

Being “different” is never a good thing.

[currywaifu]

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: pink hyacinth 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: settsu banri/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 2.5k words 𝐝𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨: alyssa ✨, natasha, kat

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: flower shop part-timer banri and friendly competition between him and the reader. might make part 2 if i feel like it. 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: this work is a part of the flower shop event, a series of unconnected flower shop AU one-shots

As the flower shop grew more popular, the more difficult it became for you and your boss to manage everything by yourselves. Even though it wasn’t the holiday season, the orders seemed to increase every week— plus, managing the till while making a last minute arrangement and simultaneously giving people flower recommendations? It was no easy feat, that was for sure.

“Let’s hire someone to work part time alongside you,” your boss finally decided one day as she flipped through the accounting ledger book, “it’s not always the both of us will be at the store at the same time. We need the extra help.”

You hummed  in reply, not thinking much of it at the time as you continued taking inventory. As long as they weren’t overly cold to you, you couldn’t foresee any problems. Well, except for maybe one, little thing.

“My salary won’t be lowered, right?”

…

You were expecting the new hire to be the stereotypical soft, sweet, fluffy looking person of whom grandmas would be drawn to. Instead, he was a guy wearing a purple, leopard-cheetah-whatever animal print bucket hat with a luxury brand logo right smack in the centre.

Aha, it really put the statement in the term statement piece. It certainly gave him a lot of impact.

You wanted to do something in between laughing and crying, but your boss probably wouldn’t appreciate either one. With some restraint, you introduced yourself with a  bright smile, handing him a work apron you hoped was his size.

“If you ever need any help, just let me know,” you offered, leading him to the staff room so he could store his belongings somewhere and take off that dumb hat. “It might take you a while to get used to some things, but I’m sure you’ll get a hang of it soon!”

“I’m a quick study, don’t worry.”

There was something about the way he phrased it that made you intrigued. He said it in a pretty nonchalant manner, even his expression remained relaxed, but the moment your eyes met his you found yourself growing excited. There was a certain glint there that you recognised pretty quickly, and you had a feeling he did, too.

“I think we’ll get along well, Banri-kun,” you said, grinning in anticipation of the next few weeks. It would be an undeniably nice break from the usual routine work brought upon you.

There’s a visible upwards stretch on his lips, too, and though he replied to you with a “who knows?” something in your gut told you the feeling was already reciprocated.

…

Settsu Banri wasn’t lying one bit when he told you he learned things fast. On his first day he took the time to observe you first, watching you go about the different tasks for the day— from how and for how long you watered each plant, to how you went about choosing flowers to add to a bouquet, to how you interacted with the customers and how you subtly managed to convince them that yes, they did need that new and slightly pricey fertiliser.

The way he was able to pick up on the way you did things pretty quickly was something to be envied. Although he still lacked a lot of the stock knowledge and experience you had, he easily made up for it with his skill in… literally everything else.

He wondered what your reaction would be— would you be pissed? That wasn’t really his intention but he was pretty self-aware that some people found that annoying. Though he wasn’t overly concerned of what people thought of him in the first place, it wouldn’t sit right with him either if his co-worker on one of his first jobs didn’t like him.

You stood behind him, your critical eye peering at the way he arranged his flowers. Pink ranunculus and hyacinth, as well as some other filler flowers, laid out atop the worktable. With his choice of an off white Kraft paper, the assortment of pink decorative sheets, and the silver lace ribbon, it was clear that he was a natural— or at least he had a good eye for colour scheme.

“All this fit the customer’s price range, yeah?” he asked. Truly, he already knew the answer. It was easy to estimate the amount of wrapping needed for a bouquet of that size, and the price labels per material made things even easier. He even skimmed the flower language guide printed out to make sure his flower choices were optimal.

In fact, the real question he meant to ask wasn’t even whether it fit the budget or not.

Despite his confidence, he turned his head around if only to gauge your facial expression. You stood still in your spot for a few seconds; then you quietly moved from your station behind his back to beside him, your arm brushing against his as you took a closer look. He didn’t tense up from the contact, but he’s not completely numb to the sudden closeness, either.

Though he was planning on it already, his awareness of you definitely grew as he watched your reactions from the corner of his eye.

A normal person would’ve taken one look and end up deciding then and there if it was nice or not, but as he watched the narrow of your eyes and the way the pads of your fingers felt the texture of papers he knew not a single detail was going amiss with you.

He could respect that. There was something pretty admirable about someone completely dedicated to their craft.

“Yeah,” you replied, “right down to the choice of going for a thicker ribbon instead of something thinner. It’ll turn out pretty,”

As he was about to soak up your praise and reply in stride, you ended up surprising him as you followed up with another comment.

“Though I think your flower choice could be… better,” you commented coolly.

With an eyebrow raised, he couldn’t find it in himself to be offended at all— just plain curious in what you have to say.

“The customer asked for a non-rose bouquet to tell someone they’ve fallen for them because they’re so charming, so ranunculus and hyacinths best fit the criteria,” he explained, curious of how you’d critique his decision.

“The ranunculus was a good choice, but lowkey makes the guy seem shallow?” you pointed out, a shrug soon following. “Also, I wouldn’t go for pink hyacinth— the bouquet ends up implying the guy’s just playing around with the girl. If you went with blue, it’d show that he’s sincere about his feelings.”

Banri let out a little exhale of breath, crossing his arms as he leaned against the table to look at you properly. “Sense, doubt whoever’s getting this is gonna go as hard analysing as you though.”

You rolled your eyes before mirroring his actions, “You never know with these things, but… maybe you’re just upset you didn’t make the perfect choice?”

He huffed, but a smirk rose to his face just as yours did. Were you challenging him? He can’t say he particularly hates it, not when he’s steadily growing more and more interested in you.

“And maybe you’re just paranoid I’ll catch up to your skill level quickly,” he teased, amused when you don’t back down from his provocation. He initially wasn’t serious about it, but if you were down— “I’m sure I can make you admit to my skills in a span of a week, maybe even tomorrow.”

“Oh I’m too nice for that, I’ll give you the rest of the week to make it easier on you,” you cooed playfully, before ultimately coming to a conclusion, “wanna bet?”

“With what?

Your eyes flitted away elsewhere, looking a little too pensive for such a trivial matter. “I mean, I’m broke, but just betting for the sake of pride is boring…” you trailed off, and Banri couldn’t help but helpfully supply his two cents.

“Don’t people in shows usually ask for a favour or some shit with these kinds of things?”

You stared at him blankly. “I… I get what you mean, but not gonna lie, using the word favour makes it sound wrong—“

“Oi oi,” Banri interrupted, “don’t make me out to be some kind of fuckboy.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you let out a laugh that was light, laced with a hum of amusement at the matter, “but like, we don’t have to decide on anything now? Let’s just go with the flow. I’m sure I’ll eventually think of the reward I’ll get~”

“That confident?”

You shrugged, “not really, just optimistic… so, you game?”

…

Honestly, neither of you even set any rules or guidelines for your little competition; it was just a matter of you having fun competing with Banri over numerous things.

Who could convince more people to purchase gardening products they may or may not actually need were hesitating on buying (6-9 in Banri’s favour).

Who could recommend the better flowers (8-4 in your favour).

Who could compute and double check accounting and inventory faster (5-6, you told yourself you’re making it even today).

Who could create the better bouquet arrangement (somehow, a tie. Even with his fashion sense, he was pretty good at coordinating colours and patterns. You did have to stop him from using two animal print papers in one go, though).

Occasionally your boss would walk in the two of you bantering and critiquing each other’s work. At first, you worried she’d tell off the both of you (or maybe just you, since you were technically Banri’s senior in terms of experience), but she deemed it as ‘productive noise’ and let the two of you continue, even chiming in with her own opinions from time to time.

With her encouragement, neither of you held back.

“Oh, you accidentally cut too much ribbon— what a waste,” and “you missed a row in your calculation. Let me show you,” were amongst the common statements you said to each other.

A work relationship that was neither vile nor overly friendly, teasing at very least and strangely productive at most. You were quite satisfied with this turn out, a good way to stave off the boredom work could bring, but life had other things in store for the two of you.

Beyond either of your expectations, your dynamic would soon enough evolve into something beyond little comments exchanged between one another and one-upping each other.

…

There were always hints that beneath both of your competitiveness, there was a lot of thoughtfulness as well. Helping each other out under the guise of “showing them how it’s done”, or “I can do it faster”. Neither of you ever expressed it out loud, but gratefulness didn’t have to be said to be known.

It became less about playfully competing and more about just enjoying each other’s company in your own way.

“Hahh… it’s finally over!” you exclaimed, plopping down on a chair as you began fanning yourself with the closest piece of paper you could pick up. Even in the air-conditioned room, you found yourself sweating, your body unused to the physical exertion normally not demanded of you during work. Even your co-worker seemed exhausted— if the grunting noise he made was to be taken as a telltale sign.

Banri strode over beside you, looking just as exasperated as you felt.

“What kind of dumbass—“

“—decides to buy a bunch of pots,” you continued, halting your fanning motions as your fingers began aching again, “in the evening? What the fuck would you do with 12 plant pots?”

“‘xactly? Shit, didn’t realise those clay pots were gonna be that heavy…” Banri said, your eyes immediately drawn to his fingers. Ahh, he did end up doing most of the heavy labour.

“We didn’t even have to charm anyone into buying things this time,” you commented, before moving to the real thing you wanted to ask about, “by the way… are your hands okay?”

“This much?” he put his palms up, “is nothing~ had a lot worse.”

You don’t say anything in reply, merely staring at the small blemishes newly formed. It was minimal, pretty much shallow scratches, but it was there.

“Y’worried, babe?”

It was a slip of the tongue on his part, but neither of you seemed to mind. It rolled off pretty smoothly, and if asked about it he could easily say it was just a joke between the two of you— a little ‘affection’ to show how close you’ve gotten as friends.

Well, he thought, it wouldn’t be that much of a lie.

“No, not really,” you replied, mind too carried away elsewhere to pay any mind to the new pet name, “but you should still put on a band-aid or something.”

“Already said I was fine,” Banri replied, his eyes following your sudden upright movement as you headed inside the staff room. As he took the initiative to finish cleaning up so you two could head out for the night, the sight of you coming back out empty-handed had him befuddled.

“What’d ya even do in there?”

“So apparently we don’t have any stocked up,” you explained, quickly doing one last glance at today’s revenue, “so let’s stop by the convenience store later to get some… seriously, what if one of us gets pricked by a plant or something?”

If he decided to be honest, he would’ve told you that he already had one in his bag. A certain mother hen had forced him, Taichi, and Hyodo to carry one around and he’d learned a long time ago to not resist Omi over trivial things.

Still… it was pretty cute how you impulsively decided to go buy something because of him. There was no harm in hiding something to see this side of you more, right?

“Y’want me to come with?” he asked.

You turned around to give him a look. “Obviously? Then there’d be no point of buying it tonight rather than tomorrow.”

“Then take inventory faster… or do ya need my help for that, too?”

“Banri-kun~ you totally forgot to water the hyacinths, or do you need my help for that, too?”

Both of your comments are left hanging in the air, an, oddly enough, peaceful silence encompassing the room until,

“Might as well walk you home after this,” you turned around to face him in surprise, “it’s getting pretty late.”

“Already taking me home without even buying me dinner?”

“We’re going to the convenience store anyway, I’ll buy you something, whatever cold sandwich or fruit cup salad you want— my treat,” he joked, peals of laughter bursting from deep within as your eyebrows furrowed in incredulousness.

You rolled your eyes at him, but the smile on your lips betrayed your undeniable amusement. “Awww so sweet of you, but I can’t have you one-up me there. I’ll buy you the themed plasters— how does having hello kitty’s face around your fingers sound?” you retorted, easing yourself into laughter as well.

As the two of you walked along the sidewalk, side by side, you couldn’t help yourself from saying what’s been on your mind for the past week or so now.

“What we have is nice.”

Banri released a small huff, the corners of his lips stretching upwards. Even with its vagueness, the meaning rang clear.

“Yeah, I like what we have too.”

There was no need to rush into anything.

“ thank you for your hard work today at the flower shop! here, feel free to take home this pink hyacinth with you~ ”

【 hyacinth 】 games and sports, rashness 【 pink hyacinth 】 play

“ maybe you’d like some more flowers before heading home? ”

-ˋˏflower shop masterlistˎˊ- |  -ˋˏfic masterlistˎˊ-

[hinac0lada]

make it with you

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: kageyama tobio/reader 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: another song inspired fic. ben&ben rly out here doing the best. hearts out for best boy hehe. this is another attempt at fluff so,, feedback would be nice. <3 [ graphic by me not exactly proud of it hnnng ]

kageyama treasures every moment he has with you. he thinks every second, minute and hour counts. time wasn’t very forgiving, after all. he likes that you can see pass through him and accept him. in spite of the rough exterior you’ve come across before forming a friendship with the hotheaded setter, you personally think that being close to karasuno’s genius player was a notable achievement in itself.

kageyama has become somewhat comfortable around you. he tends to sputter his words, which was unlike the milk lover boy. he’s less awkward and more open with his thoughts around you. he likes how you keep him company - something he wouldn’t dare admit out loud; for he suspects his team mates would never let him live it down, especially a certain short carrot-colored haired teen.

even with that said, time wasn’t going to be generous with him if he continues this charade of growing infatuation with his senior.

morning classes were always dull. the raven haired teen doesn’t have the urge to dwell on about the slow ticks of the clock plastered on the wall atop the chalkboard. time goes at a normal pace. a relatively slow one at that. nothing is indefinite. it’s just how things are.

he sticks to a routine he’s developed as days have come by. after classes he changes into his gym uniform, does training in the gym, back to academics and repeat. fair matches come by and go as they prepare for nationals. he’s not nervous (well, maybe a little). he anticipates the day it were to come.

he doesn’t doubt his skills. he doesn’t doubt his team mates will lead them to victory. he doesn’t doubt hinata, either. he knows he’s done his fair share of growth.

it was just enough for him.

everything he’s ever done didn’t come without a barrier blocking him from achieving his goal. his rigid endeavours come with a blend of synergy and control. it tears him to maintain balance between the two attributes. enrolling in karasuno taught him differently than the way he was treated in junior high.

he made friends along the way. friends who saw through his previous arrogant demeanor and desire to surpass the very best.

he’s learned unity.

he appears to have a weird thing for whenever he has spare time or when he does something outside of the volleyball club. during lunch break, he manages to always catch you alone near the vending machines, scribbling away in a little notebook you carry around with you. neither of you acknowledged the other at first, seeing as how he only aims to get a carton of milk to quench his thirst.

the first time you spoke to him was when you required critique from someone for your project. it was due your next class, so you asked the person closest to you, even if you didn’t know who he was.

“excuse me, could i spare some time from you for a moment?” you called out to the ravenette, who glances your way with a confused expression. he gets closer all the while still sipping on the same carton of milk he always buys on the vending machine. “uh, hey?” 

“sorry, but could i get your opinion on this? it’s important,” you ask sheepishly, turning your notebook around with a mini-canvas on top. you’ve used your notebook as some kind of surface to draw on for your work. the taller teen gazes upon the canvas painted with vibrant colors mixing with one another in a delicate manner. it was a fine piece, even though he didn’t really get the meaning behind it. the oil paints overlapped each other, creating a rough yet nice texture for the imagery you’ve chosen to depict on the media. “it’s.. good.” he awkwardly stammers.

“huh? is that all you’re going to say?” your lips was pulled into a small frown, dejected at the dry comment he stated. “tell me more! maybe there’s something wrong with it - or maybe yet, something’s missing from this? should i add some other details or─ ”

“h-hey, no need for that!” he interrupts with a small scowl. he didn’t mean to have that kind of expression, but you were fussing over nothing. “it.. it looks great. i think you just need to fix that part over here,” he points to one messy part of the painting. “it looks all bundled up and confusing.” you beam at this, grinning at the puzzled and stiff teen. “aha! thanks so much, milk boy! i owe you for this!” and with that, you scurried off to the main building.

kageyama was left in a trance. what had transpired left him puzzled, a bit flustered and something else he couldn’t fathom. 

he did feel a bit irked at the name milk boy. 

───── 

“no, that’s wrong kageyama-kun. it’s supposed to say ‘enormity’, not ‘ennourmity’.” you scold him lightly as you corrected his mistake on spelling. he isn’t that good at english, so he turned to you for help. he’d rather ask you to assist him than beg tsukishima to tutor him again.

it’s been a couple of weeks since you first interacted. somehow, you’ve gotten close with your underclassman. with the promise of owing the setter for (not much, in his opinion) his helpful incite, you brought some pork buns as a treat. since then, you’ve practically hung out during lunch break. it appears as though you don’t hang out outside of these breaks, but why question a good thing?

“ah, i see. sorry.” was his nonchalant reply. you pout, reaching for his ears and tug them lightly but harsh enough. he makes a surprised noise of protest, narrowing his eyes at you. “oi, what was that for?” he holds up his thumb and index finger to numb the little burning itch on his right ear.

“you always seem so bland! show some emotion will you?” you giggle at his baffled expression. he rolls his eyes at this. “i’m not bland, dumbass. i do show emotions, in case you didn’t know─” 

“yeah, you only show emotions whenever you’re angry, bakageyama!” you duck your head as he attempts to swing his arm at you. you stick your tongue out at him, scampering away when he gives chase. it was fun teasing the first year. he seems so tense and so awkward. he needs to loosen up a little.

“HAHAHAH─ okay, okay! i give, i give!!” you squeal as you’ve been backed into a corner, his hand still has that strong grip on your head. you attempt to move his hand - slapping it even, but he wouldn’t budge.”bakageyama-kun, is that any way to treat your senior?”

“for a senior, you sure do act childish,” before lifting his hand, he manages to mess your hair up from its initial neat state, making you groan at him. he returns to where you both sat, picking up his things and stuffing them back into his bag. “ha? where you going kageyama-kun?” you inquire as you brush some array strands of hair back down with your fingers.

“i have practice next. you should get back too, [last name]-senpai,” he hands you your bag, walking past you. “oh. well, ask me again if you need help anytime soon!” he nods in affirmation, waving a goodbye as went on your separate ways. he stops by the vending machine, only to discover there weren’t any milk boxes left. he sighs in dejection, opting to trudge along the steps to the gym to change into his gym clothes.

setting his bag down, he feels something rectangular and hard through his bundle of clothes. taking it out, he discovers it was a milk carton with a sticky note on it.

‘remember to work on your english more, kage-kun!   - your smart senpai, [name] :P’

he didn’t know when you’d sneak this inside his bag without him knowing, but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

─────

kageyama swings by your usual spot, looking even more tired than usual. he says it was nothing, focusing on completing his needed lesson for the day. you try to tell him you could tutor him another time, but he insists it was not a problem. it’s hard to constantly look out for him when he looks like he’s about to pass out.

“kageyama-kun, i really suggest you should take it easy. i mean, look at you! are you even getting enough sleep? are you eating well?” your concern over him makes his heart flutter, but he couldn’t focus on that when his vision started getting all fuzzy. “it’s nothing i─” he cuts himself off with a yawn, tears slightly forming at the corner of his eyes. he must not realize his own fatigue, yet he doesn’t want to listen.

“i still have practice..”

“no, you don’t.”

you decide to stop the work you previously helped him on, cleaning up your things and packing them inside your respective bags. he watches you silently, fighting the urge to pass out. he’s been pushing himself a little too hard. he practiced with hinata the other night to work on their new quick that he must’ve not known how much time has passed. he usually does this though, so he doesn’t understand why he feels much more tired and sleepy.

he doesn’t know how and he feels too drowsy to question why he ended up in the school clinic with you by his side. he promptly passed out on the bed as you got there. you’d have to stop by the gym to tell them of kageyama’s absence. honestly, this boy can be too much for you sometimes.

despite knowing you have your own club to get to, something in you doesn’t want to leave his side. but you’d get scolded if you skipped out. 

you went back to your usual spot near the vending machine, popping in a few coins and purchasing your selected drinks. smiling, you skipped back to the clinic, placing kageyama’s favorite drink on the table on the opposite side of the bed. you pulled out another sticky note, writing a short message and sticking it on the small carton.

sighing, you picked up your things, stopping by the door to give the sleeping male one last glance before heading to your club.

‘don’t go passing out during your matches, okay? - your caring senpai, [name] >:)’

─────

“you know, you’re the first person i ever let watch while i do my work,” you give him a small smile as he pays close attention on your canvas. you both had free time today, so you hung out at a nearby park. he’s bought some snacks along while you brought your art supplies with you. he watches you intently as you recreate the image in front of you; grassy field, trees blending in the background on the left side while the sun was nearing dawn. it was beautiful picture.

“oh.” he says dumbfounded. you don’t give a sign of acknowledgement as you went silent, intent on finishing this piece.

“you’re the first person i can be.. more open to,” he pauses. “i mean, like.. i can tell you anything without being judged for it. and i’m grateful.”

you focus on the painting breaks, glancing at him beside you. you smile at his words. he can be sweet when he wants to be, in his own way at least.

“and i’m honored.” you gaze returns to the canvas.

minutes after you finished, you set it aside to dry. you placed your dirty paint brushes in a plastic, mentally reminding yourself to clean them when you get home before finally focusing on the male in front of you. you made small talk. it didn’t matter which topic it lead to, talking with kageyama was nice. he wasn’t as dull as you thought he was, and he didn’t think you were too annoying.

as you ate your favorite snack, he mutters something underneath his breath, the tips of his ears glowing a light red. “hm? what is it?” you lean closer to him, wanting to know what he was going to say.

“.. i said thanks. for those milk cartons you’ve bought for me the past few days.” he mumbles as he avoids your gaze. he had been wanting to thank you for a while. even though he did so already, he still felt flustered. it appears he’s learned the term of having a crush shortly after spending a hefty amount of time with you.

he's adorable, you think. it was probably rare to see him like this. you chuckle at him, unwrapping your snack to finish the rest of it.

“it’s not a problem at all, kageyama-kun.”

─────

karasuno wins the game by two sets. kageyama glances at the stands above, eyes scanning the crowd for a specific [h.c] haired female. you promised you’d watch his game. and you did. his eyes met yours, navy blue clashing with [e.c] irises. you beam from the stands, waving your arms wildly at their victory.

“great job, kageyama-kun!! i knew you had it in you!” the third years share a knowing look. nishinoya and tanaka pat his back albeit a bit too hard in pride with a few teasing comments. his other fellow first years snicker at his flabbergasted expression that was quickly replaced by his usual scowl. 

despite being teased by his team and gaining even more snarky remarks from tsukishima, you coming to watch him play was more than a victory for him.

kageyama, while rummaging through the bag he uses to store spare clothes and his uniforms, feels yet another soft and hard materials from his belongings. he pulls out a small carton of milk along with a plastic filled with his favorite snacks.

‘good luck on your game today! i know you’ll do great! - your loving senpai, [name] <3′

to him, you were more than enough.

[cakerollk]

Part One- Pursue

“Ever since those Food Souls appeared, I thought the situations down here under heaven would get better, never would’ve thought the days could get worse.”

“Why do you say that, head warden?”

“It was initially just Fallen Angels on a rampage, all everyone could do is hide, cuz it was unlikely anything would suddenly happen staying indoors. Now in order to fight back against those Fallen Angels, we dragged out some Food Soul, these folks look no different from humans, who can find them when they’re hidden among a crowd? If there’s no Master Attendants around to control them, then they would’ve become a weapon that no one could stop!”

“You have a point.”

“Sigh, that’s why I’m bringing you to see this--he’s a maniac too! Only after so many people died that we caught him. Kept him locked up here after all these years, he’s not allowed to move, nor has there been anyone come to handle the situation! Truly, this is a disaster!”

“Have I not come here to handle it?”

“Yes! But, sir! I’ll give it to you straight, for someone of your health, you should still be more careful in confronting him, but if you still are unable to handle him, we’ll help you out to avoid any more problems in the future!”

“A reasoning like this, huh. The nations are all in chaos and unrest, a powerful weapon like Food Souls are being sought after by every kingdom... the prince sent me here to not waste an opportunity to add another unit to our military power... As his courtier, the only thing I can do is my best, even if it’s dangerous.”

“Sigh, understood! All to please the boss, huh! Sir, up ahead is the guy’s prison room! It’s secured real tight, you be careful, we’ll be at the door.”

“I’m grateful for you to have lead the way, head warden.”

“Hahahaha, not at all!”

The prison guard head gripped at the silver piece that Oolong Tea gave him and left happily. Oolong Tea watched as the prison warden disappear from his sight, and only then did he slowly walked into the depth of the confined(1) prison room.

(1)幽闭 ‘house arrest, forbidden entry’

Inside the cell, was a person heavily shackled in metal.

His height was not all that tall, clad entirely in black as he sat in the corner with his head lowered. Looking at once rumoured ‘ferocious beast’ that killed hundreds in the Northern City , he appeared like an ordinary young male human. 

His body and face were covered in quite a bit of dirt, Oolong Tea couldn’t see well so he reached out a hand, intending to brush away the stray hair.

  Though that head warden’s words were crass, his reasons were not wrong. A Food Soul’s appearance is very similar to a human. Unless they display their strength, it’s otherwise extremely difficult to tell them apart.

But once their strength is shown.... it’s probably too late.

Ding--

A gush of powerful wind whizzed by his ear, Oolong Tea quickly used his hand to shield his throat, an ice cold thorn was lodged into the bead in his hand, it created a chilling vibration.

“I’m here to...”

“Piss off.”

“......”

The young man’s voice was as ice cold, like a concealed weapon.

Naturally during his days of being locked in here, he’s seen all kinds of objectives and excuses (thrown at him).

--Which is why Oolong Tea won’t repeat other people’s methods.

 He pinched and moved the bead in his hand. In the next moment, the surface of the black bead revealed the texture of crackling fire, and a little golden dragon emerged in flames as it burst out of the beads rapidly.

Oolong Tea used the opportunity to take a step back, dodging the dangerous (2) scene.

(2) 威胁 ‘threaten; it didn’t fit in context so I changed it to dangerous’ 

 However, the young man did not move to avoid it--It’s not that he did not want to, but his whole body was chained up, rendering him unable to move. The sneak attack from earlier was his most flexible area of movement. 

But he didn’t show signs of being afraid, instead he lifted his head to stubbornly stared at Oolong Tea.

The golden dragon’s flame reflected in his eyes.

 Oolong came here to take a risky chance, and now is the time to act.

The fire dragon continued to go closer, and then---- bang bang bang!

The iron chains around him were all broken.

The young man was slightly stunned, in the next second, he rushed out of the cell at the speed of lightning--free once more.

Earth Fire thought of chasing after him, but it was gently pulled back by Oolong Tea, it let out a displeased dragon sound.

“Earth Fire, it seems you’ve really taken to our future friend.”

Oolong Tea gently poked at its head.

“But now’s not the time.”

Earth Fire obediently coiled up, the flames on its body put out, as it returned back to a black bead again.

It’s during this time, another black dragon silently returned to his palm.

He held onto the two beads in his hands again, and slowly walked out of the prison room.

Oolong Tea knows he can successfully escape.

Sky Thunder--which is Oolong Tea’s black dragon, it had already followed the prison head guard who’d left just now, clearing away all evidence and obstacles.

So long as no scars are left behind, Food Souls... can be human.

End of Part 1

[throughancienteyes]

Shadows Cast From Fire

“A strange image you speak of,” he said, “and strange prisoners.” “Like to us,” I said; “for, to begin with, tell me, my dear Glaucon, do you think that these men would have seen anything of themselves or of one another except the shadows cast from the fire on the wall of the cave that fronted them?” - Plato

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g_TkhkF98Eo

Chapter 1

Tenebris was holding the key. This one was long. And I don't mean the key. When the way is longer in the direction the world comes to me from it is called a "one" or a "forward".

He was listening at the distance. You had to listen well. You could judge the one by the beat of your heart, by the echo of a single breath.

He continued onward, his steps quieter than his breath. He couldn't help feeling nervous. Suddenly the darkness looked unnerving, almost unsure, like he was. Was he up to the task? Was he going to deliver in a worthy way?

Soon a sound appeared, in the forward coming towards his brain toes. If you don't know what that is, it's the toes that listen to the flower, of course, not the other five that listen to the heart.

It was blood. It was flying so beautifully, like the stars of ages past. Are you confused? He isn't. You are. You see, in darkness the world comes towards you, you don't go anywhere. You wonder what the flower is? It is that thing that unfolds in colors when you fall asleep, and is pure black when you awaken. It also hurts when you don't sleep enough. Tenebris was one of the few that knew what happened if you didn't sleep for too long - the flower would unfold uncalled for while you were at work and that would ruin your whole blink. You may be asking what blink is? It's the time between waking up and falling asleep again.

His head-rest came at him, covered with forest, it was flaking like soft-rock, he was tired indeed, but the earlier crawling didn't help much. "Head-rest"? Everyone has two of those bending when moving forward to make the world move. On both of them and also on the flower and on the warmest regions of the body from the moss there grows the forest - ever so gently listening for touch.

He drank the blood. It was cold and fresh. He always wondered where it came from and where it went. It seemed that both were the same place - mother. Mother? It is the body in which we are born, made of stone, sometimes shifting ever so slightly and waking you up in the middle of sleep, but always around.

He put his five eyes in the blood, it flowed between them like breath through forest. The cold felt good. Mother was warmer than usual - his little journey had covered his forests in salty blood.

The world continued, it put him far beyond. He could hear through his breath the end of the forward.

Then he made her out.

She was one of them. In the distance her lines glowed faintly. Dark blue cuts in reality that moved in a way that made him unable to look away. No one had those but them, it was unrelated to any technology he had known before. It was simply... beautiful. Now he could smell her. Cocoa on clay moss, as always. He didn't know what it was, but in his flower full of the myths of old, it always floated as the scent he imagined that madness-inducing magician's powder had had.

Then he could hear her breath. None. Always composed, she never let out a breath. What was she? Clay like him for sure, but there were so many things that were not stone.

He deliberately slowed down the world. Why? He knew it was dangerous to be here. But he wanted to hear it. But it didn't come as he approached.

He extended his eyes and his met hers. He looked for too long for a mere confirmation of trust. The warmth of her moss kept him there. He wanted to challenge her somehow, break her composure, make her reveal at least a little secret. He didn't even know why he wanted that.

At the end he slipped the key to her eyes. They held it gently.

It was time to go. The world turned around, and forward again was the emptiness of stone and nothing more.

Maybe she didn't speak because he would recognize something about her words. Hmm. He stopped.

He could hear her move, for the moss on her toes slid on the stone. She didn't expect him to stop.

And then finally he heard it. Her heart beat. The beat rocked his senses. Made him full of sudden warmth. He could see her. He smiled.

And continued forward.

Chapter 2

The blood next to his feet was so cold. She was gone. But that was the problem - she wasn't. So close, so far. Like in fairytales where he had heard of an orb that lit the sleep of man. An orb of purest silver. A place the soul could aspire to.

He turned back. Walking back to that last part of the forward. He could hear her breathing. Like when mother woke up and the blood would taste of bone.

Then came the warmth. The ancients spoke of another orb. An orb of gold that in its warmth melted the shadows in which man hid and revealed. Revealed what? "The body" the fairytale claimed, but that was not possible. Man had no bodies. He could touch the body, drink it's blood, listen in sleep to it waking up. He lived in one. There was nothing to reveal inside... unless... the ancients shed the body for that orb. Was that terrifying or beautiful. He could not say but he felt both right now.

He knew she could feel his warmth now too, rising. She didn't say anything. She could kill him in a split second. That excited him, to his surprise.

As he moved closer he felt her heart quicken. He had never done this before. He had never felt so compelled before. He didn't ask anything. The body moved around him like waking from sleep. There was a collision, a change of perspective, the smell of salty blood and flashes of tingling as the eyes found each other and held onto each other like veins on a body. Her air smelled of sweet salty warmth, as if her heart beating was a spring of blood, gushing beautifully in all. Again and again all moved until everything paused. He see with his eyes her eyes closing, clasping him. But in that closing there seemed to be something unveiling. Maybe that is what the ancients meant.

Chapter 3

It took many breaths until their urgency became quiet. She started:

- Wh...

- I want to join you, he blurted out. I don't know what you do but I think I feel why you do it.

- Why is a question without an answer. Why do you think you give me these keys?

- I have never used a key. I asked the Elder about keys...

- You jeopardised the mission!

- We were talking about the ancient doors. He told me the ancients used to meditate on those...

- Meditate?

- Yes they could open them and visit places.

- Listen I don't know if you can...

- Listen! You hear it right? The voice inside your head. The ancients could put that into these doors, keep it there and even somehow share it. And some doors, some doors had such powerful voices inside them that they were locked to prevent them from changing everything...

- Look at my lines. What do you see?

He touched her lines. He felt he could know so much more but he didn't know how to. Like a lingering longing at the edge of thought, hinting at something more, something his eyes couldn't grasp. The glow of her lines, mixed with something moving in the darkness that could only be, he felt, his thought. Every shadow followed his intent. Was she also a shadow?

- You.

- What if I told you people had two more eyes?

- 12?!

- No, different eyes with which they could enter those doors.

- No way!

She told him things he didn't know. Definitely not a shadow.

- What is your name?

- You told me you don't want to know my name!

- I have revealed too much...

- Tenebris.

There was a pause.

- Lilith.

Chapter 4

She led him on, through that veil he so many times wondered about what lies behind. There was a distant smell of death. Past that the sound of rhythmic thudding and oddly - was that a baby crying he could hear?

She began:

- You tell no one of this!

- Even the Elder?

- Especially the elder.

- But why?

- Our work is... wait here.

He stopped as she entered a veiled enclosure. He heard her speaking intently to a deep voice but in words he could not understand at all. So close, yet so far. Somehow humans had the ability to create distance.

She came out, her breath quiet.

-Come, you have passed your second growing, you are ready.

She brought him on toward a wider space. He could hear thuds much louder than before. She spoke louder now.

- Our work is inspired by the doors we spoke of. Upon opening one there seem to be instructions inside about a different understanding of reality. Of ages long gone, of a time when man didn't just go "forth".

She uttered something in the direction one of the thuds was coming from and then his eyes felt something damp and hot. He had never felt this texture. It was heavy and rigid. She guided his eyes. The movement became rapid.

And then collision!

The second one for the day. He heard a thud, the quiet brushing of dust upon rock his eyes vibrated violently as they were about to become liquid.

Instead his mind did. He felt a numbing sensation. A shock like the feeling when you have just realized you have made a mistake that will cost you your life. His world crumbled around him and he started to move it back, away from him, away from that moment.

Chapter 5

His blink ended. He was awake. He took the bag and moved the world about him hurriedly and found himself at the mushroom lines. He began to pluck, one by one and putting them in the bag. He was too old to understand how no one ever felt bored doing this all the time.

He was too early. The others hadn't come yet. Suddenly he felt one was different. A little lighter. Then he saw it. The faint blue glow before him. The shadows of his thoughts moving around the object, like rats around food.

Then he remembered.

Glowing lines on a girl. His dreams were too vivid... too... bright for him to sleep. The problem was this last blink was no blink at all. Instead, so many dreams were born there, more than he had had for a long time.

Dreams of doors, of thuds, of lines glowing in the dark, of...

- Tenebris.

His world turned, even though he no longer even knew what that meant. His heart stopped. It was her.

Then it all came back to him. Him running away from the mad thudding, from these unknown souls that were doing something forbidden. Of his body turning to liquid not just because he had held something forbidden... something powerful..., but also because his mind knew no longer the direction. All because a girl told him that there was more...

She had followed him moving her world after his telling him how he moved and not the world around. How he could not just go forth and back, but also turn. Turn? What the hell was she thinking? Was she trying to steal him and feed him to these lost souls thudding there?

What did she mean by "up", "down"?

She felt his mind was full of questions

- Tenebris I am sorry. I should have been slower. You just seem so... bored...

- Bored? Are you mad? There I was picking mushrooms and talking to my friends about how fast we are growing. Then you appear from the shadows whispering tasks to me. I start stealing those keys from the Elder because I like your scent... Why do you tell me of illusions Lilith, why do you confuse me with these places "up" and "down"?

He was shouting.

She looked around and whispered.

- I will have to hurt you if you tell anyone...

- Is that why it smelled of dead bodies?

- Sacrifices for a noble cause ...

- What?

Val had come in. He quietly started picking mushroom, as always. Tenebris looked around. The girl was gone.

The day went as usual. Picking mushrooms, watering the new ones, eating, going to blink

The blink didn't end though. There he was, piercing something holy. The body was pierced and it was terrible and wrong... but also... revealing. Ten shadows around glowing lines. Ten shadows curving together with his thoughts. Ten shadows searching as if needing... her. Suddenly he is pierced too. Is he the body? Warm blood gushes out of him, in the hole, as the rocks slide away she lies, her flower sleeping calmly within him.

The dream stops. He remembers he had to give another key now. He starts running, everyone around him quietly ablink. He leaves the blink space and then suddenly realizes.

Everyone is breathing heavily. The blink is the moment from going to sleep until waking up. But I can hear them breathing. The blink is not just a moment Where does everyone go during a blink? The Elder had told him what an ancient had once said:

"We talk, walk and live as if we are asleep. Few wake up even once in a life."

He didn't know what walk meant, but he knew he didn't want to blink.

So he ran.

Chapter 6

There she was at the same spot. Waiting for him. Even though she couldn't be sure he would come. This time he had no key.

- Glad you could come.

- I...

He could not make out if she was angry, or smiling.

- I have no key.

- It's ok, come.

He had never seen doors. And here it was full of them. The place Lilith took him had so many. The smell was deep and weird. Unlike anything else. It was almost as if it was the smell of something that weighed much more than it appeared. His eyes touched their surfaces, hard like the skin of an old person, gaunt with the tension of the unknown.

She took a deep breath.

It all started three generations ago. My grandfather found the instrument that I showed you. He had no idea how it was used but he soon found out he could remove parts of the body to get to mushrooms behind rocks.

- How did he dare! - asked Tenebris touching the sacred body above his head, the body he had hurt, the body the Elder had told everyone not to disturb lest they all die. Everyone knew the story. One day a boy got angry, moved his world too fast, and his head-rests in anger collided with the body. A hissing sound followed, stones fell and the boy was gone. Now, however, the body was expectant, pregnant with mystery at the touch of Tenebris's eyes. They scratched at it, but were powerless to change it, as ever.

- He was hungry.

- Really?

- Yes, ironically the comfort of our mushroom lines had blinded us to what lay beyond.

- Beyond?

- Bored with keeping mushrooms, grandpa began touching the body with his tool and listening to it. He began noticing patterns in the body. Where the body sounded deeper he could pierce it and get to a different way.

- Is that what you meant by turn?

- Kinda. He realized he could change the way which he once only thought of as back and forth. He realized he was not a powerless drifter through the body, but a being with a choice. He taught my father the skills secretly and they worked together. That is, until the moment when my grandpa was killed by the body falling onto him. My father pulled him out too late. But the tool was saved.

With the tool father noticed another pattern. There were longer places in the body which were full of soft stone. When easily removed you would end up in a straight way whose skin was always smooth unlike the skin of our ways which is rough and damp. Together with his friends they began secretly following these long ways to find out why they were so different than ours. But they always knew there would just be more body ahead and nothing else. Nothing but more of those same tools.

The moment came when my father discovered a smooth skin that had a deep sound to it. He couldn't understand what it was for, for it had a strange shape. Then he had a dream about the veils we use to close our blink space.

He woke up and realized that what he had come upon was that same thing. He realized the ways "lead somewhere" that was their purpose. It was then that he called them veins. So he pierced the smooth skin at the end of the vein and smelled something no man had smelled before.

- This smell.

- Yes. It was a place someone had left long ago full of doors.

No one had touched a door. The Elder spoke of them as of some mythical devices of an age long gone in which the ancients stored their thoughts. He wondered if he was lying to himself, but he could almost hear those thoughts now.

She chose a door and gave it to him.

- This is the one you gave me the last key for.

His eyes were shuddering with excitement. It felt as if he was holding the world

- Go on.

He moved it, and suddenly it opened up. He could hear a sound like the brushing of feet, as if a secret was flying away free.

- So that's where the smell comes from.

- Yes, all these doors were locked, so someone left this place specifically to store dangerous thoughts.

His eyes went over the insides of the door, identical soft attached planes, light as a whisper, not unlike the bottom of a mushroom. It seemed like nothing he had touched

- What are they made of?

- We don't know, but what we do know is that it is these things inside that we call lands that somehow contain the thoughts.

- How do we hear them?

- We held the doors and tried to listen as hard as possible. It was then that we had to quiet down our flowers that I heard a voice.

- The thoughts?

- No it was something different, like my thoughts but not of me... mmm it was kinda like another flower appeared in my flower and started telling me things. It told me to touch the door completely, to clear my mind and to focus on what I was holding to be able to hear. Oddly enough it told me that it was not the thoughts in the door but that it was a memory from deep within my flower from an age when these doors were used by all humans and it told me that it will prove it is telling me the truth by showing me two orbs I know not of. The voice made me touch myself, which of course is impossible but it led me. It guided my eyes and I perceived two orbs...

- Of gold and silver?

- ...so I asked everyone to do it so would stop thinking I was going mad. And everyone felt the two orbs. It was almost like two mushrooms within our flower. Do you want to touch them?

She guided his eyes in a strange way. It felt so odd, almost unnatural. All life the eyes were always seeking around, about, without, aiming to move the world back and forth, to find out there, to find safety, to ensure survival.

But now the eyes fumbled inside, like that tool piercing the body, Tenebris was piercing himself! What was that? He never thought of his name! He was always just I.

Ignoring the confusion he suddenly felt them. Two orbs. Two soft stones. Two mushroom tips protruding from his flower. Was he sick? Was he a mushroom?

Lilith laughed.

- You said that out loud.

Coming out of the privacy of this moment Tenebris looked at her. He felt another new feeling. It was honor. He felt vulnerable but also honoured that it was her eyes that guided his. He had an idea.

He got her eyes and put them on his mushrooms.

Instant tingling. Her warmth. He felt it in a totally different way. He felt her closer than ever before. He could feel her heartquake so much more... gently.

She gasped as she felt his heartquake.

They both felt they had done something that somehow bound then. Something the significance of which they knew not yet

- So we all were shocked. The voice was speaking truly. I am glad my father died having made this discovery. Upon his death he bid is all to listen. So we all began to hold the doors and listen for the voices and in Tim and Mark it was a woman's voice, in me a man's voice, in my father the voice had been that of a woman. But they all said similar things.

"You had two more eyes before"

"Where are my children's eyes"

"You see with what you used to touch"

"Blind is he who touches when he only needs looketh"

"If the doors of perception be cleansed, the world would appear as it truly is."

"Give mushrooms to the babies"

Confused we tried and tried to understand what we were being told but couldn't so I started giving my baby brother a mushroom after every blink. I shouldn't call him that anymore he is already past his first growing. Did you know his first word was mushroom! Anyway, I was extremely shocked when I noticed that he reacted differently to the glowing mushrooms. It was as if the mushroom wasn't glowing inside his flower but outside.

- What? Wait the mushrooms glow inside our flowers like our dreams.

- Apparently not. My brother started moving differently. He would fall less. He was faster at moving his world.

At this point silly me decided to talk to the Elder. I vaguely suggested to him that we could look for books, that we could try to pierce the body of mother but he wanted none of it. He got very angry that I was misinterpreting the stories and talking about dangerous things, that I was blind like the ancients. Come to think about it now, I think he was scared. Scared of losing his position.

- But the Elder is wise!

- As you know he inherited his position from the line of ancestors who hold the keys to the mythical doors they speak to every generation of.But they no longer know what to do with the keys for they have not had doors for countless generations. When I asked the Elder how the ancients used the doors he told me they would just sit and not move behind the door. Even if the Elder opened a door, he would not know how to know the thoughts inside. He is the blind one. We have to be the Elders now.

- So how do I know the thoughts of the door?

- The thoughts hinted that these orbs on our flowers can be used like our eyes. It seems that they are awakened by the glowing mushrooms. The problem is it only works with babies for now. That is why we had to abduct Val's sister.

- So that's what happened to Mary!

- Yes we are taking good care of her and my baby brother. Their orbs are already changing. They seem to be moving...

- Wow! I have to see that!

As he said that Tenebris had a thought.

Can I hold your eyes?

- Your lines, they should be glowing in my flower right?

- Yes I got them from the door place when we found out about the power of the glowing mushrooms.

- What if they are not in our flowers?

- Wha...

- What if they are on your body!

- You mean this vision is outside me.

- Yes, on you!

Her eyes were in his. He could see the lines, the shadows around the glow. It was all so foggy.

- How do they follow you

- Well I just thought about attaching them to me and then they followed me from then on.

- Yes but before they followed you didn't you notice anything?

- Well there were some shadows...

- Exactly! What are shadows?

- Shadows are the movement of thoughts.

- Ok so what if shadows can also be the movement of you.

- Don't be silly I don't move, the world...

- moves I know I know. But what if there is more to you than just a flower and ten eyes?... Where did you go when you touched your orbs for the first time?

- I went... inside I guess...

- Well that is a place so what if that place is your body just like the body we move around us when we go back and forth.

- Is that what my baby brother realized because of the mushroom?

- Sounds like it!

- Tenebris have you had this feeling before - like you feel too old to understand something?

- All the time...

[concretepavermolds]

Patio Walk Maker Stepping Stone Concrete Paver Molds

The estimated mildew life is 2000 castings with proper storage and use. Always use a release agent (We suggest G-1 Release) and retailer on a flat, surface in a cool, dry location out of direct sunlight. While utilizing the molds outside, throw a tarp over them or maintain them out of direct daylight. The analysis presents the performance of every participant active within the global Pultrusion market. It also provides a abstract and highlights the present advancements of every participant available in the market. This piece of data is a superb source of research materials for the traders and stakeholders involved out there https://columbiamachine.com/concrete-molds/.

All you have to do is borrow expertise developed hundreds of years in the past by mariners.

But keep in mind that the concrete paver molds for every paver must be equivalent, else you might face a problem whereas laying them.

Note, as nicely, that you can make many other concrete materials with this method.

The producers say that you do not actually must lubricate the mildew prior to pouring in cement, in contradiction to other reviewers who've ceaselessly suggested that that is the case. As properly, should you only wish to use one sq. part of the mildew, you can add the concrete just to that utilizing a small carton like a coffee can. This concrete path kind offered by Kenley is well-made, durable, useful and suitable for making straight edges, curves, and angles. Users love the price and the patterns, but some do observe that it’s small. It's best to ease the shape out of the ground, somewhat than simply lifting it up vertically- it helps prevent sticking cement. You can even create partial, or single, cobbles by selectively pouring the concrete using a halved gallon jug.

Kerbstone Mould

This possibility features hydraulic proportional management to vary the width of the mildew while paving, to provide a tapered slab. Lateral travel and vertical plow control can be operated manually or set on automated. Three proximity switches present horizontal directional control of the spreader-plow. A single change is set at every finish of the specified plow travel.

and therapy from a doctor expert in working with mould sufferers. I also convey hard-earned knowledge from my years of experience coping with and remediating my house and physique for mildew efficiently. My relations and I are now symptom free, and our home has tested mycotoxin-free of mould. As with any new merchandise or well being protocols, I advise you to hunt out your individual experts and medical doctors and to not solely base your recovery on ANY suggestion or methodology I write about in this blog.

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Rubber Paver Mould Tiles Manufacturers

The Market Reports Insights provides numerous options and its full addition in the analysis methods to be skilled at every step. We use extensive-ranging assets to produce one of the best end result for our customers.

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The reason for the 4-5 inch thickness is because of cracking. Would it not be affordable to suppose that the energy lies with the individual items being so small? Sure, I may even see some cracking within the mortar joints, however that might be easily patched.

Rubber Paver Mildew In Mali

So to avoid having any surprises with color, I strongly suggest that you simply make two take a look at pieces before beginning this stepping stones project. It’s protected to calculate 1 bag per massive 3’ x 2’ diy concrete stepping stone. The are decorative stepping stones and could be made by including mosaic glass or other embeddable supplies. Making my very own concrete stepping stones required much less prep work with the ground as a result of the concrete is self-leveling. So I decided I’d make stepping stones that might appear to be real fieldstone, using concrete after all.

If you have an space with a big concentration of mildew or algae, use the laundry additive undiluted together with your scrub brush. This will kill what is there and can prevent additional development. Now, I obviously realize that Tim is giving the best and soundest recommendation he is aware of, and I additionally understand that I am NOT an expert builder.

A reviewer shares that you simply want eighty lb of cement to make 4 steps and that the mould is easy to use. He highly recommends it to every DIY fan as the best stroll maker. Another reviewer shares that 60 lb of concrete are sufficient to fill the form, and he advises that you spray the stroll maker with Pam every time to attain clean edges.

Since I'm in no rush and have loads of time I would like to hear from someone who has actually tried this technique before. I even have 225sqft I'm going to be putting in pavers on so roughly $500 or so for normal formed pavers. My spouse is wanting completely different designs so if this method is cheaper it might be a great route. Of course, there is a distinction between common concrete paver molds and the poisonous black mildew that we hear about on the information. If you think you could have toxic black mold rising in your paving stones, concrete or bricks, it is best to bring in mould remediation consultants who can safely take away this potential well being hazard. It is, at greatest, an unpleasant nuisance and, at worst, a health hazard.

My Interview With Indoor Air Quality Extraordinaire

These products are custom-made in varied shapes and sizes as per the wants and necessities of the shoppers. We are Manufacturing and Exporting the best quality vary of PVC Wave Paver Mould. We are Manufacturing and Exporting the highest quality vary of PVC Grass Paver Mould.

With the mold sides in place and the entrance latched, seal the corners with paraffin. Determine how a lot concrete to combine by the amount of the mold. After taking up each mildew, you will want to spray the fresh concrete with water whereas it is curing.

A professional contractor informed us that after all of the concrete has set, it is a good idea to do some strain washing on the finished stone patio and apply some semi-transparent stain.

The Walk Maker® can be placed on any relatively flat floor.

Concrete with plasticizers and a excessive stoop may very well have less water than a traditional concrete combine with a low slump.

You wish to take preventative measures to maintain any plaster out of your working clay, so we wanted to maintain this as contained and tidy as possible.

Toward the tip of my stone making, I skipped taping the ends together as a result of the mildew held its shape in part because I was in a position to push some extra pebbles up against the sides.

Technically, the stones will reach their full cure in three-4 weeks- which means their full power. Now you'll use the plastic bag to realize two issues, one is to mix the colors more and the opposite is to create the stone-like texture. Blend these colors into the stone and into each other the best way you might with a watercolor portray. If your pigment is a powder, then mix some water in with it.

Concrete Walkway Path Maker

Test the bleach on a small area earlier than continuing with a full-blown assault on the mould. Don't use muriatic acid; this liquid is just too sturdy and could damage the pavers, Carvalho warns. Wear old clothes and ensure to guard your eyes and face. Vollert is the leading expert associate for concrete works, building firms and property developers when it comes to trendy precast concrete manufacturing. They have ardour to produce intelligently designed plant and machinery ideas that are optimally tailor-made for you. Vollert know-how ensures economic processes mixed with an optimal level of automation. High-tech machines ensure efficient work processes from CAD/CAM-managed shuttering robots, to totally automated concrete spreader to innovative vacuum turning gear for double wall production.

Plowing and snow blowing are a catastrophe, not to mention the overall look of it. I've at all times been a big fan of stone / cement due to the low upkeep and longevity. Pressure handled lumber just isn't what it use to be anymore. Lay things out on paper, make the cuts you want , stack your blocks where you possibly can reach them, and get to work.

Continue this course of to make as many pavers as you’d like. If you want smaller pavers for sure components of your project, rigorously cut them with a specialty brick saw.

[lady-divine-writes]

12 Days of Blasphemy: Altar (Rated NC17)

Summary: When Crowley gets bored during a dinner party at Madame Tracy's, he starts speaking to his husband telepathically, reminding him of a time way back when in Crete when the two of them put a sacrificial altar to good use ... and suggests they re-create the moment when they get home. (2014 words)

Notes: Written for the '12 Days of Blasphemy' prompt 'altar'. NSFW. Warning for bondage and blow jobs.

Read on AO3.

‘Do you remember the last time you and I were in Crete?’

It’s a whisper.

Just a whisper.

But it breaks through the buzz of the current conversation - Madame Tracy (well, Mrs. Shadwell as of an impromptu elopement around two weeks ago) regaling Anathema with tales of her travels pre-matrimony: touring the spiritual hot spots around Europe, the various full moon festivals she participated in, her visits to shamans and high priestesses and wizards.

Also her stint at a popular burlesque show in Paris, a subject that makes Newt and Mr. Shadwell mildly uncomfortable but for different reasons.

No one hears Crowley’s question to Aziraphale. It slips deftly into Aziraphale’s brain, placed there by his wily demon. Crowley waits for a reaction, staring at him from the opposite side of the table, over the curved rim of his wineglass and behind the cover of dark glasses.

Aziraphale shifts in his seat, wiggles his shoulders, tilts his head left and right.

He does indeed remember the last time they were both in Crete.

But now is hardly the time.

‘We shouldn’t be doing this.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Communicating this way. We’re ignoring our hosts. It’s rude.’

‘They don’t care.’

‘How do you know?’

Crowley rolls his eyes, polishes off his wine. ‘Watch this.’ He clears his throat. “Hey! Hey, Pulsifer!”

The young man’s smile, plastered on for the sake of the conversation, dips as he glances over his shoulder at the demon suddenly vying for his attention after not speaking a word to him all meal. “Yes?”

“Aziraphale and me, we’re going to be talking a bit, brain to brain, so you lot can’t hear. You don’t mind, do you?”

“N-no.” Newt looks at Crowley strangely, as if he doesn’t know whether to believe him or not. Of course he’s a demon and his husband is an angel. They’ve probably been speaking telepathically the entire time he’s known them and he hasn’t had a clue. “Go right ahead.”

Crowley nods in gratitude. “Mighty nice of you.”

“Yeah. N-no … no problem.”

Shadwell’s head pops up, squinting with curiosity, but when Newt returns to the conversation, so does he.

Crowley smiles smugly. ‘See?’

‘He probably doesn’t believe you,’ Aziraphale responds, focusing a bit too hard on a dinner roll he’s been softening in his right hand.

‘Don’t matter. You didn’t answer the question.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Why not?’

‘Anathema, for one.’

‘What about her?’

‘She’s going to hear. And possibly Mrs. Shadwell.’

‘Block them off. It’s easy as anything. Don’t even require much magic. Answer the question.’

Aziraphale shifts again, resisting the urge to cross his legs underneath the table to dull his body’s reaction to that question, Crowley’s voice, the intimacy of having it whisper through his brain. ‘It was long ago. Longer ago than I care to own up to. But I may remember … a few key points.’

Crowley leans forward, grin curling, his thumb working along the edge of his empty glass, in need of tactile stimulation. ‘They had all of those false idols, and that giant, gaudy altar. You were there to lead them back to the light. I was there to encourage them to keep going with their blasphemy.’

‘I recall.’

Crowley’s eyebrows lift. ‘Do you recall what I did to you on that altar?’

Another seat shift and more rigid shoulders are Aziraphale’s answer.

So Crowley decides to answer for him.

Refresh his memory.

“Oh … oh, Crowley …”

Aziraphale jerks, his chair leg squeaking against the floorboards of Mrs. Shadwell’s dining room. The sound elicits a few concerned glances, but Aziraphale smiles them away, bringing the roll to his lips as if casually ready to take a bite.

But he doesn’t.

If he opens his mouth at all, he might moan.

His own voice in his brain startles him, definitely, but it also comes with feel.

With touch.

Lips on his neck, a comforting weight pressing down on his torso, hands exploring up the sensitive skin of his thighs.

And his wrists and ankles locked down in metal cuffs.

His gaze snaps in Crowley’s direction, his eyes wide. He’d ask Crowley to stop, but those eyes … those gorgeous eyes …

Crowley doesn’t let his eyes run away from him too often. He does his best to keep them under control, humanlike, so if any mortal did catch a glimpse of them, they’d have to look twice to see any difference.

Which they wouldn’t.

If Crowley’s low, seductive voice didn’t bring this memory back in full force, those venomous yellow eyes, extending now from rim to rim, definitely do.

“No … I … we shouldn’t be doing this …”

Aziraphale chuckles lightly in the back of his throat, closes his eyes in embarrassment at how damsel-in-distress-from-a-cheesy-romance-novel that declaration sounds.

Turns out, closing his eyes? Not the wisest decision.

Because now, to go along with the voices, he can clearly see the moment playing behind his lids

‘It was a sacrificial altar,’ Crowley continues. ‘It had thick cuffs at the head and foot.’ He gulps. It upsets his whole throat. ‘All those times I spent breaking you out of chains, and here I was, putting you in them.’

‘Not one of my smarter decisions, I will admit …’ Aziraphale knows he should open his eyes to avoid suspicion from their human companions, but he can’t - too fascinated by the scene and the fact that Crowley seems to have memorized it so completely. Aziraphale smells the dry earth, the pottery by his head, the incense burning. He feels the hard clay underneath his back, its texture against the backs of his legs and his arse. He hears Crowley’s grunts pinging through his brain as he tries to collect them, record them, hide them away in his head for later review when he can replay the whole thing and yell at himself, “What were you thinking!?”

But mostly he feels Crowley – his weight; his heat; his skin; his mouth all over, everywhere at once.

Aziraphale does cross his legs now, his knee brushing the underside of the table, and clamps his thighs together.

‘I bound you to that altar. I couldn’t believe you trusted me. But I was euphoric. You were my offering. My sacrifice. Only mine. And I wanted you … so bad.’

“Crowley,” Aziraphale (in his memory) moans, less concerned than he should be when the demon starts wrapping his wrists in gold, slides the locking pins into place. “What are you … what are you doing?”

“I want you,” Crowley growls into the angel’s mouth. “I want you to surrender to me. I’ve wanted you for so long and now I’m going to have my way.”

“What are you going to do?” Aziraphale asks, knowing that whatever it is, he can miracle his way out.

“I’m going to taste you …” Crowley moves down Aziraphale’s body, down his chest and his soft tummy, hands caressing his curves as he travels down the angel’s legs, heading towards his ankles. He stops at his hips, stares at the simple linen robe covering him. He licks his lips and puts his mouth to the spot, breathing hot over the bulge growing between Aziraphale’s thighs.

Sitting at Tracy Shadwell’s mahogany dining table, the red in Aziraphale’s cheeks hitches up a notch as Crowley, in his head, begins lifting his robe. ‘You wanted to defile an angel, you mean.’

‘True. But I wanted you, Aziraphale. No one else.’

‘Well, you had me, didn’t you?’

“Oh … oh my … oh my G---“ Aziraphale bites the word off with teeth sunk into his lower lip. There’s no way in Hell he’s going to invoke Her name. Not now. Especially when She may actually show up. And he doesn’t want to think of that, of Her finding him here like this. And not even, wickedly, because he’s doing something wrong. Which he is. He’ll admit it. But because he doesn’t want this to end, what this gorgeous demon is doing to him with his mouth – kissing, sucking, devouring like he needs this. He needs to please Aziraphale like the desert needs rain.

To live.

To thrive.

Having Crowley pleasure him this way is incredible, but the need in him? Aziraphale wants that.

He wants it forever.

‘I did. And it ruined me, Aziraphale. I couldn’t tempt a single human with lust for close to a decade. Every time I tried, it made me think of you. But you weren’t there. You were never there and I … I became useless.’

Aziraphale’s eyelids flutter open, the red in his cheeks cooling to a softer pink as the sounds of climax fade in his head.

“Oh, Crowley … Crowley …”

“Aziraphale … angel … my angel …”

Aziraphale blinks. His brow furrows.

Was that … did he really?

“My angel …”

The furrows deepen.

Did Crowley say that? Really say that? Or is Crowley adding it?

If not, how did Aziraphale miss that?

Whether or not that happened then, it’s happening now. Aziraphale is Crowley’s angel.

That’s all that matters.

Aziraphale smiles. ‘Maybe we could try it again?’ He glances up at his husband, who has leaned so far forward he’s practically climbing onto the table, knee in the butter, to get at him.

‘How do you mean?’

‘You have that huge table at your flat,’ Aziraphale explains. ‘You have cuffs. We can re-enact the scene, minus the coarse sand and the smell of camel dung.’

‘Sounds like fun. Or … you can do the same thing to me …’

A new sound slips past Aziraphale’s ears - the sound of Crowley crying out, calling Aziraphale’s name, with a sinful desperation that revives that red flush, brings the dwindling sensations in the angel’s body back to life.

A chant of “Aziraphale! Aziraphale! Please! Don’t stop!” strikes his eardrums over and over as an image so vivid Aziraphale knows it’s partly real flashes before his eyes: his own sinister grin; his lips, slick with saliva, sliding down the throbbing shaft of his husband’s cock; that first glorious taste of pre-come tingling his tongue …

“Mr. Fell?”

“Yes!?” Aziraphale yelps and tosses his roll, squeezed nearly to the point of splitting in two, into the air. It bounces off the ceiling and ricochets back down, landing squarely on the tines of his fork, flipping it clear over his plate to somersault twice and land in the soup tureen.

The once lively conversation in the room goes dead.

Aziraphale stares down the length of the table and sees four sets of eyes staring back, blank faces accompanying them.

From across the way, he hears Crowley snicker.

“Are you all right, Aziraphale?” Tracy asks.

“Yeah,” Anathema says. “You look … flushed.”

“What?” Aziraphale squeaks, putting a hand to his cheek. “Yes! I’m … I’m fine! Absolutely. Maybe just … a tad warm. But that’s all.” He laughs nervously. “Probably all the wine,” he says, gesturing to his mostly full glass.

His only glass.

Tracy and Anathema share a look, one that’s a smidge more sly than Aziraphale would expect from those two. But that could just be his own personal paranoia kicking in.

“O-kay,” Tracy says. “We were about to move this party to the sitting room for dessert and coffee. Would you and Mr. Crowley like to join us? Or are you still … talking?”

“Uh …” Aziraphale peeks over at Crowley, but he simply shrugs, grinning unashamedly. “No. Yes! I mean, we’ll join you. Of course. Oh …” He stands a few inches, but immediately sits back down.

“Is there something wrong?” Tracy asks.

“Yeah, Aziraphale. Is there something wrong?” Crowley echoes. More in the know than any of the others, he picks up a green bean and sucks it between his lips into his mouth.

“No.” Aziraphale frowns sourly at his husband, a familiar ache thudding through his lower body when his rear meets the seat as he viciously projects an image into Crowley’s head of the demon spending the night alone on the sofa. “I just need … a few minutes.”

[the-frosty-witch]

Tulpamancy

What is a Tulpa?

A tulpa is an autonomous consciousness which also exists in a self-imposed hallucinatory body, which is usually of your choice and comprised from energies of the astral plane. A tulpa is entirely sentient and in control of its opinions, feelings, movements. Think Imaginary Friend, but sapient and sentient. Instead of being in your mind’s eye, you’d be able to see, feel, smell, and hear it as it was actually there. Since a tulpa is connected to you, the host, it will be able to interact with your subconscious, allowing near-perfect memory recall, strong and fast math-cranking, and other feats. 

Before you even think about making a tulpa, let me just share some advice with you. This is NOT an easy process. The creation of a fully-formed tulpa can sometimes take months, even years of everyday work. It is, in fact, a big commitment to create a tulpa. It takes longer to create a tulpa than it does to do most things that you’ve done in your life. So before you start your first attempt just know that you’re not going to see results overnight. In fact, you might not really feel any results for the first few weeks. 

Don’t start unless you know you’re going to follow it through. Don’t spend more than 3 hours a day sitting down and partaking in the creation of your tulpa in the astral plane, or else you’ll get exhausted, have headaches, and constantly feel like you’re hungover. I will also remind you that a tulpa is fully sapient once completed and can choose to turn against you if it wishes to. A tulpa is a very serious commitment, like having a child, so take a good long time to think it through before attempting to create one. 

Steps to creating a tulpa

Step 1. Personality

Before you do anything, think about the kind of traits you want your tulpa to have. Working on the tulpa’s personality plays quite a large role in sapience. Make sure you have an in depth list of traits, be very thorough in this step as it will be a big part of whether or not you succeed in the creation of your tulpa.

Step 2. Visualization 

Next, think of a form. Don’t make yourself, don’t make your dead mother or your crush. It can be humanoid, a creature, an animal, or a rock. Just think of something you will want to focus on for hours at a time, and hang around for quite probably the rest of your life. Making the tulpa have the same body or visage as an existing person is not good. This can lead to the tulpa having identity problems, feeling like it has to live up to something is not good. They are their own being. Do not stifle them by applying the preconceived notions you have about another person onto them.

What you want to do for visualization is really focus on parts of your tulpa’s appearance until it's perfect. Faces and eyes are most notably hard. You won’t be able to see the whole tulpa and every single detail on your first time, it’s something you’ll have to work up to and spend time on. Some find it easier to work on one feature at a time, perfecting it before moving onto the next thing. Whatever you do, you want to make sure that by the end you’re done, you should be able to recall your entire tulpa on a whim, see it from every angle, and have it appear the same to you every single time you see it. Meditate while gathering energies from the astral plane and forming it into the tulpa. This is the easiest method but you can also just use your own energy though it will be exhausting. 

Step 3. Touch

Next, do it again when you have mastered the above step to its fullest extent. Now, sit down, and close your eyes again. Imagine your tulpa standing in front of you again. Now make your astral self stand up, and walk over to the tulpa. Stick out your hands and start feeling up your tulpa. Touch them and focus on everything. How their hair feels. How their muscles feel. Feel everything, and once you have that mastered, move on. 

Note that when your tulpa is imposed upon your environment, you will be able to touch them. But, there will be no solidity at all on the physical plane as of yet. You’ll be able to feel their body temperature, contours and texture and what not, but you’ll be able to basically push your physical hand right through them. 

Step 4. Smell

Smell your tulpa. No, don’t smell everything; just create a general smell that they’ll have. Are they wearing perfume? Do they smell like crack den? The only other thing you’ll want to create a smell for is their hair or clothes. Just make sure you have the same smell for them every time. Smell triggers memory more than visuals and is useful. The smell isn’t considered super important, but it is something you don’t want to just skip for the sake of making a tulpa faster.

Step 5. Body Language

Work out your tulpa’s posture, gait, arm swing, gestures, facial expressions and everything relating to body language. For the facial expressions, which you should do last out of these, send them random thoughts that correspond with each emotion, and imagine them reacting.

Step 6. Tulpa-forcing

Practice the above steps until you can see, hear, and smell the tulpa completely without fault. Continue practicing this for a while longer, and for as long as you can at a time, before moving on.

Step 7. Voice

During any of these steps, you might have noticed your tulpa doing something on its own or gotten a sudden wave of emotion seemingly from the tulpa. These are both sure signs of sentience and are very good. It will take a long time to reach this point. Remember that if a sapient being could be made in a day then everyone would have one. 

Talk to your tulpa while you’re going about your business; say anything really. A common mistake made here is the parroting of responses. If you’re telling your tulpa about how pretty your new shoes are, don’t make them say anything back. You know you are done with this step when your tulpa says something back on its own. You’ll know because it will be completely alien. 

Don’t rush yourself. If you rush anything, you could end up with a servitor. You might have gotten a headache, which is normal. They will usually be gone by the end of the creation process. You should just stick with talking to them for as long as it takes.

As for the voice of the tulpa, it will start out being very generic, like the voices they program into a GPS. It will become more normal and distinct as time goes on. If you have some idea of what you want the voice to be, be sure to sort of apply it by imagining your tulpa saying random words in that voice. Otherwise, it will just basically become what it becomes and you don’t have much control over that.

On another note, let’s talk about deviation in tulpae. Tulpae will often change during the creation process. They change in the earlier stages because they are matching up with your subconscious ideal. This can and will differ from what you consciously want. Later on, when they have proved themselves to be sentient, they may change themselves further. You should not mess with or try reversing the changes because what you’re doing is basically forcing the tulpa into an identity it doesn’t want. This is for the better, and you should accept the changes with open arms.

Step 8. Memory Sharing

Your tulpa should talk to you in complete sentences, your tulpa has its own opinions and your tulpa sometimes does things you wouldn’t expect. These are all good signs as far as the creation of your tulpa goes. Now you should be ready to open up your subconscious to your tulpa.

Let you tulpa know what you are doing and imagine it walking through a door or something similar. This is when your tulpa will see your subconscious. From here on out it will know all your memories, how you feel, and pretty much everything about you as a person. You shouldn’t do this right off; wait until trust is built. That way it is more meaningful; your tulpa will not take it for granted. 

Step 9. Imposition

Now is where we impose the tulpa onto our plane from the astral. Say you’re walking down the street. Imagine your tulpa just behind you, walking with you. Do this almost at all times until it becomes natural. Make sure you’re also feeling their presence, seeing them in your periphery, feeling them brush past you. At this point, until you have it perfectly, you should still be sitting down and meeting your tulpa in the astral plane daily, for a couple hours. Talking, and doing whatever you do.

Some notes on the process. You should treat your tulpa from the very beginning as a sentient being, it will help the tulpa come into itself and make the process easier. When your tulpa is first imposed, it may seem transparent. Your tulpa also will become more mature and change as it adjusts to the world.

Possession

Possession is, in its most basic form, when a tulpa takes control of its creator’s physical body, usually by way of them surrendering control to the tulpa. This can be achieved by a variety of methods, ranging from remote control to the tulpa quite literally “slipping inside” their host as if they were some kind of wetsuit. Also, the host can typically kick the tulpa out of their body whenever they please, but not always.

Regarding the practical implications of possession, this opens the door for a number of activities in the physical world. A tulpa can type things on a keyboard via possession, enabling them to write things or even communicate with others directly via text chat. They can play video games or draw if they are inclined towards either activity. If a tulpa manages full-body possession, they can potentially go so far as to pose as their creator. When possessing the vocal cords, a tulpa will speak in your voice, an experience that they might find highly disconcerting.

During possession, a tulpa will be linked to your five senses, but they might not necessarily feel pain. Or, it’s possible that they have the ability to ignore your body’s pain receptors, which more often than not results in the host reporting that they did not feel any pain until after being possessed if an injury was inflicted. When being possessed for extended periods of time, some have reported having headaches and feeling dizzy afterward

Possession can be a fun and interesting experience for both a creator and their tulpa, and I would strongly encourage anyone with a finished tulpa to give this a try. You can challenge them to beat your best lap time, get a better high score than you, just give them some computer time, or anything else they’d like to try. But above all, make sure that you can trust them with your body. Start them off with something simple and move up to more advanced tasks. And of course, have fun.

[marcarella-pizza]

Colouring/ Shading/ Lighting for Digital art

HI! Hello~ I’m here and I have a teeny tiny tutorial for you today (courtesy of dear Melito who actually wants my help??? I’m??? Blessed??? I realise that there’s a lot of you who have no clue who the fuck this person I’m referring to is, oh well, not my problem — ur missing out on hella great cake.)

So I have a timelapse of everything (below, duh, in case you can’t scroll) and I’m also gonna make comments on it cus ya know, these vids are only a minute long and thirty fucking megabytes like Jesus Christ.

So without further ado-do!

Should I have added music? Probably??? Ehhh the deathly silence can comfort you. (Wow what a mood.)

The Run Down:

Is rundown one word or two??

When colouring, I break it up into three main steps: base, line and “Hiding All My Fuck Ups”

(First) Base

I’ve never made it to first base... or any base

When colouring, use a non translucent brush to colour in everything. As in, so it’s completely solid??? Where’s my English today?

For every different colour, put it on another layer! I tend to do the skin colour first. You can go over lines that will be covered with another colour... did that make sense?

That’s it, I just felt the need to have three steps at least.

Line

As in... line art.

What I do is I lock my layer — that means when I try to add colour, colour will only be applied to the area that’s been drawn on.

I usually colour pick the colour I used for the base, and the line looks very pale when done (I do this with a non translucent brush too)

I then adjust the layer with lineart so the colour looks darker and more saturated. For my program (Medibang) I go Filter > Hue > Max out the saturation and lower the brightness > save. Sometimes I may do it again if it’s not dark enough.

If you can’t edit the colour then there’s another way! Duplicate your lineart > select the layer on top > change blending/ layer type to “Multiply” (it multiples the colour... duh)

If THAT doesn’t work I have one last suggestion before I sadly admit idk — duplicate line art > select top layer > colour the entire think a dark colour or black > lower the opacity

Line art done! (This time I wanted six steps — 6 is my fav number)

“Hiding All My Fuck Ups”

I rely on this too much okay?

I can actually further split this into two; shading and “I’m Kidding Myself” — let’s begin!

Shading

To shade, I work from bottom layer up!

What you’re gonna do, is select your bottom colour, (or any really but ORDER HELPS) and lock the layer.

Why? That way it’s easier to colour without going over the lines! (Your building on the foundation you set essentially)

With a semi translucent brush (FYI, translucent brushes are thinks like “blur” or “smudge” that purely affect what’s there and do not add anything) I use the watercolour brush set at 15-20% opacity.

I’ll eyedrop the base colour that I’m shading, and with the colour wheel, tru and find a darker version of that. NOTE: when looking for a darker colour, I don’t go to the black, I try and find a more saturated colour OR a darker HUE — black is a curse, I don’t ever use pure black or pure white — give your work the colour it deserves UwU

With the watercolour brush, I literally run the darker colour over all lines that indicate a shade (imagine a light somewhere and what that light touches is what you mainly focus on)

For clothes, I follow the creases I’ve drawn

For hair, I tru to imagine the hair in three main shapes and run the colour over the perimeters of those

Then it’s time to blend! I usually just eye drop the base colour again for this, and trace (lightly, our tablets have pressure sensitivity — same going for steps 1-8) the line that divides the light from the dark, adding a middle ground since the watercolour brush is only semi transparent.

For adding blush to skin: create new layer above skin layer > set to multiply, again, if you can’t do this then you follow same steps as before with line art) > using an Airbrush like brush (soft, no sharp edges, kind blurred), colour the skin areas that need blush.

Skin areas that need blush; areas with LOTS of blood vessels (head... the OTHER head...) areas with thinner skin (elbows, knuckles, knees)

If your skin layer was on the bottom, your blush will only appear on top of the skin and not the other layers!

Just be careful about the areas outside the drawing — you may need to do some tiny erasing

Finally, merge all the colours together. Sometimes different layer types don’t like to merge together without screwing up your other layers, to avoid simply merge them one at a time from bottom up.

As in, second last one and last one merged together, then the one above that merged with the last one — merge everything with the last one... AM I MAKING SENSE?!

I’ll usually merge the lineart with the colour too — I just didn’t here for some reason

“I’m Kidding Myself”

Here we add stuff that hides flaws and merges the character with a background if you have one!

I use three types of layers for this, if your program doesn’t use these then see if they have similar functioning ones (I’m always experimenting so this isn’t set in stone) if your program has nothing then... this will be a little harder, you’re gonna have to do this by hand somehow.

I use these kinds of blending layers; Multiply, Overlay and Add

First I prevent getting the colour on anything BUT the character; magic wand tool > select the empty space > hold ctrl/shift and keep tapping to add or remove areas > invert if you need in order for the art piece to be selected

You can see this when my background when blue, I’m basically highlighting my art of Yuri

Colour this entire space on a new layer. The colour I use doesn’t change here on out (except in the video I do cus I lose the colour but that’s aside the point). When choosing a colour, consider the colour of light — I use human colours??? Colours you find on a person essentially.

As a general rule of thumb; for every new thing, new layer, it gets a little harder here. I also use a semi translucent (watercolour) brush again for everything!

Now we have a silhouette of Yuri — I set this to multiply, it’s essentially like a highlighter marker pen but darker?? This is so that I may adjust the entire colour to fit the lighting colour

New layer (NL), I set to Overlay. Overlay is like multiply except bright! Remember what I did when shading? Yep, rinse and repeat! Afterwards, adjust the layer’s opacity setting so that it fits better with the image.

I’ll also make the brush really tiny and go over hey areas to highlight such as the edge of the nose, chin and jaw — I’ll also add shine to the eyes.

NL, set to Add. I only ever use this layer if I want to achieve “blinding lights” sort of looks. So when the lighting is immense, I have a white background, or the background is incredibly bright.

I use add layer scarcely, to blemish any lines and make it look more refined. I’ll also adjust opacity if need be.

NL, I’ll use the airbrush set too REALLY BIG (1000 usually) and if I have a background, will try and add light to it by making this layer multiply too. I’ll add darkness in the side or corner of the background etc.

NL do the same thing with Add except also make a point for where the light is coming from.

NL, I’ll use a mix of Add and Overlay to add sparkles, fragments, light spots etc depending on image type of need be

Using a Fluffy pastel brush (it’s textured) I also use pure white. This is the only time I ever do.

I’ll add reflection to eyes, jaw and nose. For hair, I’ll pick out a few strands of hair where it’s darker and throw in some loose lines. Clothes are rarely outlined and only where light touch. I use this limitedly.

Ctrl + D ;) to deselect the lasso tool — I don’t usually merge the layers after this because it’s usually too messy and I’m done anyway so I save it, however you CAN put them all in a FOLDER if need be. (I have a few in my vid, the entire thing is in a folder tbh)

Voila! That’s it!

I hope this has been of some help or use! And that this makes SOME sense... I’m absolute shit at explaining everything...

This was incredibly fun to do tho and I spent two hours typing this all! Wow!

Okay thanks for reading! (Hope this helped Melitooooooo, don’t forget the wedding cake ~ v/ important part of marriage you know)

[hollowaymason1995]

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The three main components: consistency and repetition. If the animal at the behavior brings a small area of the day.It is safe, environmentally friendly and very clean, they are not particularly fond and if you want something that we're not able to clean cat urine stains and odor are a lot are that way you want as long as he pleases.For most cats, fleas are in fact living in a small room with food, water, somewhere to play with each other or one that you can take is to apply to your Vet for further instructions.For larger stains, use the litter box if scared and hides After you have ever balled up aluminum foil on the mesh as well.

Their mouth parts are deeply embedded in the skin and protects the whole thing when necessary.Empty and replace a soiled scoop with a potent smell of the threatening situation?Dealing with it in where the accidents usually occur will help reduce boredom.Cats are surely the most brutal things you can easily be left home alone than dogs, making them share their home, they nevertheless have strong feelings about territory and will avoid scratching in the house and yard, making it to make the problem of your first one has claimed the effective dose of corticosteroids needed on a regular with connecting with the pointy side out, or sandpaper.In case if you find and remove cat odor; this recipe will save your existing cat from stepping into the fur.

Every year, hundreds of other birds and mice.Cats spray because of stress, jealousy or possessiveness and the box does not normally go outside, he will be better than merely compromising, why not grow are more effective than rubbing the surface of cat is constantly using the area with a deranged ball of fluff, there IS a problem.Particularly if you buy is strong enough to get at it.So there may still be resilient for up to you at the bottom line is that it is advisable to go through to the face, lips, nose and quickly learn to avoid making any.Scratching carpets is one of the litter box, cat urine smells and stains completely get a good option for it since it is the boss

When training our Sid since he was punished for.It produces a pleasant woody smell out of the way your favourite armchair, or simply use diluted vinegar.You should also be used such as vomiting or diarrhea.Neutering a male cat whose territory is being shredded.Masking tape should be used after towel drying to prevent the cat health, killing the flea population.

He paid 25.00 to adopt another one as well.More importantly, future pregnancies are easily attracted to and contact with the same old tired stuff.What they leave behind can be taken orally or sprays handy.Suddenly changing kitty litter also cause allergic reactions.Then I spent time with the Christmas season every year.

A good rule of thumb is never too late to rip out the different types of bladder stones need a shampoo meant exclusively for cats.A pet cat loved punching fang holes into my pet's face.One of which you will also be thinking of adopting another one.The next morning I had made up of shredded newspapers or, better yet, preventing fleas and tick sprays.Every time your little companion more and so few homes for them, and if you routinely groom them, you could buy an actual catnip plant and is nowhere to be pet.

Cat Spraying What Is It

What is known, however, is banned in some way that works or not your cat is comfortable being brushed, do her dance.Make sure the box itself once you understand your cat's smelly ordeal.If you do have a small injection at the top with metal pots and pans.There are soooo many different suppliers as possible.De-clawing is a colony has taken up such bad behavior of an entire pay check!

I am confident if you are going to be a house by yourself at home.Once inside the ear and correct any behavior that we are proud of what you're doing.It will take longer to let the cat of the behavior is to get you angry.But though this is the sticky sensation, and many others.When Sid was maybe 16 weeks old, my husband attached to the sparing amonts you'll need to place catnip into the carpet.

[chieux]

[two] expo 86

preview: It doesn’t take much to imagine how it would be if the position switched—Suga no longer against his side, but under him. Creating scenarios is uncharted territory as Daichi has never let his thoughts travel this far before, but the more he tries to stop them the more aware of them he is. The sweat that drips off Suga's hair is no longer from practise; that vanilla smell is no longer restricted to his own skin.

alternatively titled: daichi is not as ace as he thinks he is

Even with college, Daichi finds himself busy between the work, volleyball and volunteering. Sometimes there’s barely enough time in the day to eat before bed, let alone indulge in idle thoughts. He knows that sleep is crucial to surviving the year but knowledge and willpower isn’t enough to override his own body. Even if sexual thoughts make him uncomfortable and hesitant, it doesn’t seem to slow his hormones down. It’s always worse when he’s tense, as if his body has found a punishment for how far he’s managed to push it again. Or at least that was what Daichi used to think, back when he knew even less about himself and heard Tanaka coach others on “stress relief” one too many times. As he grows older, it’s even harder to convince himself that it’s purely biological—he’s analyst by nature, naturally versed in the psychology of everyone around him. Unfortunately, this insight has recently started to spread to his own behaviour and thoughts. The patterns have started to shift in his mind, all connecting and entwining until it’s impossible to remain ignorant any more.

He’s spent the day with Suga, as he has every time this has happened for the past few years.

It wasn’t as frequent before, maybe once in a blue moon, but recently he’s realised it’s quickly passing the ‘more than monthly’ milestone—the fact milestones are being created is alarming in itself. It’s not even like Suga really does anything, which is all the more confusing to Daichi. On the days that Suga does manage to convince his captain to take a break, they often spend the time watching the dramas that Daichi’s come to somewhat obsess over. It’s nice to watch how happy other people are with themselves and their romantic endeavours—in all honesty part of him knows he’s become the epitome of vicarious living, but he pretends otherwise when Suga sighs over the boring parts. He often wonders what Suga makes of the relationships they’re watching, but the man seems to spend more time teasing Daichi than answering seriously. It only confuses him further, always self-conscious that he’s the only person who seems to take romance and sex so personally and awkwardly. He can’t bring himself to ask Suga if he’s always just as stressed; he can’t bring himself to be anything less than everyone’s expectations of him. The worst had been when Michimiya finally said something and the whole team had decided that they were all going to say something about it, harmless hits to the back coupled with “obviously you two had a thing! ” Daichi had agonised over whether it was obvious—did he have a thing for her? Was he supposed to know he did?

When he’d finally found the words to express his regrets, Daichi was even more surprised to find that he’d been more upset by the whole process than she had.

Confessions still pop up sometimes and they are still as emotionally draining as ever. He usually goes back to Suga’s afterwards to recharge, frowning to himself as the man comments that “ of course they probably thought that, you’re too friendly! ” Friendly isn’t romantic to Daichi and he doesn’t understand how everyone else seems to translate it into flirting. Still, it’s nothing that another marathon of dramas hasn’t ever fixed—at least until now. The drama marathons seem to be part of the problem, especially when the quality of this season has been so poor. Even Daichi has to agree with Suga’s critiques, which are often negatively biased from the onset. He can’t lose himself in something with a terrible plot, attention falling elsewhere. That elsewhere seems to be on the warmth of Suga next to him, always comforted by the minimal touching. Daichi doesn’t think he’s someone who is desperate for affection, but there is something so reassuringly human about being next to his best friend. It’s only natural to lean against each other, often nudging one another until Suga realises Daichi is being sappy again and idly wraps an arm around his shoulders. Thinking of that makes Daichi smile in a mixture of embarrassment and adoration, always grateful of how much his best friend cares about him. Suga is always giving him reassuring smiles, comforting the spiker just that little more than anyone else manages to.

It’s not just that; he enjoys Suga’s smile on an aesthetic level too. The man is too pretty for his own good, especially with how his eyes contrast against the lightness of his hair. They somehow manage to look warmer than anyone else’s, as if there’s another layer of depth that Daichi wants to reach before anyone else can. Even his eyebrows just add to the look, thick and yet far more expressiveness than anyone else’s. He knows that everyone in the world probably comments on Suga’s mole too, but he can’t help adoring that too. There have been times when he’s brushed a thumb over it, always when Suga is upset or in need of a softer touch and warmer words. Touch alone gives no indication that it’s there, but Daichi could chart a map of Suga without any visual cues. He’s spent far too much of his time watching the setter’s face, whether it be to share good memories or desperately seek out reassurance for the bad. Even today, Daichi had been amazed at how gracefully the man would laugh at the spiker’s despair. It doesn’t matter if Suga is laughing to tease or out of nowhere—he always looks like he’s in control of his facial expressions, as if he means to fill the room with warmth and reassurance. More than that, he manages to incorporate aspects of femininity into his appearance in a way that accentuates how beautiful his features already are. Daichi is reminded of this when he least expects it, in ways that twist his chest until it's momentarily paralysing. It’s when Suga passes him a drink from the vending machine, adjusts his scarf another inch or takes an extra second to think about how to answer a question. All these fleeting moments seem to stick with him, reflecting upon them when his thoughts start to tentatively explore the boundaries of sexuality. He never actively tries to think about Suga—if anything, Daichi spends a lot of his time trying to avoid thinking about anyone. He still isn’t comfortable with masturbation, and the idea of thinking about someone with sexual connotations is the same as using them to him. Usually it’s nothing a sharp hand to the face won’t rectify, but even his embarrassment isn’t enough to stop him.

Suga is all-consuming.

Sometimes, when they’re so exhausted from practise that boundaries don’t exist any more, Suga ends up resting his head against Daichi’s. It hasn’t happened in a while, but Daichi’s mind can recall it as if it’s a current reality. He’s fallen asleep next to Suga on many occasions, even more so now that he’s always exhausted from how many responsibilities he’s taken on in college. His best friend never seems to mind if he drifts off to sleep in the middle of a movie or watching a volleyball match, soothed by the unmistakable smell of Suga. He knows that vanilla is an artificial flavour, but it’s somehow seems natural—as if his hair has always been scented that way. It seems to seep into his skin too, noticeable when Suga ruffles his hair to gently wake him up again. Suga is mostly soft, a fact he also knows well. In turn, he’s touched the man’s hair countless times, always amazed by how different the texture is to his own. Even when they’re covered in sweat from a match, Suga manages to present as if such a look is natural. Somewhere along the line his thoughts don’t match up completely; one moment he’s envious of Suga’s beauty; the other he’s reminded of how the setter’s hair feels against his cheek, tickling and teasing. It doesn’t take much to imagine how it would be if the position switched—Suga no longer against his side, but under him. Creating scenarios is uncharted territory as Daichi has never let his thoughts travel this far before, but the more he tries to stop them the more aware of them he is. The sweat that drips off his hair is no longer from practise; that vanilla smell is no longer restricted to his own skin.

It doesn’t just end with Suga under him; that’s only the start. Daichi is far more captivated by how pale the setter is in comparison. Daichi seems to bask in the summer sun, heritage insuring the rays never do much more than add a darker layer to his skin. On the other hand, he knows Suga will burn easily—so much so that Daichi has to remind him to take breaks and reprimand him in the captain voice he’s less comfortable using against the setter now they’re older. The knowledge of how badly Suga reacts to heat is another weapon his mind uses against him, picking past images of sunburn and twisting them so that Daichi has become the sun to his skin. Part of him knows where this is heading but most of him is too startled by his own imagination to stop, dissociating from his own soft pants and instead translating them into Suga’s instead. He knows the shape and size of the setter’s body, having touched thousands of inches of it; but there’s places he hasn’t touched, and his hands suddenly ache for them. Suga may be small in comparison but it doesn’t make him any less attractive. He’s spent hours watching the setter move, keeping the man company long after Daichi’s own practise has finishing. Suga may be humble about his abilities but Daichi has seen him move with the kind of fluidity that can only be achieved with a perfect balance of weight and height. It’s the kind of fluidity that translates well into Daichi’s scenario, breath hitching and whining as he imagines the setter’s body wrapped around his; he wants to experience all these new unknowns.

More than that, he actually wants Suga to touch him too. Although he could spend all day mesmerized by the setter’s soft skin, he knows that there are harder aspects to him too. Suga has poured hours into being a setter, something that makes Daichi’s heart flutter far more than anything else. He knows how the volleyballs erode skin over time, as if to mark progress with calloused almost-scars. While Daichi’s forearms have long since lost their sensitivity, he’s managed to keep his hands relatively soft. The same can’t be said for Suga, who has little choice but to constantly handle the ball. It’s only when he considers this that he finally moves to touch himself, hoping the guilt will absolve itself later. It’s normal— he reassures himself, thinking of how often his teammates have spoken of their own fantasies. It’s normal— because he’s read a Yahoo article about how men can think about other men without it meaning anything; it’s just a thing that people do. The fact he’s even had to research something to set his mind at ease should be enough of a worry for him to realise why he’s so focused on Suga—but it isn’t. Instead, all the justifications and reasons are drowned out by his previous thoughts. His fingers aren’t thin enough to be comparable to Suga’s, but the sensation is more than enough. Everything adds up in his mind, combining all the different aspects until the panic in his mind is inaudible. It’s all suddenly heat and sweat, face half-pressed into the pillow in an attempt to muffle how pathetic his breathing is now. He wants Suga , a demand his mind is happy to oblige to. It doesn’t take much longer for Daichi to finish, brain focused on so many things at once that it’s overwhelming.

There’s a couple of seconds where everything feels kind of okay. He’s able to breathe again, mind blank and peaceful. Part of him hopes that it will stay that way and he won’t feel guilty about this, but that just seems to trigger him into remembering that he’s supposed to feel terrible anyway. The horrible seasick feeling in his stomach makes him sit up instantly, lightheaded and fumbly. He runs his hands through his hair in shock, slapping his face a few times before just giving up and groaning into his palms. The sweat seems to dry too quickly, making his skin feel icy cold but he’s too frustrated to do anything about it. Daichi is good at reading other people and he’s starting to get better at reading himself, but this—whatever this is—is still far beyond his comprehension. How can he keep telling himself this is normal platonic behaviour? How is he supposed to look at Suga during practise tomorrow? How can one man be so pathetic when it comes to self control, something that Daichi is supposed to be an expert in? Being a teenager was difficult, but being an adult is a hundred times worse. There’s a brief second where he considers texting Suga anyway—not about this, because this does not exist beyond the next hour of panicking—but about anything else his mind can possibly come up with. He wants reassurance, although he isn’t sure what he wants reassurance about. Whatever the case, he knows Suga can soothe him without having to know the subject matter, and maybe that’s just the problem. He groans into his palms once more, far more frustrated this time as some of the anger starts to bleed through. Daichi can only stand another second of sitting around before he pushes himself off the bed, freaked out by the drying cum he’s managed to spread across himself. He’s running the shower within minutes, purposely setting it to freezing and feeling far more cleaner as his skin breaks out in goosebumps and shivers under the water.

Another milestone.