#technically...? is the hair effect too subtle...

[vikab]

ending 009 / vague spoilers endurance match

[alfheimr]

My Favorite Cheap Art Trick: Gradient Maps and Blending Modes

i get questions on occasion regarding my coloring process, so i thought i would do a bit of a write up on my "secret technique." i don't think it really is that much of a secret, but i hope it can be helpful to someone. to that end:

this is one of my favorite tags ive ever gotten on my art. i think of it often. the pieces in question are all monochrome - sort of.

the left version is the final version, the right version is technically the original. in the final version, to me, the blues are pretty stark, while the greens and magentas are less so. there is some color theory thing going on here that i dont have a good cerebral understanding of and i wont pretend otherwise. i think i watched a youtube video on it once but it went in one ear and out the other. i just pick whatever colors look nicest based on whatever vibe im going for.

this one is more subtle, i think. can you tell the difference? there's nothing wrong with 100% greyscale art, but i like the depth that adding just a hint of color can bring.

i'll note that the examples i'll be using in this post all began as purely greyscale, but this is a process i use for just about every piece of art i make, including the full color ones. i'll use the recent mithrun art i made to demonstrate. additionally, i use clip studio paint, but the general concept should be transferable to other art programs.

for fun let's just start with Making The Picture. i've been thinking of making this writeup for a while and had it in mind while drawing this piece. beyond that, i didn't really have much of a plan for this outside of "mithrun looks down and hair goes woosh." i also really like all of the vertical lines in the canary uniform so i wanted to include those too but like. gone a little hog wild. that is the extent of my "concept." i do not remember why i had the thought of integrating a shattered mirror type of theme. i think i wanted to distract a bit from the awkward pose and cover it up some LOL but anyway. this lack of planning or thought will come into play later.

note 1: the textured marker brush i specifically use is the "bordered light marker" from daub. it is one of my favorite brushes in the history of forever and the daub mega brush pack is one of the best purchases ive ever made. highly recommend!!!

note 2: "what do you mean by exclusion and difference?" they are layer blending modes and not important to the overall lesson of this post but for transparency i wanted to say how i got these "effects." anyway!

with the background figured out, this is the point at which i generally merge all of my layers, duplicate said merged layer, and Then i begin experimenting with gradient maps. what are gradient maps?

the basic gist is that gradient maps replace the colors of an image based on their value.

so, with this particular gradient map, black will be replaced with that orangey red tone, white will be replaced with the seafoamy green tone, etc. this particular gradient map i'm using as an example is very bright and saturated, but the colors can be literally anything.

these two sets are the ones i use most. they can be downloaded for free here and here if you have csp. there are many gradient map sets out there. and you can make your own!

you can apply a gradient map directly onto a specific layer in csp by going to edit>tonal correction>gradient map. to apply one indirectly, you can use a correction layer through layer>new correction layer>gradient map. honestly, correction layers are probably the better way to go, because you can adjust your gradient map whenever you want after creating the layer, whereas if you directly apply a gradient map to a layer thats like. it. it's done. if you want to make changes to the applied gradient map, you have to undo it and then reapply it. i don't use correction layers because i am old and stuck in my ways, but it's good to know what your options are.

this is what a correction layer looks like. it sits on top and applies the gradient map to the layers underneath it, so you can also change the layers beneath however and whenever you want. you can adjust the gradient map by double clicking the layer. there are also correction layers for tone curves, brightness/contrast, etc. many such useful things in this program.

let's see how mithrun looks when we apply that first gradient map we looked at.

gadzooks. apologies for eyestrain. we have turned mithrun into a neon hellscape, which might work for some pieces, but not this one. we can fix that by changing the layer blending mode, aka this laundry list of words:

some of them are self explanatory, like darken and lighten, while some of them i genuinely don't understand how they are meant to work and couldn't explain them to you, even if i do use them. i'm sure someone out there has written out an explanation for each and every one of them, but i've learned primarily by clicking on them to see what they do.

for the topic of this post, the blending mode of interest is soft light. so let's take hotline miamithrun and change the layer blending mode to soft light.

here it is at 100% opacity. this is the point at which i'd like to explain why i like using textured brushes so much - it makes it very easy to get subtle color variation when i use this Secret Technique. look at the striation in the upper right background! so tasty. however, to me, these colors are still a bit "much." so let's lower the opacity.

i think thats a lot nicer to look at, personally, but i dont really like these colors together. how about we try some other ones?

i like both of these a lot more. the palettes give the piece different vibes, at which point i have to ask myself: What Are The Vibes, Actually? well, to be honest i didn't really have a great answer because again, i didn't plan this out very much at all. however. i knew in my heart that there was too much color contrast going on and it was detracting from the two other contrasts in here: the light and dark values and the sharp and soft shapes. i wanted mithrun's head to be the main focal point. for a different illustration, colors like this might work great, but this is not that hypothetical illustration, so let's bring the opacity down again.

yippee!! that's getting closer to what my heart wants. for fun, let's see what this looks like if we change the blending mode to color.

i do like how these look but in the end they do not align with my heart. oh well. fun to experiment with though! good to keep in mind for a different piece, maybe! i often change blending modes just to see what happens, and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. i very much cannot stress enough that much of my artistic process is clicking buttons i only sort of understand. for fun.

i ended up choosing the gradient map on the right because i liked that it was close to the actual canary uniform colors (sorta). it's at an even lower opacity though because there was Still too much color for my dear heart.

the actual process for this looks like me setting my merged layer to soft light at around 20% opacity and then clicking every single gradient map in my collection and seeing which one Works. sometimes i will do this multiple times and have multiple soft light and/or color layers combined.

typically at this point i merge everything again and do minor contrast adjustments using tone curves, which is another tool i find very fun to play around with. then for this piece in particular i did some finishing touches and decided that the white border was distracting so i cropped it. and then it's done!!! yay!!!!!

this process is a very simple and "fast" way to add more depth and visual interest to a piece without being overbearing. well, it's fast if you aren't indecisive like me, or if you are better at planning.

let's do another comparison. personally i feel that the hint of color on the left version makes mithrun look just a bit more unwell (this is a positive thing) and it makes the contrast on his arm a lot more pleasing to look at. someone who understands color theory better than i do might have more to say on the specifics, but that's honestly all i got.

just dont look at my layers too hard. ok?

[theartofcollapse]

a/n: I'm taking requests, so feel free to send me some :) summary: Y/N is a new attending at Grey Sloan Memorial. Carina has her eyes on Y/N since the moment she met her. pairing: Carina DeLuca x female reader warnings: none word count: 1.4K

masterlist

Elevator Effect - Carina DeLuca

Y/N adjusted her jacket as the elevator doors slid open, revealing a nearly empty car save for one person leaning casually against the railing. The woman was stunning. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, her almond-shaped eyes sparkling with curiosity as they landed on Y/N. She looked up from her phone and smiled, an expression that seemed almost too charming for its own good.

Y/N stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for her floor. Her first day at Grey Sloan Memorial had officially begun, and she decided to ease into it in her usual style: arriving in regular clothes before changing into her scrubs. She figured it would give her a chance to observe the environment without immediately standing out.

The silence in the elevator was brief.

"Buongiorno," the woman greeted, her voice as smooth as silk, laced with an Italian accent that could make anyone weak in the knees.

Y/N turned to her, quirking an eyebrow. "Good morning."

The woman tilted her head, her smile widening. "Not a doctor, I take it?" she asked, her gaze sweeping over Y/N’s outfit, a casual shirt, jeans, and sneakers. "Or are we experimenting with a new dress code?"

Y/N fought the urge to smirk. "Not a doctor," she said, technically not lying. Not yet, anyway.

The woman leaned in slightly, her curiosity evidently piqued. "Well, let me guess. A visitor? No, no, you seem too comfortable for that. Here for a meeting with the Chief?"

Y/N shrugged, letting her enjoy the guessing game. "Something like that."

Her companion chuckled, a sound that was somehow both mischievous and endearing. "I’m Carina, by the way. Carina DeLuca. And you are?"

"Y/N," she replied simply, keeping her tone neutral.

"Y/N…" Carina repeated, savoring the name. She studied Y/N with a smoldering gaze that could rival a summer heatwave. "Let me give you a warning, Y/N. If you wander into Grey Sloan looking like that, some people might forget how to do their jobs."

Y/N raised her eyebrows, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Oh, really?"

"Oh, sì," Carina said, taking a step closer. Her voice dropped lower, more intimate. "You’re… bellissima. Stunning. I’m already distracted, and I’ve only known you for two minutes."

Y/N’s lips twitched. "Is this how you greet everyone in the elevator?"

"Only the ones who make me want to press the emergency stop button," Carina teased, her eyes sparkling.

Y/N decided to play along. "That bold, huh?"

Carina smiled, her voice dripping with charm. "Life is too short for hesitation. Don’t you agree?"

The elevator dinged, signaling their arrival at the appropriate floor. Carina looked as though she had more to say, but Y/N stepped out first, giving her a knowing glance over her shoulder. "See you around, Carina."

Later that morning, Y/N stood beside Dr. Bailey in the conference room as a group of doctors filtered in. She had already changed into her scrubs, the name embroidered on her coat marking her position as the new attending in OB/GYN.

Carina walked in last, her gaze scanning the room before landing on Y/N. For a moment, her expression faltered, a flash of recognition lighting her face. Y/N offered her a subtle, knowing smile.

"Everyone, this is Dr. Y/N Y/L/N," Bailey announced. "She’s our new OB/GYN attending, joining us from Chicago. I expect you all to make her feel welcome."

Carina’s jaw dropped slightly, and her cheeks flushed. "You're… a doctor?" she asked Y/N after her short introduction was over, disbelief clear in her voice.

Y/N turned to her, feigning innocence. "Oh, I did forget to mention that earlier."

Carina blinked, clearly scrambling to recover. "You are very sneaky, Dr. Y/L/N."

Y/N leaned in just slightly, her voice quiet enough that only Carina could hear. "Life is too short for hesitation, right?"

Carina exhaled a laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. "Touché."

Throughout the rest of the meeting, Carina found herself stealing glances at Y/N, clearly intrigued. Afterward, she caught up to her in the hallway.

"Non posso credere che non me l'hai detto."

Y/N tilted her head, pretending to be clueless. "I don’t speak Italian."

Carina smirked, leaning closer. "Then I guess I’ll have to teach you. Maybe over dinner?"

Y/N smirked. "I will think about your offer."

And with that, she left the Italian alone in her own disbelief.

The day was only halfway through, and Carina was already proving to be delightfully persistent. After their hallway banter, Y/N had managed to slip away to her office, but it wasn’t long before she encountered Carina again during a consult.

The patient had been referred to Y/N for a prenatal concern, and Carina, as the head of the Maternal-Fetal Medicine department, had been called in as well. Y/N was standing at the patient’s bedside when Carina walked in, clipboard in hand and a sly smile already forming on her lips.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” Carina greeted, her tone professional but her eyes sparkling with mischief. “How lovely to see you again. Twice in one day. I must be lucky.”

Y/N didn’t miss a beat. “You could say the same about me. I get to work with Seattle’s finest.”

Carina tilted her head, a mock expression of thoughtfulness crossing her face. “Seattle’s finest? Are you referring to me, or have you been meeting other doctors behind my back already?”

Y/N smirked, not giving Carina the satisfaction of an answer. She turned her attention to the patient instead, maintaining her composure while Carina lingered just a little closer than necessary.

Later, during lunch in the hospital cafeteria, Y/N found herself seated alone, flipping through a stack of files. She was mid-bite when Carina appeared out of nowhere, sliding into the seat across from her with a tray of her own.

“Working through lunch?” Carina asked, her voice warm as she unwrapped a sandwich. “I hope that doesn’t mean you’re too busy for me.”

Y/N set her file down, arching an eyebrow. “Depends. What’s the occasion?”

Carina grinned, leaning forward. “I figured I’d take the opportunity to learn more about the mysterious new attending. It’s only fair, considering how much you’ve kept me in the dark today.”

“Oh?” Y/N replied, feigning nonchalance. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Carina said, her voice dropping into a flirtatious purr. “What brought you to Grey Sloan? How do you like your coffee? What’s your favorite color? And most importantly, how do you feel about Italian food?”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s quite the list.”

“Start with the last one,” Carina said, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Because if you don’t like Italian food, I may have to rethink my strategy.”

“Your strategy?” Y/N echoed, clearly amused.

Carina gestured between them. “This. Us. Getting to know each other. Winning you over.”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she studied Carina. “You’re pretty confident, aren’t you?”

“Sì,” Carina admitted shamelessly. “But only because I know when something is worth the effort.”

Y/N’s cheeks warmed slightly at the intensity of Carina’s gaze. “For the record, I love Italian food,” she said. “But if you want to win me over, you’ll have to try harder than a lunch table interrogation and mentioning pasta and pizza.”

Carina rolled her eyes but she was most definitely up for the challenge. “Oh, don’t worry, cara mia. I plan to.”

By mid-afternoon, Carina was proving to be as good as her word. Y/N found herself in the supply closet, searching for a specific set of surgical tools, when Carina appeared in the doorway.

“Are you following me?” Y/N asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“Not intentionally,” Carina replied, stepping inside as though she owned the place. “But I’m starting to think fate might be pushing us together.”

Y/N shook her head, biting back a smile. “This is the supply closet, Carina. Hardly romantic.”

Carina stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low murmur. “You’d be surprised how creative I can be.”

Y/N turned to face her, holding a tray of instruments as a makeshift barrier. “Is this how you woo all the doctors?”

“Not doctors. Not plural. Only you. You wear scrubs better than I do, I have to try my luck.” Carina said, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Y/N chuckled, brushing past her to exit the closet. As she walked away, she glanced back over her shoulder. “You’ll have to try harder than that, Dr. DeLuca.”

Carina called after her. “La prossima volta ti sorprenderò.”

Y/N didn’t understand the words, but she understood the promise in Carina’s tone and she couldn’t wait to see how far the Italian doctor would take this game.

[bnny0rgnz]

The Flower Effect

Y/n did her normal routine: wake up, shower, pick up breakfast from Alfred, leave for school, practice, practice some more, go home, shower, sleep. This routine continued throughout the entire week until Friday finally arrived.

But Friday wasn’t like the others. It carried a subtle, thrilling hum of excitement.

Y/n completed her morning routine with an extra spark. She carefully applied her makeup, styled her hair with graceful accessories, and slipped into her school uniform with a pair of her favorite heels to complement the outfit. The anticipation of the upcoming field trip danced in her chest.

She practically skipped downstairs, her energy infectious. “I won’t need breakfast, Alfred! The school is providing meals for the trip,” she called, twirling slightly before heading to the door.

Just as her fingers reached for the doorknob, Vivienne appeared, her presence like a gentle breeze.

“Hey, Y/n. You look good today. Going to school?” Vivienne’s voice was soft, almost like a lullaby that soothed Y/n’s nerves.

“Yes ma’am, I have a field trip today and I’m so excited for it!” Y/n exclaimed, clasping her hands together with glee.

“Oh, where are you going?” Vivienne asked, her head tilting in curiosity.

“The school is taking us to STAR Labs. There’s this scientist who’s going to show us his project. The brochure mentioned his butterflies. He apparently combined butterfly DNA with Sydney funnel-web spider venom. And there’s supposed to be a video demonstration!” Y/n’s eyes gleamed with enthusiasm until she realized she might have been rambling.

“Sorry, I got carried away. I didn’t mean to talk so much… You probably have important things to do.”

“No, no, you’re absolutely fine! I enjoyed hearing about your trip, and I hope you have a wonderful time. You remind me of your dad when he blabs on and on.” Vivienne’s gentle laugh filled the space between them. She reached out and patted Y/n’s head. “Also, I love your makeup and hair. It suits you beautifully.”

On the bus ride to STAR Labs, her friends Lina and Daisy were practically glued to the brochures, obsessively analyzing every line like they were deciphering sacred texts.

“Thanks, Vivi...” Y/n whispered, her smile glowing under the praise as she finally headed out.

─────────ೋღ 🌺 ღೋ─────────

“Look! It says we’ll see the butterflies in action! Isn’t that so cool?” Lina said, her excitement borderline manic as she waved the brochure too close to Daisy’s face.

“Yes, Lina, it’s cool. You’ve only mentioned it fifty times already.” Daisy chuckled, her eyes shifting to Y/n who had been staring out the window, lost in her own world.

“Hey, Y/n. You good over there? Don’t want you to be a mood killer,” Daisy said with a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Yes, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” Y/n’s smile was polite, but it was obvious Daisy’s comment had stung.

Lina’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Gosh, Y/n. I forgot you were even here! You’re just so quiet.”

“Ah, yes. I just like looking outside. The view near STAR Labs is so clear and pretty… It’s different from the crowded streets and dull suburbs.”

“Oh, you’re right. Maybe they keep it pristine for all the rich, fancy scientists.” Lina laughed, though her attention drifted away from Y/n as quickly as it had arrived.

The field trip was soon underway, with students from Gotham Academy and Smith O'Neill High School mingling awkwardly under the buzzing fluorescent lights of STAR Labs.

“Welcome, students, to STAR Labs! Soon, you’ll meet in the Butterfly Garden and witness the incredible innovations of Emil Hamilton.” The scientist tour guide’s voice was almost drowned out by the excited chatter of the students.

“But for now, I’ll show you the basics of the lab. Be aware, do not touch anything. Please and thank you.”

The guide gestured for them to follow her. “Over here is the technical resources lab. This is where our scientists, specializing in computer science, focus on accurate data management and storage. It’s a meticulous process, with constant monitoring to ensure nothing gets lost.”

Just as Y/n was about to continue silently, she noticed the guide’s expression change. “Alright, now that we’ve covered the basics, it’s time for the real reason we’re here: the Butterfly Garden,” she said with enthusiasm.

“Ughhh, this is so boring.” Groaned a girl from Starling City with an exasperated roll of her eyes. Her attention shifted to Y/n, who trailed behind her friends, unnoticed and uninvited into their conversations.

─────────ೋღ 🌺 ღೋ─────────

A few moments later, the students were led into a large, brightly lit room, filled with rows of vibrant flowers. It wasn’t quite what Y/n expected—there were no rows of butterflies flitting about—but the plants were beautiful in their own right.

And there, standing in the center of it all, was Emil Hamilton. He was tall, wearing a lab coat, with a slight air of eccentricity that made Y/n think of the mad scientist trope from movies. Emil greeted the students with a wide, somewhat proud smile.

“Welcome, welcome, everyone! I am Emil Hamilton, and today, you’ll be the lucky few who get to witness a breakthrough in genetics and biotechnology!” Emil said, his voice carrying authority, but with a certain childlike excitement that made him seem both professional and approachable.

He motioned to a tank near him, where a few butterflies were fluttering around lazily. “These beauties are the result of years of research. You see, I’ve combined butterfly DNA with the venom of the Sydney funnel-web spider.” He leaned in, as if sharing a secret. “And what’s so amazing about these butterflies is that when they land on certain flowers, they can actually transfer venom to the plant. But don’t worry, these flowers have been modified to handle the venom. The butterflies, however, are far from just pretty creatures.”

As Emil spoke, Y/n found herself captivated. The butterflies’ wings glistened in a myriad of colors, their patterns shifting like tiny, organic rainbows. Emil continued, clearly enjoying his audience’s awe.

“When the butterflies land, they inject the venom into the plant. This triggers a unique biological reaction that causes the flower’s petals to bloom into vibrant colors.” He chuckled to himself. “However, this is a double-edged sword. While the flowers look stunning, the venom also causes strange side effects for anyone who touches the flowers. If you’re brave enough, you can try—but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Y/n’s heart raced. These butterflies were more than just beautiful—they were dangerous, and Emil’s excitement seemed to mask the true weight of what his invention might bring.

“And now,” Emil continued, his voice rising in excitement, “let me show you the transformation in real time!”

As he stepped closer to one of the flowers, a butterfly flew down, landing softly on a petal. Almost instantly, the flower bloomed into a vibrant purple, the color shimmering in the light.

“That’s the power of nature,” Emil said with a proud smile. “Now, for those of you daring enough, feel free to interact with the flowers after the demonstration. But remember—the venom is potent.”

Y/n stood at the edge of the group, her fingers twitching. The idea of touching one of those flowers, of experiencing the same transformation, was tempting. But Emil’s words about side effects echoed in her mind.

“Wow, that’s... intense,” Y/n muttered, almost to herself, as she stared at the flower. Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden voice beside her.

“Hiya! I’m Darlene Darling Darson. Yep, triple D’s! My parents must’ve been in a silly mood, huh? But enough about that!” Her voice was bright and bubbly, with a hint of mischief like she’d just shared a secret joke.

“Oh, uh. Hello, Darlene.” Y/n glanced around, realizing for the first time that her friends, Lina and Daisy, were nowhere to be found.

Darlene raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile creeping onto her face. “Hey, why are you standing here all alone? Got ditched by your friends, huh?” She chuckled lightly.

Y/n’s stomach dropped, the unease of the situation settling in. She glanced around and sighed, a bit embarrassed. “Yeah... looks like it. I thought they were right behind me.”

“Well, that’s alright! Who needs friends when you’ve got me, right?” Darlene said with a dramatic flourish, grinning widely.

Y/n gave a small laugh, relieved by Darlene’s lightheartedness. “I guess so.”

Darlene’s grin widened. “I guess I’m supposed to be asking for your name right now, but I know your name already! But I still have to ask it—can’t just skip over the formalities, right? That’d be rude! It's like... people are watching us or something.” She winked. “Anyway, I’m calling you Y/n because that’s your name, right?”

“Uh... sure?” Y/n said, unsure if Darlene was messing with her.

Darlene laughed. “Perfect! Now, c’mon, let’s go sniff flowers or something until you conveniently prick your finger and get superpowers in the middle of the night!”

They wandered through vibrant flowers, Darlene making exaggerated guesses about what each one would do. “This one? Turns your hair purple! That one? Makes you sing opera every time you sneeze!”

“Wait, what?” Y/n asked, but Darlene had already grabbed her hand and was skipping toward the garden.

─────────ೋღ 🌺 ღೋ─────────

Y/n laughed, her defenses crumbling under Darlene’s playful energy.

But then, as Y/n brushed her fingers against the petals of a peculiar violet flower, a sudden sharp pain shot through her fingertip.

“Ow!” She hissed, pulling her hand back and seeing a tiny drop of blood welling up.

“Uh-oh! The flower did the thing!” Darlene gasped with mock horror. “I told you, Y/n! Totally called it.”

They laughed it off, but as the day went on, Y/n’s body began to feel off. Her skin was clammy, her breathing shallow. By the time she got home, her limbs felt heavy, her head pounding.

“Maybe I just need to sleep…” she whispered to herself, stumbling toward her bed before collapsing into darkness.

[keeheauxtales]

S.I.S. (Self-Indulgent Series) | VOL. 1

“I’ll take a ‘me espresso,’ please?”🔞

☕️

MDNI

"I'm working late, 'cause I'm a singer Oh, he looks so cute wrapped 'round my finger." – "Espresso" | Sabrina Carpenter

pairing: barista!Keeho (soft dom switch vibes as per the usual) x musician!reader (fem-bodied switch vibes as per the usual!)

synopsis: after your routine weekly performance — and after Stephen’s regular shift — ends, feelings arise between the both of you that can’t be fixed with coffee… but can create similar lingering effects.

word count: ~3.5k

warnings + themes: [semi-]public sex, unprotected sex (y'all already know: wrap it irl), fingering, oral (f+m receiving), squirting, pussy slapping, multitasking (it'll make sense later), multiple orgasms (fem receiving), cum play, dirty talkin' for days, voice kink?

author's notes: Sabrina's smash hit is probably gonna be in the top ten of my Spotify Wrapped this year, and then FNC sends these boys to work a café? this is gonna be fun (and long)! lol I'm writing Keeho as a non-idol here (that might become kinda obvious), and will be using 'Stephen.' also this actually has a bit of a plot with a backstory? a rarity! there might just be a "Secret Sauce" reference if you squint.

🎧 Listen to FLO's entire Access All Areas: Unlocked album (even while reading this hehe)

"thank you all so much for listening and vibing with me!" you excitedly address your small, yet seemingly attentive crowd of customers as they either converse with others at their table, or type away on their laptops, among other things. the gig is a two hour acoustic set with a break in the middle, and you do an incredible job of adding a subtle soundtrack to the ambience of the café. "and don't forget to tip your baristas and cashiers; they work twice as hard as me, and deserve your support!"

you peer at the handsome barista with short black hair and a face that could end the entire modeling industry if he so chose, sporting a pair of specs that you could almost tell were merely for accessory. Stephen looks up from the shop's ordering screen over at you, as if to give a silent 'thank you' for the acknowledgment. like it was the first time you ever did it (you give a similar speech every week).

you had been going to this particular spot as solely a customer for over a year before the owner took heed to the covers you posted on your socials. she figured your soft, jazzy renditions of popular tunes such as Sabrina Carpenter's "Espresso" and Tyla's "Water" would be a nice change of pace from the constant Spotify mixes that normally go through their speakers — and she was right! there could be statistics that documented the uprising of foot-tapping and head-bopping that took place whenever you performed, if ever that was possible.

the person who seemed to enjoy you the most was that aforementioned fine ass barista. one thing about Stephen is that the guy can sing his damn self, and he'd inadvertently let anyone around him know it too! only hired a month after you technically, you grew to like him and his aura – and love his voice. if he unintentionally belted a few little ad-libs during an instrumental break, you'd intentionally loop that break a little longer until he'd stop himself.

unofficial collaborations were a frequent occurrence between you two, and today wasn't any different. you decided to try something you don't do often, and played a song completely instrumental. you follow each other on Instagram, and he mentioned how much he loves the British girl group FLO in his story. he even put "Walk Like This" as his Song Of The Day note before his shift. so after you mentioned to whoever was listening that you're still learning the lyrics to the song as it had just come out, you opted to do a fingerstyle version of "Bending My Rules."

you know who already knew all the lyrics – and the ad-libs – though? Stephen, and as incognito as he could possibly be, he was sangin'! you couldn't help smiling from ear to ear, feeling heat course your face (and maybe somewhere else much further south) as you hear a faint voice coasting through the song like he wrote it. he never leaves from behind the counter, yet each note that leaves his lips and seems to reach your ear only is smoother than the butter that compliments the shop's bestselling croissants.

in a rare occasion of him being a part of the later shift, Stephen clocks out for the night when you're done playing, and is able to actually talk to you for much longer than he normally would. a routine all on its own, he approaches you to talk about the set you just completed, every other sentence accompanied with a compliment on just how talented you are. and every single one of those compliments is reciprocated back from you to him, and today, he's blushing while receiving them!

"you learn songs so fast!" Stephen exclaims with a chuckle as he helps you pack your equipment. "that FLO song literally just dropped."

"I could say the exact same thing to you, Mr. 🎶 Are you coming over~ 🎶," you retaliate flirtatiously, copying the run from the record.

"ooh, okay!" Stephen playfully commends your vocal ability on a song you're 'still learning.' several minutes later, your equipment is packed and being wheeled by Stephen to your car that's parked in an alley on the side of the building. even when the conversation takes a turn after he manages to throw in a couple compliments in regard to your outfit (a classic fall ensemble that includes a leather mini skirt), the song is still clearly in his head as he periodically vamps on the line "🎶 I don't want nobody, nobody like I want you 🎶" from the chorus and bridge. you couldn't help but wonder if this was subliminal messaging, and by the time your hands brush against his while guiding your microphone stand into the back of your vehicle, you found your answer in his hooded eyes.

you were already internally grateful that was the last item you needed to load, and now even more so as you lock eyes with the man next to you. both of you took the hint as you secured your car to ensure safety. entering back inside the café, Stephen takes you by the hand to one of the gender-neutral restrooms that's for the staff. after locking the door behind him, he places you atop the counter.

licking his lips while looking down at you a bit shyly, he caresses your thighs before beginning to push them open, eyes asking for permission. you confirm by helping to lower your bottoms and undergarments to your ankles. "god, you're so wet," is the first and last thing out of Stephen's mouth before his lips meet yours.

instantly melting into his firm kisses, you wrap your arms around Stephen's broad shoulders as one of his large hands land on your neck, fingers softly gliding over the skin in contrast to the way his tongue invites itself into your mouth. with absolutely no protest, you open your mouth, a moan slipping out before even more moans are muffled by the evident hunger of your colleague.

you both are in such a heated rush that you barely have it in one another to briefly explain to each other how you two really got here in the first place. even if neither of your nether regions bothered to care at this particular moment, Stephen helps you discard his apron before he speaks. “I’ve been wanting a morsel of this since I first saw you in this damn café,” he confesses in between longing kisses between your lips and around your neck.

"fuck, me too…" you exhale in response, eyes fluttering and struggling to remain open against his advances. you then registered how this was the closest his handsome self and gorgeous voice has ever been to you, and almost would take this over your weekly check, you were so entranced by it all.

"yeah?" Stephen quizzes as he plants kisses further and further down your body. "have you been wanting to taste me as bad as I've been wanting to taste you?"

by the time he's finished asking this, his glasses are off on the other side of the counter, and his face is eye level with your dripping cunt. your charisma that you display with an instrument in front of you practically never ceases to remain — even when it's someone as attractive (and attracted) as Stephen beneath you. "you're the top flavor I've been dying to try, but it's never on the menu," you reply with a smirk, before shooting him a playful gaze.

Stephen smiles right back at you with his eyebrows raised, biting his lip as he attempts to come up with a witty enough comeback. however, with the clear opportunity sitting right in front of him, he opts to stick his tongue out, giving a teasing lick that sends goosebumps all over your body as a moan forces itself from the back of your throat.

your head bumps against the mirror behind you when Stephen's tongue is willingly trapped between your walls, going every direction but back out. his lips join in, kissing and sucking on your folds, and soon after, his hands grip roughly on your inner thighs to keep your legs open so that he doesn't need to stop… because there's only one thing that will stop him, and he'll go for hours if that's how long it takes for him to receive it.

you're whimpering now, in part because your remaining brain cell reminds you that your impatient, horny asses are still very much in each other's workplace. but also because you can't believe a guy this sweet could be so fucking filthy in anyone's heat, let alone yours. the moans and groans he manages in between licks of varying speeds and intensive slurps send you into some sort of astral projection.

no matter how hard he was trying, your legs shook to a point where they were forcing themselves to close. while Stephen wasn't wanting that, he was too preoccupied to grip his hands on them any tighter. in fact, the hold was loosening to a soft touch that served as a contrast to the way he was devouring you like he hadn't eaten all day.

"you're gonna make me cum, Steph, holy shit!" you exclaim at almost a whisper, fingers wedged in black strands of hair below you. you were slightly startled when he finally let up with a resounding pop, his mouth coated with your juices. that sight alone would've finished you right then and there, but you were secretly determined to hang on a little while longer.

"good," Stephen growls, staring up at you with such salacious eyes that bore into your glassy-eyed gaze. before anything else could be said, you're blankly staring at him as he takes two of his fingers and places them on his lips. acting as a type of lip balm of sorts, he traces those two fingers around his lips before they enter his mouth. you can't help but moan as he moans around them, sucking on them for a brief moment. before you knew it, they were gradually entering your cavern, and by the time the tips brushed against the cervix, that cavern was clenching around the entire length of his fingers.

"oh fuck, right there!" you spit out, hands still in Stephen's hair as you push his head forward. with your eyes squeezed shut, you feel his tongue lick your pussy again, this time collaborating with the ever-increasing pace of his fingers thrusting in and out. he sneaks in a couple more sucks on your folds before you feel heat pooling between your legs. "oh god, I'm cumming… fuck!" you announce mere seconds before sporadically thrusting upward.

while gasping in the midst of oncoming dizziness, you hear gushing along with loud, muffled moaning while still feeling Stephen in several ways. you soon realize that you had squirted all over him, and just like that you felt another orgasm rounding the corner. you feel a hand on the small of your arched back, vibrating as you become deprived of Stephen's mouth and fingers.

you both let some obscene exclamations slip from your lips at one another as Stephen raises himself up from the ground. you get one button undone from his shirt before you taste yourself. he's able to shove his tongue even deeper in your mouth than before while both of your hands meet to undo the belt of his slacks. it's messy, it's nasty, but it's somehow cathartic – even as saliva begins to escape from your mouth.

for a moment, heavy breathing is the only other sound heard in the restroom as pants fall to the floor. "I could pay rent in that pussy if you wanted me to, I fucking swear!" Stephen affirms, making you both chuckle as he pulls his drawers down to join his pants. you remain seated on the counter, frozen and wide-eyed as his hard cock pops out.

there's a short second where you wanna slap the smirk off his face at your initial reaction to his long dick greeting you. yet you wanted it inside you so bad that your hands gravitate to it, and Stephen lets you, his moans low while feeling you get acquainted.

one of his hands are placed on the mirror next to you, and the other joins both of yours around his cock to guide it to your entrance. he bends down to give a couple of kitty licks and wet kisses to your neck, all while the tip of his dick is slapped against your now soaked pussy repeatedly. he continues this until you're calling out his name.

"Steph…"

yet nothing changes, except he inches a bit more of his length atop your cunny, watching juices splash from it.

"Stephen."

he still doesn't proceed any further, smirking at you quite wickedly.

"Stephen! please! fuck me!" you beg, volume be damned.

"louder…" Stephen commands before his lips land on your earlobe, "I want you to be heard on the other side of this door."

"fuck me, Steph, please!!" there's precum dripping from him by this point, and you may or may not have started creaming by the time he bottoms out inside your cunt.

"yes, baby…" Stephen moans out as you clench around him, "let me know how much you've been wanting this dick inside you."

"s-so fucking much," you groan as you feel him finally move, your pussy barely able to handle the thickness.

"so tight," Stephen confirms as he works to increase his speed bit by bit.

"you're so big," you're finally able to tell him in between kisses along his neck.

"yet you're taking me so damn well," Stephen encourages as he continues to drive and pound into you, causing your moans to get louder. "good girl, let everyone know how good you're taking this dick."

"yeah, S-steph, don't fucking stop!" it drove you crazy how much hearing him talk like this was turning you on, and he seemed to grasp that (or he was just on one at this point).

you had no idea how, but not only had the volume of the music increased, but an even more recent version of "Bending My Rules" had begun playing that featured an artist you liked (DIXSON), and guess who even knew that verse well? the guy whose cock was repeatedly hitting your clit.

completely unprovoked, Stephen ran with the synchronic situation as he choked out some of the lyrics in your ear. "🎶 I'm thinkin' 'bout you…… Fiendin' for you…… Yeah, I'm talkin' 'bout you. 🎶"

this song already had significant meaning for the both of you by now, but the both of you could hardly take your moans becoming accidental ad-libs to Stephen's solo performance. you know all too well about letting a singer have their moment, but that bundle of nerves was back in the pit of your stomach just ready to burst.

"f-fuck… h-have I ever… t-told you… just h-how p-perfect you sound, S-steph?" you ask him, staggering over half of those words.

as if on cue, DIXSON's verse started, and Stephen became the feature artist yet again.

"🎵 Girl, you're fucking perfect / Now make me nervous / You give me new purpose / It's more than lip service with you / Mm, we can do this shit too… I'm speakin' a new language with you / Can it just be us two? / If that's okay with you. 🎵"

in between each line being delivered, Stephen drilled incredibly ponderous thrusts into you (as singing while operating any instrument does take practice), and by the end of the bridge, your walls were clenching again at the same time that his dick began throbbing.

"I'm getting close, babygirl," Stephen whines, his forehead perspiring against yours.

"me… too… harder…" you whimper beneath him in time with each jab his cock gives, repeating your last word for emphasis. "harder… harder… fuck me harder, baby!"

before you began begging, Stephen had already begun picking up his pace. however, hearing you call him 'baby' for the first time set him completely the fuck off. his dick fucked into you harder, faster, and even a little deeper. before you could even try and warn him like before, he kisses you just as deeply, not easing up on that pussy for a moment.

his lips were to be a perfect muting device for the clamorous sounds you were preparing to let out. you could only think to yourself, oh god, here we fucking go again, before squirting around Stephen's cock, your cream covering it.

"mmm… oh my god, (y/n), I'm gonna cum…" Stephen proclaims, pulling out and getting the chance to actually see you squirt some more onto the floor before him. "shit… I wanna cum in your mouth."

"and… I want you to cum in my mouth, but I don't think I can move?" you reveal to Stephen, reminding him of just how fucked out (and fucked up) he had gotten you. he reaches underneath you to lift you off of the vanity, but you tell him to wait. he – as patiently as possible – awaits your next move, which was to put his glasses back on for him.

you both smile as he resumes adjusting your position to over by the toilet. you were feeling like the world's biggest whore as Stephen sat down on the bowl, mouth gaping as you wait for his permission to proceed… which he gives you by plopping the tip on your tongue.

you stick your tongue out a bit further, gulping before taking as much of him in your mouth as possible. you strain to keep your eyes open so you can peep his reactions to your hard work, and Stephen does not disappoint. "fuck, fuck, fuck…" he spits out as you moan around his length, receiving evidence of your release all over him, and he clocks that fact as well. "you get to taste yourself too… it's good, isn't it, babe?"

"mmhmm!" you reply before taking in even more of Stephen, feeling the tip brush against the back of your throat. fighting the battle (and losing), you gag around him in an effort to adjust to his girth. seeing the struggle get kinda real down there for you spurred him on, and you eyeballing how he's intently observing you through those circular frames made your legs weaker than they already had been.

if you wanted me to bust again, you could've just said so, you think as Stephen unbuttons the rest of his shirt and discards it by the sink. you moan at the sight of the sweat glistening his skin before dragging one of your hands along it. the other hand begins to stroke his dick with more momentum than either one of you thought you had at this point.

Stephen groans your name before he starts teasing you with something you said earlier. "you said… I had the 'top flavor,' right, doll?"

you both giggle before you answer, "I did," nodding up at him with a grin while your wrapped hand continues moving.

"are you ready to taste it?" he asks, voice beginning to tremble as he threads a hand in your hair.

"I've been ready, babe…" you claim with a seductive wink, placing your tongue right underneath the tip before he could think to maneuver your head himself.

"fuck! here it is…" Stephen pants, his eyes shut before the majority of his load of cum lands directly in your mouth, with a few drops landing along your face. you swallowed a portion before gesturing with your fingers for him to lean closer to you. still panting and recovering, he leans forward.

with the little strength you had recovered, you get on your knees, placing one of your hands on his thighs for support before kissing him. hushed moans of varying degrees leave the both of you as you deliver a helping of his seed in his mouth.

it's still messy, it's definitely nasty, but it's damn stimulating – more than any coffee bean could be.

epilogue

after helping Stephen clean up the restroom, and him leaving to check on the shop before closing it up for the night, you're both back in your car… well, kinda. you're almost completely in the driver's seat, with a leg resting outside.

Stephen? he's completely outside next to that leg, on his knees, planting some final kisses for the night. he started on the inner skin of your thighs, journeying up your stomach, and even giving your breasts some love. you let a couple moans slip from your lips as he bites some hickeys into your neck, and those kisses of each other's lips have not lost their intensity in the slightest, the both of you taking turns biting each other’s bottom lips.

"fuck, Stephen," you breathe out, "go home before we end up doing this at my place."

"that sounds like a good idea for the near future," he notes, standing up with your help before leaning down toward you in your seated position. "speaking of, so I'll see you next week?" he asks, planting one more kiss on a knuckle on your hand, firmly dragging said hand along your clothed pussy lips before letting go completely.

"ahh shit…" you start and trail off before turning on your car's ignition, "you'll see me tomorrow if you're working."

"yeah, I'm working tomorrow," Stephen verifies with a smirk and a kiss on your cheek before whispering in your ear, "and I'll have that double shot of espresso ready for you as soon as I see you."

[flwrkid14]

Batfam Halloween Headcanons: October Shenanigans!

I know it’s not October yet, but in light of Halloween, here are my thoughts on what the Bats are like during the month of October, leading up to Halloween!

Bruce: Of course, Bruce has a special bat suit for Halloween. It’s a slightly darker shade of black than his usual attire, and his cape features velvet embroidered stitching of Halloween-themed items like bats, ghosts, and pumpkins. The best part? Each symbol of his kids’ vigilante names is sewn into the fabric, like the iconic "R" for Robin. It’s a Batfamily tradition: whoever finds their symbol first gets to choose everyone’s costumes for Halloween with no arguments. (Good luck to whoever tries to find their tiny emblem hidden in the intricate design!)

Dick: Dick embraces the playful side of Halloween. He decks out his Nightwing suit with glow-in-the-dark accents that mimic spider webs. He also enjoys wearing Halloween-themed wristbands that light up when he’s in action, making him look like the coolest party on the streets of Gotham. Dick always tries to sneak in a few playful Halloween-themed puns during patrol, much to his siblings' eye rolls.

Jason: Jason takes a more brooding approach, for a costume that plays on the classic vampire look. His Red Hood helmet is fitted with retractable fangs, and he wears a cape that has an inner lining of red satin, giving off a dramatic flair. To add some humor, he occasionally wears novelty sunglasses with ghostly designs on them, only to promptly take them off when he’s in serious mode.

Tim: Tim loves the LED look that has taken over costumes, especially the stick figures everyone likes to recreate with LEDs. He outfits his staff with LED lights that make it glow in the dark, turning it into a beacon of light as he attacks. He also incorporates subtle hints of Halloween in his costume, like bat motifs on his gauntlets and a mask that has a playful, jack-o'-lantern design during night patrols, and switches out his cape for a similar cloak that has Halloween themed glow-in-the-dark accents on the inside.

Steph: Steph goes all out with her Spoiler costume, adding playful elements like bat-shaped hair clips and fingerless gloves that sparkle with glitter. It's also the one time a year she switches out of hed full iconic purple attire for a purple with orange accents costume, (similar to her regular one) in spirit of the halloween colors. She loves to wear a utility belt decorated with miniature candy corn and Halloween-themed patches.

Damian: Damian’s approach is surprisingly cute—he chooses to modify his Robin costume with a little edge of Halloween spirit. He adds a black cape with red lining and designs of little bats flying around the hem. He refuses to wear anything too childish, but he can’t resist wearing bat-shaped earmuffs when he’s off duty. And of course, he still keeps his serious demeanor while he teases Tim about being the “least spooky” of the family.

Cass: Cass keeps it simple but effective. She incorporates subtle Halloween elements into her Batgirl costume, like a pumpkin emblem on her chest plate and a shadowy bat motif on her mask. She takes on a few challenges to show off her skills by playfully “haunting” patrols with stealthy jumps and sudden appearances, making her a ghostly presence that criminals won’t see coming.

Duke: Duke celebrates with a more understated yet clever twist. He enhances his Vigilante costume with reflective elements that light up under streetlights, creating a ghostly glow. His utility belt is adorned with pumpkin stickers, and he always carries Halloween-themed gadgets to keep things fun. Duke also loves to joke about how he’s technically “the lantern” of the team, always lighting up the way!

Throughout the entire month, something they all add to their costume is an extra compartment to their utility belts specifically for stashing candy. This way, they can hand out treats to all the kids they encounter during patrol, spreading Halloween cheer while still staying vigilant!

---

These are just some lighthearted ideas for how the Batfam enjoys October while maintaining their vigilante duties. Gotham might be a dark city, but there’s always room for a little fun and creativity, especially when Halloween rolls around!

[kurithedweeb]

It’s the same anon again because the MCD beetles are slowly consuming my brain, but what are you thought on clothing culture in universe?

Like of course climate plays a big role in how traditional dress looks, but apart from that there’s also things like religion that play a big role. We don’t really know what the climate is like in Ru’aun but Irene is a big thing, how does that effect clothing choices, what dyes are most common and how does that reflect in clothes?

I’m a sucker for world building

Hello again, anon! Lucky for you I, too, am a sucker for worldbuilding. I have been considering my answer for literal days. I’ve vaguely commented on modesty rules in Ru’aun before but we’ve yet to get into fashion trends and hierarchical or religious dress, not to mention personal ornamentation and the different meanings associated with that in different areas, so let’s talk about Ru’aun first.

Because of the impassable Sacred Forest, most towns are along the coast to facilitate travel, and it’s a very lush and green region. The majority of the land is either plains or various forests, with a variety of cliffs, shoals and a few mountains scattered around, plus stretches of swampland and beach. Dyes are usually made from whatever resources are nearby, so you’ll see a much wider range of colors in settlements near flower fields or birch forests. Popular port towns like Meteli, O’khasis and Bright Port also have more variety, but will most often stick to colors that have special meanings to the town. Whites, greys, and blues are popular in O’khasis and Scaleswind as the religious capitals of the region, but red is also pretty prominent in Scalesind.

The same general rule also applies to fabrics and jewelry—mohair comes from goats so it’s easier to acquire in Phoenix Drop where there are tons, there’s more precious metals in Scaleswind, and in Nahakra people take any broken glass they find and lay the pieces in fine mesh containers on the tideline to make sea glass for decorations. Fabric and dye are common trading goods, especially in more backwater towns where the physical currency used in bigger villages and city-states have about as much practical value as an especially shiny rock. The most popular kinds of fabrics in Ru’aun are mohair and wool for their durability and temperature regulation respectively, with leather, ore and ivory as the most common materials in ornamentation.

The primary religion is what I’ve been calling the Divine Faith, which worships the Divine Warriors as a whole under the figurehead of Irene and has various subsets that focus more on each individual Divine Warrior, with the grand majority of its followers falling under the Church of the Matron or cults dedicated to the Destroyer, with the Trail of the Wanderer as a close second. Which of the Divine Warriors you follow most closely definitely has an effect on your attire. 

Disciples of Irene wear small cloaks modeled after hers and members of the church hide their faces as a way to present themselves as closer to the goddess since you don’t look upon those of divine nature or close to divinity without consequences, most often using dark blue or white veils stitched with gold, since those are the colors she’s documented wearing most often and are therefore most often associated with her, though purple is too. Devout followers cover their eyes, members of the church like priests and nuns cover the lower half of their faces, and the High Priest covers his entire face, usually veiled or with a simple mask in public and with a more ceremonial mask during sermons and ceremonies. 

Followers of the Destroyer are much more subtle because they’re technically outlawed, they have a lot more to do with ornamentation than clothing. If you have long hair, it’s always pinned up and back, never in a ponytail and never left loose, usually in braids and buns and other hairstyles that wouldn’t be out of place on a guard, nothing an enemy can easily yank on. Hanging jewelry is also out. Hair is adorned with warmly colored beads and hair sticks that can be used as weapons and on occasion chains are woven into braids, most other accessories are close-fitting: there are nearly always cuffs around the wrists and ankles, subtly decorated wraps around the waist are more common in cities, chokers with detailing done in texture are uncommon but widely used, and earrings and ear cuffs are rare and usually kept for formal ceremonies. 

Those on the Trail of the Wanderer are nearly always found to be wearing travel-appropriate clothes no matter the occasion or setting, and there’s touches of pirate and backpacking aesthetic throughout. They tend to carry just about everything they own, dedicating their life to traveling and seeing the world the way Kul’zak did, and dress accordingly. Knee high boots, at least two layers, oil-treated cloaks, many wear jerkins and sashes with stitched depictions of scenes from places they’ve been, and leather harnesses and holsters are common. Hair is usually left down or half put up and decorated with feathers and ribbons found on the Trail. Meditation beads carved of wood or stone are nearly universal, worn around the neck or wrapped around the wrist. Trinkets and charms found on the Trail are important to the travelers, and you’ll find bowls of them left behind by others at shrines and trail markers that you can add to or take from, and in doing so you bring other travelers with you on your adventures and are carried by other travelers on their own, it’s a very dear tradition on the Wanderer’s Trail. Imagine geocaching but with religious connotations. Many of these items are worn as bracelets, anklets, necklaces, or on waist chains, usually put together while camping out. Flower crowns are also a bit of a thing and when they start wilting they’re left behind in places bearing Kul’zak’s symbol.

I’m thinking of making flower crowns also a thing with Enki’s followers since I’ve recently been turned onto the Kulki ship by @warlocks-and-phoenixes, but instead of wildflowers it’s mostly herbs and grasses. The matching flora crowns are a symbol of their union. Enki’s followers are mostly stuck on an iceberg, so they show their faith by carrying carvings of his symbols and making tapestries and records of their history, studying the world and spreading a love of knowledge wherever they go. Children usually start with embroidering their favorite/their family’s stories into their own clothing.

Embroidery! I love embroidery. In Ru’aun, it’s a very popular pastime, especially among stay at home parents and the sickly, so you see it pretty much everywhere. Colored threads are easy to acquire, but some colors are restricted. Purple is only for the clergy. Gold is for the highest ranking members of the churches and Lords’ family lines, as well as important personal staff of the Lord’s household like a close advisor and the primary caretaker of the children. Silver thread is for other people in powerful positions like members of a council or the highest ranking members of the guard (commander of the guard, second-in-command, reserve commander, Jury of Nine), which helps to distinguish officers from soldiers in larger villages and city-states that have a standard uniform and armor template. If you qualify for both, the gold usually takes precedence. For example, Laurance would have gold embroidery despite being head guard of Meteli because he’s also the son of Joh. Many small settlements don’t bother much with distinguishing personal importance based on thread color, though. They much prefer to use embroidery to keep a record of family history. Abstract depictions of personal achievements are stitched into the edging of most clothing, and the rank and position of the wearer and their parents + lovers go across the back on formal clothes and if you’re a guard around the neck and cuffs of your gambeson and also your sash if you wear one as a way to identify bodies after battle like modern day dog tags. It’s very simple and blocky on guardwear and incredibly elaborate and stylized to the point of illegibility on formalwear. Other common designs are flowers, symbols of faith, waves, landscapes, and elements of regional stories.

Modesty standards in Ru’aun. Here’s the basics: the average person should show nothing in the range of torso between the knees and breasts in public, midriff can be seen only by people very close to you, mothers should be covered from somewhere around the collarbones to their ankles, visible shoulder straps and undershirts are generally a no-no but off the shoulder and sleeveless attire are okay, and open shirts should not go further than the base of the sternum and should not show undergarments or nipples. Anyone fifteen or older is expected to follow these, but it’s not as important that children do. Some of them are negotiable based on climate and regional culture; Meteli and let’s say Pikoro are more lax and pretty much do whatever they feel like while O’khasis and Scaleswind follow the rules very closely and places like Brightport and Boboros are somewhere in the middle.

In Tu’la, how you dress is so important because it shows your loyalties. It’s a place filled with hundreds of clans all on the brink of beating each other up on any given day. In their culture, you’re not defined by who you are but who your family and their allegiances are. Symbology is important, families have their own color blends, patterns and even specific plants associated with them since gems aren’t very commonly found in Tu’la and sparkly things go to the monarchy and the king’s pets (the humanoid ones). Throwing away your clan’s symbols when you’re not on a covert mission of some kind is seen as a betrayal.

Cloth is very often uncut and styled by wrapping, pinning, and tying them into various shapes like you would a sari or toga or a variety of old African clothing styles I can’t remember the names of. Short sashes and waist wraps are very common. Many of the common people will also wrap their hands and feet in place of gloves and shoes. Cutting cloth is often reserved for important articles or the royal family and its vassal clans. It’s considered a wasteful expense since the excess cloth can’t be remade and isn’t recycled into other things like blankets. Scraps are distributed among the clan’s servants for them to wear to match their masters’ clothing as a sort of claim over them. Gladiators often wear their sponsor’s colors in the same way. When clothing is sewn, you’ll often see designs similar to the Japanese kimono and yukata and the Chinese hanfu and cheongsam/qipao. Designs with layers are more expensive and a luxury that very few, essentially only the king and his consorts, can afford. In most places, the only articles of clothing you’d find cut and stitched into new shapes are some forms of undergarments and a more form-fitting underlayer that covers the entire torso and cloth is arranged over top of.

Tu’lan clothing is essentially custom tailored by the wearer for the wearer, unless you’re super rich or a conscripted servant. Ideally it should allow you to be flexible, it should allow you to keep cool in Tu’la’s very warm climate, maybe with a window just above your butt if you have a tail, but easy to hide things in. Really the only rules about it is that you don’t wear enemy symbols and you keep your private parts private around everyone not your lover. It’s a war country, so most of the time the styles are very utilitarian and comfortable, but you’d only know how utilitarian it is if you were raised wearing them. To Ru’aun and Gal’ruk, even the simplest outfits seem fancy. Part of what makes them think that is the decoration and accessories.

Hair sticks. God do I love hairsticks. More formal ones are made of glass with a small hanging charm and common ones are simply carved from wood or made with the scrap metal shavings of weaponsmiths—those ones are usually sharpened into needles or knives in case you need it. Jewelry is usually close-fitting to make it harder to grab, so meditation beads would be wrapped several times around the wrist or ankle and no pretty hanging piercings. Humans are actually the only one of the three dominant species who get piercings because pretty much all meif’wa clans are warriors or their ears are too sensitive, and if a werewolf has to transform with a piercing in it’ll either warp super bad or hurt them when the change tries to push foreign bodies out of the werewolf. Cloth is usually made with patterns everywhere or very prominently displayed and accented. 

Sun and snow motifs are also fairly widespread since the patron Divine Warrior of Tu’la was Menphia, it very rarely snows in Tu’la but she had ice powers so. Unfortunately, I don’t have anything more on Menphia’s followers right now, I’m basically scraping and redoing her whole temple and worship at the moment.

Gal’ruk loves yarn and fur, since practically every living thing out there is covered in fur and spinning yarn is a good time consuming indoor activity. A lot of people spend considerable time weaving and tanning and sewing over the blizzard season when they get trapped inside by storms. Fur goes inside everything from gloves to hoods to pants. People make competitions out of who can knit the best hat or scarf from scratch before the next moon. 

For an idea of the style of clothing usually worn I recommend looking up ‘viking winter wear’ for some ideas. Plenty of layers, loose pants cinched at the knee, lots of fur cloaks and shawls, leather belts with pouches and space for your knife/sword/axe’s sheath over top. Leather goods like armor and belts are usually marked with subtle designs pressed into the materials and are padded. Nothing metal ever comes close to touching the skin directly. Clothes can either be simply pulled on or are closed with loops and clasps carved of wood or bone/teeth from a hunt. 

Nothing hunted ever goes to waste. Gal’ruk is a plentiful land but it can be a harsh one too. Pelts, furs, teeth, claws, bones and tails are all made into clothing, among other things. Pelts can be scraped and tanned and made into leather, furs are stuffed into everything as an insulator. Teeth, claws and bones are carved into accessories or combs or buttons, it’s very common for someone to make the spoils of their hunt into necklaces or arm bands or earrings as a mark of their achievement or to exchange as a betrothal gift to prove their worth as a provider. Married couples wear carved tokens of their family’s symbol made by each other instead of rings, presented to the other for the first time at the wedding and very rarely taken off unless one dies or they get divorced. Widows and widowers usually keep their tokens old, but they’re burned to make the divorce official and if a divorced couple gets back together new ones have to be made.

Unfortunately color is fairly sparse on the island. There’s not many plants to harvest  dyes from and clay takes ages to dig up and warm enough to use, so it’s mostly natural colors of the materials and some darker shades from smoking pelts over a fire to waterproof them. There are shades of green every so often from dye made with the kelp that washes ashore and sometimes if you can manage to grow beets there’s some reds and purples but not everyone is able to dye their clothing.

Gal’ruk has zero modesty standards. You wrap up to keep warm outside, but while you’re inside you can wear just about as little as you want. The public dining hall can get pretty warm with everyone packed in there, it’s not unusual for people to go titties out. They’re all warriors, they’re pretty chill about partial nudity and naked bodies are very rarely sexualized in such a close-knit warrior community, they’re all pretty much grown up seeing each other half undressed while tending wounds, so modesty isn’t a real issue. This is why I said in my post about Travis playing around with his shapeshifting that he needs to have Ru’aun modesty rules explained to him the first time he changes into a female form in public, because in his homeland having breasts show through an open shirt isn’t at all notable but in Ru’aun it’s absolutely scandalous.

And we’ve circled back to embroidery! Again, time consuming pastime, again, people who spend the majority of the year huddled inside waiting out the worst of the cold, again, followers of Enki. Personal history is recorded on parchment, but communal history is recorded on tapestries and clothing. They have very little in the way of colored threads, so designs are made with only lineart and shadows in mind to make it clear what they’re meant to be. Stories about Enki and the Divine Warriors are very common, and so are fables for the children. Animals bounding through the snow and their different tracks trailing behind them are used to teach the babies how to tell your prey apart by print. Kids are taught to embroider their own clothes to teach them patience and attention to detail.

These are all pretty general regional ideas, specific parts of the region and settlements also have their own deals sometimes. I’ll have to come back to this at some point to cover the rest of the Divine Faith properly. This was a fun question!

[norts-trolls]

Nikola…. Do you have more Nikola? I’ve always liked that silly! Tho I don’t really know much abt them! Please info dump, I like hearing about OCs!!!

I do actually! Mostly silly doodles between my commissions but yes I do! He's by far one of my favorite trolls to draw but that also makes him the hardest sometimes because he had the biggest wardrobe. To which I still want to add to (like seriously I've been thinking about art trades for him once I clean up my work load a bit) he's also hard for me because his hair is constantly changing in subtle ways. I always wanna draw it braided or curled because he's got a really nice hair texture it's just that canonically he constantly flat irons and dyes his hair. (Now I know nort just draw his hair like that I LIKE HIS CURRENT BRAND OF HOTOPIC SCENE DYE JOB I CANT HELP IT)

Also medically and Plot wise the fleet classifies him as an endangered species and under no circumstances should he be killed. Not that has ever stop hits being placed on him. In my lore classpects play big roles on how the world is effected passively. Nikola being one one of the few trolls who has played and won his version of SGRUB thus is technically a "god" for that universe really upsets the fleet. If he wasn't an Heir of Space they wouldn't care as much. But yknow....he kinda became the tether of their existence. It's stressful because they can't keep him in one place. If and when he does die while the clock is deciding if it's just or heroic everyone has to play a game of 7 minuets in hell with natural disasters and gravity deciding it doesn't want to function as it should.

Remember when I said I'd yap about his session and those he played with? Yea well I'm working on that still too. Nikola and Casnii are two of four survivors of their game. But their memories were altered and technically timeline too for the sake of the universes stability. Hooooweverrrr his team mates do come back to cause some trouble by going down memory lane so to speak. Mostly because the time player has a sick game of cat and mouse going on between them and Nikola. Not that Nikola is aware of the fact.

[sunflowersandink]

Jason medical abuse omegaverse

hehe. This one is actually an old whumptober fic that I technically finished months ago, it's just waiting for me to go back in and edit it.

In which omega Jason goes to the doctor for the first time after his adoption and has a Not Very Good Time.

Doctor Tyndall opens the file on his lap and starts to skim it. “Are there any particular concerns you have for me today, Mr. Wayne? Or are we just making sure everything is developing as expected?” 

Bruce looks at Jason to see if he’ll respond, but Jason just shakes his head. “I mostly want to make sure there are no complication surrounding his late presentation,” he answers, taking the reins. 

The doctor hums. “Yes, his file mentioned we were still dealing with some effects from childhood malnutrition. I wouldn’t stress too much, if he’s otherwise healthy. We’ll run some tests to be sure, but now that his first heat has come and gone without issue, I think it’s likely that his body is just catching up to where it’s supposed to be.” 

It’s exactly what Leslie told them, before referring them to Dr. Tyndall to get a specialist’s opinion.

Jason can’t help but feel like “without issue” might be a bit of an overstatement. Last week was one of the most excruciating weeks of his life, spent curled up in his nest with Bruce and Dick, crying from the pain of the cramps and fever. He’s still exhausted from it - Bruce has called him out of school for all of this week as well as last week, and Jason was still weak enough that he didn’t even protest.

The doctor looks up from the folder, smiling. “Alpha Wayne, you’re welcome to stay for the exam, or you can come back when we’re finished. It shouldn’t take more than about thirty minutes.” 

Bruce turns again to Jason. “Jaylad?” he asks gently. “Do you want me to stay?” 

Jason looks up at him warily, trying to assess if there’s an answer Bruce wants him to give.

The alpha’s expression tells him nothing, a perfect mask of open neutrality. 

“I’m okay,” he says, uncertain, but aiming to sound confident. He’s already made a pathetic mess of himself during his heat - he doesn’t need Bruce to know that he’s scared of a damn doctor’s appointment too. “You can go do something else. I’ll just text you when it’s over.” 

Bruce hesitates for a fraction of a second, nothing anyone would catch if they weren’t used to Batman’s subtle signals. Then he reaches out, stroking his wrist across Jason’s hair, draping his protective scent over him like a blanket.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll see you soon.” 

The door closes behind him with a resoundingly soft click. 

The doctor’s eyes are on the file again. “Take your clothes off,” he says, not looking up at Jason.

[sonkitty]

The Sideburns Scheme Post #12 v2

(For reference: The Sideburns Scheme)

Crowley, Good Omens 2, Episode 1, The Arrival, being in Hell

...

Sideburns Check

The sideburns are the same as when Crowley was in his car. He actually still is in his car. The main other character presence is Beelzebub, another demon, with many other demons known to be in the background. So, the sideburns stay the length they are with a standard demon reading.

The two thrones represent the two front seats of Crowley's car. He's sitting in his driver's seat. Beelzebub is sitting in the passenger seat.

As my overall theory goes, because Crowley is using the sideburns to manage his personal space, he has to stay in that throne, so that he won't leave too early. He stays in his driver's seat for his eventual exit. That limits his movement.

...

Brighter Red Streak Check

Instead of a brighter red streak of hair often found above the center of the left eye, the hair itself seems to have a general border where the left side gets a stronger red saturation. Meanwhile, the right does not and is darker too. It could easily pass for black with how dark the scene is even though it's actually a very dark red.

That creates a striking contrast at least.

I described this contrast in my older version of this post as that it felt like the intended effect of the brighter red streak seemed to have just spread all over to Crowley's left side.

...

Hairstyle Changes

Since it's hard to track the hairstyles with potentially subtle differences between angles, the following is based on the main front view provided. There is a much more clear picture of parts that are supposed to separate into shapes. When the scene in the Bentley started, the hair swooped upward with a narrowing curve to Crowley's right; then curls flared around in his movement. Here, the hair also swoops upward with a curve to the right, but the narrowing isn't as strong. In addition to the color border noted above, there's a more evident extra separation between tufts of hair above his left eye.

The lighting favors Crowley's left, so the saturation here also favors Crowley's left. The style itself generally intrigues me. I would love to have seen it in better lighting.

...

Earthly Objects

(For reference: Earthly Objects)

This scene has notable crossover elements with the Sideburns Scheme and Earthly Objects.

With Crowley remaining seated, he ends up doing various self-touches. Early on, the touches involve getting the flies off him, spitting them out, and placing his hands on his legs. It's the best look at the tassels and belt, which is still not a good look because of his dark clothing in this dark location with its icky green-tinted lighting.

When the hands are placed on his legs, the right index finger is up, looking to avoid the touch. The right thumb is hidden. The left thumb is not easily visible but is technically partly on screen and part of the touch. The actual thumbs overall mainly become visible when trying to get the flies off him in this part.

Crowley asks two questions during the scene with the opening for Beelzebub to answer them. These are dialogue points for Earthly Objects, but they are also a way to invite the conversation he is having into his personal space that he's managing with his sideburns. I think he leans forward off the back of the throne and stays in Hell for that reason when he asks them.

There actually is a third question as part of "It is? It is, yeah." Then Crowley actually leans back instead of forward, so that one is not an invitation to his space. The questioner answering the question before an interacting character can answer looks to nullify the question in Earthly Objects. Aziraphale uses this tactic during the ball invitations and even as the first thing he says to Crowley during the Final Fifteen. "What's that lovely human expression? Oh yes! Hold that thought."

Beelzebub starts off the scene sitting in a throne as well but soon stands up to face Crowley and talk to him.

One of Beelzebub's questions is "What if I said Hell was willing to forget everything you did, that we were willing to accept you back, no questions asked with a hefty promotion?"

The next cut shows that with his legs crossed, Crowley's left hand makes a point to touch the other throne nearby on the seat with every digit visible. There is extra shadow between the pinky and ring finger and the index and middle finger. Meanwhile, the middle and ring finger are put closer together. That's a curious choice to me. The position also helps create a pocket between the arm and the throne.

His right arm rests on his right leg with a fair amount of his shirt sleeve stretched out. The right hand is not showing his thumb.

I'm not sure if the Tied Hands are no longer tied because even though he had his sunglasses touch, he is still sitting. It looks like sitting affects them in some way based on his first present day scene with the newspaper door and the parts I couldn't figure out with attending to the mail when he was getting up from a sitting position and going down to a sitting position.

Regardless, his position here hides the tassels though the clasps are visible. It's been extremely hard to figure this part out, but as best I can tell, he is using his right vest tip to hide the tassels. The lighting, dark clothing, and overall position also ensure hiding the snake head on the belt.

Perhaps the Tied Hands untied in the initial cut when they were shown since Crowley keeps hiding the tassels after that. The Belt Head receives the same treatment.

Later in the dialogue, Crowley does show and open his right hand to reveal its thumb. After that, the lower part of the tie and his thumbs are not seen again. While most of that is thanks to the camera work focusing on his upper body, he also folds his arms to help hide his actual thumbs.

There is incredibly deliberate framing with Crowley's head between the horns of the two thrones. That's a pocket in Earthly Objects though not a full-scale Pocket Frame found in the Threshold Tricks. Playing with the words anyway, because pockets and the game still do that, I would guess this framing is meant to be a Foreshadowing Frame.

The rope Beelzebub uses to summon a demon underling in a later scene is visibly untouched during this scene.

...

Story Commentary

I like to interpret this scene as what Crowley means by "fragile existence". As part of managing his space with his sideburns, he has to manage his own movement. He leans and touches in specific ways to help keep himself anchored to Hell while he gathers the information he wants. He continually looks like he wants to lean forward and move more than he does, but he won't. He'll lean to the side some.

The first exchange is about Crowley saying he thought they had a generalized understanding. Beelzebub says they don't. Beelzebub could put a price on Crowley's head anytime they wanted to. But...why don't they? While season 2's reality and chronology is confusing, the implication from the story is that it's been a few years since the end of season 1. Based on the information available, Beelzebub didn't put that price on Crowley's head during that time—and they won't do it for the rest of season 2 either.

The topic quickly changes with the question from Crowley, "Is that a new face?"

As I've noted in other posts, my understanding of Crowley's sight is that it's special. He senses with his eyes so that it looks like seeing, but he isn't seeing in the way many humans see. The story communicates that mainly through his sunglasses and what they may or may not reflect.

So, here, his eyes are sensing a difference when looking at Beelzebub. I also think this sense Crowley has is rather keen compared to other supernatural entities. Aziraphale recognized Gabriel but admitted some of that recognition was based on appearance. Saraqael does look at Gabriel as if they recognize him at first in episode 2 and just don't admit it, but that's not much to go on.

When it comes to other supernatural beings, they can't see or sense that Gabriel is Gabriel. While that could be from the miracle Crowley does with Aziraphale, the story leaves room for that to not be the case because so much of Gabriel is actually in the fly holding his memories. Michael sensed him better and nearly caught on when he the fly was near him in episode 2.

Crowley is the only character whose initial reaction to sensing Gabriel with his eyes was to call out Gabriel's name immediately, even with Gabriel having amnesia. The fly isn't shown to be active at all during that scene. Despite Beelzebub's words with "all your memories" and "all your you", it looks like actually at least some of Gabriel's memories were still inside him because of what little Crowley himself could access.

Getting back to this particular scene in Hell, Beelzebub tells Crowley they've had their new face "for ages," which I take to mean they changed it not long after season 1 ended.

The conversation shifts again to Beelzebub standing up off the throne, facing Crowley, and then flattering him by saying, "Such a pity Hell never really appreciated your talents, Crowley."

The funny thing is, Hell did appreciate Crowley's talents. That's why he got the assignments he did. Hell could be so badly understaffed in season 2 because despite Crowley's efforts to not work too much when he did work for them on Earth, he was effective. Satan himself said Crowley earned the job of delivering the Antichrist in season 1, specifying the M25 as a stroke of genius. Hell can't make up for losing him.

The staff issue could be another matter of course, but I like this idea in the meantime.

Crowley, understandably, finds this approach from Beelzebub mildly surprising but soon goes along with it. That's when he most obviously leans back during the scene. "It is? It is, yeah."

Then comes the prospect of "forget" everything Crowley did, accept Crowley back no questions asked, and giving him a hefty promotion. Since this story has something going on with memories, that "forget" word is suspect. Even in the full context with the other words, without knowing how season 2 ends, the offer is still suspect.

I agree with Crowley. That does not sound like the thing Beelzebub would be likely to say. He adds the word "so" at the end though the subtitles don't actually include it. This part is Crowley not literally saying No but implying No. He's not going to accept an offer he thinks isn't even valid to begin with. He even shifts his head to the side with this implication.

Undeterred, Beelzebub acknowledges it might be and then brings up that the Archangel Gabriel has vanished. Crowley does a mouth movement, suggesting he is trying to taste the air and get a feel for the atmosphere. Beelzebub keeps talking. They, being Hell in general, know Gabriel isn't in Heaven. They don't know where he is. The two talk some more with Crowley trying not to give away what he already knows and Beelzebub saying Crowley could name his price. They compliment Crowley some more with his knowledge of Earth.

The words "fall" or "falling" are never brought up, but that would theoretically be why Hell thinks they have a stake in where Gabriel is since he's not in Heaven.

Again, Crowley does not literally say No to the offer. Instead, he deflects it altogether and shakes his head as he says that it's a big universe, lots places an archangel on the lam can go, and so on.

By this point, Beelzebub is growing visibly frustrated that Crowley's not interested in the two preceding offers and not giving enough information for if he does know anything. So, they say he could have whatever his nasty little heart desires and name a rank: Duke of Hell.

Crowley barely has a chance to react as he nods in acknowledgment. Though not in the subtitles, he starts to quietly say, "Oh, well..." However, Beelzebub keeps talking before he can continue as they change tactics. Finally, they bring up a possible threat from Heaven to anybody involved with this affair.

That is enough to get Crowley's attention with another question. He leans forward and shifts from between the two thrones to being in front of his own throne once more as he asks, "How?" The cut mainly implies he has folded his arms since much of the arms themselves cannot be seen, but the changed touch will be confirmed soon enough.

Beelzebub smiles a genuinely pleased smile that they finally have something Crowley wants. It's enough to walk back toward the other throne, sit down, and say with dramatic emphasis, "Extreme sanctions".

Crowley's reaction is very interesting because he takes a moment, as if he knows something, to say that it's not actually a thing. With referring to something they used to joke about to frighten the cherubs, that implies he's talking about their time as angels and being in higher ranks together. They were peers.

Beelzebub insists it's a true threat, saying, "Anyone involved in Gabriel's disappearance will be erased from the Book of Life. They won't just be gone, they will never have existed."

This threat makes no sense to me. I know Crowley reacts like it's a real threat, and it's a fictional story where maybe that's supposed to work. But given that's not shown how in this season...I'm left baffled by the idea, considering how much a person's existence impacts others.

If the Book of Life wiped out Aziraphale's existence, the entire course of human history on Earth changes because he gave Adam and Eve the flaming sword.

Regardless, Crowley nods and acknowledges that such a threat could teach someone a lesson, alright.

There's an "It's a Wonderful Life" reference here, I realize. I hope it's not foreshadowing. With this concept of erasing someone from the Book of Life, I'm inclined to think that a person wiped from existence cannot learn "a lesson" because they don't exist anymore!

But wait. That is what happened in the movie "It's a Wonderful Life". The angel Clarence showed the human George Bailey a reality where he, George Bailey, no longer existed because he had never been born. George learned "a lesson" about the value of his own life.

That path for the Good Omens overall story doesn't strike me as particularly interesting but noted nonetheless.

As noted in other posts, I do think the Book of Life is in the matchbox and a potential threat interested in Crowley himself, for whatever it actually does.

Beelzebub says, "So if you hear anything, you come to me first, yeah?"

The subject of Crowley coming back to work for Hell has effectively been dropped by this point. He never literally said No, but I felt it was stated within context. Beelzebub gave Crowley what he actually wanted instead: this information. Still, this scenario does leave an opening for Crowley to eventually become Grand Duke of Hell. I do think that will happen in season 3 though the path to get there would hopefully be interesting since the end of season 2 heavily implied Shax would be the next Grand Duke of Hell. Would Crowley even go to Hell to bring up the offers in this conversation or would someone else bring it up? How does Shax factor in?

I mainly suspect Crowley will be the Grand Duke of Hell because of the framing in the credits, in this scene, and the way the Good Omens story likes duality and parallels. Crowley's car is the threshold for him to Hell on Earth. The elevator is the threshold for Aziraphale to Heaven on Earth. But even Earth itself is in the credits thanks to the plants behind Crowley in his car. Plus, they're the Green maintained in the Rainbow Connection (theoretically).

Crowley replies to Beelzebub with saying, "I don't know anything about this, but I'll absolutely let you know." However, he is sent back to the car before the sentence actually finishes. He had leaned forward off the seat when he started to talk. The space read that business was done and sent him back, whether he meant for that exact thing to happen or not. That was due to how the sideburns help Crowley manage his personal space. The exact cut off point in the sentence is the end of the word "anything", so, there's a good chance Beelzebub would never have heard Crowley say he would let them know.

Nonetheless, after this encounter, Beelzebub makes no effort to contact Crowley directly again for the rest of the season.

...

Why is the red back in Hell but not before or after summoning? Is that part of the possible story edit with suspicious continuity errors or does Hell being Hell just do that to Crowley? The angle of his head changes in the cut between being in Hell and being in the car. He was leaning back away from Beelzebub, then he is leaning forward toward where they were. In Hell, he looked like had a lightning imprint on the upper left side of his forehead sometimes too.

I maintain my theory on this space within Hell being the same as the Bentley, Crowley's own home base, when Crowley himself is there.

...

I couldn't find every post I had in mind for making this one, but here are a couple:

Since this seems to be...

Something something about (referring to the posts above my reblog)

The main one I couldn't find but wanted to was, I think, about how angels who are not Aziraphale can't seem to recognize people by their faces. Crowley can recognize faces too. I can't remember if other demons were brought up in the post.

...

That's it for this post of mine. Sometimes I edit my posts, FYI. I actually do hope to start editing some in the near future because I've been procrastinating, and it's a growing list.

...

Main post:

The Sideburns Scheme

...

Past version of this post:

Post #12 (being in Hell)

[cruelsisterr]

CRINCESS DIARIES 001: XOXO

XOXO. How that title came about I am not entirely sure I remember but it honestly most likely was something as stupid as me haphazardly naming the ableton session with a keyboard smash and then liking it afterwards. Kiss Hug Kiss Hug! Used to mean a lot more in the world of written messages, now I just add an x after every single text, not so much o's.... o's don't really show up much these days.

Looking back at the very very first idea of it, dated to June last year I think, it was just called "skinny", probably because the only lyric I had at that point was "you're so skinny and you don't even have to try." It was a lot funkier sounding in the beat, very glad I didn't go for that vibe!!!!

It has been a while since I released but my approach is the same. Mess around on ableton, find a chord sequence and pedal effect I like, add a bassline I like and a drum pattern that sounds cool that will be heavily influenced by the music Im listening to at that period of time. Add lyrics. Sometimes lyrics come before. Sometime it's a mix. I was finally messing around a bit with my Sun Light Delay pedal's effects, one of the settings gives it this wobbly gliding weird delay which I found so fucking cool and I knew I wanted to use it in a song. It suited the chords a lot too. I used pre-programmed drums for this, again I wanted speed.

I wanted this to be in the world as soon as fucking possible, but I kept procrastinating until I met Alex to talk about working on it together. Its good to have someone to hold you accountable when you're someone who loves putting shit off.

I finally got my shit together and had some stems ready for him in November, then he did the mixing, and it was sounding really really sick. And then the master was ALSO sounding really really sick. It was complete! A finished track ready for release in over a year - j'etáis buzzin girls. Then decided the release date would be January 15, day before schedule for my Eurosonic show in the Netherlands.

We did two shoots for this era of CS, both with longtime collaborator and partner in crime Kathy Hayes. I had long ass hair in the first one, and then chopped it all for the second.

These two are the main press shots I use at the moment as a result

The vibe overall was just cunty as fuck. We were delighted with them, and I did this shoot with XOXO in mind MONTHS before it's release and even completion. But as it turned out I needed even more pictures, so we did a second shoot.

We felt the second one was lacking the ?? cuntiness or idk I just was not serving face as much in the second one hahah but we tried to work with it. But the images from the second shoot were more interesting composition wise. Kathy thought it would be cool to put a load of my manga sprawled out in front of me with (broken) bluetooth headphones, and my macbook, and it translated pretty good on camera. I never think to use props for shoots so she really saved the day with that I think.

This was the initial XOXO cover art >>>

This goes hard afffffff and it seemed to be the obvious choice. Pretty happy with the symbol/sigil I drew also, and so that became what was uploaded initially to the distributor.

I then was brainstorming with Ruth (manager) for what would be the single announcement post, and this image felt good for it (after deciding that looking like I was naked behind the bass was not embarrassing and in fact, cunty)

And I was like haha this should be the single art lowkey haha oh well! too late now.... BUT IT WASN'T

We realised this felt stronger and more striking than the previous one

And so it became the final final art !! With the symbol then added in a more subtle way.

I did worry that this image would seem a little misleading because I'm not a bassist at my own shows, but then I was like I LITERALLY played the bass (and everything else) on this track (technically Ableton played the drums) so it is in fact, not misleading, and actually an insight into how amazing, multitalented and sexy a musician I am. Probably. I hope.

Et voila - the single is out on all streaming services! Thanks to Alex, Joe, Ruth and Kathy.

[foundtherightwords]

Writing Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @waterfallsilverberrywrites!

About me

When did you start writing? I've written silly little stories throughout middle school and high school, though technically I've only started writing fanfic two years ago, after I became obsessed with a certain chocolate-button-eyed British actor :)

Are there different genres or themes you enjoy reading other than the ones you write? Fantasy (I've written one fantasy AU; I want to write more though) and mysteries. Funnily enough, I write mainly romance but I don't enjoy reading romance at all (I guess that's why I started writing my own!)

Is there an author you want to emulate, or are compared to often? I wish I got compared to a famous author, lol! I write a lot of historical stuff, and other than the classical authors (Bronte and Tolstoy are the two main ones for me), I'm influenced a lot by A.S. Byatt. Her writing is so subtle and poetic at the same time, and her characters and their relationships are so complex but still feel real.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space? There's not much to tell, haha. I don't really have a "writing space", it's just either at my horribly cluttered desk or in bed.

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse? Music! Most of my stories are inspired by music (and are titled after songs/lyrics), and sometimes, when I'm stuck, a song can help a great deal in getting me inspired again.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and/or places you write about? Kind of? I've written one fic (well, a series - one long fic and a one-shot) set in my city.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? If so, do they surprise you? Loneliness and family issues. Not surprising at all 🥲

Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? I'm currently writing for Emperor Geta (Gladiator II) so I guess he's my favorite by default. He's such an ass (probably the most asshole-ish character I've ever written, even more than Paul) but that's what makes him so fun to write!

Which of your characters would you be friends with in real life? Eddie for sure. Heck, I was basically Eddie myself in high school (minus the whole Satanic Panic thing.) And Leonard! We can discuss books and music and take long walks together. Maybe Billy too, who's such a sweetheart. Ralph would annoy me (sorry! I love him but he's too hyper for me), I don't think I have enough in common with either Tom or Michael to be friends with them, and I'd probably want to kick Arthur and Paul in the teeth :P

Which characters would you dislike the most if you met them? See above :))

Tell me about the process of coming up with your characters? Are we talking about OCs? For my female lead, mostly I try to go off from the canon character I'm pairing with her and see what traits/backstory would make them contrast and complement each other most effectively.

Do you notice any reoccurring themes/traits in your characters? Basically, all of my couples (except for Hellcheer) consist of a stoic, competent, no-nonsense woman and the pathetic man-child she takes under her wings. Also, most of my OFCs have dark hair and green eyes, I don't know why (they're not based on any real person, I just like that coloring I guess!)

How do you picture your characters? I usually don't, is that weird? Occasionally I would look for an actress or model whose appearance fits what I'm imagining for the character, but most of the time I don't bother.

My writing

What’s your reason for writing? I have stories in my head screaming to get out, I'm just obeying their voices :))

Is there any specific comment or type of comment from readers that you find particularly motivating? Any comment at all would be great at this point. But what I love the most are the comments that point out specific parts in my stories that I hope would make an impact, or pick up on Easter eggs (like the commenter who noticed that Edward and Christine's twins in the Hurstfield Hall series are named after Ozzy Osbourne and Tony Iommi of Black Sabbath!)

How do you want to be thought about by your readers? As long as they enjoy my stories, I'm happy.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer? Angst, hurt/comfort, world-building.

Have you been told is your greatest strength as a writer is by others? Angst, I guess?

How do you feel about your own writing? I go back and forth between two extremes. Sometimes I'd reread my stuff and think, Damn, I wrote that? That's not half bad! And other times I cringe so hard at my own writing I almost fold in on myself.

If you were the last person on earth, would you still write? Sure, if there was still something to write with!

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, do you write purely for yourself, or is it a mix of both? I write for myself. If others happen to enjoy it, great! If not, I'm already happy with what I've written.

Tagging @jo-harrington, @wheels-of-despair, @palomahasenteredthechat, and anyone else that wants to play!

[riversofmars]

Songs of Love 2023 Day 5

Rating: E Prompt: Sex pollen (alternate) Summary: Following an SOS call, the Doctor and his companions find a shuttle that crash-landed in the middle of a jungle. As the Doctor sets off into the forest to search for the crew, he instructs Liv and Helen to stay in the clearing, warning them about the dangers that wait in the jungle. As Liv sets about trying to repair the shuttle, Helen watches and finds herself increasingly more drawn to her best friend.

Fade Into You

At first Helen didn’t notice the scent. It was subtle, drifting on the wind, and she was far too occupied with watching Liv to take in much about their surroundings at all. Her best friend had taken her shirt off, sporting just a tank top, and it was the most distracting sight. It made sense. The sun - well two suns actually - were high in the sky, beating down on them and Liv was doing manual labour. Helen was feeling increasingly sweaty as well, but she couldn’t be sure if it was the temperature or the effect of watching Liv repairing a broken down shuttle.

They had responded to a distress call and found the small craft abandoned a short walk from where they had parked the TARDIS. It was rather beaten up but Liv had been confident she would be able to make it flight-worthy again. Her technical skills and sheer confidence never failed to impress Helen and she fanned herself air.

They were alone. The Doctor had stalked into the jungle in search of the crew and sternly instructed them to stay at the crash site where he could find them again. He had insisted there was danger in the jungle, but the most threatening thing Helen had been confronted with so far was a giant bee. The flora and fauna was quite remarkable. The plants were just as large as the insects and blossoming in beautiful, fluorescent colours. The linguist would have spent more time admiring them, but her best friend commanded her entire focus.

Liv pulled herself up on the side of the shuttle, climbing atop the wing, likely to examine the engine there, and Helen watched fascinated how her back muscles strained under the task.

The linguist undid the first couple of buttons of her blouse. They were likely approaching mid-day, it seemed the most plausible explanation for the rising temperatures even in the shade where she leant against a tree. She wouldn't be of any great help with the repairs, she was under no illusion in that regard, but what she could do was offer her friend some water. They had been present-minded enough to bring a few bottles when they had fetched the tools from the TARDIS. She took a gulp of water herself as her mouth felt terribly dry.

"How are you getting on?" Helen called across the clearing and Liv looked up, she shielded her eyes against the searing sun and flashed the linguist a confident grin.

"Fine, yeah. Should have it flight-worthy in no time. Minor fault with the engines."

"It's getting really hot, are you okay in the sun like that?" Perhaps she could convince her to take a break…

"No hotter than a Kaldor summer," the med-tech waved off her concern and Helen was almost disappointed. Of course it made sense that she would have a great tolerance for the heat since she was from a desert world, but she had hoped to draw her away from the work. There were so many other things she could be doing with those capable hands of hers.

"Still, you should have some water," the linguist gave back, watching as Liv dragged the back of her hand across her forehead. Her hair was sticking to her with sweat, as was her tank top in all the right places. Helen took another gulp of water and pulled her blouse from her trousers so some air could get to her heated skin.

"I'm fine, if anyone looks in need of some water, it's you," the med-tech quipped back, as she looked over to her and Helen could feel the burning in her cheeks. She wasn't wrong.

"I'm drinking. I don't know how you can stand this heat," she retorted and her eyes travelled down the length of her friend's body when she stood up on the wing of the shuttle.

"Are you feeling okay?" Liv asked, raising her eyebrows quizzically.

"Just warm…" The linguist answered, ignoring the tight pull in her gut and the way her heart was racing.

"You sure?" The med-tech frowned with what was likely medical concern. "Are you feeling faint?"

"Maybe just a little…" Helen answered and yes, she was feeling a little light-headed but more importantly, it meant her friend would hopefully come and check her over. The prospect of being examined by Dr. Chenka was an alluring one right about now. She thought of her hands on her forehead checking for fever, on her wrist measuring her pulse, on her-

Liv swung herself down from the shuttle and walked over to her.

Helen watched her much like a deer in headlights. She was transfixed, remarking on the definition on her upper arms.

"Bit different to rainy London, isn't it?" The med-tech commented with a compassionate smile as she came to a stop in front of her and it took all of the linguist's self control not to throw herself at her. They were friends. That was the extent of it. Dear friends. The best of friends. The sort of friends that had been dancing around the feelings they had for each other for the longest time and needed a shove. Perhaps Helen ought to shove her against the nearest tree and shove her hand down her tight jeans… What she lacked in experience she could surely make up for with enthusiasm. She'd peel her top off her and drag her jeans down and she'd stay right there on the ground between her legs and-

"Helen? Are you okay?"

"Hm?" Helen blinked, finding herself looking into Liv's concerned eyes. She'd touched her hand to her chin to draw her attention and that attention went straight to the thought of wrapping her lips around those slender fingers of her.

"You don't seem quite with it," the med-tech remarked.

"It's just the… heat…" Helen answered and her voice came out in a whisper. She took a shaky breath. It wasn't just the heat. It was Liv's proximity.

"Is it?" Her friend didn't seem to believe her and moved her hand from her chin to her throat. If only she'd replace her fingers with her lips as she traced her pulse point… "Gosh, your heart is racing," she mumbled, perplexed and concerned and Helen could virtually hear the rushing of her own blood. Perhaps she was ill. Perhaps the sun was doing a number on her… Her mind was in a haze, the only clear thought she could grasp was her overwhelming desire for the woman in front of her.

"Liv, I need you," Helen breathed and Liv's concern only seemed to grow. She grasped her face.

"It's OK, I'm right here, you'll be fine," she told her quickly but that was not the way her friend had meant it. She needed her hands, her lips, her tongue all over her. She needed those fingers that were currently holding and caressing her cheeks with worry, to relieve her of the need that put her entire body on edge.

And Helen reached out, fisting her hand into the fabric of her friend's tank top and pulled her closer, barely passing under the guise of holding on to her for support. And surely, the way her eyes were drawn to the shirt stretching down her chest should have been a give away too, but Liv seemed to have other concerns.

"Are you using a new perfume? It's making me quite light-headed too…" She mumbled, clearly struggling for focus. She looked up to her, her lips parted with another question, but Helen decided, there and then, to part them with her tongue instead. It was impossible to tell how much of it was conscious choice and how much instinct, but such academic musings were put off to another time. She grasped the back of her head and pulled her forward into a kiss. It wasn't the chaste kind either. She pushed her hand into her hair, dragged her head back and assaulted her lips.

Liv didn't miss a beat, she didn't even hesitate or question, she returned her kiss with equal enthusiasm and Helen found herself hitting into the tree behind her as she was forced backwards. Her friend really was strong…

There was no exchange of words, what was there left to say after all these years? Everything fell into place and they fit together perfectly as Liv dug her fingers into Helen's hips, holding her against the tree and Helen her nails into her shoulders, both unwilling to let the other go again.

Helen struggled to think clearly. She had never considered herself an overly sexual person. So much of her life she'd spent locking that part of herself away that over time she had gotten used to it and never missed it. Now, however, and likely for the first time, she experienced real lust. There was no better word for it. She whimpered when Liv pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this?" The med-tech groaned between kisses and slipped a hand underneath her shirt.

“Enlighten me,” Helen breathed, arching into her touch.

“I’d have fucked you on your office desk back at the museum given half the chance,” Liv growled trailing her lips along the side of her jaw, down to her throat.

“I wish you had,” the linguist moaned as her friend found her way inside her bra. “You can have me wherever, whenever, whichever way you like.” Saying as much out loud should have been the first warning sign. It was true. It had always been true. But would never have admitted as much, not even to herself, and now, the heated admission fanned the flames of the desire between them. It whipped them into wildfire.

“Get out of these clothes!” Liv demanded and tore at the buttons of her blouse. She didn’t have the patience to undo them one by one, and neither did Helen. The linguist nodded eagerly, breathlessly, and pulled up her friend’s tank top in return.

That should have been another warning sign. Surely, neither of them had expected the consummation of their lasting, profound and unconditional love for each other to take place in the middle of a jungle on a world they didn’t even know the name of, but there they were.

Liv dragged the linguist’s blouse of her shoulders and ducked out of her top before assaulting her throat once more.

Helen gasped when she sucked on the sensitive skin just below her ear and lost herself in the burning heat. The med-tech’s touch was electric, feeling up her stomach, to her chest and she undid her bra next.

The linguist pushed her head down and Liv followed her eager encouragement, wrapping her lips around her nipple. She brought a hand up to see to the other and Helen whimpered. The intense sensations far surpassed anything she had imagined over the past few years - and she had imagined it a lot. Her focus shrunk to Liv and only Liv. They were oblivious to the world around them and that should have been the final clue.

If they had been of sound mind, they wouldn’t have likely realised that this was not how they would conduct themselves. Under normal circumstances, they would not be grinding against each other, shedding clothes in public without a care in the world. What they should have done was talk about their feelings first. What they should have done was agree on what they wanted their relationship to be. What they really should have done was walk before they sprinted, but all of that was of no concern as they raced to release the tension that had been building between them for years.

Liv fumbled with the button of Helen’s trousers, multi-tasking as she swirled her tongue around her friend’s nipple, and the linguist threw her head back panting into the hot air of the jungle. Gosh, how she wished she had worn a skirt today that the med-tech could just reach under. Instead, she tried to help her along, pushing the trousers past her hips.

“Please,” she whispered, breathing heavily and Liv grinned a mischievous smirk as she released her breasts and brought her hand down between her legs.

“I like hearing you beg,” she growled and pushed her hand into her underwear. If Helen’s mind hadn’t been clouded by desire, perhaps she would have noticed the way her friend’s pupils had blown with unnatural intensity and perhaps she would have thought twice about how normally, she would have treated her with the utmost respect. But all of that was lost in an ocean of endorphins.

Liv dragged her fingers through the wetness that had pooled between her legs and Helen buckled her hips forward.

“God, Liv, just-” she groaned, wiping sweat off her forehead. The heat was almost too much to bear and it was impossible to tell whether it was the suns, or her own body temperature. The med-tech didn’t need asking twice. She thrust her fingers inside her and Helen grasped on to her for support. It was an intense sensation. Pain mixed with pleasure as years of abstinence and silent longing were wiped away. It was liberating. And she wanted more of it. The linguist moved her hips and Liv took her cue, she picked up pace, curling her fingers up and Helen leaned onto her, panting into her hair. Soon, her thighs were burning, shaking, threatening to give way underneath her. “Liv, I don’t think I can-” She wasn’t sure she could keep herself upright any longer and she also wasn’t sure she could wait to make Liv feel exactly the same things. It was a strange sense of push and pull, caught between wanting to be completely hers and having all of her all the same. She clawed her nails into the med-tech’s shoulders on a particularly hard thrust and Liv hissed in pain but was spurred on nonetheless. And then, she pulled away and Helen almost collapsed forward, disappointed at the sudden loss of her hard working hands but only for a second. Liv pulled her down, or rather pushed. Her legs buckled easily, protesting the strenuous task of standing. The ground, mercifully soft with thick grass and ferns, offered a welcome reprieve for her aching muscles. Her friend made quick work of pulling off her trousers altogether now, leaving her exposed to the elements and more importantly, to her tongue. She ran her lips back up her legs once she’d discarded the trousers and quickly found her core once more.

“Fuck-” Helen breathed and threw her head back. It was an overwhelming sensation unlike anything she’d felt before. Her mouth was wet and warm, her tongue darted, licked and whirled around her clit, sending jolts through her body. The linguist patted for a part of her she could reach and buried her hands in her hair. She grabbed a fist full and Liv groaned at the sharp tug but didn’t relent. She brought her hand up and thrust inside her once more as she sucked at the bundle of nerves, making Helen absolutely wild with desire. “Liv, please-” she sobbed and wasn’t sure whether she was seeing stars or if it was the sun falling through the canopy of leaves above. It was almost as if the air around them was shimmering, dancing, and she breathed it in deeply as she gasped for breath.

“You’re so beautiful, Helen,” Liv mumbled, as she pulled away and kissed her way up her body. She carried on the frantic pace with her fingers, but found her lips in a passionate kiss.

Helen was beyond conscious thought. Instinctively, she bucked her hips to meet her friend’s thrusts and held on to her for dear life as her muscles started seizing up. Her thighs were burning, as were her lungs and she moaned pleas to Liv as she felt herself breaking under the tension. The med-tech brought her second hand to her centre and drew tight circles over her clit, pushing her to a peak and from there, she crashed. Her muscles released the pent up tension, her body shook in waves of intense pleasure as her nerve endings fired and clouded her senses. Liv guided her through the aftershocks and let her down gently, drawing her fingers from her only when exhaustion well and truly made her body relax.

“L-Liv-” Helen mumbled as the med-tech climbed off her but never went far. She shimmied right up to her and pressed a kiss to the side of her friend’s face.

“You know I love you, don’t you?” Liv hummed as she rested her head on her chest and the linguist smiled, her heart and mind full of only the woman beside her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as her heart-rate slowed.

“And I you,” she confirmed, giving herself over to complete contentment. She pressed a kiss to the top of her head and pulled her close. And there they lay for a moment without moving, under the high trees with beautiful blossom that smelled almost alluring.

Absent-mindedly Helen drew patterns onto her friend’s shoulders though even that was becoming increasingly difficult to do as exhaustion was taking her over. Her eyelids were feeling incredibly heavy. “Just you wait, I’m gonna get you back for that,” she mumbled, eager to repay her efforts but also needing a moment to recover.

“Yes, in a minute, let’s just have a rest for a bit…” Liv agreed, sounded just as tired as Helen felt, and they nuzzled together.

“You two idiots!” A voice called that seemed to come from very far away.

“Go away, Doctor…” Liv mumbled, tightening her grasp around Helen’s waist and the linguist hummed in agreement.

“No, no, no, do not go to sleep, you won’t wake up!” His words barely registered. Helen had closed her eyes and found herself unwilling to open them again. Something altogether more alluring than sleep was dragging her down. The soft breathing of Liv beside her, her head resting on her shoulder�� she’d never known such contentment. Her body felt spent, exhausted and fulfilled, so why was there a need to carry on now?

“Couldn’t you have picked another time to do this?!” The Doctor carried on, somewhere at the edge of her mind and she shooed him away like a bad memory.

At least until water was poured on her face.

Helen sputtered, snapped out of her sleepiness and wiped her face. It took her a moment to grasp what was going on. Liv, beside her, had a similar experience and was stuttering curses as she sat up. Next thing they knew, clothes were thrown at them.

“Back to the TARDIS, you two!”

The Doctor was there, he had his back turned and slowly, Helen began to realise her state of undress.

“What- How-” She looked to Liv who seemed to be having a similar realisation as she blushed beetroot red and scrambled to cover herself.

“I told you this place was dangerous!” The Doctor exclaimed. “And you only went and shimmied up to a ‘Lover’s Grave’ Tree?”

“A what?” Helen wasn’t following but managed to wrestle herself into some clothes. She had to hold the blouse closed as the buttons had all ripped.

“It’s called that because the scent of the flowers works like an aphrodisiac and lowers your inhibitions, and once you’re thoroughly exerted yourselves and fall asleep beneath its fronds, the pollen from the flowers kills you and you become fertiliser. Is that really what you want?” The Time Lord berated them.

Within moments, his companions brought a healthy distance between the tree and themselves, both flushed bright red but in possession of the faculties and - thankfully - their lives. Like naughty children that had just been told off, they followed the Doctor back to the TARDIS.

“So uhh… I guess we…” Liv cleared her throat without looking at Helen, she kept her eyes on her feet as they walked.

“Yeah-” the linguist nodded, feeling her cheeks burn and it wasn’t from the heat.

“How do you… feel about that…” the med-tech asked, casting a cautious glance her way. The thing was done now, there was no way around that. The question was whether to blame it all on circumstances or finally acknowledge that it had been inevitable.

“I-” Helen took a deep breath and opted for an easy escape as she spotted the smudges of grass and dirt along her arms. “We should, uh- we should get cleaned up…” The TARDIS came into view up ahead.

“Helen…” Liv grasped her hand and held her back. “I’m sorry, we don’t-” There was grave concern in her eyes, worried to have ruined everything between them and Helen observed the distance to the dreaded tree and the fact that the longing to kiss her friend hadn’t diminished with the distance gained. She also remarked on how her words of love still rang true, and the look in Liv’s eyes told her, so did hers. And lastly, she remembered the promise she had made her a moment ago.

“Maybe we could… maybe we could get cleaned up together…” She suggested with a small smile. “I did say I would get you back.”

Liv blinked and for a moment, Helen grew worried with her lack of action, wondering if she had got things wrong after all. But the moment passed. Liv pulled her down into a passionate kiss that made the tree’s influence pale in comparison.

[buffintruder]

5 & 6 for the fanfic asks?

Thank you for the ask!

5. Which WIP is first on your list to complete this year? Will you post a snippet?

Technically my Blade soul nemesis au probably? But that's already mostly finished, I just need to do the last round of edits + post it for chapters 4-13. I do have a side fic in that series that I'll hopefully post soon afterwards though, plus it's a Drive so it will be something you know (this doesn't have any Blade spoilers besides something super vague that I'm sure you've already picked up). Also this is the exact bit that was inspired by a Drive fic called Parallax

After a bit, the Amane and Haruka went off to the food table to drink champagne and eat the hors d'oeuvres, and Hajime found himself making another circuit, taking the opportunity to look closer some of the other works by himself.  "I see you’re not a fan of these photos?" came a voice from just to his side, and Hajime realized that he had been frowning at the exhibit in front of him. It wasn't that he didn't like them, though there was something about them that tugged discomfort from some deep core part of him. They were just puzzling. The pictures from this artist weren’t too dissimilar in subject from his, mostly rural and urban landscapes rather than people or individual objects, but none of them were taken how he would have taken them. Which wasn't necessarily a problem, since Hajime had his own style and this artist had theirs, but there was still something off about them, almost as if— "Something’s missing," Hajime said.  A sharp inhale brought his gaze from the pictures to the speaker, a young man with brown hair, looking about as comfortable in his suit as Hajime felt in his. His eyes were open wide, but they quickly flattened out into a smile. "I think you're the first person to get it so quickly." Now that Hajime's theory had been confirmed by presumably the photographer himself, he could see how it was done, a subtle shift in focus and positioning as if the main subject of each picture was something invisible, an empty part of the scenery. The effect should have come across as sloppy or amateurish, but somehow it didn't. "Impressive," Hajime said. "Thanks," said the other photographer—Shijima Gou, according to the plaque. "It's—you're close. It's not something that's missing, it's someone." "I see," Hajime said, because he could, now that it was pointed out. All those roads and fields and empty rooms, they all had space for someone to stand there at the focus of it. Hajime could guess why. He had also worked his grief into his photography—made a whole book of it in fact, on the off chance that the person he could never see again would get the message he would never be able to say to him himself.

(6 has already been answered here)

[rightbrainawake]

First step

I have found printmaking, it is a wonderful thing.

I had previously only been a #watercolour painter, and I am enjoying the technical process involved in printmaking as I find a great number of similarities between the two, at least in the way that one has to build a picture from a base up. The common understanding that you begin and preserve the white paper is helpful, as opposed to other forms where the opposite is common of dark to light building of colour.

I joined a class at my local art gallery, Hazelhurst, and was producing collagraph  prints with differing success.

Here I experimented with as many different texture producing things as possible in order to see what could be produced as outcomes in the printing process: corrugated cardboard, string, hessian, crêpe paper, paper doilies, cling wrap, glue along with some improvised punctures of the mat board also cutting and removal of the paper cover.

This plate, shown above was then covered in a sealant of varnish and dried under a hot hair dryer to enable printing straight away - what fun!

As this was my first print it was clear that I was not yet aware of how much ink was in fact too much, this is a key learning of course.

Too much ink and the print does not show much of the collagraph as the ink does not allow for any discernible change to be seen between different components of the collage, too little and there is no ink to record any of your textures onto the paper.

The amount of ink, and the amount of pressure applied is related just to add to the variability of printmaking. Too much pressure will draw out more ink, and too little pressure will only touch the surface of the collage. When this is combined with different ink types and different ink minerals, then the technicality of print making is just starting to present itself to you.

I am lucky to enjoy and appreciate experiment, I did not expect fantastic results straight away and learn to enjoy the process.

You can see that I did two prints, the original print - of the ink that I applied and then run through the press, and the ghost print - the same plate reprinted without adding any further ink.

Yes, my first print had way too much ink. I can make out the detail mainly because I laid out and put the collage together. Some of the scraping I did with some tarlatan, of course I did not remove anything close enough, hence one can see those scratch marks.

This ghost print is much better is showing the different elements of the collegraph. The string collects a great deal of ink on one or both sides, similar to the corrugated cardboard which is provides a more subtle line. The hessian (or tarlatan) does come out quite well as does the crêpe paper. I was interested in the difference between the section where the crêpe was cover with masking tape to produce a muted effect of the texture of the crêpe paper.

With the ghost the paper doilie detail is far clearer, and my use in attempt to symbolise the sun can be seen (with a long bow). The different clouds of cling wrap and cut away board produce different effects in the apparent sky. What is was most surprised was the small punctures did really bring out some interesting tonal texture in the printed surface (an almost emu skin effect from my perspective).

I am using this blog to simply record my works and progress, if you do get something out of it then it is great also - let me know.

[lustandlore]

Bound by Thorn and Flame

The forest hated him. She could feel it in the way the wind howled when he moved, the way the branches cracked like bones beneath his heavy boots. He didn't belong here—not in her sacred grove, not in her realm.

And yet here he stood, all six-foot-something of fire-forged arrogance, arms crossed over his bare, rune-covered chest, eyes like smoke and storm watching her with infuriating calm.

"You're trespassing," she said, tightening her grip on the staff pulsing with forest magic. Her long, moss-green hair shimmered in the moonlight, and vines curled protectively around her ankles.

The demon grinned, slow and deliberate. "You summoned me."

"I needed a spark. Not an inferno."

He stepped closer, heat radiating off his skin. "You should be more specific when you cast spells in blood."

Her jaw tightened. "You're dangerous."

"So are you." His voice was velvet and sin. "I felt it when you touched the earth with rage. It called to me. You called to me."

She hated how her pulse responded, traitorous and warm. How his presence made the air thick and her throat dry. He wasn't supposed to be beautiful—scars laced his arms like stories untold, and his mouth was all sharp corners and promises she didn't want to understand.

"Leave," she whispered, even as the earth trembled beneath her feet, responding not to fear—but anticipation.

He didn't move. "You bound me with your need. And now," he stepped closer, until the warmth of him curled over her skin like firelight, "we're both going to burn."

The grove responded to his presence in ways she hadn't expected. The thorned vines writhed around her like they didn't know whether to attack or kneel. Her staff vibrated in her palm, the runes glowing faintly green—and in her chest, her heartbeat drummed a frantic, primal rhythm.

"I didn't mean to summon you," she snapped, stepping back, forcing her voice to stay level. "I was trying to channel the leyline beneath the roots. Not call upon some..." she gestured to his half-naked form, "fire-worshipping, chaos-spawned sex demon."

That grin again. Gods, that grin was criminal.

"I'm not a sex demon," he drawled. "Technically, I'm a wrath demon. The lust is just... a side effect." He stalked forward, every step causing a subtle shift in the temperature around them.

She lifted her staff defensively, but he only smirked and kept coming.

"Don't flatter yourself," she warned, voice catching.

"Too late," he murmured. "I've been watching you through the flame since you first screamed into the soil. All that power. All that grief." He stopped, inches away, his heat soaking into her skin. "You reek of heartbreak, little druid. But your rage? That's what made me need to find you."

Her throat bobbed.

He was wrong. Or maybe worse—he was right. The forest had given her peace, yes. But it hadn't taken away the hollow. It hadn't made her stop dreaming of fire.

And here he was. A living, breathing, walking embodiment of everything she tried to bury.

"I should send you back," she whispered. "Banish you. Seal the grove."

His hand brushed her cheek, and her magic flared—green and gold light bursting at the contact. But she didn't pull away.

"Do it," he said. "Send me back. If that's what you really want."

Silence.

Then... her staff fell to the moss-covered ground with a soft thud.

And her lips met his like lightning striking dry earth.

Her lips crushed against his, a clash of magic and heat, and the forest shuddered around them—leaves curling inward, vines quivering in response to the wild energy pulsing between their bodies.

He groaned into her mouth, hands immediately gripping her waist like he'd been starving for centuries and had finally been given something real. His touch was fire, but it didn't burn—it ignited. Her skin bloomed with sensation, every nerve ending sparking to life.

"You're playing with dangerous magic," she breathed, lips brushing his as he pushed her back against the thick trunk of an ancient tree. The bark wrapped around them like a throne, enclosing them in primal secrecy.

"Good," he growled, lifting her like she weighed nothing. "I am dangerous magic."

Her thighs wrapped around his hips, instinctive and needy, and when his mouth descended on her throat, she moaned—low, guttural, and holy gods, it echoed through the grove like a prayer.

Vines slithered around her arms, not to bind, but to hold—to anchor her as he devoured her. His fingers trailed beneath the hem of her moss-green robes, calloused and reverent.

"So soft," he murmured, eyes blazing. "So alive."

She gasped as his palm slid between her thighs, and he paused, smirking against her skin.

"You're wet," he teased. "Is that for me, little druid?"

She gritted her teeth, defiant even as her hips rocked against his hand. "Maybe it's the humidity."

He chuckled, low and wicked. "Then let's make it hotter."

Clothes vanished—whether by magic or sheer desperation, neither of them cared. Skin met skin, fire met earth, and when he finally thrust into her, the forest howled with them.

She cried out, head thrown back as he filled her, deeper than she thought possible, her walls gripping him like the earth claimed rain. His runes lit up across his chest and arms, glowing bright orange as he moved inside her, slow at first, then harder, faster.

The vines tightened around the tree in rhythm with their bodies. Magic surged. Stars burst behind her eyes.

"You're mine now," he snarled into her ear. "Bound by thorn... and flame."

She clung to him, nails digging into his back as her climax crashed over her like a tidal wave of raw power, and she felt his release seconds later, molten and wild.

And the grove... bloomed.

Every flower burst open in vibrant color. The tree they leaned against glowed with life. Magic soaked the air like summer rain.

They stayed tangled, panting, skin slick, souls raw.

And neither of them said a word.

Because whatever had just happened—whatever they'd just awakened—it wasn't done with them yet.

He was still inside her when the magic settled.

The forest had gone unnaturally quiet—not peaceful, but expectant. Like it was holding its breath.

Her head rested against his shoulder, his hands gentle now, tracing her spine like he was memorizing every bump, every freckle, every inch of her body he'd just worshipped with raw, unfiltered need. His breath was warm against her skin, no longer scorching—just present.

She hated how good it felt. How right it felt.

"That wasn't supposed to happen," she said softly, finally breaking the silence.

"Sure felt like it was," he replied, voice rough and content. But when she didn't laugh, didn't tease, he pulled back just enough to look into her face.

Her magic was still glowing faintly across her collarbones, faint druidic runes blooming like flowers after a storm. And his—those sharp fire-forged markings—had dimmed but hadn't vanished.

"We triggered something," she murmured.

He nodded. "I felt it too. The forest... woke up."

She slid off him slowly, legs trembling. The vines retracted like loyal pets, and her robe materialized again, summoned by her will. She didn't look at him as she stepped away, but he could see her chest rising and falling, her breath uneven.

"It wasn't just sex," she whispered.

He walked toward her. "No. It was binding."

Her head whipped around. "You think we—?"

"Our magics weren't just compatible," he said. "They merged. You cast something deeper than you meant to, Druid. You didn't just summon me. You chose me."

She opened her mouth to argue—but felt it. That subtle hum at the base of her spine. A tether. Not chains, not a leash—more like a pulse that mirrored her own. Her power reaching for his. Like roots twisting together underground.

"No," she breathed.

"Yes," he said, stepping close again, though this time... gentler. "You bound your magic to mine. You can feel it now, can't you? Every time you breathe, it tugs. Every time you think of me—"

"Shut up," she snapped, but her cheeks flushed.

"You like it."

"I hate you."

His lips brushed her ear. "Then why does your magic purr when I touch you?"

She shoved him back, hard. He let her, grinning, hands raised in surrender.

"You don't understand what you've done," she hissed. "I'm the Guardian of this Grove. I keep the balance. If I'm bound to a wrath demon, the Circle will see it as corruption."

"They'll come for you?" he asked, voice dropping.

"They'll come for us."

The smile slid off his face.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, with a devilish smirk slowly returning, he reached out and brushed her hair back from her face. "Let them come," he said. "They'll learn what happens when you try to cut down a forest on fire."

The Circle arrived at dawn.

They didn't knock. They didn't announce themselves.

They simply appeared—seven robed figures materializing from the mist like ghosts in ritual green, each wearing a mask carved from sacred wood. The air grew thick with old power, the kind that smelled of wet stone and blood-soaked earth.

She stood at the edge of the grove barefoot, arms bare, her staff glowing faintly in her grip. Her hair was still tangled from sleep—or maybe from him—and her magic prickled under her skin like a second heartbeat.

They were early.

Behind her, the demon watched from the shadows. Silent. Shirtless again. Why was he always shirtless?

One of the masked druids stepped forward. "You broke the oath, Guardian."

"I didn't break anything," she said, chin lifted. "I answered the forest's call."

"You summoned a wrath demon and then—" a different voice, older, female, colder—"merged with him."

There it was. The word she didn't want to say.

Bound.

She could feel him even now, his energy humming at the edge of hers. He wasn't touching her, but it didn't matter. He was there. Anchored in her bones like roots and flame.

"I didn't mean for the binding," she admitted. "But the magic chose."

"The magic is corrupted."

"It's evolving."

The council rustled, murmuring like wind through brittle leaves. Then the center figure spoke again.

"Release him. Sever the bond. Or be stripped of your title."

Behind her, the demon chuckled.

She turned slightly, whispering without looking back. "Don't."

But he stepped forward anyway, bare feet silent on the moss.

"You want her to rip me out like a weed," he said, voice smooth and cold. "But what if I've already taken root?"

Several druids flinched.

"She is the forest," he continued. "And I am the fire that clears the rot. You need both."

"You are chaos," the elder woman hissed.

"And yet," he murmured, gaze locking with hers, "she still chose me."

Her heart slammed against her ribs. She hadn't said that. Not out loud.

But it didn't make it less true.

He had challenged her. Matched her. Seen the grief she'd buried beneath bark and leaf—and wanted all of it. The mess. The rage. The truth.

"I won't sever the bond," she said suddenly.

Gasps. A ripple of power.

The Circle recoiled.

"I am the Guardian of this Grove," she said, stepping closer to him, "and I will not be ruled by fear. Not yours. Not his. Not even my own."

The forest trembled.

Magic bloomed.

And deep in her chest, the tether between them surged—twisting tighter, not in chains... but in choice.

The Circle stepped back, magic pulsing in angry waves. The eldest druid's voice cracked through the mist like lightning:

"Then you are no longer Guardian. You are exiled."

The word hit like a curse. She felt it immediately—her connection to the sacred Grove twisting, thinning, a thread fraying at the ends.

But then...

He grabbed her hand.

The second their palms touched, the bond between them surged. His runes blazed white-hot, and her staff flared with a light so bright it turned the mist gold.

"You don't get to take her magic," the demon growled. "Not while I still breathe."

"And not while the Grove still lives," she added, eyes glowing, vines climbing up her arms like armor.

The Circle didn't hesitate. Seven spells cast at once—pure elemental force—hurtled toward them like a storm of wrath.

He pulled her behind him and raised both arms, his body a shield of flame and fury. The blasts struck, exploding into embers around him, but even he staggered from the force.

She screamed his name—and her magic answered.

The Grove responded to her, not them.

Vines erupted from the earth, lashing toward the druids, twisting around their limbs, ripping away their masks. The forest howled, ancient and wild, its rage echoing hers.

He looked back at her, eyes burning blue-white. "Let go. Stop holding back."

She met his gaze—and surrendered.

Together, they stepped into the heart of the Grove. Her staff lifted on its own. His runes spread up his neck, down his spine, glowing like molten cracks in his skin.

The Circle launched another wave.

She dropped her staff.

And raised her hands.

The roots of the forest rose with her—twisting, writhing, ancient and powerful, striking down two of the elders with a force that shook the earth. He followed her lead, fire blasting from his palms, searing the spellwork before it could hit them.

One by one, the Circle fell back. Outmatched. Unprepared for the fury of two bound souls.

They weren't Guardian and Demon.

They were a storm.

When the final druid collapsed to his knees, smoke rising from the scorched moss, she stepped forward.

"You called me corrupted," she said, voice shaking with power. "But I am the new balance. You cannot purge the forest of fire... because fire makes it grow."

Silence.

Only breath. Only ash. Only roots and flame.

He came up beside her, hand resting lightly on her lower back.

"What now?" he murmured, voice low.

She looked around her ruined grove—then at him. Her bond. Her choice.

"Now," she said, "we rebuild."

And the forest, burned and raw, began to bloom.

In the days that followed, the forest transformed.

Where once the Grove had been ruled by rigid tradition, it now pulsed with something freer—wilder. Flowers bloomed where ash had fallen. New magic seeped from the roots, untamed and alive. And at the center of it all stood the druid and the demon.

She no longer wore the green robes of the Guardian. Instead, she wrapped herself in moss, leather, and flame-kissed bark. Her staff was reborn—twisted vine and blackened ember wood, glowing with both their magics fused.

He had changed too. The wildness in him, once barely restrained chaos, now had purpose. His runes no longer flickered with rage—they hummed with harmony. He laughed more. Smirked just as often. And he still couldn't be bothered to wear a shirt.

They rebuilt a sanctuary, not for rules—but for freedom. For those cast out, like them. Druids who questioned. Creatures with nowhere to belong. Witches. Spirits. Lost souls.

A new Circle. A circle of fire and root.

And at night, when the grove was quiet, and the wind whispered secrets through the leaves, they'd find each other again—over and over. In soft kisses shared beneath starlight. In rough hands pressed against bark. In tangled limbs and whispered promises as the forest bloomed around them.

Not fate.

Not prophecy.

Just choice.

Just them.

Bound by thorn.

Claimed by flame.

And utterly, irrevocably, in love.