#the same angle as the thing in the background

[writing-for-life]

Sandman Sneak Peek Analysis

There is Brief Lives in this, but you’ll miss it if you blink…

Is everyone recovering? 🤣

So we obviously got our fill of thirst traps, but I wanted to analyse the sneak peek (click to watch) a bit more closely.

Many people were commenting they only see Season of Mists and Song of Orpheus in the clip, but I don’t think that’s true. We obviously don’t know what exactly they did to the arcs and what might have changed, but I still predict that the first batch will be Season of Mists and Brief Lives (with other stuff thrown in, I wrote about it here). [I think we also saw a clip from Thermidor in the sneak peek, and that Lady Johanna Constantine was in it, but that just as an aside.]

So let’s start with stills I think are definitely from

Brief Lives

I honestly think it’s this (they’re lighting his face from below for a campfire effect, there are candles etc):

Edit 22/09:

We sleuthed a bit more across several platforms, and some clever people pointed out this:

These two frames appear in different places of the sneak peak, so we can’t know for certain if they are from the same scene. It is possible though. And if they are: He is wearing his ruby on the one to the left. It’s hard to tell if it’s the same thing to the right, but it could be? If so, that would mean this could be from Song of Orpheus instead of Brief Lives.

He does wear a clasp in Brief Lives all the way through, so that’s also possible, but again: If these shots are from the same scene, which it honestly looks like, I’m now leaning towards Song of Orpheus, and this particular scene (there’s a fire there, too):

Plus, if you zoom in and squint really hard, he seems to be wearing something on his shoulder here, too:

What else?

We see Despair’s Realm. But we don’t in Season of Mists. So this is either Brief Lives, or they give us a bit of Three Septembers and a January (which I’d love tbh, but I’m not going to hold my breath).

Next:

I think this could be Ruby’s/Wanda’s death/the fire. It’s really hard to see, but that could be Indya Moore sleeping? Let me know what you think…

Then this one:

I bet my bottom dollar this is Suffragette City and Ishtar’s dance. Now, the bottom panel is a tricky one because in the sneak peek, it’s actually right after the shot of (presumed) Wanda, so my initial response was it’s the fire. But the curtains look exactly the same as in the one with Ishtar’s dance, plus I think the glass is also in both shots. Which makes me think they either just put those scenes randomly together in the clip despite them being separate, OR that they changed the arc a bit and pulled Wanda/Ruby and Ishtar’s dance together. Either way, we’re definitely in Brief Lives I think.

Over to…

Season of Mists

I cackled like a lunatic when I saw this. IYKYK, but I somehow didn’t expect them to give us that one. Hurray (or not, depending on whether you like spiders I guess 🤣)

Angels looking modern…

Shame really, I wouldn’t have minded a more comics accurate look, but hey. Also: Is that your man Edward, @marlowe-zara ? Hard to tell from this angle, but I think it could be?

That’s also Andre Flynn in the background (also an Angel then).

Shivering Jemmy with the balloon! 🎈 If she doesn’t dump it on Dream, I’m gonna riot!

These ones with Lucienne are hard to place, and they could be anything, but they somehow give me stronger Season of Mists than Brief Lives vibes, although both is possible.

I have a hunch it’s this one:

Then there’s naturally all the obvious stuff (Cluracan, Susano-o-No-Mikoto, the family dinner etc etc), but I don’t think I have to get into those because they jump out at us straightaway.

More in the realm of

Casting

I think that might be Ella Rumpf as Eurydice, @tickldpnk8 What do you think?

This is definitely Wil Coban, but who he? Fae (the ears suggest so much)?

So what’s everyone thinking?

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[leota-nexus]

^ the process

v the shot

[trans-xianxian]

after 22 hours of making thumbnails, sketching out panels, and lining, I have finally finished all of the line art for my wei wuxian birthday comic.... now I've got one week to paint all 27 panels

[alexiroflife]

"drunk wishes"

[part 2]

fluff, clingy gojo, friends in love

high school!gojo satoru x reader

Synopsis: years ago, satoru's habit of drinking on school nights constantly led him to ask for you, desperate for your company. of course, you couldn't blame his constant need for you on anything but the alcohol... right?

to sum it up: seventeen year old satoru was a clingy drunk & suguru and shoko always left him for you to take care of

WC: 5,665

Warning(s): alcohol use

The second your phone rang, screen lighting up to reveal the group picture of you, Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko squeezed into frame, you knew that the book you were currently halfway through would have to wait.

With a sigh, you tossed the book to the side and picked up the group call, dreading whatever was about to greet you next.

Shoko’s contact bubble was blank, for she was likely asleep at this hour. Satoru was the first to stick his head into the camera, followed by a pending bubble from Geto that eventually revealed his exasperated expression.

“(Y/n)!” Satoru slurred, grinning cheerfully into the phone. His snowy hair and bright eyes peering over round glasses were the only thing in frame as he stared intently down at his screen. The scene behind him was dark. It looked like he was standing outside somewhere, and it took you a few seconds to notice that Geto’s background resembled the very same place. “Where’re youuuuu?” 

You pursed your lips in amusement, entirely too familiar with this situation. “Hi, Toru. How are you feeling?”

“Amazing, now that I get’to see y’er pretty face,” he grinned, his persistent flirting doing very little to surprise you. “D’you know that new bar down the street does’t ID check?!”

“No, I didn’t know that. You had some fun there, huh?”

“S’much fun,” he sighed, words blurring into each other. “But then I got bored, s’we went to th’ store ‘nd got snacks. Isn’t that right, Sugu-boo?”

His phone shook with the wobbling of his feet, revealing his black haired best friend standing close by as he turned to look over his shoulder at him. 

You held back your laugh, glancing at the time to see that it was nearly two in the morning. Not only that, but the three of you in addition to Shoko had class in about six hours. Why the hell those two were out this late, you had no idea, but you couldn’t have said that you were surprised. After all, they did this at least three times a week, per Satoru’s influence, of course. 

Suguru shook his head with a tired exhale, holding the camera down. “He’s driving me insane,” he grumbled, brows angled with irritation.

You were quick to move from your bed and shuffle across your dorm to grab a sweatshirt. You already knew where this call was leading. “What the hell are you guys even doing?” you asked. “You know what time it is, right?”

“Yeah, we do,” Suguru hissed, turning to eye a babbling Satoru. You could see the black haired boy’s eye twitch. “But someone dragged me out of bed because he didn’t want to be out alone.”

“Figures,” you laugh. “Where are you now?”

“The convenience store around the corner,” he answered. “We’re literally five minutes away, but Satoru said he wasn’t going to walk any further unless you were here.”

The said boy raised his phone up over his head, the camera peering down at the two tall men from a high angle. Satoru’s eyes went wide and mouth gaped in childlike awe, as if he were showing you some whimsical discovery through the lens of his camera. He dangled a small bag in his free hand, showing off his haul. 

“Look, (Y/n)! C’me see what we got you ‘nd Shokoooo! Suguru, sh-show her y’re stuff,” he urged, a lazy smirk dancing across his face. He nudged Suguru in his chest, the contents of the strongest student’s bag knocking against his best friend repeatedly. A vein bulged in Suguru’s forehead. His bedtime was supposed to be two hours ago, and he was steadily growing more agitated. 

“I’m gonna kill him, (Y/n). Please come take him off my hands.” 

“What about me, huh? I could’ve been asleep, you know. Or studying, like how you two are supposed to.”

“Oh, shut up. I know you weren’t doing anything important.”

You glared at him through your screen. “This is how you treat me, huh? The designated walker for when you get tired.”

“You know how it goes,” Suguru smirked lightly. “Satoru’s needy.”

“(Y/n),” he groaned. “Sugu doesn't love me anymore, s’you have to come take care of me the way- y’know how-to- how you always do,” the blue eyed seventeen year old droned on dramatically. “Pleeeaaaaaase, I miss youuu-”

His singing was disrupted with the tumble of his phone from his hand to the ground, the device hitting the pavement with a smack. His screen went black after landing face first and you watched Geto look down at Satoru boredly, for he had likely been expecting just that to happen. 

Satoru gasped loudly, bending over to retrieve his phone clumsily. Suguru panned his camera to show the sight to you, the white haired boy’s long legs spread stiffly as he leaned from his torso to pick up his phone. “(Y/n)! NOO! M’so sorry!” he cried out.

There was shuffling on his end and a dizzy spin of the camera before Satoru’s face came back into view in his small FaceTime square. “I didn’t mean’ta drop you, pretty, don’t be mad,” he whined. 

You shook your head, swiping your dorm key from your desk and heading to your door. “I’m on my way, Suguru,” you said, ignoring Satoru’s drunk babbling. 

“Please hurry, I can't take much more of this.”

You were quick to rush out of your dorm when you ended the call, cutting off whatever sweet talk your intoxicated friend was about to pull out next and the agitated ‘Shut the fuck up!’ that boomed from Suguru.

You knew this routine like the back of your hand. Either Satoru, Shoko, or Suguru would call you or the group chat, depending on who was out on a given night, to ask you to come over and babysit drunk Satoru, who had always found himself pleading for you the moment liquor settled into his system. 

Though Satoru was the strongest sorcerer and overall person you had ever met, his tolerance for alcohol was painfully low, which you all supposed was why he liked to drink so much. Satoru was so used to being the best at everything, to not having to struggle or experience every day pressures and trials of weakness that the rest of you had to endure. 

Nothing in his life posed a challenge for him, so when he stole a moment to find something that lowered his inhibitions and eased him into a state of malfunction and playful instability, it was like taking a break, a breath of fresh air after having been submerged underwater. He liked the way alcohol buzzed through his brain, melted through his bloodstream, and dumbed him down to a simple, wasted mess. 

It reminded him that he was still flesh and bone in a world that raised him up as a god. 

So he went out and drank quite a bit, and you, naturally, were his caretaker during those frequent times. 

You never thought Satoru meant anything by his clinginess toward you. After all, he was Satoru Gojo. He was fawned over by all women, and as one of his closest friends, you had witnessed his constant indulgence in their infatuation over him. 

Satoru never acted beyond his captivating smiles and provocative words. It was all a game to him, something to keep him entertained and to raise his already astronomically large ego. 

Therefore, when he called you over and over, told you that you were gorgeous, and blabbered about how much he loved to have you by his side, you thought nothing of it. Satoru was your friend, and you would look after him over and over again solely because of that fact. 

The four of you were bonded, closer than anyone else on your campus. You may have been a bit too cliquey for others’ taste, but you all loved each other dearly, and that’s all you assumed Satoru’s drunk words were: love for a friend being portrayed incorrectly due to the alcohol. 

And boy, did you love Satoru dearly, as much as you loved Shoko and Suguru. You loved him so much that you’d rub his back every time he’d throw up into your toilet and bring him fresh clothes for the morning every time he was too hungover to make it back to his dorm. 

You loved him so much that you’d take care of him as long as he allowed you, as long as when you were sober and he was intoxicated, he needed you in a way he would never need you when his mind was clear and alert. You loved him so much that no matter how each compliment and loving gaze he tossed your way in the midst of his drunken stupors sent butterflies swirling through your tummy, you’d allow yourself to bury your feelings deep down.

After all, the sun would always rise and the haziness of his eyes would always disappear, and he would always have to go back to being Satoru Gojo. The strongest who needed no one.

You arrived outside the convenient store a few minutes later, approaching your two friends slowly. The 24-hour convenience store sign provided the only source of light amidst the darkness and buzzed softly over the boys’ heads. 

Suguru was leaning beside the store entrance against the wall, hands in his pockets, eyes closed, and head resting against the brick. Satoru was sitting on the curb with his legs splayed out before him and his bag to the side, humming some song loudly to himself. 

He was quick to catch sight of you once you stepped into his vision. His face lit up and he jumped to his feet, stumbling to the side before rushing over to you sloppily. He clung to you immediately, long arms circling around yours from the side and pulling you to his chest. He leaned his head atop yours, his glasses crashing against your forehead painfully.

“Finally, y’took forever,” he moaned, leaving you very little room to breathe. You huffed, clenching your jaw and craning your neck out to try to find some space for oxygen. You patted his arm with your hand stiffly, unable to move much more than that.

“I know, I know. Five minutes was just so long,” you agreed sarcastically, to which Satoru nodded aggressively.

“Way too long.”

Suguru pushed himself off of the wall when he heard your voice, opening his eyes and sauntering tiredly over to the two of you. You looked up at him from where you stood, trapped, and you could see a smugness dancing in his fatigued eyes despite his agitation. “Don’t look at me like that, dick,” you seethed. “Your lazy ass couldn’t walk him back?”

“I told you, he wanted to see you,” he shrugged. “Besides, you and I both know it’s physically impossible to get Satoru to do something he doesn’t want to do. He’s such a big baby.”

He eyed the blue eyed sorcerer who poked out his tongue childishly, tugging you closer into him. 

“Just tell m’you hate me, Sugu,” Satoru frowned. 

“Yeah, yeah.” The dark haired student leaned down to grab Satoru’s bag and hand it to you. “Here. I’m walking in this direction,” he pointed behind him.

You scrunched your brows. “That’s gonna add like fifteen minutes to a two second walk,” you pointed out.

“If it means peace and quiet, so be it,” he sighed. 

“Awee, tired a’me already?” Satoru giggled, raising an arm to poke Suguru’s stiff shoulder. 

“Yes,” he deadpanned. “Good night, you too. Be safe and text me when you’re in. And for the love of god, get this idiot to sleep when you get back,” the seventeen year old sweatdropped.

“You say that like it’ll be easy,” you seethed. 

“Mhm.”

With that, Suguru turned over his shoulder and walked off, leaving you and Satoru alone once again. 

“God, he’so moody,” Satoru chuckled. “W’don’t need ‘im anyway. Got all I need right’here.”

“He’s your best friend, Toru. You’ll always need him.”

“Mmmaybe, but dn’t tell ‘im that. It’ll go to his big head.”

You laughed.

“Alright, Toru, come on,” you nudged yourself away from his embrace. He released you, but was quick to sling his arm over your shoulders as you guided him around with your hand on his back. He leaned slightly over you, causing you to trip under his weight. He was so tall and heavy, draping himself comfortably over your figure. He already had absolutely no concept of personal space, but it was so much worse when he was under the influence. “Okay, yeah, one step at a time. Let’s get you home,” you guided sweetly.

“‘Kay,” he mumbled. “Mmm, some ramen would b’good right now, don’t y’think?” he murmured. “Should’make some when we- when we get back.”

“Sure. Okay. We can make some ramen,” you lied. You silently prayed he’d forget the suggestion once he was in his dorm. 

Satoru spent the entire walk yapping, swaying back and for and bringing you along with him. He’d almost made the two of you fall about ten times, and what was meant to be a quick walk lasted double the original time. You were sure that Suguru had already made it back to his dorm by the rate the two of you were moving.

The sight of Satoru’s dorm room was like seeing the gates of heaven open before you. You exhaled in relief when you approached his door, which was irresponsibly unlocked. The guy had been out for hours and hadn’t even bothered to secure his room. 

You shoved the door open, pulling Satoru in with you. He removed his arm from around you after what felt like hours and stumbled forward, falling face first on his carpet. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath after setting his bag to the side, for you knew that you would not be getting to bed soon simply from that action alone.

Satoru groaned, turning his head to the side to breathe. His glasses had risen up over his forehead crookedly, revealing his glassy ocean eyes and snow white lashes fluttering sleepily over them. “I could sleep right’here,” he mumbled, limbs spread out like a starfish.

You shook your head and closed his door behind him. You pulled out your phone quickly, pulling up Suguru’s contact and snapping a picture of the ridiculous sight before you. You sent it along with a message letting him know that the two of you made it safe.

Seconds later, Suguru responded with a ‘yeah, good luck with that.’

You put your phone on the dresser, crouching down over him. “Well too bad you’re not going to,” you said. You grabbed his arm and tugged at it. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you on the bed.”

“Why?” he pouted, closing his eyes and poking out his glossy bottom lip. 

“Because you’ll regret it in the morning when you wake up with an aching back.”

“But I don’t wanna get up,” he groaned, allowing his body to go limp as you mustered up all your strength to pull at him. You grunted, tugging him backward as best as you could. 

“Don’t make this so difficult,” you groaned. “Get up!”

“Noooooo,” he whined. 

“What the hell have you been eating?!” you asked breathlessly. “You weigh like two hundred pounds!”

“Maybe y’re jus’ weak,” he snickered to himself, and you almost dropped his hand and walked out of his room. 

“Maybe I should just beat your ass,” you grumbled. 

He turned to smirk at you, eyes glinting with hazy mischief. “Try it. I won’t go easy on you.”

You couldn’t help the blush that fought its way to your cheeks under his gaze. Even drunk, he knew how to get under your skin.

“Shut up,” you grumbled and he laughed. 

You tried again, yanking his arm, but to no avail. He wouldn’t budge. 

“Ugh! Satoru!” you shouted in frustration. “I can’t stand it when you get like this.”

The Gojo’s smile fell, brows curving in distaste. “Who the hell’s Satoru?” he frowned.

You blinked, lowered his arm and leaning down by his side. “What?”

“Y’call me Toru. What happened’ta Toru?” he repeated, childishly, eyes gleaming with impatience. 

“Yeah, well, when you’re not pissing me off, you’re Toru” you tilted your head to look him in his eyes. “Why?”

He groaned loudly, his dramatics so boisterous that they could probably wake up the rest of the hall. You cocked a brow, releasing his arm as he shifted around, twisting himself onto his back and flopping about. “Why d’you do this t’me,” he complained, lifting his arms up and into the air.

You sighed. “What are you on about, drama queen?”

“Pick m’up.”

“Oh, now you wanna get up, huh?”

“If’t means ’m Toru again, yes,” he pouted again. “Pick m’up,” he demanded once more.

You scoffed a laugh, standing to your feet and leaning over him. “So dramatic,” you said as you grasped his outstretched hands, leaning back to pull him up. He assisted you this time, bringing himself to a seated position before you helped him onto his feet. He stumbled again and you held onto his hands, leading him over to the edge of his bed.

“F’ryou,” he responded, plopping down onto his comforter. He leaned over unstably and you caught his head, guiding him back upright. He hummed softly, leaning into the warmth of your palm, eyes half lidded. “Thank you.”

“I got you, Toru,” you smiled, bending down to tug his shoes off. When you did, you missed the wide beam that stretched across his face at the sound of his nickname rolling from your lips. 

After setting his shoes at his door, you went to move about his space familiarly, walking over to his bottom dresser drawers and pulling out an old tee and sweatpants. 

Satura watched you lazily, eyes dragging along your figure as you so carefully picked out his clothes. He could feel his heart thrumming in his chest like a rhythm, his flushed cheeks growing warmer simply from the sight of you.

You walked back over to him, clothes folded over your arm. He smiled up at you in a daze, appearing like a giddy school boy sitting there patiently for you. You gave him a strange look, placing his clothes next to him on the bed and removing his glasses from his head, setting aside on his lamp lit nightstand. 

When you turned back to him, his eyes hadn’t left you. His pupils were blown wide and his lips stretched into a dumb grin. He spread his legs out and leaned back on his elbows tiredly, admiring you, for the first time tonight, with no words.

“Why are you staring at me like that, weirdo?” you rose a brow.

His smile widened. “Y’just so pretty.”

Just like that, butterflies swarmed as if on cue. Your brows drew together as you looked at him, examining his face for any detection of mischief or deception, but you found none. His gaze upon you was so raw, so full of ardor and sweltering tenderness. He looked like a puppy dog watching you in such a way, and you tried your very hardest to keep your legs from turning to jelly beneath you.

You cleared your throat, looking down and busying yourself with unfolding his clothes. “You’re drunk.”

“On you.”

God, he just wouldn’t stop. His presence was so suffocating, it filled the room with its weight. You felt as though you were going to lose your breath if he kept looking at and talking to you like that.

“Stop,” you sighed, tossing his shirt at him. It hit his face softly, rolling down into his lap. Even that hadn’t been enough for his eyes to rip from your face. He simply reached blindly for the fabric, gaze unwavering. 

“You gon’help me change, pretty?” he asked gently, looking to you expectantly.

“Now what makes you say that?” you questioned, though you both knew full well that you were going to do just that. 

“Cause’you’ve done it b’fore. When I was black’out.”

You whipped your head up at him to find a teasing expression on his features. “There’s no way you remember that?!” you said, incredulously.

He giggled to himself slightly. “No, Shoko tol’me.”

You internally cursed the brunette for betraying you in such a way. “Asshole,” you muttered to yourself, leading Satoru to laugh louder. 

As if on instinct, sat up straight and held his arms out. “M’ready,” he cheesed.

“You’re such an idiot, you know that?” 

He didn’t respond as you walked up to him and stood between his spread legs. He was suddenly silent, observing you closely. You could feel those eyes glued to you, burning into your skull like a line of blue fire. You held your breath, keeping your eyes on your fingers as they reached for the top bottom of his collared shirt. 

You had done this so many times, on so many nights, and the majority of the time, he was either passed out or too drunk to keep his head up and pay attention to what you were doing. This night, however, he was more alert than he had been at this stage of his intoxication. He must not have gotten very far into his drinking, you had thought to yourself. 

He was still pretty drunk, but the gleam in his eye made you question if he would forget this moment like he usually did when you helped him into more comfortable clothes. 

His chest rose and fell delicately under your hands. You popped one button open, then the next, and the next. Your soft fingers brushed against the smoothness of his skin occasionally, the white haired boy jumping slightly every now and then at the contact. 

Satoru broke his eyes from you for just a second, looking down and following the buzzing vision of your fingers working down his shirt, freeing his abdomen for you to see. You could hear his soft breaths, deep and long, as though he were breathing manually, desperately finding a way to recall how to inhale and exhale properly. 

He looked back up at you once the entire shirt was undone, a bashful tint on his cheeks. You were so careful with him, so attentive, so patient and loving with your touch. Shoko and Suguru had always looked after him when he drank by making sure he got home safe when you weren’t around, but they never took care of him the way you did so gently, so earnestly. 

Flashes of your touch and your face would strike him during those early morning hangovers, feeding into the initial yearning he already harbored for you within his chest and his gut. He knew you were always there, in his dreams and his fragmented memories, but he could never recall how or why so clearly.

So now, he soaked you in, devouring each feather light touch and tug at his clothing. He was captivated by the way you moved around his room as though you lived there, like you’d been there a hundred million times over in this exact position. How you talked to him with a tinge of coddling and kindness in your voice that he rarely detected through your normal day to day. 

You handled him with such care, as if he were going to break, and it baffled him. It baffled him how he, one of the strongest individuals to roam this earth, was nothing but putty at your loving hands. He felt so vulnerable sitting there before you, staring intently at your face as you tugged his sleeves down each arm and pulled his shirt from his body. He had expected to feel cool, but he was surrounded by nothing but warmth. Whether it was you or the liquor, he wasn’t sure, but he could feel himself slipping into a trance induced by your beauty and your care. 

Everything in his vision was vibrating except for the vision of you, constant and comforting. He wanted nothing more than to melt into you, to allow you to envelope him within your arms. He wanted to stare at you until he couldn’t see anymore, to memorize every curve in your jaw and dent in your brows, the twitch of your nose and the hitch of your breath, the swipe of your tongue over your lip and the flutter of your lashes over mesmerizing, gentle (e/c) eyes. 

He was so drunk, yes, but you were doing very little to sober him up. He felt like he was floating and falling into you all at once.

You grabbed his t-shirt in your hands and spread it out, reaching your hands through the hole to stretch it over your friend’s head. He poked his head through the neck hole, hair messily sprawling over his forehead as a result, and pulled his arms through the sleeves, disorientedly. 

You still hadn’t looked at him. You were already moving to grab his sweats when you felt a hand reach up and snake over your waist. 

You jumped, snapping your eyes up to his finally. His brows were pinched together and his lips were parted, the blue of his irises a stark contrast against the pink shade of his face. You were close, your legs bumping the edge of the bed while Satoru’s legs caged around you. You stopped suddenly, his touch catching you off guard.

He didn’t say anything. He only snaked his other hand around you, settling them on your hips, leading your heart to slam into your chest.

“S-Satoru, what…” you trailed off, losing yourself in his eyes. There wasn’t a single thought behind them except you. “What’s wrong? You want me to stop?”

His Adam's apple bobbed with a gulp he took, thumbs rolling over your hips experimentally. He looked down, over your body, watching his hands grasp your waist gently as if the feeling and the sight of it weren’t real. He could hear your heart pounding, see your blood rushing, practically taste your nerves despite his drunken state.

You were so overstimulating. Worse than the five shots he’d tossed back.

“Toru?” you called him again. He saw your lips move before the sound registered within his brain, the sweet address sending shivers down his spine. He could barely keep himself upright, but he needed more of you. 

“Why’dyou do’this?” he mumbled, unsure of what he was even asking.

Your nose scrunched in that cute way it did when you were confused. “Huh?”

“Y’always… look after’me. Always’take care’a’me. Why?”

You were growing nervous. Your heartbeat was loud enough, you were sure Satoru could here, and your face was hot to the touch. “Because… because you’re one of my closest friends, Toru. I care about you.”

He shook his head slightly. “‘S’not th’same.”

“What do you mean?”

“S’not th’same as Sho ‘n Sugu. S’different. You’re different.” 

“I…” you weren’t sure what to say. He had you cornered, trapped into him with no escape. You were hyper aware of his fingers gripping your waist softly and his eyes eating you alive. Your senses were through the roof, and you wanted to run and break away from this contact, from this feeling, but you couldn’t. You were frozen. 

You could feel him tugging himself closer, leaning into you, pressing you closer. 

“You’re drunk, Satoru. You should get to bed. We can talk about this tomorrow, when you’re sober,” you tried to change the subject.

“No,” he refused. “Please, no. Please.”

His hands trailed up your waist, feeling all around your body. You were perfect, too perfect. He couldn’t get enough of you. 

His hands reached your arms, then your shoulders, and finally your face, cradling your cheeks softly within his warm palms. 

You pursed your lips, eyes scattering over his face as he gazed at you. He drew your face closer, his sharp nose brushing yours. He was so close, you could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

You lifted your hands to grasp his wrists, preparing to pull his hands from your flustered face.

“Satoru,” you warned. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t want y’to’go,” he whispered, thumbs smoothing over your hot skin. You shivered, your mind battling against itself as you tried to decide what to do.

He was drunk. He had no idea what he was doing. He was just being clingy.

“Please. Please stay, (Y/n). Need’you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, love,” you told him, meeting his eyes directly. “I’m right here.”

“But’don’t leave tonight. Y’always leave. Don’t. Stay. Sleep w’me.”

Your heart swooned, ached, swelled. Satoru was always so needy, but never to this extent. He was practically falling apart before you. 

He stared at you longingly, brows curved as if he was going to cry. “Please, pretty. Please.”

This boy had you so weak. There was nothing he could have asked for that you wouldn’t have said yes to. It was why you were always showing up at his side in the middle of the night when he called for you, why you let him lounge around your room at any hour of the day when he was bored, why you brought him snacks when he was too busy training to eat, why you let him drag you and the others about simply because he wanted you all to tag along with him everywhere. 

Satoru Gojo could have asked you for the moon, and you would have pulled it down by a rope just to see him smile at you and feel his arms wrap around your frame as he pulled you into an overbearing hug. 

You loved him to death. You loved him more than you thought your teenage heart capable of loving anyone, and you feared his knowledge of your feelings because of how prideful he was, because of how many girls harbored the same crush, and because of how many confessions he received on a daily basis. 

You wanted to protect yourself from heartbreak by the world’s most desirable boy. You didn’t want to make yourself look so pathetic before him, more so than any ordinary person already was, but the way he begged for you… the way those big eyes drew you in and his hands framed your face, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that could save him from his mental torment had you giving in completely.

“Okay,” you nodded, releasing his wrists to cup his face in return. He swooned, hands falling into his lap as he submerged himself in your touch. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

A whimper fell past his lips as he fell into you, head collapsing into your chest and hands gripping around your thighs. Your hands moved to his back, stroking him soothingly as he clutched you to him, murmuring nonsense. You could tell his intoxication was tipping into exhausting by the way he slumped into you, and you sighed. He was going to be the death of you, this one. 

The time ticked closer to three once you had managed to get him to let you change him out of his pants and gurgle some mouthwash before going to bed. He kept himself close to you for the rest of the night, whether it was by clinging to your shirt or holding your hand or leaning his head over your shoulder. He had gone completely nonverbal, relying on his actions instead to convey his desperation for your closeness to him. 

You had finally managed to get him into bed at 3:30 am. He plopped down into his messy sheets, face smothered by the pillow and feet hanging off the edge of the bed. He was too tall for his own good. 

You were busying yourself with turning out his lights when you saw his hand twitch out, grasping through the air. You knew what he was asking.

You slipped your shoes off and pulled your sweatshirt over your head, leaving you in your night tee and shorts. You carefully climbed onto the soft furniture, grabbing Satoru’s outstretched hand. He turned himself to face you immediately, yanking you down into him. You squeaked, collapsing beside him on the bed. 

He didn’t let you move to grab the comforter to pull it over your body. Instead, he threw his arms around you and buried his face into the crook of your neck, securing a leg over yours and trapping you against him for the final time that night. 

You tensed, Gojo’s hair brushing softly against your chin as his warm breath fanned contently against your neck. He curled himself into you, clutching you as though you were his last lifeline. 

He stroked his hair softly, scratching his scalp as the beat of your heart lulled him into sleep. 

You exhaled softly, staring up at the ceiling as sleep slowly overtook your body. You prayed that Satoru wouldn’t remember this night. He normally woke up late, so you hoped that you would at least have had time to slip from his room in the morning and disappear into yours. 

You wanted to forget everything. You wanted to forget the way he looked at you, the way he held you, the way he touched you. You wanted to bury it all deep down, to move on as friends like you always had been and always would be. You wanted to leave it all behind, but Satoru had a hold on you that you could not escape. It was the effect he had. Consuming, powerful, and entirely too dangerous for you to indulge.

Satoru was a needy drunk. That was all you could chalk him and the intimacy of this night up to be. A consequence of his intoxication.

But somewhere deep within you, somewhere you did not bother to explore, a spark of hope glimmered for your love, a spark that made you believe just for a moment that Satoru loved you too.

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . GOJO SATORU — gojo may be the strongest, but something about you makes him so weak.

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings! f!reader, just gojo being obsessed with you + your kisses, pet names, mostly fore-play. ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! hiiii more jjk for the soul + i’m so into the sappy lover gojo agenda <3 he deserves happiness !!!

gojo knows he’s up for work early tomorrow, but how was he supposed to resist— you, in any sense. when you’re curled into his side so closely he can basically feel the heat radiating from your figure that’s draped so prettily in his shirt.

your lips parted as you focused on the same show you both watch every tuesday, because you got him hooked on it just the same way as he’s hooked on you — and because he’d pout and complain if you watched without him.

but now that same show— your show, is forgotten in the background of the living room and gojo’s grateful he decided to record it because he’d much rather watch you right now.

“‘’toru—“ you whisper softly, your eyes casting the sorcerer a lustful glance as he presses down on your puffy clit harder, eagerly, as his huge body looms over yours even though he’s almost falling off the couch at this angle. he’s using his thighs to keep yours spread for him, languidly pumping two of his fingers in and out of the warm hug of your pussy before he smears an open-mouthed kiss along your temple as a means to soothe you.

“that’s it, sweet thing. nice and loud f’ me..” gojo’s fingers are long, but thick enough for you to hiss at the slight stretch everytime they sink into you, before he pulls back to really look at you. to admire the way your face contorts in pleasure and the way your pouty lips part to pant his name before he’s pressing his digits up with angled purpose, brushing them against the spongy spot inside you until you’re arching into his chest and he’s kissing you breathless.

“hm, that feel good? lookin’ real pretty like this.“ your boyfriend drawls against your lips as he sinks his fingers into you once more, swirling gentle circles into your clit with his thumb while his fingers drag more of your slick out, making a sloppy mess between your thighs and on the plush sofa cushions below you both.

gojo groans when he feels your tongue drag along his own, a low, gravely sound as he works your body with practiced precision. this was his kind of love, one part of it atleast — the kind that’s shown through the way he knows your body perfectly, the way he’s memorised every part of you but still wants to learn because he wants to love every part of you.

he feels your hips twist under him when he pushes his fingers deeper, feeling your walls tighten around the digits as he speeds up his ministrations, pulling an almost surprised whimper from your lips and god— he loves you like this.

gojo’s breathing becomes ragged as he kisses you, feeling him shift slightly from his position over you to support his weight with his forearm as it rests beside you. his hand moves after to rest around the back of your neck, pulling you closer— deeper into his mouth with a sigh, but it’s a more breathless, dreamy sound against your lips.

“when did you get so beautiful, hm?“ he grunts again, a slight whine to his words and he’s convinced the heavens and the earth dropped an angel into his lap everytime he steals a glance of you.

gojo’s giving in completely to the dizzy spin of the room and the buzz of his mind, a feeling he’s only ever found in you as he offers you the air from his own lungs just so you don’t pull away, not yet. you’re too intoxicating, his mind and senses feel blurred when he’s wrapped in you and not even the six eyes could control his body or the way his soul yearns for yours. nothing could stop him from curling over your as he loses himself— pushing his name between your lips.

it’s like fire lived within your kiss, and it had a way melting every part of him.

he’s only snapped from his lustful, drunken haze when you nudge him, a needy— questioning whimper falling from your lips and that’s all it takes for him to realise his fingers have suddenly stilled inside of you and he can’t help but smile.

maybe he got a little too lost in you. not that he cares, his need for you was limitless after all.

“‘toru, you okay?” you soften, smoothing your fingers through the snowy peaks of gojo’s hair and he grins, cheeky and a little smug despite the flush of his cheeks and chest and the kiss drunk little buzz in his mind.

“oh, is my sweet girl worried about me?” he breathes, deflecting the real reason but he smiles again, and because you love him, you catch yourself smiling too before you roll your eyes instinctively at his sickly sweet tone.

“yeah right, i just don’t think right now is the time to be distracted— i was so close, you know.” gojo pulls you in for another sloppy kiss and pulls away once more, slowly pulling back his fingers from between your thighs in favour of kicking off his sweats instead as he huffs—a more needy but still as fond sound before he chuckles again and takes a handful of his cock.

“oh no, i would never.” he gasps, free palm resting against his chest like he’s offended you’d even suggest that it wasn’t always you that’s constantly occupying the space in his mind. he gives you another look when you giggle, and he knows he’s so in love when it rings through the room before he’s back over you once more, cock pressing between your slick folds as he groans.

“got everything i’ve ever needed right here, sweet girl. just keep looking at me, yeah?”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[delulujuls]

tinder buddies | ln4

hi! i have no idea how to comment on that. i've got inspiration from the rumors that are now going on twitter and tiktok about lando and his activity in sm and i thought man, i need to write something in this narrative because sexting with him??? scuse me??? but of course all of this is fiction and and i dont have any statement on the rumors about lan, mostly because all of these are rumors and not facts. anyway, pls leave his poor papaya ass alone and enjoy this instead!

summary: when you met your tinder buddy irl and realize how indeed world is small

warnings: masturbation on cam (both male and female), bit of swearing, in general alott of sexual tention

pairing: fem!journalist!reader x lando norris

Y/N thought that she was good at what she was doing. She thought that despite her young age she fit in the world of motorsport really well. Sometimes it even crossed her mind that she was no different from her older colleagues, what's more, sometimes she even thought that she was better than them. However, she admitted this only to herself with complete modesty and behind tightly closed doors.

Apart from the fact that Y/N was a really good journalist whose career was growing at a surprising pace, at the end of the day she was just a twenty-two-year-old girl who, like many other twenty-two-year-old girls in the world, had her smaller and bigger sins.

Y/N breathed heavily as she entered her hotel room. She set her suitcase and bag aside, taking off her shoes and plopping down on the bed. It was well after midnight, her flight was delayed by several hours and she was simply exhausted by the passing day. Even though she was excited about the events that awaited her in a few hours, right now she was just tired. However, she knew perfectly well what would help her relax before going to sleep. Not so much what, but who.

The girl unlocked her phone and easily found the Instagram icon, clicking on it and going straight to the messages. She entered the first conversation and was about to write some prosaic message, but she didn't have time to type out half of the sentence when a new message appeared in the chat.

"u up?"

Y/N smiled to herself. It looked like she could count on a pleasant end to the day.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing"

The reply message appeared a moment later.

"i was waiting for you to be available. i thought the evening would be wasted"

"And yet you see, surprise"

The person on the other end smiled and untied the drawstring on his sweatpants. He quickly wrote his answer with one hand.

"wanna call?"

"I think you know the answer"

She smiled and reached for the switch and turned off the light, pressing the camera icon with her other hand.

Y/N and the boy she had been messaging with for a little over a month knew next to nothing about each other. She had a private account and a few photos, he had a black icon and an empty profile. He only knew her name, she only the first letter of his. They met on Tinder, their profiles there looked quite similar. She has a few photos, more of the body than the face, he has the same, mostly in black and white. They had never seen each other's faces, but they knew each other's bodies inside and out.

Y/N placed her phone on the table and leaned it against the lamp, which she turned on a moment later. The light from it was dim, but it illuminated her body enough. The angle her phone was at only showed her from the neck down. She was perfect at maintaining her privacy.

"New background?"

He asked, seeing that the surroundings behind her were different from those he had seen before. She pulled her sweatshirt over her head, leaving her in only a bra and a thin t-shirt.

"I'm away from home"

"Work?"

"Too many questions"

There was quiet laughter on the other side. He liked her temperament. He liked her curves even more and the sounds she made when, at his command, she pushed her fingers inside her and brought herself to orgasm. Yes, he liked that too.

"Yeah, you're right. Strip."

Y/N pulled the t-shirt over her head and her interlocutor saw a red, lace bra that he never seen on her before. He smiled and ran his hand over his crotch. He felt a chill run through him.

"You look good, baby. Red suits you"

She laughed and pushed her hair behind her shoulders.

"Is this the first time you gonna tell me to keep my bra on?"

"For now, yes. I'd love to look at it for a while" he squeezed his cock and began to lightly massage it through the fabric. "You know what to do, dont'cha?"

Y/N bit her lip and lifted her hands, placing them gently on her shoulders. She slowly moved them down her body and when she found her breasts, she slowly started massaging them in circular motions. She closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly, hearing the sigh that came from her phone. He watched her carefully, following her every move.

"Take it off," he said after a while, "It's pretty, but I think I prefer you without it."

She quickly took off her bra and threw it aside. He smiled at the sight of her breasts. Y/N returned to them, continuing their massage. As she lightly pinched her nipples, she moaned softly. His cock vibrated at the sound that came from his headphones. He smiled.

"Does it feel good, baby?"

"Mhm, yeah" she answered, looking again at her phone "But you're playing unfair again. I have to see you too."

He chuckled and shook his head.

"You don't let me enjoy you"

He replied and put down the phone, quickly pulling his shirt over his head. He fell back on the pillows and turned on the light on his phone. Y/N smiled at the sight of the familiar, slightly tanned and toned torso. Her interlocutor didn't see it, but she smiled even more when he tightened his hand on his cock, which was now clearly visible on the gray material of his trousers.

"Take off the rest of your clothes and lie down"

He ordered. Y/N obediently lay down, taking off her pants and underwear. When the rustle of fabric could be heard on the other side, he easily freed himself from his pants and tight, slightly damp boxers. He spat on his hand and spread the saliva over his cock, feeling it tighten under his touch. Fuck, what he would give if instead of his hand it was this tiny hand that disappeared between the pair of thighs he saw on the screen of his phone.

The girl complied with his command and he saw her middle finger slowly sinking inside her, only to come out after a while covered with her juices.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, "You're so wet, baby."

“I wish you were here and licked me clean.”

Y/N said, rubbing her clit. She felt that she wouldn't need much to reach orgasm.

Her interlocutor smiled under his breath, but she wasn't able to see it.

"I'm afraid that i would make you even more wet."

"Someone has quite an ego here"

"I know my capabilities, baby."

She snorted under her breath and made herself more comfortable, inserting her finger into herself again. First one, quite slowly, and soon she added another one. A long moan filled the hotel room as she began to move them, imagining that it was not her but him who was fucking her. And not with his fingers, but with his wet, hard cock.

"Yeah, just like that, baby. Keep going."

His eyes carefully followed the screen and the activities taking place on it. His hand moved smoothly over his cock, his lips were slightly opened. As he was stroking himself, the glass of his watch on his wrist reflected the light from the phone. He wore it every time they cam together. Y/N didn't know anything about watches, so she didn't know what brand it was or whether it was expensive. They never talked about it, honestly, they basically never had a normal chat. However, he once asked her about the tattoo on her forearm, just below the inner bend of her elbow. He noticed it after the first time they met on camera. When it was all over and they were about to hang up and return to their real lives, he asked about it.

"What does 33 mean?"

He asked when the girl started getting dressed.

"What?"

"Tattoo on your arm"

The girl looked at her forearm and only then did she understand what he was asking about.

"I can't tell you because you'll make fun of me"

Hearing this, he smiled. Not because there was probably some stupid story behind it, but because the girl was concerned about not looking bad in front of him. Even though they absolutely didn't know each other.

"I barely know your name, I don't know why I would make fun of you."

Y/N was silent for a moment, glancing at her tattoo and lightly stroking it with her thumb.

"Do you know Formula 1?"

He smiled and nodded. His reaction, however, was beyond her reach.

"I know a thing or two"

"My favorite driver drives with this number. Well, actually he did, now his number is 1. But for me it will still be associated with 33"

The girl explained. She felt a bit embarrassed to expose herself to him, especially with something like this. However, he did not laugh at her or comment on her confession in any negative way.

"I have a friend who is also involved in motorsport and has the same number. Actually, not anymore, because he also had to change it. But for me it will also be associated only with 33"

Y/N smiled at his words. Sometimes she wondered if they could become friends and get to know each other a little better. But then she decided to come down to earth and remind herself that she had no time for relationships or friendships. Now the most important thing for her is work and career, everything else can wait. After all, no one will satisfy her as much as herself. Right?

"Fuck, I could fill you so good, baby," he moaned, gasping for breath. He felt that he was only seconds away from orgasm "You have no idea how much pleasure I would give you."

The girl's lips were opened, her eyelids were shut tightly. She massaged her clit with her left hand and moved the fingers of her right hand inside her in quick, uneven movements.

"I'm about to- I…oh my god-"

“Yes, baby, thats it" he gasped, speeding up "Cum for me.”

She felt a wave of pleasure wash over her. The moment her back arched, she heard a long "fuck" coming from her phone. He came shortly after her, staining his toned abs with his sperm. He squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head back, trying to calm his breathing. There was silence on both sides for a moment, neither of them moving an inch.

After some time, Y/N sat on the bed and reached for a tissue, wiping her hands on it.

"I have to go now. I have a lot of work waiting for me tomorrow."

"Me too. I wanted to let you know that we may not be able to have a call tomorrow."

He answered, also wiping himself.

“It's okay, no big deal,” Y/N replied and took one last look at the muscled, tanned torso visible on her phone screen, “Good night. And good luck with your chores tomorrow.”

“Good night, baby. You too.”

She smiled and reached for her phone, ending the call. Exhausted from the previous day and the evening cam session, she just buried herself in the blanket and shortly after fell asleep. The next day, when her alarm went off, she was full of energy despite several hours of sleep. She couldn't wait for saturday's qualifying and all she was thinking about as she was getting ready was whether she would be able to get good material.

As she put on her red bra, she smiled involuntarily as she remembered last night. She wondered if he had already gotten lost in the whirlwind of his today's duties. Y/N quickly got dressed, gathered her things and, putting her pass around her neck, left the hotel. When she got to the track and was in the paddock, she couldn't think about anything else. Her only thoughts revolved around what was going to happen on the track in a few dozen minutes. However, for a split second she wondered what her tinder buddy actually knew about Formula 1. Maybe they could have something to talk about? Maybe she could even take him to some grand prix?

Her thoughts disappeared when she noticed Lando Norris hanging around the McLaren garage. The girl asked the cameraman to prepare the equipment and she would ask the Brit if he would be willing to have a short conversation. She squeezed the microphone in her hand and without thinking, she approached him, introducing herself and asking if it was possible to record a short conversation.

Hearing her name, his heart did a flip. He knew that name very well.

"Sure, no problem"

He replied with a smile, obviously not revealing himself, and ran his hand through his hair. The glass of the watch strapped to his wrist gleamed in the sunlight. Y/N had seen this watch before. Many times.

The girl smiled back and, hearing his agreement, gave a thumbs up to the cameraman. When she raised her hand, the sleeve of her shirt rolled up, and Lando's eyes involuntarily caught the tattoo on her forearm. A slight 33, just below the bend in the elbow.

He felt a sudden wave of heat wash over him. It's a coincidence, right? It must be.

"How's your mood before qualifying?"

Y/N asked, putting the microphone down and straightening her shirt. As she was arranging her collar, Lando's eyes caught a glimpse of her red bra strap. He smiled to himself and looked down. He wondered how many accidents and coincidences had come together in the universe and resulted in this situation.

"What? Something wrong?"

The girl asked, not knowing what made him react like that.

He shook his head and after a moment looked up again. He looked at the girl carefully. However, she was completely lost and looked at him questioningly.

"Sorry, as you can probably see, my mood is great. I'm positive about today's qualifying."

Y/N tentatively gripped her microphone. When the cameraman approached them, they started recording the footage and she had no time to analyze Lando's strange behavior. In fact, it was possible that this was their first and last conversation ever, so why should she care about it. When they managed to record a short material, Y/N thanked him and wished him successful qualifications. After that everyone went their separate ways.

Immediately after entering the garage, Lando found his phone buried in a pile of his things. He quickly entered his latest conversation on Instagram and, without thinking, decided to send the girl a message. Worst case scenario, he'll just make a fool of himself, which isn't a big deal since they don't know each other at all. At best, he would spend tonight as he had long dreamed of.

"ure even prettier than i thought, baby."

Y/N felt a vibration in her pants pocket and without thinking, she unlocked her phone. She was surprised to see a notification coming from Instagram, and she was even more surprised when she noticed who sent her the message. After reading it, she felt a cold sweat break out on her. However, she decided to think and act soberly.

"How do you know what I look like?"

"turn around"

Lando replied quickly and leaned against the threshold of his garage. The girl clutched her phone in her hands and obeyed his command with her heart beating wildly. Lando smiled at her, holding his still unlocked phone. Y/N felt a lack of saliva in her mouth. It's impossible, it's not really happening.

"Are you sure we're looking at the same person?"

She replied, having difficulty pressing the appropriate keys with her fingers. He was amused by her reaction. This whole situation didn't make sense to him. It was crazy.

"im looking at a pretty neat journalist with a mad bunda who has a tattoo with my friend's racing number. and u?"

Y/N blushed. Fuck. It's him.

"I see that your jumpsuit is a little tight in some places."

Lando snorted under his breath. The girl wasn't lying. The whole situation made quite an impression on him.

Y/N bit her lip and looked up. She'd be lying if she said it wasn't arousing.

"u know exactly why its tight"

"I guess I have to find out in real life. The camera likes to lie."

When she sent the message, she looked up again and their eyes locked. The Brit winked at her and quickly replied, turning on his heel and disappearing into the depths of the garage.

"my driver's room in five minutes. ill be happy to dispel your doubts"

[spockandawe]

Oh my gosh. This project consumed me, and for a hot minute there I wasn't sure it would work out. But I really wanted to try making a PICTURE with straw marquetry, and hm. For that I need an image with strongly blocked, highly recognizable shapes, and for preference, I'd rather not try to navigate the lumpy, holey complexities of the human face. Oh hi, transformers--

Oh man. I knew I was underestimating the difficulty of this project from the start, that's just how it goes. But the difficulty truly started with... the sketch. From the start, I wanted that perfect staring red eye, that was my one non-negotiable point. I wanted navy blue straw and a staring red eye. At first, I had dreams of a dynamic pose! However. Sketching at 21 inches tall is a whole different thing than sketching at 8 inches tall. My sketchbook's height is the width of this silly, silly thing. I thought to note what straw grain direction I wanted for the different elements too, which was a good call. The fingers were... ambitious, but hopefully unobtrusive if I messed them up.

After that, I was NOT working on a hard wood/mdf substrate and peeling of unwanted straw. I've seen the pros do that, but always cut too fast for me to understand what they're doing. So i was working somewhat similar to wood marquetry, gluing straw to paper and then cutting through the paper backing. But since it's harder to place my inlays from behind and i can't sand straw flat, here, each cutout was placed on a backing of the same blue paper to help blend my seams. I was supposed to start with the most background elements of the image and work my way forward, and immediately hecked that up. But it was working!!

It was a few good hard days of work, ahahaha. And it was really a learning process! Things like keeping my knife handle tilted towards my waste seemed pointless... Until it made my inlays noticeably easier to fit. And when I messed up the back to front order, I figured out how to cut from a combo of my overlay sheet and freehand to blend everything right! And techniques like carefully pricking the outline of a difficult shape (circles. CIRCLES.) and then cutting, that was game-changing. I stayed up way, way too late last night, but I finished!

That's an image from today, after I scrubbed him down and trimmed up all my edges. After that. I glued him to a foam back and installed him in a frame! You can see in all the photos here that the color effect is so, so dependent on lighting and angle, but the eye pops the way I hoped and the effect is everything I wanted. The frame is black but has a nice subtle metallic highlight on the corners and the narrow aspect ratio suits him so well, I'm SO delighted with how this turned out. It's the most difficult project I've done so far, and I don't know if I can handle doing this OFTEN, but I definitely want to do it again!!

[moonstruckme]

hi mae, if its not too much trouble could you do something with james and r where r has to deal with likr a creep on a train or smth. ive just had a real weird experience rn and its just.hm

Ugh I'm so sorry babe, I wish we each had a James with us all the time

cw: man being creepy (no sa or harassment, just gross behavior)

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 934 words

You clock the danger long before your boyfriend does, but you suppose it’s a lot more drilled into one of you than the other. 

The man gets on a few stops after you do, and his gaze seems aimless until it lands on you. It’s not a busy time; the bus is nearly empty, but of course he goes and stands next to you as if there are no open seats. You should have known better than to sit by the aisle. 

James’ chatter fades into the background as your mind starts to whirl with possibilities. What if this man grabs you? What if he tries to keep you from getting off at your stop? What if he waits until you get off, and then follows you home? 

“Hey.” James is looking at you quizzically. He reaches for your opposite arm, scrubbing up and down lightly. “You okay?” 

You use the touch as an excuse to lean into his side, murmuring so the man can’t hear you. “If that guy’s still here when it’s my stop, will you get off with me? Or I could ride to yours, if that’s better.” 

James looks past you, noticing the man for the first time, and you see clarity dawn on his expression as he does the same math you had. You can feel the man’s stare burning into the side of your head; he’s not even being subtle about it. James pulls you closer to his side. 

“Hey, mate,” he says, tension underlying his jovial tone. “Do you wanna take a seat? There are plenty open.” 

You chance a look over, and the man’s eyes lock with yours like it’s the opportunity he’s been waiting for. You feel James’ arm tense. 

“You have pretty hair,” the man says. 

You smile tersely. Polite, carefully unfriendly. “Thanks.” 

That seems to satisfy him; the man does take a seat. The one directly behind you. Anxiety prickles over your skin at not being able to see him. 

You at least feel better now that James is aware, too. He keeps his face turned to you, one eye on the seat behind you, as he picks up your conversation about the film you’ve just seen. Remus and Sirius were the ones who wanted to see it in the cinema; they thought it was artistic and meaningful, whereas you and James are in agreement it was dull and pretentious. Odd, aimless dialogue, experimental camera angles, hardly any plot. James thinks if you can get Sirius away from Remus he’ll agree. Competitive thing that he is, he’s hatching a plan to do so when the man leans forward and pushes his nose into your hair. 

The sound of his inhale sends goosebumps racing down every inch of your skin. You go rigid, attempting subtly to lean forward while all the nerves in your body scream at you to run. 

“Hey, what the fuck?” James doesn’t take care to lower his voice. 

As though you’d been waiting for permission, you jump away, getting as far out of reach as possible before turning around. James’ arm has barred across the back of your seat, his hand gripping the pole on the opposite side and the muscles in his forearm strained with tension. 

“What makes you think you can do that to someone?” he asks, equal parts incredulous and irate. 

People in the bus have turned to look. The bus slows as you approach the next stop. 

“Let’s get off,” you tell James. 

“What?” He turns to you for a second before seeming to remember he should be keeping an eye on the man. Who has been silent, but for what he said to you. He looks entertained by James’ outburst, which almost scares you worse than anything that’s happened thus far. You know James is very fit, but you don’t want to get him in a fight. “Why should we get off? We haven’t done anything wrong!” 

The doors open, and people start to file off. “James,” you say, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and giving a slight tug. “Please.” 

He hesitates a second longer, looking somewhere between bewildered and outraged, before he says, “Fine, okay,” and grabs your bag. You tug him into the aisle, careful to keep both of you out of reach of the man. Once you’re off the bus, you start walking quickly, pulling James along and casting glances over your shoulder to be sure the man from the bus doesn’t follow. It’s only when the bus pulls away and he hasn’t gotten off that you stop. 

“Ugh.” You heave a tremendous sigh, hugging James around the middle and dropping your forehead to his chest. “Sorry.” 

“That was fucking insane,” he says, cupping the back of your head protectively. “Does that happen to you often?” 

You let out a little laugh. “That specifically? No. But I know better than to talk to guys like that.” 

“Sorry.” James kisses your hairline. Lets his lips rest there. “I thought it was going to help.” 

“It’s not your fault, he was going to be weird either way. I’m really glad you were there.” 

He squeezes you tighter. It helps you release the tension from your shoulders, giving in to him. “That was fucking disgusting,” he says. “I’m sorry I’m ever not there.” 

You shudder. “Is it weird that I feel like I need to shower?” 

“Nope. But do it at mine. I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about that guy finding your place for the next several days.” 

“How would he do that, James?” 

“Dunno. But just to be safe.”

[beguines]

Massacre is a dead metaphor that is eating my friends, eating them without salt. They were poets and have become Reporters With Borders; they were already tired and now they're even more tired. 'They cross the bridge at daybreak fleet of foot' and die with no phone coverage. I see them through night vision goggles and follow the heat of their bodies in the darkness; there they are, fleeing from it even as they run towards it, surrendering to this huge massage. Massacre is their true mother, while genocide is no more than a classical poem written by intellectual pensioned-off generals. Genocide isn't appropriate for my friends, as it's an organised collective action and organised collective actions remind them of the Left that let them down.

Massacre wakes up early, bathes my friends in cold water and blood, washes their underclothes and makes them bread and tea, then teaches them a little about the hunt. Massacre is more compassionate to my friends than the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Massacre opened the door to them when other doors were closed, and called them by their names when news reports were looking for numbers. Massacre is the only one to grant them asylum regardless of their backgrounds; their economic circumstances don't bother Massacre, nor does Massacre care whether they are intellectuals or poets, Massacre looks at things from a neutral angle; Massacre has the same dead features as them, the same names as their widowed wives, passes like them through the countryside and the suburbs and appears suddenly like them in breaking news. Massacre resembles my friends, but always arrives before them in faraway villages and children's schools.

Massacre is a dead metaphor that comes out of the television and eats my friends without a single pinch of salt.

Ghayath Almadhoun, "Massacre", Adrenalin, trans. Catherine Cobham

[loviingpedri]

hidden commitment - pablo gavi

prompt: what would happen if your relationship was exposed?

warnings: cursing, grammar issues, stalking (paparazzi), mentions of insecurities, angst (happy ending, ofc!)

credits to owners for all images

you and gavi have been a secret for 6 months. it felt like peaceful without anyone getting into your personal business. every moment with him became more special.

“should we take a walk?” gavi finally had an off day. he wouldn’t want to spend it anywhere or with anyone except with you.

“of course. favorite place as usual?” replying with his smile, he kissed you on the lips and went off to get ready. matching hoodies and matching sunglasses never seemed to fail.

it was very therapeutic to take morning strolls. nobody can spot you in the dark, and it was rare that anyone was even awake. an opportunity to catch up in life should never be missed.

"you look good." gavi approached behind you, sneaking his arm around your waist.

"i was thinking the same thing about you. we do have quite the taste." taking a quick kiss to his lips, it was time for the adventure to begin.

walking out the door, the cold crisp breeze hit your face instantly. the air felt fresh and clean. holding hands with your beloved, the wind picked up, intensifying gavi's scent.

an intensifying, yet subtle mix of a sweet apple that gives relief after a sunny day. his eyes reflecting a sign of almonds and honey as they were filled with love for you. his eye color reminding you of deep, dark, yet candied honey. the inside of an almond representing his pale, creamy skin. you only noticed the special details of him that nobody else could.

talking about the most random things possibly. cracking random jokes that changed the topics within minutes. becoming nostalgic of old memories that summarized how the past few 6 months were able to happen.

toning out the sound of crickets and birds, excusing the rustling in the bushes as an animal. lost in your own laugher, neither you or gavi could hear the camera shutter. pictures being taken as you were wrapped in gavi's warm embrace, synching heart beats. images spreading online as quick as the way gavi spun you in the middle of the street. the night disappearing and fading away just as your smiles after discovering the pictures were all over social media.

gavi was inflamed. you were confused. you just wanted one peaceful night. maybe even even more. it wasn't ideal to go public so early. none of you had a full conversation on this. it would put too much stress. worse part was, nobody was mentally prepared for this.

the media went crazy when it was posted. articles after articles with the pictures were all over it. different angles, different interactions, it really exposed both of you.

"gavi, what do we do?" an overwhelming sense of panic and anxiety came upon you.

"i don't know, okay? this is just as fucking complicated as it is for me," he held his head with his hands as he sat on the edge of the bed. mumbling spanish curse words under his breath. "shitty paparazzi always has to do something."

you rose from the bed. "we need some space right now. contact your publicist, immediately." grabbing your phone and leaving the room, gavi needed time to process things correctly. he was better doing it in silence, as his anger would get the best of him.

opening the guest bedroom door, the emptiness instantly coming into contact with you. the only background noise is the air condition on the highest setting possible.

sitting in the empty room for a few minutes, your phone began to blow up with notifications. follow requests from instagram and tiktok were taking over your screen. how the fuck did they find you?

suddenly, texts from your best friends were pouring in. sending countless articles about your relationship. you took a deep breath. opening each article with your eyebrows becoming furrowed. lies, upon lies were written. the false information that was feeding the media made you rethink of your decisions of this relationship.

next were tiktok videos being sent. opening the comments, your insecurities consumed every inch of you.

'she bagged gavi? she's not pretty enough for that.'

'look at her in those clothes. gavi shouldn't be with someone that weighed that much.'

'did she get lip fillers? she needs a refund from whoever did them.'

'even if she was a gold digger, she should be buying better clothes than that.'

'there's no way she is a gold digger, that money could've been used to do plastic surgery.'

without realizing it, tears were flowing down your cheeks. you put your hand over your mouth to cover up your sobs. you were hurting inside, but you couldn't stop scrolling through the comments. soon, you heard gavi yelling in anger into his phone. your head was pounding. too many thoughts, emotions, and problems were piling.

your heart beat increasing rapidly. your vulnerabilities crashing like waves in your mind. the hurtful comments struck your skin as thunder. the saltiness of your tears streaming. your heavy breathing to stop your anxiety. you were crumbling into sand.

hearing the bedroom door open, you wiped your tears quickly. gavi walked through the door ready to speak, but stopped in his movements. he could see the redness in your eyes of sadness.

"have you been crying, my love?" he sat next to you on the mattress, slowly reaching his arms out. feeling his warm embrace, something wasn't right.

"we need to talk." both of you said at the same time.

"you should probably go first." you told him in a whisper.

"no, it's okay. you're going through a rough time."

"i know you just got off the phone with your publicist. what's the next step we should take?" he cleared his throat. he looked scared to speak. opening his mouth, a lump formed.

"it's better if we take a break."

silence.

he imagined you being hurt. your pupils told him otherwise. you were thinking the same thing.

"i understand. i think that's best for the both of us." he nodded as he stood up. indicating he was going to pack his stuff, he seemed more hurt than he did. him and his publicist discussed other options if the first one didn't work out. he imagined you fighting for your relationship, but you were seriously going to let it go like that. gathering his belongings, he realized that he didn't know how much to pack. his head was in denial of emotions. he packed up and left without any formal of goodbye.

——————————————

two days had passed after the unfortunate events. gavi had ensured he would have full security around the house to protect you. it was then you realized that it was sunday. meaning you had to go grocery shopping or else you would starve for the week.

changing into a little red top that revealed some skin, pairing with a leather jacket and leather pants. the realization hit you that you needed to cover your face. one person recognizing you could end in you becoming surrounded in a crowd full of questions. taking a red scarf given to you by gavi, you wrapped it around you, making sure to cover the lower part of your face.

meeting up with a security guard at the market, it was like a normal grocery shopping spree. until, you accidentally bumped into someone. this caused your face to be exposed.

"holy shit, you're y/n!" you gave the person a quick smile before rushing into another aisle. word must have gone around fast. you were circled with a crowd of people. some having cameras ready. the scarf was long gone from your face.

"y/n! is it true you're dating pablo gavi?" smiling was the only answer you could give them. smiling was another way of apologizing by running them over with the cart.

cameras continued to shutter and the flash nearly blinding you. "who is this man right here? is he your boyfriend? are you cheating on gavi?" you tried to hide your facial expression, but that was one of the dumbest questions you've ever heard.

apologizing to the cashier for the commotion, you grabbed your things and left. driving around multiple circles due to cars following you. you nearly fell to the floor after the experience.

"need some help with the bags?" you jumped in fear. getting a closer look to the couch, of course pablo gavi was sitting there.

"holy shit. you nearly gave me a heart attack." passing the bags towards him, he shared his gummy smile.

"you should really change the locks." putting the cereal away, you looked at him confused.

"how come?"

"it was that easy for me to enter."

"gavi, you had the key. we're on a break. besides, why are you here?" putting the last thing in the fridge, you poured yourself a glass of water. looking into his honey eyes as he sat down across the kitchen island.

"i wanted to apologize for putting you into this mess. i'm sure we can get through it though. it would be better to do it together, not really alone."

"are you asking to get back together?" you hid your smile behind your cup, taking another sip.

"yeah, i guess you could say that. we could go out for dinner tonight."

"can't believe the famous gavi is asking me out." he winked at you.

there was no more hiding. love was meant to be expressed. you couldn't escape the paparazzi, but it was no secret that you were happy. pictures of you holding hands at a restaurant really sealed that the world can mind their own business.

[jellyvibes710]

PART 3

Previous

Next

(Previous bonus part)

TW: dead animal

blood (if you look really fucking hard)

Glitchy effects (I tried to go easy on it to avoid straining your eyes too much)

Enjoy!! :D

To all those wondering where Leo was, here he is! An he’s sure been busy

@abbeyofcyn lookie lookie, it’s done! I’ve been trying new things too, like angles and perspective✨

This takes place about a day later around 3:30am, so he’s had plenty of time to himself to put his plans in motion >:3c

I’m so excited for what’s to come heheheee

I got a little Carried away with the details in this part but it was so worth it. I tried typing the words on this part and immediately gave up because it was irritating, everyone is stuck with my crappy handwriting forever

Anywizzle, here’s Leo’s character sheet :D

Don’t mind the boxes, they aren’t important

…yet.

I decided to remove the torn suit jacket so that Leo would pop out more and not get lost in the background (ended up adding the yellow/orange glow to avoid the same thing with Donnie) and to also really draw your eyes to him because well, he is the center of attention ✨

Off to the next part!

[inbabylontheywept]

The Condom Bomber

The crux of the story is Brother Dean. Brother Dean was…is…a hate preacher. Red or blue, everyone agreed on that. His origins and his motivations, those were a little more mysterious. Different groups had their own legends. I had a class with a guy that was part of the campus pro-life movement, and the tale he gave me is the one that I give the most credence to. According to him, Brother Dean had started out as a “normal” pro-life preacher. He’d gone around campus, led parades, given speeches… And then he’d gotten punched in the face.

This led to a lawsuit against the school. Something about failing to provide adequate protection? The main result was that he got something like half a mil. Half a mil is an incredible amount if you’re still working, but he’d tried to use the money to fund a sort of pro-life career, and it had just… trickled down. Ten years later he was running dead low on funds, and had taken to the particularly dumb strategy of trying to get punched in the face again. You know. For economic reasons. It had become kind of a vicious cycle: He’d started off saying some objectionable shit to try and goad someone into taking the punch. The worse the shit he said was, the harder it became for him to find work doing anything else, and the harder it became for him to find work doing anything else, the less he had to lose by saying really objectionable shit. Throw in two years of living on ramen, and he was so desperate to get punched that he was quoting the Westboro Baptists. If you know, you know. The pro-life group, to their credit, hated him the most out of anyone. They viewed him as the ultimate sellout, someone who was actively making their positions and beliefs look worse by the day, solely for his own enrichment. The other conservative groups held him in the same regard. The rest of the campus hated him for simpler reasons. It would be difficult to find anyone more detested anywhere else on site. Brother Dean’s antithesis was the Trojan Warrior. TW was a normal student by day, but maybe once a month or so he’d don his hoplite armor and roam around, handing out free condoms. Trojan condoms. It was kind of his shtick. Between the costume, and the whole character that he had going on, most people didn’t really recognize his alter ego. I myself am pretty good with faces, so one day I noticed he was behind me in the foodcourt and decided to thank him by paying for his smoothie. Small tangent, but if you’re looking to get good stories, buying lunches for interesting people works like magic. TW decided that he was going to thank me for thanking him by giving me something like 10 feet of condom roll. I was mortified, aggressively single, and on SSRI’s. He was not sure how many of those were permanent. I wasn’t either. He wound up giving me just a handful, and said that if nothing else, they could probably be used as water balloons. I accepted. Who doesn’t like water balloons?

I finished my lunch with the warrior and left, considering targets for the "balloons". I passed by Brother Dean near the main commons and had my lightbulb moment. I spent a few minutes watching him from a distance, trying to find the optimal angle to get him without getting caught on camera (he always had someone filing in the background, it was a necessary thing for his hopeful future lawsuit). The time delay was useful for helping me realize that it really wasn't worth it. The sun had been bearing down so hard that the glue in my shoes had melted, and getting him wet would be a favor that day. 

So, mildly disappointed, I shelved my dream and left. 

A week later the monsoons hit. I left one class and ran to a campus computer commons to try and get some shelter and study between classes. Just before I got through the door, I saw Brother Dean, umbrella in hand, setting up his speaker and mic. He wasn't technically allowed this far into campus (the commons were owned by the city) but he'd gone to where his audience was and security was probably holed up somewhere cozy. I could hardly blame them. 

I made it up to the second floor and started studying when the mic picked up. All glass buildings are not very soundproof. He was loud, and he was annoying, and he was outside a library, under a balcony, and-

And I had condoms. Water balloon condoms. 

And he was under a balcony. 

I put my laptop away, pulled out my condom roll, and went to the bathroom. I wasn’t sure how big a condom could actually stretch, so I just kept filling it until it was about the size of basketball. Maybe a smaller watermelon? And thus armed, I waddled my way out into the halls. I cannot emphasize enough just how unsubtle this was. I was cradling this big, overfilled condom like some sort of phallic ghost baby, and it was so heavy that I sort of had to squat as I went. People saw me. Lots of people saw me. I passed by one room full of computer science students, all learning C++, and three of them waved at me. And I waved back in that my-arms-are-full-but-I’m-excited-to-see-you-too way, where you jut your wrist up a little bit and flap your hand around excitedly. I did, eventually, make it to the balcony. The building’s high ceilings made the second-floor thing kind of a misnomer: I was easily forty feet up. I scooched my way to the edge, and the view I had… it was perfect. Brother Dean was directly underneath, thank God. If he’d been even seven or eight feet out, I’m not sure if I could’ve shotput the condom-bomb far enough to hit him directly. Better yet his cameraman was only a few feet away from him, far too close to catch any action going up 40 feet above. I managed to wrestle the payload onto the balcony, and with a gentle push, I sent it and Dean to destiny. I realized that I’d made a mistake almost as soon as the condom began to fall. You know that sound that bombs make in cartoons, that long drawn out whistle? The condom made that sound. I had a second education in the seriousness of my mistake when the condom hit Dean’s umbrella. It did not pop. Of course it didn’t pop. I had no experience with condoms, I swear to you, I promise, I did not know how much they could stretch. You can fit your whole leg into them. You can fit them over whole park benches. A gallon and a half of water was nothing compared to that. It broke Dean’s umbrella. It hit the top, and it snapped the stem like a twig, and then-

Violence. Unspeakable violence. It clipped Dean’s shoulder and stretched down to his knees before recoiling back to its original shoulder height. It did not bounce. It floated in space, no wasted energy in the collision. One hundred percent of the kinetic energy, all 3300 Joules of it, were discharged into this sad wretch of a man. He did not collapse. There was no time for that. He rotated on his axis. It was as if the hand of God had reached down and grabbed him about his waist, only to twist. In a fraction of a second, his head filled the space where his ass had been and his ass filled the space where his head had been, and then his cheek, carried by the shuriken motion of his body, slammed into the pavement with a noise like Shaq slam dunking a porkchop. Maybe wetter.

He did not move.

I panicked.

I want to make it clear: I did not mean to assault this man. I meant to get him wet and embarrassed. But I also have to confess that this was a beating. Mike Tyson himself can only put about 1600 Joules into one of his punches, and if he hit me I would bounce off five walls before I fell. I would not wish 3300 Joules upon anyone.

I walked into the building and sat myself in the back of the C++ class. The people next to, to my immense and eternal gratitude, did not question why I was wet.

A minute later, Brother Dean stormed into the building with his microphone.

He yelled. He screamed. He hollered. He informed the entire world that he had been assaulted, with a condom, by someone on the second floor. I was ecstatic that he was alive. 

Every person in that class knew who had brought this hell upon them. Every single one of them knew it was me. And if I’d done this to someone else, some Steven Crowder, some Ben Shapiro, someone would’ve thrown me to the wolves. It would have only taken one person in that room of sixty. But Brother Dean was hated by everyone, literally everyone, and so the entire class sat in silence.

Some of that silence was gleeful, and some of it was bored, and some of it, a very small amount, was directly disapproving, but even the disapproving silence carried an understanding. A note of, “Yes, yes, that was very irresponsible, and you should not do that again, but who could blame you? Something needed to happen. Not that something, but…something.”

Security could be given grace to ignore the man when it was raining, and he was just outside the building, but they were not given such grace when he was inside with a microphone. Just a few short minutes later, a golfcart pulled up, and he was summarily marched out. There was maybe a minute of silence after that before the professor announced that his class was not open to visitors.

I left. He’d made his point.

It was a few weeks before I saw Brother Dean again, and his black eye still hadn’t healed all the way when I did. He was, however, still preaching the same old things as always. Percussive maintenance works better on vacuum tubes than human brains. I will say that he definitely made a point to stay away from balconies after that. And the next time it rained, I actually went out to watch him put his speaker and his mic into the back of a wagon and wheel it off the campus.

It appeared that he’d developed some opinions about the kind of weather he was willing to preach hate in.

[hansoeii]

Hello! Hope you're having a great day/night! I absolutely adore your art, you are one of my favourite artists. I love the way you shade and do backrounds. Also everytime I get into a new show I immediately see your art for it??

I was wondering if you had any advice on drawing more realistically (backrounds, anatomy etc) but still keeping a style?

Hey hey!

Thank you so much!

I have a pretty good understanding of facial structures, because before I got into drawing more semi-realisticly, I heavily focused on realistic portraits. Here are some example, these are from around 2019!

(yes, I was really into danmei and kpop back then, haha)

I just always loved drawing/painting faces and it was all I did. But at some point I realized that I wanted to do more than that because just portraits felt super restricting. So it took me around 2-3 years to somewhat find my style. Thought it would be fun to show a little timeline! Advice will follow afterwards :)

2020

I began working on my OCs in 2020 and since I didn't have an exact reference to work off of, I struggled a lot. My art from this year is super wonky.

2021

Still wonky, but the Lokius obsession was the jumpstart into finding my style! My work from this year is all over the place haha, I was experimenting a lot.

2022

This first ofmd piece is pretty much the first drawing where you can see where my style is gonna go, which I think is pretty cool! This is the year I made the biggest progress cos I was drawing SO much. These two pieces are only six months apart. The one on the right was the first time I gave drawing a background a proper go, too! It was a good year.

2023

And this is where I am now! I'm still constantly learning and improving, but I'd say I have a style you can recognize now!

Now here comes some actual advice, haha:

What I highly recommend you to do is to study your favorite artists as much as you can! I have like 5 A4 sketchbooks all from 2020 that I filled with sooooo many studies, where basically all I did was look at artists I like and copy how they draw stuff, to try and figure out how to stylize certain things. Some of my favorite artists are Ami Thompson, Velinxi and TB Choi. But I also liked to just scroll through pinterest and study all the art I came across that I liked! For example, if I saw a really great drawing of a pair of pants I would copy it many times in my sketchbook and try to learn how they stylized the folds. Doing this for a prolongued period of time will naturally improve your own work! It'll be difficult at first, but you gotta push through, it's gonna be worth it!

I also highly recommend studying unique faces to try and avoid the same-face syndrome. Find some cool looking people and try to draw them as simple as you can! Maybe even draw a little timeline where you first draw them as cartoon-y as you can, and keep going until you end up with a more detailed, realistic drawing. Maybe in the middle of it you find a step that feels the most fun to you, so you can try to build on that! It's a great way to figure out what kind of style might be the best for you.

Here are some cool faces I found on pinterest!

I have a pinterest board with many more!

One REALLY important part of learning how to draw all kinds of things is to understand forms and shapes and how to manipulate them. I have so many pages in my sketchbook filled with just shapes that I drew from all kinds of angles without any references.

This is a great video on it:

6 Ways to Draw Anything by Proko

Learning how to do this is so crucial! Young artists often think they first have to learn all kinds of detailed anatomy before doing anything else, but all that's gonna do is make you tired and hate drawing. Shapes are where it's at! Once you understand how shapes work and which ones to use for certain parts of bodies or objects, drawing is gonna get so much easier! Once you understand them, you can get into details such as muscles and bones!

And honestly the most important point is to just absolutely love what you're doing! I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't for the fact that I get extreme hyperfixations on certain media that turn me into some kind of beast where I can suddenly draw 10 detailed illustrations a week, haha. Just be passionate about what you do, find something you REALLY love and go crazy!

I really hope this was somewhat helpful! My inbox is always open if there's any more questions :)

[actual-changeling]

Season One meta posts in 2024? Yes, very much so. We need more of that.

Will this be slightly unhinged? Yeah, probably, so welcome back to Alex's unhinged meta corner.

Everyone has probably connected the kiss back to the wall-slam scene in Tadfield Manor by now, but while I was re-watching it for the nth time and combing through it frame by frame like a mentally sane person, I realised just how orchestrated it was from beginning to end.

I assume we can agree that Aziraphale called Crowley nice on purpose to get a hint of intimacy out of him, but I think this time it is very different from the other instances during which he reacts with anger to being called nice.

My first main observation is the way Aziraphale positions himself.

We pick up after Crowley's explanation about the non-lethal shooting happening outside, and they are facing each other at an angle, with Aziraphale having stopped a few steps behind him.

Now, until the slam itself, Crowley doesn't move, he remains where he is, waiting. (We'll come back to that in a bit)

However, instead of remaining at a safe distance or standing literally standing anywhere else, he walks a small curve to then stop right in front of Crowley. Not at his side or a little bit away or at a respectable distance—no, right in his face. You can judge his position by looking at the wooden door (?) in the background.

The following camera position makes it hard to see the amount of distance between their faces, but we know that he must be close enough so that Crowley can immediately grab his coat without problem.

Excuse my art skills, but just to make sure everyone is on the same page, have a little drawing showing their positions and movements.

Now, that manoeuvring takes Aziraphale a few seconds, and what does he do? He stalls. Look at what exactly he tells Crowley:

You know, Crowley, I've always said that, deep down, you are quite a nice—

There are a lot more words than necessary! He could have shortened that sentence but he didn't, and on top of that, if you listen to him say it, he makes two noticeable pauses, one after 'Crowley with a little look outside, one after 'that'. By then he has reached his final position, so no more stalling, he can try to finish his sentence now.

Alex, you might say now, of course Aziraphale did it on purpose, but Crowley only reacted to what he said.

And to that I respond, nope, he was 100% in on it.

I know because when Aziraphale stops in front of him, he waits. He does not move, he doesn't shut him up even though he has heard the same spiel hundreds of times—no, he is waiting and allowing Aziraphale to initiate their little game.

This face is not the face of someone who is already angry or confused about which words will tumble out of Aziraphale's mouth. He even arches his eyebrow in a motion that I personally interpret as 'go on'.

Crowley is listening and waiting for the signal, and the moment Aziraphale says 'nice', he grabs him and pushes him up against the opposite wall. It's an extraordinarily quick reaction, the kind you have when you know you're about to act and what you'll do.

Some further evidence that the entire moment was orchestrated by the two of them.

Aziraphale stretches out his arms behind him to brace himself against the wall, he was expecting to be moved that way and intentionally put himself into a position that would allow Crowley to do so.

Additionally, by grabbing his lapels the way he does, Crowley can make sure that the back of his head doesn't hit the wall. If you watch the clip by yourself and slow it down, you'll discover that Aziraphale gently rests it against the wall on his own while Crowley is talking.

Aziraphale is completely relaxed not only because he knows Crowley would never hurt him, but also because this entire thing is a game that they willingly participate in. It is dangerously under-negotiated, sure; luckily they more or less agree on the ground rules.

Obligatory close-up with the noise squish because I am a blorbo connoisseur and not a heathen. The little eye gaze at the lips, and if you ask me, and this is my post so you ARE asking me, Crowley is very much looking at Aziraphale's lips from behind his glasses.

But I have one more observation to make!

I could never quite put my finger on why exactly the scene felt off, but now I am convinced it's because despite the act, Crowley isn't actually upset. There ARE times when Aziraphale actively crosses a boundary and endangers him with his compliments, but this is not one of them. The growling, him baring his teeth, the fact that he is pressing their entire bodies together, him leaning in thar far, and also what the FUCK is he saying?

The excerpt from the script books:

First part okay, I can buy that, a bit basic but alright. But 'nice is a four letter word'? Where exactly was he going with that and how was that sentence going to end? It's close enough to the topic to pass as real for any outsider who might overhear them, but if you actually listen and try to comprehend it—yeah, no, he was about to go full gibberish.

The goal wasn't to yell at Aziraphale about calling him nice, it was all about prolonging the physical intimacy by holding a monologue.

If you still don't believe me, have a look at their faces when they get interrupted.

Crowley has a "whot?" expression on his face and not a single hint of anger or annoyance. Aziraphale has an expression I will lovingly call "perish you peasant and let my demon husband slam me against a wall in peace".

If someone gave you only this picture—no context, nothing—what would you assume they were doing before someone rudely interrupted them? Based on what the fuck is happening on their faces and the complete lack of distance between their bodies, you'd probably assume they were snogging each other senseless.

Which they were, in a way, just without the lip contact.

I rest my case.

[pantherxrogers]

unforgettable - choi san x fem!reader

🧡 pairing: choi san x fem!reader

🧡 warnings: angst, reader and san are married with a son, possible mispelling of korean words for "mom" and "dad" (so sorry! please leave feedback in the comments), fluff, separation

🧡 summary: san kinda fucked up. you're still married but not totally convinced he can balance work and your family. you sent him away for a few weeks, but he can't live with that. you're unforgettable, and he'll do anything to get his family back together.

🧡 a/n: this is 100% inspired by the movie "obsessed" with beyonce and idris lmao. but there is absolutely NO cheating involved. or any mentions of cheating. only inspired by one scene lmao. iykyk. plus second-chance romance always hits different.

hope you guys enjoy! 😚

my masterlist

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent real events or the actual personalities of any K-pop idols mentioned. All characters and situations are purely imaginary. This story is created for entertainment purposes only, and no harm or disrespect is intended toward the idols or their fans. Enjoy!

"bubble, are you ready? daddy's here at the door!" you call into the house, angling your body away from your husband.

"i'm coming, mommy!" jun shouts, little footsteps echoing around in the background. you can tell he's in the toy room, trying to grab even more things than what you've already placed in his weekend bags.

"you look gorgeous, honey." the honesty in san's voice makes your heart flutter. but, you can't bring yourself to show it.

"okay, san," you mutter, trying to keep the grin off of your face. but, he knows you well. even if he can't see your face right now, he hopes his comment had some effect on you. because he really does mean it.

when you finally face him, emotion swirls in your chest. simply put, he looks good as hell. standing on your doorstep, the sunlight melts into his golden skin, accentuating his beauty. he's wearing his hair in your favorite style, obviously intentional. no one should look this sexy in a simple black shirt with jeans, but choi san always finds a way.

and it's hard for you to miss the wedding band still firmly in place on his left hand. you don't even realize you're smiling. but, of course, san does.

"you know it's my birthday on saturday, right?"

"you've only mentioned it a thousand times."

"have dinner with me?"

it's the same request you've heard repeatedly. but, he really is making more of an effort. san has always been a loving father and husband, but your marriage is in a rough spot right now.

before this comeback with ateez, he promised you that he'd make more of an effort to balance work and your family. but, the final straw was when he missed your son's piano recital. he's only five, but you'll never forget the disappointment on his little face when he saw san's empty chair.

so, you'd told him that you'd had enough. it might seem a little dramatic, but you needed to make a point. it's been three weeks since then. he's been staying with wooyoung. for san, every day has been torture. he wonders if you feel the same.

you're lost in thought when the soft patter of jun's footsteps get closer.

"omma, i'm ready!" his excited squeal makes your heart burst. you turn around to scoop him up, planting him on your hip. you try to close the door on san, but he sticks his boot in the way. with a little grunt, you face him again, cradling your son.

"hi junebug! you've gotten even bigger since yesterday!" san exclaims, prompting a giggle from your son.

you love the way they light up in front of each other. the love between them is palpable. you've never once questioned his love for you or your son. but sometimes love isn't enough.

"hi appa!" his squishy arms reach for his father, who smoothly takes him from you. san's touch leaves gooesbumps on your skin, which makes pride swirl in his chest. no one could ever deny the chemistry between the two of you.

"i'll be right back. let me go grab his bags," you explain, turning to walk back into the house.

you feel san's eyes on you. he's talking animatedly with your son, but it's impossible to ignore the way he shamelessly checks you out. you smirk to yourself, retreating further into your shared home.

okay, so maybe you wore this outfit on purpose. but, who can really blame you? after all, you don't want your marriage to end. but you want him to make some real changes. wearing his favorite sundress might be a little over the top, but who gives a damn. a little tease never hurt anyone. judging from the way his eyes roamed all over you, it's safe to say san doesn't mind.

making your way back towards the door, you struggle to hold all of the bags. your son always insists on bringing so many toys with him, even if he's only staying with his dad for a few days,

"hold on champ, let me help mommy," he murmurs, placing your son down. both of them make their way over to you, san smoothly grabbing everything. your son looks a little pouty, always wanting to prove his strength.

"appa, i can help too," he whines, tugging on san's denim.

"i know, buddy. but, i want you to have your arms free to give omma a hug," he explains. this time you're unable to keep the fond smile off of your face.

"c'mere june bug," you hum, sweeping him into a bear hug. you press several kisses on his squishy cheeks, delighting in his happy little squeals.

"i love you, bubble," you whisper, trying to fight the wobble in your lip. san's heart breaks a little bit. he knows neither of you will ever be able to get used to this. and he doesn't want you to. it's just more motivation to get his family back together.

you hug jun tightly before lowering him back to the ground, leading him and san towards the door.

"he'll be back before you know it." the warmth in san's voice makes you smile. he always knows what to say when you need it most.

"i know. i'm just a big crybaby," you whisper, not wanting jun to notice your sadness.

"no. you're just a great mom," he answers honestly, locking eyes with you. it's a direct hit, cracking through the tough exterior you try to put up around san. but maybe you don't want to anymore.

"c'mon bud, let me get you buckled in." san turns his attention to your son, heading out towards the suv he arrived in.

you stand at the door, watching your son babble to his father, likely filling him in on everything he got up to in the last 24 hours. san nods along enthusiastically, hanging on his every word. he puts the bags in the trunk, freeing up his hands to strap jun into the car seat. he jogs to the front seat, turning the car and ac on, before he lets jun's window down.

"bye omma!" his little voice carries across the yard. you make a show of blowing a kiss to him, which he grabs and holds near his heart. you wave and turn your attention to san before the waterworks start again.

to your suprise, he's jogging over to you, one hand behind his back. when he stops in front of you, he reveals a beautiful bouquet of flowers, a small white note sticking out the top of it.

"um?"

"beautiful flowers for my beautiful lady." his shameless flirting makes your cheeks heat up again, feeling like a school girl with a crush. instead of responding, you reach for the note.

have dinner with me? don't make the birthday boy eat alone.

you don't hide your smile this time, looking up to see the bright blush on his cheeks.

"bribing me with your birthday now?"

"you're the only gift i want."

you forget how to breathe for a second, the seriousness in his tone takes you back. regaining your composure, you respond with a curt nod.

"i'll have dinner with you, san" you state, unable to say no to him. and why should you? he really has been making more of an effort. taking off time from work to stop by and see jun (and you, of course).

he does a little victory dance, handing the flowers over to you. he's just as silly as ever, and you can't help but giggle at his antics.

"so, i'll pick you up saturday at 8?"

"i'll call the sitter."

"don't sweat it. woo would die if he knew we paid someone else to watch jun." you giggle again, unable to hide your giddiness. you really do miss laughing and joking with him like this. maybe you're more excited for dinner than you're letting on.

"okay, i'll spare him. i'll see you saturday," you murmur, looking at him through your lashes. san sweeps one last glance over you, like he's committing it to memory and storing it away until he can see you again.

"i'll see you saturday, baby."