#using a thick pencil is just so much easier

[manitapaleta]

the Li-Wilson family is the cutest, change my mind

(you cant)

[sunflowersandsapphires]

A Hint of Lovely Oblivion

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: After a week of sleeping terribly, Frank makes an effort to help you get the rest you deserve.

warnings: Swearing, fluff, caring Frank, this is not medical advice

a/n: I wrote this for my lovely bestie @madschiavelique who wanted some Frankie comfort. As someone who deals with insomnia pretty regularly, this was very cathartic! I hope you all enjoy. A huge thank you to my other bestie @gracethyomen for beta-ing and helping me plan this fic!

w/c: 4.6k

Inhaling deeply, the frigid air of the room made your nose twitch. Sliding as deep as you could into the blanket pile while maintaining your seated position, you bit your lip, shifting the pad of paper on your lap and craning your neck once again. While your duvet provided an excellent shield to lock in heat, your shoulders inevitably poked out whenever you weren’t fully horizontal, leaving your body to sit in a temperature regulation purgatory; your consciousness rumbled uneasily as the hair on the back of your neck refused to flatten, your brain torn between making you shiver or letting you sweat. The position was far from comfortable—but being awake all night made comfort an unattainable goal for you anyways.

It had been days since you’d slept through the night. You were no stranger to insomnia, you’d been cursed with it your entire life, but lately it had dug its malicious claws into your chest with the violence of a starving feral animal. Your bed, which used to be a haven of rest and relaxation, was now a space that you avoided at all costs—the wonderfully soft pillows and warm blankets mocking you as they sat untouched well into the night, fatigue never overtaking you when you needed it to. For the first few nights of your ongoing battle with sleeplessness, you’d crawl under the covers anyway, praying to any deity listening that the weight and heat of the fabric would force your eyelids to close—but it never did.

Sighing as your pencil tip snapped, you closed your eyes, letting your breath rest in your lungs for a moment before exhaling again; apparently your frustration with your own hormone production created a physical pressure on the lead of your pencil. Picking up a fresh one from your nightstand, you did your best to clean up the smear of graphite from the impact of the broken point.

Turning your attention back to the subject of your sketch, you chewed your lip to stifle a smile. Despite the thick curtains your partner had insisted on, a sliver of moonlight illuminated the massive man slumbering beside you, quietly snoring away—completely oblivious to the inspiration he'd given you. The feather-light moon beams shone through his tousled hair, creeping down over his face, which was adorably mashed against his singular pillow. Considering that he'd turned up a handful of hours ago drenched in other people's blood, it was downright ironic to be calling him “adorable” as he slept—but you couldn't shake the giddy feeling that always bubbled up when you saw his face so lax with sleep. His expression was so uncharacteristically peaceful, it never failed to make you happy.

Sure, not sleeping sucked. You'd be plagued with jaw-cracking yawns and mild memory loss in the morning, just like yesterday and the day before that. Having the opportunity to watch Frank sleep soundly, didn't make up for the fact that you'd accidentally put orange juice in your coffee yesterday, but it made the build up of irritation much easier to bear. Which is why you'd decided to memorialize it in your sketchbook.

Studying the map of shadows on Frank's handsome face, you scratched the pencil over the thick paper, the rasping sound soothing the constant buzzing in your brain. Scrunching your nose as you tried to smooth out the sketch in front of you, you nearly jumped out of your skin when he spoke.

“Why're you up, darlin'?” His voice was rough with exhaustion. Noticing your wide eyes and ragged inhale, a large hand slid up to rest on your thigh. “Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya.”

”It's alright, Frankie. I wasn't paying attention.“ You tried to laugh, but the sound died in your throat.

His hand stroked over your leg as he waited for you to answer his question. Instead, your eyes remained trained on the book across your lap, pencil moving fluidly through the silence. Tracing a thumb over your warm skin, Frank frowned. “Ya didn't answer my question, sweetheart.”

“Hmm?” Your tone was innocent, but the way your eyes remained glued to your work was enough to tell him you had definitely heard the question.

Squeezing your thigh with a yawn, Frank tried not to groan as he dragged himself up to sit next to you. His movement finally captured your attention, your brow furrowing as you set your pencil aside. “What are you doing?”

Giving what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug, Frank slid an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your temple. ”Sittin' with my girl. That a crime now?“

Smiling despite the guilt flaring in your chest, you shoved at his solid torso feebly. ”Go back to sleep, Frankie. I'm sorry I woke you. I can—“ Shuffling in your seat, you tilted towards the edge of the mattress, fully intending to relocate to a different room so that Frank could go back to bed. Foiling your plan, Frank's arms held fast against your teetering, pulling you flush against his chest.

”Don't you dare.“ He growled, chin resting atop your crown.

”Frank! I didn't even finish my thought,“ You wriggled against his hold, your brain torn between reacting with endearment or annoyance over being imprisoned by his strength. “Let me go, you...you...butthead.” Whining at your own lackluster insult, you buried your face in Frank's neck as he chuckled.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Ain't gotta go for my throat like that.” Frank murmured smugly. You could envision his shit-eating smirk despite it being out of your line of sight.

”Shut up,“ You muttered, a tiny smile gracing your lips against your will. Your body trembled as Frank shook with rumbling laughter. Drawing you into his arms, Frank set your legs over his lap, positioning you towards the windows. The gusting heat from the vent closest to your bed ruffled the fabric covering the panes, the pale glowing rays of moonlight fluttering over your knees as the drapes shifted. It created a mesmerizing dance of light and dark, captivating you.

”Ya gonna tell me how long you've been sittin' here starin' at me or did ya wanna keep pretendin' you were asleep?” In defense of your ruthlessly persistent boyfriend, it has been said that the third time’s the charm. His tone was as delicate as his gruff voice allowed, the muscles of his jaw and throat rippling against your scalp as he spoke.

Eyes falling closed, you focused on the warmth of Frank’s body surrounding you as you willed the tears pricking your eyes to back down. Another unfortunate side effect of sleep deprivation—your emotions started to go haywire over the littlest things.

It wasn’t that you thought Frank would be angry. Well, it wasn’t the biggest anxiety on your mind, at least. It was more the fear of burdening him with your own issues at all hours when you knew a good night’s sleep was practically a miracle for him. The first night at home after a few weeks away always seemed to make it come easier, but other than that Frank rarely rested. The mere thought of forcing him to sit up with you, especially on the one night this week he’d get a full 8 hours, grabbed your guilty conscience by the throat.

Giving a halfhearted shrug, you caved. “Dunno. Slept for a few hours when we went to bed. Then I got up and...” Trailing off, you gestured to the bed in front of you, which was clearly not being used for sleep.

Frank withdrew from the embrace and your pounding heart sank. You set your jaw, waiting for the frustrated scolding…but it never came. Instead, one calloused finger landed underneath your chin, tilting it upwards as he spoke. “You been awake that long?” His eyes shone with concern, boring ferociously into yours.

Nodding miserably, you swallowed the overwhelming shame crawling up your esophagus before speaking. “I’m sorry, Frank. I tried to sleep, but I just couldn’t—“

Cutting you off with a tender kiss, Frank’s hand moved to cup your cheek. “Nothin’ to be sorry about, honey. Ya shoulda woken me up.”

Looking up at him with glossy eyes, you bit your lip, ”You deserve to sleep uninterrupted. I didn't want to be the one to take that away from you.“

Frank chewed the inside of his cheek as he was overrun with waves of adoration and sympathy for you. How he'd managed to end up with such a considerate partner, he'd never know. Especially when he didn't consistently return the gesture.

He'd come home yesterday and practically collapsed into your arms—ignoring how unsteady your balance seemed when you dragged him into the apartment, blaming it on his own weight. You'd patched him up sweetly, as you always did, and Frank hadn't thought twice about the fact that you'd had to leave the room three times to get the gauze, assuming your memory had just been shaken by his battered appearance.

Was he truly so wrapped up in his own bullshit that he hadn't noticed the sunken crescents underneath your eyes? They were so prominent now, stark sepia bruises on your otherwise even skin. It must have been days since you slept properly. Beside himself with worry, his thumb traced the indent under your left eye. ”Shit sweetheart...“

”I'm—“ You started to apologize, but it stuck in your throat when Frank shook his head.

”Hey, none of that. Don't wanna hear it, ok?” You nodded in response to his gentle command, sitting there quietly as he schemed. “Are you tired at all?”

The pitiful shake of your head seemed to make up his mind.

Unwinding from you, he raised his arms above his head in a stretch, moaning as his back popped with the movement. Your face scrunched in disapproval, making him grimace sheepishly. “Sorry, honey. Guess I was stiff from drivin' all day.” Without waiting for your response, he slid out of bed. Your brow furrowed as he strode over to the dresser, pulling a shirt over his rumpled hair.

“Get dressed, darlin'. I have an idea.” He called to you over his shoulder as he rummaged for a clean pair of pants. Sighing, you abandoned the bubble of heat surrounding you in bed and headed for the closet.

Despite your grumbles and evident confusion, the two of you were dressed and on the road before the sun even peeked over the horizon. With one hand settled in yours, Frank kept his gaze trained on the road ahead, trying not to laugh at your exasperated questioning and adorable pout. Dragging you out of the house at this hour might not have been his brightest idea—since he normally tried to remain on your good side—but hey, he’d gotten this far without you chewing his head off.

Frank could hardly be considered a morning person, but you were practically nocturnal. Leaving the house before dawn was probably high up on your list of personal hells, but staying in bed when you couldn’t sleep wasn’t a good idea. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Curtis’s agitated tone.

“For the last time, Frank: staying in bed will make it worse.”

Way back in the day, during his first trip home after going overseas, he’d bugged Curtis relentlessly about his own sleep issues. Maria was tired enough raising a wandering toddler and an imaginative kindergartener, she didn’t need to worry about a restless marine to boot. He’d tried every suggestion under the sun, but sleep still evaded him. Tour after tour, night after night, he’d lay beside his wife in their bed and stare at the ceiling until his alarm went off. After his family died, well…it didn’t exactly get easier to rest.

Despite scouring the internet, a few libraries, and the expanse of Curt’s brain for any possible cures, his sleeplessness persisted. It was a torture he endured for years, and an anguish he wouldn’t wish on anyone but his worst enemies.

Finding out that you also dealt with insomnia was a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, not having to explain his fickle moods and constant absence from the bedroom was a welcomed relief. On the other, seeing the symptoms of sleep deprivation in someone he cared about was an agony worse than an infected bullet wound.

He knew what you were going through all too well, which meant he was determined to try and help. Getting you out of the house was just the first step of his admittedly too-detailed plan.

His lips twitched with a smile as he spotted the building. Turning into the ragged asphalt lot behind the restaurant, he turned his attention to you.

“We’re here, darlin’.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, you remained unimpressed. “A diner?”

Letting out a bark of laughter at your obvious disdain for the activity, Frank pointed a finger at you in warning. “Hey, don’t knock it til ya try it, sweetheart.” His exaggerated stern expression broke through your apprehension, your lips turning upwards into a fond smile.

“There’s my pretty girl.” Frank pressed a kiss to your temple, heart swelling as you leaned into him. “If ya wanna go home, just say the word.”

Biting your lip, you glanced out the window at the electric blue awning extending from the glass doors. The yellow lamp lights lining the sidewalk reflected in your wide eyes as you stared. “No, we can go. I, just…can I ask you a question first?”

“Course, honey. Anythin’.”

“Why here?” Your question was soft, but genuine; your curiosity was outweighing the contempt you’d previously shown for his choice of destination.

Running a hand through his hair, he gave a one-armed shrug. “Fuck, well... ya know I’m no stranger to the whole…not sleepin’ thing. And, uh, back in the early days, when it was real bad for me, I’d come here. We– er– Maria and I, we took the kids here a couple of times. Dunno, wanted to remember the good times, I guess, and it became a sort of tradition. Thought it might help you too.”

With a stuttering inhale, you reached for his hand, stroking a finger over his knuckles as you looked up at him shyly. “Thank you for sharing it with me. I didn’t mean to be rude about it, I’m sorry.”

Squeezing your fingers, he could feel heat creeping up his face. “It’s nothin’ sweetheart. Ain’t gotta worry about that.”

Glancing back out the window for a moment, Frank could see the gears turning in your head as you turned back to him with a tiny grin.

“Lead the way?” You asked tentatively.

“For you, sweet girl? Always.” He pressed a kiss to your hand, his stubble scratching at the skin of your fingers.

Frank ushered the two of you inside and into a booth in the back of the diner. The restaurant was lacking in customers, as could be expected given the early hour. While the inky black sky was broken up with dim streetlights outside of the building, the inside was flooded with fluorescent lights--so bright that you had to shield your eyes with a limp hand for a few minutes.

Once your vision adjusted, you had to admit that the energy in the diner was quite nice. The chipped linoleum tiles that lined the floor were a gorgeous cobalt blue. Along the ceiling, large chunks of the roof had been replaced with thick panes of glass, allowing you to watch the clouds float by, the darkness of the night contrasting beautifully with the intense lighting. You and Frank were seated on a worn vinyl booth, the strips of fabric alternating between silver and black. Similar booths wrapped around the space, almost twinkling as you looked at them.

“So,” Frank pushed a mug towards you. “Whaddya think?”

“It's nice.” You murmured, pulling the warm cup closer to yourself. Somehow you'd missed him ordering himself coffee and you a tea in your distracted state.

Frank cocked his head at you, lips turned up in a smug smirk. ”’S that so?“

Smiling into your mug as you took a sip, you retorted. ”Shut up.“

The drink was warm and, thankfully, unsweetened. It's crisp flavor relaxed your shoulders as you sipped, settling your anxious stomach.

“Hope mint is a’right.” Frank spoke quietly, a blush creeping up his face as he studied his own drink.

“You remembered.” You breathed out, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it tightly as your eyes prickled with emotion.

“Course I did.” Frank huffed, draining the rest of his black coffee. You shuddered in distaste and he chuckled, rubbing a thumb over the back of your hand. “You hungry at all?”

Shrugging noncommittally, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth. Frank sighed, but didn't push further on the subject, which you were very grateful for. You'd never explicitly spoken to him about the effect your insomnia had on your eating habits, but--being the observant partner he was--he'd clearly picked up on it anyways. Once your day started with little to no sleep, it was like all of your bodily functions forgot how to...function. Hunger and thirst cues were practically impossible to read, your body and brain battling each other ferociously at every turn. Which, of course, just exhausted you further.

Scrubbing at one eye with the heel of your free hand, you grit your teeth to keep from groaning. Dwelling on how miserable you were going to feel today wouldn't solve anything, it would just worsen your mood.

”Head botherin' ya?“ Frank asked, brow folding in concern as he watched you knead at your forehead.

”No more than usual.“ You cracked a small smile, hoping that didn't sound as sad as you thought it did. “Just...frustrated with myself.”

“I feel ya, sweetheart. Not sleepin' ain't any fun. But I have some ideas, so don't you worry your pretty little head about it, ok?” Frank tangled his fingers with yours, his gaze earnest.

“You get ideas?” You scoffed, grinning when Frank rolled his eyes in return.

“Ya know what? Just for that, I ain't gonna tell ya about 'em.”

“Nooo,” You whined, taking Frank's massive hand in both of yours and pouting at him. ”I was just kidding. Please tell me.“

”Hmm, I dunno. First you insulted the diner, then my intelligence. Seems like you don't want my help, sweetheart.“  Frank withdrew from your grasp, pretending to sulk into his coffee.

Giggling at Frank’s pout, you reassured him. ”No, I do! I do!“

With a sad little shrug, Frank glanced forlornly out the window.

“Please Frankie,” Pleading with your gaze, you tried to keep a straight face.  “You're my only hope.”

Dropping his startlingly believable moping act, Frank cackled. “Ya think you're real clever, don't ya?”

Smirking into your tea, you gulped down the last remnants with a shrug. ”Maybe.“

After your countless apologies for insulting his intellect, Frank finally explained why he'd encouraged–forced–you to leave the house before sunrise. Apparently he'd heard that staying in bed while awake could perpetuate the cycle of sleep deprivation. And, though you were loath to admit it, it seemed to help.

The little excursion definitely lifted your spirits, if nothing else. You were able to admire the sunrise and mess around with Frank without your anxiety skyrocketing because of the city crowds.  It was nice, and you told him such–even at the risk of over-inflating his ego.

His next activity, however, was not as pleasant.

“Are you going to have me carry you around the apartment next?” You groused, hefting the bedframe up so that you could adjust your rapidly loosening grip on the cold metal. This much physical labor on an empty stomach and no sleep was not what you’d had in mind for a relaxing day with Frank. He, however, was insistent on moving the furniture in your room immediately upon your return home. 

“You offerin'?” Frank smirked at you, pretending to set the bed frame down. His eyes glinted with a humor you didn’t share over the current situation. 

“Fuck no.” You muttered, glaring at him until he lifted the majority of the weight once more. Frank laughed deeply. 

“Set it right over here, darlin’. We gotta move your dresser and then we’re all done.”

“You know, if you hated the layout of my room so much, you could’ve told me months ago.” Instead of waiting until I was already reaching my limit. You thought to yourself, not vocalizing that particular vulnerability. 

“And have you put me out on my ass for bein’ so forward? I’d never, sweetheart.” Frank chuckled, adjusting your bed as you collapsed against the mattress with a huff. “I’m teasin’, honey. It’s an old trick Curt told me about. All the rearrangin’ is supposed to help your brain remember how to sleep, or some shit.”

Rubbing at your forehead as the ache that had been plaguing you all day made a sudden resurgence, your limbs instinctively curled into fetal position as a small whimper escaped your lips. 

“It’s helping it remember to bother me is what it’s doing.” You grumbled, gritting your teeth as the pain ebbed and flowed. You knew the more you thought about it, the more it would torture you–but the stabbing sensation was all that your fatigued brain could focus on right now. 

Frank snorted, sitting beside you gingerly and caressing your hunched back with an open palm. “‘M sorry, sweet girl. Let me get ya some meds and you can lie here while I finish movin’ shit around.”

Your body felt like it was aimlessly floating, untethered to the Earth and hurrying to escape the pain so viciously attacking it at the moment. You were so tired. Every blink was a reminder of the heaven that had been ripped from your delicate grasp hours ago because your body couldn’t even function in the way it was designed to. Brow scrunching, you burrowed under the covers with a sigh.

“Ya better not be sleepin’ on me, honey.” Frank murmured as he stepped back into the room. 

“Course not,” You mumbled. “Would never…”

“I know you’re tired, darlin’, but ya gotta stay awake until it’s dark. Naps will just make ya feel worse, trust me.” He trailed a finger down your arm, taking your hand and placing some painkillers into it. Waiting patiently until you begrudgingly dragged yourself into a seated position, Frank smiled softly at you as you popped the pills into your mouth. Holding the glass of water out to you, the Marine squeezed your leg as you drank, tucking his chin over your head as you collapsed wearily into his side.

“The big bad Punisher takes naps? Hard to picture, Frankie.” You teased, your voice morphing into a satisfied hum as he threaded his fingers into your hair. 

Frank scoffed, kissing your crown before returning the jest. “Maybe I should take the vest off before closin’ my eyes next time.” 

You giggled, burying your face into his neck. His warm flesh felt wonderful on your pounding head, soothing the pain behind your eyes with each measured breath. “Do you cuddle your guns like teddy bears?” The question was overtly ridiculous, but Frank loved you enough to entertain it anyway. 

“Course. What else would I do with ‘em?” He asked coyly. 

Looking up at him, the corners of your lips lifted as he pressed a line of gentle kisses down your nose until he reached your lips. 

“If I turn on the TV, are ya gonna pass out on top of me?” He murmured, his stubble scratching your face as he spoke. 

“Wouldn't dream of it, love.” You smiled, pressing a kiss to his sturdy jawline before he stood up to grab the remote. 

If someone would’ve told you a year ago that your next boyfriend could make a bad insomnia week feel tolerable, you never would’ve believed them. But here you were—lying on your stomach completely topless as Frank massaged a lightly scented lotion into your back—feeling pretty comfortable with the whole arrangement. 

After you’d failed to stay awake during the movie you’d picked out, Frank had carted you around town on various errands: picking up groceries, going to the bookstore, and even taking a quick walk around the park to feed the ducks, which he knew you loved. Your body still ached, and your mood still waned, but overall, it was a good day. And all the credit belonged to your incredible partner. 

Groaning appreciatively, it felt like you were melting into the mattress as Frank tenderly stretched your taught muscles, unraveling the knots of stress that had been building up all week. 

Chuckling, Frank pressed a tiny kiss to your bare shoulder. “Glad it feels good, sweetheart.” 

“No, it’s awful,” You lied. “You clearly need more practice..” 

Frank snorted, “Noted. How’re ya feelin’?” 

“Tired.” You sighed, rolling over as Frank handed you one of his tees to sleep in. 

“I bet. We’re on the last leg, sweetheart, almost there.” Frank’s large hands eagerly wrapped around you as you nestled into his side. Cupping your face with one palm, the fingers of his other hand threaded into your hair, detangling it carefully and brushing it off of your face. 

Biting your lip in frustration, and to keep from sighing again, you nodded. Attempting an understanding smile, you poked him in the chest. “I know. Thanks for putting up with my cranky self today.”

“Sweetheart, you can be snappy with me as much as ya want if it means you’ll sleep through the night.” Frank smirked, squishing your cheek as your eyes suddenly blurred with tears. 

“I love you.” You whispered, going limp in his hold as he settled against the pillows. 

“I love you too, darlin’. So much.” Resting your foreheads together, he kissed you delicately and your lashes fluttered. 

“Frankie?” You looked up at him with your practiced ‘doe eyes’ expression that he could never resist.

“Yah?” He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Can you read to me?” Batting your lashes, you watched with satisfaction as Frank’s expression softened, your eyes taking in the exact moment he caved to your whims. 

Straightening his posture stoically, he reached over to grab your new book from the nightstand with an exasperated huff. “Oh, I see. This was all a scheme of yours to get me to read to ya? ‘S that it?”

“No…” You giggled, nuzzling into him as he cracked the novel open.

“Sure, sure. You’ll be hearin’ from my lawyer, sweetheart. Think ya owe me compensation.” He winked at you, eyes lingering on your face.

“Honey, before ya drift off, jus’...” Sighing, he stroked a thumb over your cheek. “Just know, if all this doesn’t work, cause it ain’t a cure all, ya know–”

Laying your hand over his, you gave him an encouraging look. He inhaled sharply, thinking about how he wanted to phrase the sentiment. 

“I want you to sleep, darlin’, ya know I do. But if it doesn’t happen tonight, we can always try again, ok?”

Startled by the affection in his tone and his beautiful promise, your face went slack as you nodded. Eyes flitting over your gaze, he nodded curtly once he decided you understood. Returning his attention to the book in his hands, he cleared his throat before beginning to read. His rumbling velvet tone soothed you, your eyes falling closed almost immediately. Here, in the safety of Frank’s arms, surrounded by his beautiful voice and reassured by his adorable promise, you finally felt at peace. Though you knew sleep might continue to evade you, the anxiety you’d felt about your insomnia didn’t feel quite as all-consuming tonight. Whatever happened, Frank would be there. And, for now, that was enough.

Thanks for reading!!

[adiproseprose]

‘God, I can’t wait for you to explode’

‘Just imagine this helpless piggy too big to walk’

‘No doubt she’ll be immobile soon…’

The addicting tight rush of fullness settles in my bloated gut. My third straight pitcher of weight gain shake collapses to the floor, and I struggle to shake the numbness out of my toes. If I could see them I’d know they were swollen and startlingly red, but I can’t see shit past my massive tits, hanging low to the center of my belly. I sink back into the couch and rub myself off, sausage fingers snaking into my underwear. My chins serve as a resting place for my exhausted head. 

I’ve always been something of an extremist. There was a time where I would count the calories on a baggy of baby carrots. I was a whore in every sense of the word, skinny as a pencil and duller than an eraser. I didn’t need anybody, I had the attention of every boy I made eye contact with. Skipped college and became a model, traveled all over the world. If you want, you can get my before and after shots. 45 bucks a piece, 112 vrs. 675. 

Nobody pays attention to you when you’re fat. 

I kicked the ball down the hill when my agency fired me, parents claiming I was giving their kids bulimia or some bullshit. The ball began to collect years of sugar, fat, salt and grease, hardly able to get out of bed without a mouthful of fresh endorphins. My veins swelled with lard, stomach overstretched and doubled over onto my fat padded knees. 

It was all very discouraging at first. I heard the gossip as I toddled along to my convenience store for my nightly dinner of mars bars and oven fries, about how tiny I used to be, if I was really the same girl. ‘Nobody wants to rub out a fat girl’. 

I drank a lot. Partied a lot. Had a lot of shitty, desperate sex that ended after 4 minutes with a sigh and a cigarette. Then I met this guy. He grabbed my belly and afterwards told me I could make a killing if I kept gaining weight. I told him to fuck off but I looked into it. Feedism is a deep, dark, somewhat fucked up world. But money is green, so I did some analysis. What did they like about these women, big asses, big tits, double chins? These women are making thousands of dollars just to eat. 

I piled on fat like batter in a cake tin. I’m round up top, double belly and huge boobs. Thickness in my face that I don’t love, but my ass is rounder than the moon. 

“Ohhhh…fuck *HIC*...fuck me. I might’ve had too much, guys.” I whine to the camera. I rub and shake my belly. 

“BURRPPP!” 

I like to read the comments while I masturbate. I scroll, an endless stream of aroused fans. 

‘700 bucks if you do a fourth!!111’

‘7 HUNDO!!!!!’

Over and over again this bitch. I roll my eyes. “500 dollars for another one Mr…Pigfarmer?” 

‘YES!!!’

He donates. And I fix the shake on my coffee table, bringing it to my lips. I wince. I really do not wanna throw up. 

“Gonna do this for you, Pigfarmer. Whoooo boy..” 

I down the shake in maybe 2 minutes and let the empty pitcher land on the floor with the others. “So *huff* fucking…fat. Can barely get… off the couch anymore..ughhhh…” 

‘I will feed you until your fucking feet fall off’

‘I can help you off the couch!!!’

‘I’ll feed you and fuck you until you can’t move baby’

This isn’t enough. I need to be fat enough to where anything is monetizable. Walking out to the car. Going up stairs. I’ve made a few sets of my rolling out bed, when my joints are aching and my waddle is exaggerated the most. 

I don’t get much out of this besides the money. If anything, it makes me feel gross. But I blend in effortlessly, I’ve gone so deep. I’m not a feedee. I am a fat fucking whale who happens to be fat because it makes me ridiculous amounts of money. It makes it a lot easier to smile. 

“Alright, guys, I’m gonna hop off. See you guys next time!! Love you!” 

I click. 1700 dollars from an hour stream. Not too bad. I wipe the sweat off my forehead and drum my belly. I’m numb. I’m covered in grease, shake powder and cum. I can barely make it through my day without that tight fullness now. I wheeze deeply as I contemplate what to eat for dinner.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Can we have more of Edira? I am completely in love with your writing!

A/N: This one is out to you Edira freaks and geeks 🎤! Apologies its not much proof read. Thank you to those always sending positive vibes <3 you don't go unnoticed 😽😽

TW: Suggestive content, implied past/future sexual relations, boobs+ butts, use of sugar mommy/daddy, borderline nsft

Summary: Just a night alone with your lovely (totally not gaslighting or manipulating) corporate fiancée.

“Sugar mommy?” 

“Yeah its a… term of-- endearment. I guess?” 

“People around the office don’t usually use terms of endearment for me.” Edira squinted her eyes, scrutinizing your explanation. 

“Sugar mommy…” She contemplated again.  “isn’t that usually what you call some old creep preying on young girls?”

You slightly cringed hearing the term come out of her mouth again. 

“Well-- that’s usually sugar daddy; sugar mommy on the other hand..  Is usually looked at more positively. Like… a MILF.” 

“A MILF?” Edira scoffs. “Is that what I am? I’m not even a mother.” She sighed, pushing her greying blonde hair back with her fingers, looking back down at the paperwork on her vanity. “Or am I just old…” 

“Aw now don’t say that. You’re.. Like fine wine. Aging better with time.” Hearing the poorly constructed compliment leave your mouth nearly made you want to gag. Especially because you never thought twice about giving Edira such kind words; not when she still played you like her personal emotional dildo. 

“Besides, what does it matter anyway? It��s not like you cared about what they thought about you beforehand. Why now?” 

Edira massaged her temples, back turned to you as her head hung low. She had been getting increasingly more exhausted now that she had to focus on performance evaluations. You would’ve been worried for your job if it weren’t for the fact that you were sleeping with your boss, being strung along with her whims. You were safe for as long as Edira kept her interest in you. 

“You’re right,” She suddenly started, getting up out of her chair. “Its too exhausting to worry about what those lowlives think; I don’t know when I started caring.” 

Her crinkled white button up pulled upward slightly as she lifted her arms to tie back her hair. The last two undone buttons revealed the dark of her mesh, black thong as she stood in front of you. Her eyes closed as she wrapped a hairtie around the thick, straight tresses.

She took off her tight pencil skirt long ago, finding it far more comfortable to do paper work in the barest of minimums. She’d probably go fully nude if it weren’t for your scolding modesty, and the fact that the housekeeper had yet to go home. 

You scurried farther back onto the bed, repositioning your book on your lap as you looked away. But even as your head was buried in your book, you couldn’t help but peak your eyes upward; Not even out of sheer lust, but curiousity. You could never look away when it came to her-- and she knew it. You hated how she knew what her every move did, how it effected her surroundings and most of all-- you. You pressed your legs together, holding the book on your thighs as you attempted to get back to reading. 

It was like your subconscious willed you to look, to look at the way she dipped on each foot as she tried to position the tight black piece of elastic in a comfortable manner through her hair, how her swelled chest pushed against the white button up that you told her was too tight. But she liked it, liked how it made it easier for her to win over investors, how easily it won over you. Even through her padless bra and dress shirt, you could see the faint outlines of two round buds--

Nope, that was too much. You were getting ahead of yourself; how could you be so shameless? Especially with the woman who you cursed for all your problems and woes. However that was a double edged sword-- she was also to thank for your promotion, for the raise in your salary (as if that even mattered with her around), and your upgrade in housing. But what did that really matter, when your pride was missing?

The older woman sighed, breathily with a hint of a moan at the end. 

“I’m too tired to work on the rest of this... Why don’t you join me in the shower? I’m surprised you haven’t gotten in yet…” Edira commented, sliding onto the bed with her knees to get closer to you. 

“You wanted company, remember?” You rebuttled back, reminding her how you didn’t choose voluntarily to be by her side right now. 

“Ah, right.” 

She positioned her hands on your knees, leaning over to see the words on your book. She didn’t ask about it, instead reading upside down as she spoke. “So, all the more reason for you to join me. This looks boring anyway. Is this one of the books that I got you?” She asked, though you knew she wasn’t really looking for an answer. 

You felt slightly offended, though not surprised that she was criticizing your enjoyment. 

“It’s not. And.. I think I’ll just get in after you. Besides, Carla is still in the kitchen-- what happens if she comes looking for one of us?” 

Edira didn’t respond, instead walking out of the bedroom to stand in the doorway. 

“Carla,” She shouted, leaning on the side of the doorframe. “It’s already 10 hon, you can head home.” 

“Edira!” You whisper-screamed, looking her up and down as you saw Carla come down the hall. 

“Okay, Miss Edira.” The rounded woman put the broom back in the closet nearby yours and Edira’s bedroom, waving to you as Edira gave her a warm smile. The woman’s faint Bulgarian accent came out as she said her goodbye’s, the front door shutting behind her after she gathered her purse from the table. 

“What’s the matter with you!” You scolded. “I can’t believe you’d show up like-- that-- in front of Carla; do you really want to scare her off, I thought you liked her.” 

You grabbed your temples, shutting your book as the panic began to recede from your chest. 

“Oh please, don’t be so dramatic,” Edira waved her hand frivolously at you, shutting the door behind her. “ Carla’s seen me in much worse states, as have you--- wearing only half of my office clothes hasn’t been the worst of it.” 

“And I do like her,” Edira followed, pulling you up with one hand as you limply allowed her to tug. “She’s the only maid I can bare. Otherwise, I’d have you running up and around here cleaning up after me in a cute little maid outfit instead.”

“Housekeeper.” You corrected, giving her a frown as she lowered her hands down to your waist. 

Edira rolled her eyes childishly, pushing her pelvis up against the front of your hips, her bareness pressing against the warmth of your comfy sweatpants. You still wore your baby blue office blouse, not having the commitment to change the rest of your clothes since coming home. But its not like that mattered now, since Edira was so insistent on dragging you closer to the shower. 

She walked backwards, holding onto the drawstrings of your pants as she pulled you along. She held a gentle smirk, her undereyes slightly darkened from a lack of sleep. 

“Are you sure about this..?” You slowly slid your feet against the carpet, hesitantly following. “We both need our rest for tomorrow, and the shower isn’t always the safest opt--”

“Shh,” She hushed, grabbing your hips with a firmness as her nails slid gently under your shirt, running shivers up your spine; she knew you loved it when her nails ticklishly played against your back. “Just follow me, sweet thing.” 

She walked faster now, dragging you by the front of your pants into the master bathroom. Your socked feet nearly slid against the grouted tile floor, the rug cutting off abruptly. Edira shut the door behind you, her buttocks slightly sticking out in view as she turned away. 

You spun around, rubbing your face up and down as you tried to steady the anxiety that was clawing out of your heart. You always got anxious when she wanted to get intimate; she could be so demanding, so degrading if you did one wrong move-- but the praise, oh the praise made it so worth it when she pushed back your hair and said how good you were for her. 

Edira pulled you back around, watching you as she turned the lock, strands of hair falling out of her loose ponytail as they fell into her eyes. 

“Well, going to reject me now?” She asked, leaning dangerously close to your face. You had hardly moved away from the door once she pushed you in. 

“Well…” 

“Well, what?” Edira mocked, running a finger down your jaw. 

Her lips were so close to yours that you couldn’t pay attention to her eyes anymore, merely focusing on the breath that entered and left her mouth. 

“Say no, hm? I dare you to.” You heard the faint sound of her buttons coming undone, hands changing to reaching the tops of her buttons as she leaned in close. 

Her hand pushed to the back of your head, gently nursing you to kiss her as she pulled your sweatpants down just a tad. They fell with ease, her breasts softly squishing against your chest as you felt the heat of her body that was once kept warm by her clothes. 

“I know you can’t.”

[fruitcoops]

can you write something with this quote I found? It’s so fitting for coops !

“I hope the most beautiful thing you ever see if another human”

In honor of final exams, here's some Harvard FinnLo fluff to share in the suffering--or, you're in a library with a beautiful boy...

Character credit goes to @lumosinlove , who shattered me into a thousand pieces with the new art and will be receiving a UPS box containing my entire heart soon. It's just easier that way.

(and to my friends, who do not know this blog exists but have spent their night/ early morning sitting across from me while we work, I love you v much)

“I’m gonna die.”

“Non.”

“I’m going to fail out of Harvard.”

“Non.”

“Yon.”

Logan’s eyes flicked up over the edge of the wooden table divider and narrowed, the green made bright by the black band of his chunky headphones. “You’re not failing out.”

“Might.” Finn slumped further into the palm of his hand. Another half-inch of Logan disappeared on the opposite side of their table. They had been here for hours. His body ached. His mind fizzled softly, like bacon fried so long it crumbled at the first touch.

Huh. Maybe he could use that in his paper. Reformation-era literary techniques had to fit somewhere in there.

A sigh gusted out of Logan; Finn straightened just enough to peek over the mahogany separating them. Blunt fingertips pressed against the inner corners of his eyes and turned the skin white, then dragged along the first hints of exhausted shadows before pulling down until Logan had to blink. He caught Finn watching and the almost of a smile shimmered across his face before he pointedly pulled his headphones back over his ears and bent his head to his notebook.

They had learned their lesson from midterms season—any tables where they could see each other only led to hours upon hours of talking instead of studying. But working alone was not an option (not that Finn had ever suggested it), so. Dividers. They had blinders on the sides, too. Finn sort of felt like he had been put in a filing box when they worked here.

“Lo,” he hissed. The scratch of a mechanical pencil answered. “Logan.”

A girl at the table next to them shot him an unamused look. Finn hoped his smile seemed apologetic, or at least sincere.

“Tremzy.”

The toe of a worn-out sneaker found his ankle. Solid, but gentle.

“Fucker,” Finn whispered, hiding his grin behind their divider.

A puff of air would have rustled his notes if they had been studying at their usual place at the dining room table. He listened to Logan scribble; always stilted when his hands got tired. Their room would smell like Tiger Balm tonight. He’d get to see the funny little wrinkle of Logan’s nose, too. Warm light from the swirling green lamps beside them made his hair glow chestnut and maple. It curled at the ends from his shower after practice, now far enough gone that each thick lock was mostly dry. He hated going to bed damp.

A faint ripping noise made the girl next to them glance over. Something gave a faint plastic rattle.  Finn had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his laugh back when Logan’s hand appeared over the divider and haphazardly taped a torn corner of notebook paper to Finn’s side.

SHUT. WORKING.

Reformation literature could wait.

Finn’s pen smudged blue streaks across the side of his palm. He took Logan’s note and carefully peeled the tape off, then smoothed the curling edge over the section he had torn from his own notes.

On what?????

The sliver of Logan’s back he could see heaved.

Finn waited for a long moment.

The tape came free with a nigh-imperceptible snick.

Econ. Logan’s fingernails were ragged at the edges from biting.

Econ-your-mom-ics.

The crumpled-up note came sailing back over without a response—he caught it half an inch from his forehead and tucked it into the waterbottle pouch of his backpack before carefully sliding his chair back and leaning forward, far enough to rest his chin on top of the divider.

Logan’s work station was a disaster. Hurricane Tremblay has entered the building, he thought as Logan’s marking of a demand curve slowed to a stop. Highlighters of three different sizes were scattered among half a dozen pens and dull pencils. A thin layer of used-eraser confetti littered every page and worksheet.

Logan had switched to a blue pen—one of Finn’s, he realized. Likely borrowed during their last study session. Finn pressed his chin harder to the wooden edge and waited. Always patient. Logan would crack soon.

Ever so slowly, Logan looked up at him from under his lashes. His hands flattened over his notes. He would have looked immensely unimpressed if Finn didn’t know better.

The cold press of a ballpoint to the tip of his nose was…not unwelcome, but not unexpected. Finn scrunched his face up and heard a short, amused exhale. The pen retreated. Logan was really smiling now, tiny and mischievous. “There.” He was always better at whispering than Finn. “Rudolph’s fucked-up cousin.”

Finn had to duck into his sweater at that, shoulders shaking with the force of a contained bark of laughter. The girl next to them made a show of turning up her music in her earbuds. God, he should feel bad, shouldn’t he? They should go home—go to their room and try one more time to be productive without the laws of Harvard’s libraries looming over them. Percy had been trying to convince him to bring one of the library lamps home for ages.

Logan finally looked away from his notebook, grinning wildly as he shook his head and gave Finn’s forehead a light push. The chair creaked when Finn sat again and scooted forward. He didn’t even want to think about how old these things were, or he’d start getting philosophical. It was much more fun to wax poetic about the importance of Harvard history regarding antique chairs when he was drunk and in Will’s care for the evening.

Logan would listen, Finn thought as he woke his computer up and flexed his hands over the keyboard. Some of the letters were worn nearly bare from his fingers. Logan would laugh at him, but he would listen. He could hear it now. Okay, Harz. Uh-huh. Oh, really? Should I leave you and the chairs alone for a while?

No, no, he would say. I gotta show you. You gotta know.

Logan would shake his head again. Finn figured he’d have a fifty-fifty chance of getting Logan to come with him on a late-night library run versus letting him wrangle him back to bed. He’d be happy either way.

For now, Microsoft Word was waiting with a heading, six sources, and an impatient cursor tapping its foot over his bolded [TITLE!!!!] notation.

--

Midnight came and went between paragraphs four and five. The girl next to them packed her things five minutes later, slinging her satchel over her shoulder as if it weighed eight hundred pounds.

Logan dropped a pen—black, this time—just after one o’clock.

The library lights flickered when the clock hit 1:30. They gathered their things, not bothering to pack their bags, and relocated to the first floor’s 24-hour room with the rest of the pitiful souls relinquishing their night to the altar of academia.

Finn’s eyes began to burn at 2:37.

The first soft snore sounded at 2:51.

He had been so good. So good. He hadn’t bothered Logan at all, not counting the friendly slap to the back of his head when he came back from the bathroom. Nine glorious pages of semi-decent analysis were finally in existence.

The next snore was a touch louder, like Logan had breathed away whatever muffled it before. Finn leaned up on his elbows to see over the edge and smiled to himself at the curls pressed flat to spiraled aluminum. Logan’s lips were parted on the paper. His pencil—back to the pencil? Finn would never understand him—hung limp in the valley of his thumb. His other hand rested on the back of his neck, like he had been supporting himself on it before sleep made him slump right over.

“Tremz. Logan. Hey, number ten.”

Logan’s finger twitched.

Finn sat back, stretched his leg out, and landed a light kick on Logan’s shin. He heard a snort before Logan’s jolt reached his foot. “Calice de crisse—”

“Good morning.”

Logan was blinking hard and slow when Finn leaned up again, both hands wrapped around the table edge and maybe, maybe, one foot on earth. “When time?”

“It’s three o’clock.”

“…practice?”

“In the morning.”

Logan nodded, slothlike, eyelids drooping. Graphite stamped the round part of his cheek; he scratched at it, yawned, and stretched both arms out in front of himself in an Oscar-worthy performance of someone who was any kind of awake.

“We should go back,” Finn suggested.

“Non. All-nighter.”

“It’s officially morning.”

Logan exhaled through his nose for several seconds. He was staring into the middle distance again, right along the seam of their barrier. “I have another chapter.”

I ‘ave anuzzer shapter. Soft, and low, and raspy. So close to his morning voice, but not quite. Finn nudged him with his toe. His heart gave a flip at Logan’s light frown. “I’m going to run through my paper one more time,” he offered. “We can head out after that.”

Logan looked up at him, the picture of confusion. “You’re going running?”

“Editing.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “Okay.”

“Finish your chapter.”

“Okay.”

He cracked his knuckles twice before bending over his notes. One hand rubbed through the back of his hair, left long for the end of the season. He’d probably get it cut over winter break. Finn sort of didn’t want him to.

There was a throbbing behind Finn’s eye that had started somewhere around his first attempt at a concluding paragraph. His fingertips were numb and his wrists were sure to hurt as soon as he stopped writing. He wasn’t sure when exactly his mouth had gone so dry, but it had, and he spared a moment’s thought toward the drink station in the lobby. They always had coffee around finals—it was decent, if a little burnt. He wondered if they’d have mint tea.

Logan’s pencil moved audibly slower than before. Loops and swirls and scratches, a language Finn would never understand. Words were his place: endless white pages and safe letters to curl up in. But numbers and statistics, the things with straight answers, were all for Logan’s clever mind.

Those same words echoed in his head and blurred as he scrolled through a halfhearted read-through. It wasn’t long before he shut his dying laptop and finally let it rest, sagging low in his chair. He turned his face to the ceiling and closed his eyes. It would be easy to fall asleep here, with Logan’s foot against his and the gentle sounds of the library wrapping him up.

“Harzy.”

“ ‘m awake.”

“I’m not.” Something tapped the back of Finn’s hand. “Allez, or I’m leaving without you.”

As if. Finn took the proffered hand without opening his eyes and let Logan pull him up, groaning at the pinch in his legs. The crinkle of paper as he shoved it into his bag made him wince, but that was a problem for the morning. It looked like Logan hadn’t bothered to organize, either.

“Zipper,” Logan reminded him, not looking up from his phone. “I don’t want to hear you complain about more lost pens.”

“Thanks.”

“That’s why you have me.”

How Finn wished that was true.

“You know, I read something kind of neat earlier,” he said as they left the study room. At Logan’s hum of mild interest, he turned to walk backward for a few steps. “I hope the most beautiful thing you ever see is another human. Kinda nice to think about, huh?”

“Hmm.”

“I dunno.” Logan tapped them out of the library with his ID. Finn hadn’t bothered to reach for his own in a long time. He smiled to himself as December bit their cheeks, jostling Logan’s shoulder at the first scrape of brick below their feet. “I like it.”

“You would.”

“Shut up.”

“Non.”

“Yon.”

[murderofcrow]

mistakes have been made! i'm out of watercolour paper, so i stole some of my brothers marker paper and i hate it! the marker looks too messy, i hate the glossiness of the paper and now i'm hoping i can save it with blending the hell out of it with my polychromo pencils! 😭

i like using markers on thick watercolour paper, imho it's much easier to blend them and it doesn't look so messy! i just wanted to make a quick lil Ivy drawing! 😭

[areyoudreaminof]

Rhys Week: Step by Aching Step, Son

For @officialrhysandweek Day 5: Family Man.

After pulling Nyx out of the Illyrian War camps, Rhys tries to explain his decision to a disappointed Nyx.

Oh, I'm coming now for you Step by aching step, son Then I'll lead you by the hand And we'll fall into the blue

Foals-Stepson

It was high time to have this discussion, he thought. They hadn’t spoken much the past few weeks. The silence and tension that chaos left behind was still thick in the air. So, Rhys took a deep breath before he tapped the door softly and entered Nyx’s room. 

“Hello, Papa.” The boy said, looking up from his sketchbook, as he sprawled out in his large bed. Nyx wings were tucked behind him tightly, Rhys noticed with a twinge of guilt. “Mind if I sit with you?” He asked. Nyx nodded, as Rhys made his way over. Still, he studied his son’s room, taking in the piles of books on the desk that had been pressed up against the wall. Small models of buildings sat there as well. Rhys had never thought much about architecture before Nyx, who built things as sons as he could play. A shirt was thrown carelessly over a chair, while a small wooden owl lay half carved on the dresser. Each and everything in his son’s room, placed just so. It was almost like taking a look into Nyx’s mind, something he and Feyre agreed on was off limits unless needed. Why throw this shirt here? Rhys thought, Who is the wooden owl for? What do you see when you build these models? 

I see what the building could be. Nyx's soft reply came to his mind, surprising Rhys, who had not noticed his mental blocks were down. Like Mama’s paintings, I see what they are in my mind and try to match it. 

“The owl really isn’t for anyone,” he said out loud, “I was just bored the other day, I haven’t finished it.” 

“I remember the owls at the camps.” Rhys said as he stroked the carved beak on the owl. “Uncle Azriel thought they were the other boys trying to steal from us at night, so Uncle Cass took it upon himself to hoot everytime Uncle Azriel went to piss at night.” Nyx chuckled at the memory Rhys sent over; Azriel jumping and pulling up his pants while Cassian hooted from behind. 

Rhys settled on the bed next to his son. Nyx had his mother’s talent for art though he preferred to sketch buildings and plants, as well as the occasional animal portrait for his cousins at the Day Court. The short time spent in the war camps was difficult for Nyx, but the reports that made their way back to Rhys made his son’s presence known. Namely, the heir to the Night Court had a penchant for carving the insignia onto every single wooden surface he could, including the posts on Devlon’s tent. Nyx had his mothers talent, and her fire, for better or worse. 

Peering over at the sketches, Rhys saw the massive round table with the Night Court insignia drawn in the center. Illyrians and High Fae surrounded it, posed in mid motion. “What is this? It’s really wonderful.” he asked as Nyx tilted the small book towards him. 

“Just an idea, I guess. I thought it could be some sort of hall for us and the Illyrians.” Nyx said, as he flipped to another page. A sketch showed a great longhall of wood and stone. “It could be a sort of neutral meeting place. It would be between the camps and the villages. Probably easier.” Nyx shrugged as he flipped back to the sketch of the round table. “I keep messing around with the table though. Round seemed more equal, kind of like what High Lord Thesan has at the Dawn Court.” 

“Incredible.” Rhys murmured as he studied his son’s face. His brow was furrowed in concentration as his pencil flew across the paper. Absently, Nyx began to suck on his top lip, the same habit he’d had since he was a toddler. Rhys supposed now was as good of a time as any to talk about his decision to withdraw Nyx from the camps. 

It had been less than two years since Nyx had entered. It had been difficult at first. Feyre felt that eight was too young, but Nyx was determined to go. Cassian and Nesta, who had stationed themselves in Illyria, said Nyx had a hard time with the boys as expected, but was managing to train and hold his own. The situation in Illyria was growing more unsteady by the day, and the most recent threat against Nyx was a call far too close.

In the weeks since returning to Velaris, Nyx had been understandably quiet, retreating to his room or the library at the House of the Wind. Rhys knew that Nyx did not know the full extent of the threat the commanders posed, and he knew he could not hide it from his son any longer. 

“Nyx, I’m sorry about everything. Pulling you out of the camp, putting you in there in the first place.” Rhys rubbed his eyes, struggling to find the words to pinpoint his feelings.

“It’s alright Papa, I understand.” Nyx said softly as he stared ahead. 

“It’s not. I know the camps are hard, and I wanted you to have that experience, despite everything. It’s your heritage, and you’ll rule these people someday.” Rhys replied quickly, “Eight was too young, I realize that now, especially with how things are going. It’s too dangerous to have you up there-” 

“I know, I know.” Nyx said, as he bit his upper lip in thought. “I knew it was going to be hard, and I was ready for it. I knew they’d give me a harder time. I guess…” he paused for a moment, mirroring his father’s expression as he too searched for the right words, “You got to meet Uncle Cass and Uncle Az there, and I think I wanted that too. I wanted to find my own brothers and do the Blood Rite. I’m not ashamed of our family or myself, but I feel, I don’t know, frustrated because I can’t control it. I’m the little princeling that got swept away when things got too hard.” Rhys sighed as Nyx quickly added, “I understand why you did it. But I just don’t know where to go from here.” Nyx flopped his head back onto the pillow as he set his sketchbook down on his bedside table. 

Rhys put his arm around Nyx’s shoulders, pulling him close to his chest. Feyre insisted their son would never be too old for a hug, and at this very moment, Rhys agreed. Their son was nothing short of a gift, a miracle, one that he tried every single day to prove himself worthy of. Being a father, being Nyx’s father was greater than anything Rhys had ever done in his life, of that he was certain. It was with that certainty that he made the decision to bring Nyx home to Velaris, when Azriel had discovered the plot just in time. 

Two commanders from the camp had been planning to clip Nyx’s wings. 

It was only by the grace of the Mother that Nyx was with Cassian in the training ring when the males tried to attack. Cassian sent them running and Rhys and Feyre came to fetch their son home immediately, but not before he and his brothers rained hell on the camp. Rhys had not given a second thought to misting those commanders, a righteous rage simmering inside of him at the mere thought of those males even thinking to touch his son in such a way. In the back of his mind, he knew his own father wouldn’t have come to his defense, and that made him more sick. 

“I didn’t pull you out because things were getting hard. You are not a spoiled little princeling, Nyx. You were doing so well. Uncle Cassian and Aunt Nesta said as much. I pulled you out because there was a threat against you that I could not ignore.” he felt his heart race, and he took a breath to calm himself. 

“Those men who tried to kill me at the training ring? The ones that Uncle Cass chased off?” Nyx said flatly, as he looked up at Rhys. 

“They weren’t trying to kill you, Nyx. They were trying to clip you.” Rhys whispered. 

Nyx’s eyes grew wide and Rhys felt a wave of nausea broil inside him. He felt a tinge of concern from Feyre down the bond, but ignored it as he turned to fully face Nyx. 

“You are my priority, over Illyria, over everything, Nyx. I want you safe, and you were not safe there.” 

Nyx nodded as he worried at his lip again, “I didn’t know that’s what they were trying to do. I thought they were like that drunk old male that tried to come after me. I didn’t think it was anything. So, I’m not going back to the camps, ever?” he asked.

“You’ll go back one day.” Rhys promised, “You will find your own brothers and you will complete the Blood Rite. But now is not the time. You will have that time, I promise you that. But you’ll just have to wait a while longer for it. When it is safe, and the situation is under control, you’ll go back. In the meantime you’ll train here and Helion has offered to train you as well.” 

“Alright.” Nyx said softly, resting his head on Rhys’s shoulder. “I love you Papa.”   

Rhys hugged his son tighter. Ten years had gone by too fast for him, he thought. “I love you too, Nyx.”

A soft knock at the door startled them both as Feyre peeked her head in.  

“Any room on that bed for one more?” she asked as both Nyx and Rhys scooted over as she laid down next to Nyx, kissing his cheek. “We love you more than anything, Nyx. Don’t ever forget that.” Rhys felt a quiet sort of harmony over him, the same one he always felt when he was with Feyre and Nyx alone. They sat like that for a while longer, holding one another as nocturnal animals sang outside. 

Later, after Nyx had fallen asleep, Rhys held onto Feyre, stroking her hair, as she lay on his chest. 

“Should I have told him what those males had planned to do?” he asked Feyre quietly. “And before you make some remark about hiding things, I just didn’t want to terrify him.” 

Feyre huffed a small laugh, “You know better than anyone what happens when you hide things. But, I think you did the right thing. He didn’t know exactly what had happened, and I think he would have blamed himself instead.” 

“Heard that, did you?” Rhys said, flicking Feyre’s nose.

“How could I not? You were so nervous, I had to make sure you had back up.” she said, as she smiled, “You did wonderfully, Rhys.” She rose, hovering over him and taking his face into her small hands. “You’re a good father, Rhys. A good mate and a good male. It’s not going to be an easy road, whatever happens. But we have each other.”

Rhys pulled Feyre down, his lips catching hers as he held her tighter. They had each other. This was what he fought wars for, what he lied for, what he cheated for. He would make the world better for his son, Rhys promised himself. He had done the right thing for his family, of that he was certain. 

[gattnk]

It's hard to forget Ang-Lì and Mefisto, for the oddest reasons.

These two were unlucky enough to become cut content in the cartoon, and I can see why: the cast was huge, the new plot had a stronger focus on the protagonists, and sadly Ang-Lì and Mefisto were sort of... tertiary in the comics. While it seems like the comic was just about to pick up the pace with them, it got discontinued right before they got their moment to shine. I did my best to take all of this into account, and here's my resulting notes on the redesign process:

I dug up all I could about these two to make sure I understood their characters as much as possible, since the comics themselves shared very little. Finding the extra content that came with the comics was crucial (the original printed issues included all sorts of cool stuff you'd expect from kid magazines at the time).

I noticed how Ang-Lì is usually very enthusiastic in the comic, often cracking a joke or two mid conversation, and he also has a passion for earthly comic books. I gave him pretty plain clothes to contrast with his joking nature, represented by the yellow-orange. This way the color and his personality really pop up!

According to the extra content, Mefisto's super laidback about most things, with the exception of music: he's a metalhead who may or may not pirate his favorite Earth bands, who's also the vocalist of the devils, and can't make it through the day without his headphones. So I just went with the classic metalhead look: dark shirt, washed jeans, wallet chain and thick wristbands. The duller colors go really well with all the green hair, it doesn't feel like too much.

I tried to emphasize their interests with their accessories since their clothes are quite plain compared to the other redesigns. Since Mefisto's headphones are so important to him, they also had to pop out, hence the orange, white and toxic green. In the meantime, Ang-Lì's kicks are a pun of sorts: he keeps the jokes running. lol.

Turns out Ang-Lì's mascot is a stick bug, who knew? He keeps it in his shirt pocket like a pencil, as a bit of a joke. Meanwhile Mefisto places his gecko mascot on his wallet chain, like those lizard keychain bottle openers that used to be popular in the 2000s. I thought it represented their respective natures well.

I actively chose to swap Mefisto's skin color. The devils could use a bit more variety, honestly, and it still holds homage to his old color palette. Besides, you don't see many black metalheads in media and that's a shame! Rock on my metal siblings!

Ang-Lì had a pretty solid design from the start that still holds up well, so the biggest personal change was the haircut. everything else (clothes aside) I kept pretty much the same.

That would be it for these two! Honestly, keeping their character essence was particularly easy, compared to my other redesigns (yes, even easier than Raf/Sulfus). Even with the little content we have, all in all they're pretty solid characters! So yeah, they deserved to be brought back in my rewrite, I'll Fly With You. I did my best to give them the spotlight more often in my planned script, let's see if I do them justice!

[purplesigebert]

WIP Wednesday #24 - DW Crossover

Woah @impossiblekryptonitecolor wasn't kidding about that curse! Thankfully I broke it, and it only took four weeks and not a thousand and ten years!

Onto the snippet - surprise, surprise Caroline is not having a great time. Good thing she has some memories to escape into.

If it didn’t hurt so much, Caroline would give the hunter points from ingenuity.  Number 2 pencils as stakes?  That was a new one. Her hands were in agony, only second to her throat.  The droplets of vervain water that she inhaled made her feel like her esophagus was being ripped apart from the inside.  The only good thing about this whole situation was that she was safe from compulsion.   

She was just glad that Mikael 2.0 didn’t seem to know that the daylight spell wasn’t tied to a specific person.  The last thing Caroline needed was for Alaric to take her ring and put it on his finger.  Then he wouldn’t need her to lure Elena to the school - he would just stake her and rush off the Gilbert house.  The man was muttering to himself as he paced back and forth in front of his desk, only stopping to check his phone before shaking his head.  Alaric stopped in front of her and took the gag out of her mouth, wincing as he dipped it into the beaker that was on the desk next to her.  He had already repeated this process 3 times in the hour that she had been here, the pain that herb caused him not deterring him in the slightest. 

As the classroom’s clock ticked the seconds, the blonde used the sound to try and push away the pain.  Slowly, the memories of another time she was threatened by a very powerful person flooded her mind.

2008 - Year That Never Was

“Martha, we are up against a 900 year old alien with absolute zero regard for human life - except for a weird fixation for the Teletubbies!” Caroline shouted, while Martha tried to get her to lower her voice.

Caroline didn’t see why she should have to, the Valiant was miles away in the sky.  They had run for cover as soon as they had gotten their breath back, after slamming into the ground via vortex manipulator. The air was thick with smoke that had drifted towards them from the destruction in London.  The trees made breathing easier and hid them from the Toclafane.

“So you know who we should go to?” Caroline continued. “A 1000 year old being with no regard for human life - aside from the fact that he needs them if he wants to keep existing!”

“That’s not a good reason to approach him, Caroline,” the other woman scoffed.  The blonde tried not to snap at her friend even more than she had, most of Martha’s family was on the ship and they didn’t have the immunity that Caroline’s had.

“He’s got contacts that we could use and centuries of experience of being on the run!  He’s the monster that other monsters fear! We need Klaus,” Caroline stressed, this seemed like a no brainer, better to seek their chances with an Original Vampire than think they could take on the Master by themselves. 

Caroline was also convinced that Martha wouldn’t ask him for help because Shakespeare told her not to.  Martha rubbed at her temple and worried the TARDIS key turned perception filter necklace before taking a deep breath.  She looked up, resolution in her brown eyes.

“Alright. Alright, we'll ask him for help.” 

Caroline cheered. 

“If,” Ugh, so close!

“If we also ask his brother for help.  After all, two Mikaelsons are better than one, right?"

Caroline groaned. Seriously?  She had to work with Elijah Mikaelson.

"Fine, but only because the fate of the world is at stake!"

[fuckyeaharthuriana]

Create/Bind your own book

I decided to post this on my arthurian blog as I want to bind an actual book of arthurian texts (from Mary Jones´ translations), but this can be done with anything! My first attempt was actually AO3 fanfics, and my second one was an empty drawing notebook with watercolor pages.

This is the 101 How to bind your own book, extra easy version.

What you will need:

Glue for paper (like vynil glue) + a brush to spread the glue

Paper / printer book in booklet form

cardboard (I use amazon boxes I cut down)

a ruler

pencil

a printer

paper creaser / bone folder (not necessary, you can use a ruler too)

thread (waxed thread is probably the best one, but any thread that is hard to break would work)

scissors

awl (or anything that can make holes in paper)

needles (with a big hole, curved needle would be the best one)

a material to use as a cover. I use cotton fabric so I can add some embroidery to it

gauze if you have it, but not necessary

some weights and plastic sheets (I use other books as weight, and plastic wrap = this is just to not end up with glue everywhere)

What is the process (quick overlook of what you should do and in what order):

1) Print your book in booklet format, or prepare your pages (if you are making an empty notebook) (needed for this: printer, microsoft word or a pdf program, paper creaser)

2) Add holes to all your pages (needed for this: ruler, pencil, awl)

3) Sew the pages together and glue the book together (needed for this: needle, thread, scissors, brush, glue, plastic and the weights, gauze if you want)

4) Prepar the cover (needed for this: ruler, scissors, glue, fabric, pencil, weights, plastic)

5) add the book of the cover (needed for this: glue, plastic, scissors, plastic, weights)

the end!

Now let´s start:

1) PRINT THE BOOK + FOLD

If you are making an empty notebook, simply find a paper you like (ex. for watercolor I bought A4 300gr paper) and then bend each single page in half. To bend in half you can use a ruler to check where the half is, or simply fold the paper in half by aligning the borders. You can use the creaser to make a nice fold, here is how to use it (video).

If you want to print a book, you will have to print in booklet format. The easiest way to do that is using word and organizing your document before printing. This is the easiest way to do it (how to link). Remember to add page numbers to your document, it makes it so much easier to check that everything is being printed correctly.

Ideally, you want to organize your book in booklets of 8 pages, but it will also depend on how big your paper is. If you are printing pictures you might use very thick paper (so that the color cannot be seen on the other side). For a fanfic/text, I use 160 gsm paper.

What is a booklet? (link)

Once you have printed each booklet you will have to fold it. Pages in your booklet will go inside one another, so you will fold the first page, which will have page 1 and the last page of your booklet, and so on.

You can use the creaser to make a nice fold, here is how to use it (video).

The booklet will be sewed later in the middle.

Your book will be made of small booklets, all put together.

2) ADD HOLES

The location of the holes depend on the type of binding you want to do, so you might want to check point 3 before adding the holes! Still, the best way to add holes is a pointy metal rode/a hole puncher. The holes need to be small (big enough for a needle), and the best way is to put some foam under the opened booklets so that you don't scratch the table.

You will add holes to all booklets! Like this video shows.

3) SEWING

To sew the book together there are different type of sewing tecniques, I will bring examples of the one I use, as I found it to be the easiest. Also, you can use any needle and any resistant thread, but I prefer to use waxed thread (for bookbinding) and a curved needle. You can find the waxed thread and big curved needle in any bookbinding kit!

this shows the passages till this point plus sewing, it has no words, while this video instead describes and show the type of sewing that I also do.

4) GLUE

Press your book! Leave something heavy on it before the glue!

Any paper glue works great! You can use glue on the spine of the now sewed book (all your booklets put together) to reinforce it. You can also use some gauze (like medical gauze) to reinforce the spine, like this:

5) COVER

Now you will need to create a cover (if you want)! The easiest way is carboard and book cloth (here some examples on how to create book cloth, one here and one here).

Making the cover has always been the tricky part for me, so the best thing I can do is recommending this great video!

[riverbeatsaber]

Happy Mistborn Fortnite Friday!

ID, more pictures, and rambling under the cut

[Image ID: a picture of an embroidery project on a white fabric background. Mistborn is embroidered with copper and silver floss on the top, Fortnite with black floss in the middle, and Friday with light pink and blue floss on the bottom. There are curls of mist embroidered in light blue floss around the top and bottom.]

Here's how it looks on the back:

Here's the pattern I made, based on the original meme by @celestialkindliness / @dekartas:

And here it is displayed on the wall of my room, right next to my second embroidery project:

Now. Time for rambling>:)

This took about 7 months to make, from asking permission to the very last stitches. However, I had to adjust my initial plan A Lot to make it actually work, which explains the long time. For example, my first idea was to use black fabric for the background, but my options for that were a fabric that was way too flimsy (the marking pencil warped it) and something I realized much later was canvas- too thick. I probably could have gone to the fabric store and gotten other black fabric, but on top of that, I had a lot of trouble marking the pattern on it, so I eventually realized. Wait a minute. I can just use my regular white fabric. That would be much easier.

I also initially wanted to use a 6 inch hoop, which made the satin stitches much too big. The general maximum for the length of a satin stitch is 1cm, not 1in, so I adjusted the pattern to a much more sensible 4 inch diameter. I still worked it on a 6 inch hoop, though, because it had extra room.

The next big obstacle was that I wanted to use herringbone stitch for Mistborn somehow. After a bit, I realized it wouldn't really fit the shapes there, but I was like nooo... I have to use all these different stitches or else it won't be Good or Original... wait a minute that's not true lol. I also changed it from putting 1 stand each of 4 colors in the needle (2 copper, 2 silver) to using the silvers for the outside and the coppers for the inside, which looked better and wasn't too many strands (which might have warped the fabric).

The final adjustment was on Fortnite. I had made the outline in the middle of the project, using backstitch. One option was just to keep it as an outline. The other option was to use satin stitch to fill it in. Usually with satin stitch, if you have an "outline" it actually goes inside the satin stitch, to make it pop out more. I also kinda wanted something actually outside the satin stitch, though, because otherwise it can be pretty jagged, but that might have made the letters too big... So, about halfway through the F, I realized I could end my stitches in the middle of my outline for the best of both worlds! It also somehow made the fabric bunch up much less, which meant it was a lot less stressful to stitch.

So, there ya go, my epic tale of embroidery frustration and innovation. I used 2 strands of:

Light blue (DMC 800) with a split backstitch for the swirls of mist

The same light blue and pink (DMC 894) with a whipped backstitch for Friday

Plain black (DMC 310) for the satin stitch on Fortnite

1 strand each of light silver (DMC 168) and very light silver (DMC 762) with backstitch for the outline of Mistborn

1 strand each of orangey copper (DMC 301) and red copper (DMC 920) for the inside of Mistborn- I dunno what stitch I used really, I just did whatever there.

Finally, if you've somehow read this far, (1) i'm impressed, (2) you can check out my other embroidery if you want:]

[thedreadvampy]

I love your bleach paint shirts they are amazing and you look incredible 🌠

Would you by any chance have any pointers on how to get started with that for someone who'd love to do stuff with bleach but has zero idea how it works nor much artistic talent/skills?

Honestly the reason I'm so into bleach painting lately is that I tried it last year and discovered it is like. CRAZY easy to do. all you need is regular household bleach, an area that it's ok to get bleach on, and a paintbrush. other stuff that's useful is electrical tape and card (for masking/stencilling) and a good spray bottle/mister. Recycling the kind of spray bottles cleaning products come in will give you a very blotchy/streaky effect which looks cool but will probably not stencil super well in my experience - I use a hairdressing mist bottle for stencils that gives a really even coverage.

As a step by step, my process looks like:

Put on light coloured clothes/clothes I don't care about, make sure soft furnishings are well out of the way, and cover any fabric (I have lino floors so usually just move the rug and work directly onto the floor)

Get the clothing I want to work on and put some thick cardboard inside it to hold it flat and make sure I don't bleach through onto the back

Draw out a design in however much detail is useful to you. I use a white pencil so it shows up well - dressmakers chalk would probably also be a good shout.

Cut any stencils I want to use (card, cartridge paper or tracing paper all work but bleach will just soak through regular paper. I have also had solid results cutting shapes directly out of gaffer tape) and stick them on with double sided tape.

Pour some bleach into a jar to work with, put bleach in the mister. Make sure you have some tissue or paper towel on hand bc bleach does go everywhere.

Paint with the bleach! I just use regular nylon paintbrushes for this. You should see the line developing almost straight away, but it might take a while depending on the fabric - sometimes you have to paint a bit blind while the bleach takes a while to work. Resist the urge to paint over it again until you've given it plenty of time!

Rinse it when you think it's developed enough! As soon as I'm done, I take the shirt to the bathroom, take the cardboard out, hang it up in the shower and just fire water at it. Once the water runs clearish, I rinse it properly in the sink. I do the shower step to make sure I've taken off a decent amount of the surface bleach before I submerge it cause I worry about the bleach spreading, but it may not be a necessary step. The water will probably run rust-red or grey for a while - that's what you want, that's the dye washing out of the bleached fabric.

I usually hang it on the bath for a tiny bit to drain off and do any last bits of developing, then stick it in the washing machine on a rinse/spin cycle.

Once it's dry you did it! New t-shirt!

Strongly recommend buying a good few plain black t-shirts to practise on and try out techniques with ☺️ I may go to fast fashion hell for this but I have a box of like 5 black shirts in my wardrobe that I replenish regularly for when I Get The Urge - I get ones that are like £3 from supermarkets and Primark/H&M and hoard them 😅

More details under the cut:

Some stuff about the properties of bleach:

Compared to pretty much any paint, bleach is SUPER viscous. Putting a brush in and pulling it out will stretch out a long string of bleach, and you have to reload the brush a LOT because it'll really only do one brush stroke because bleach likes to stick together

There's a temptation, always, to water it down to make it lighter or easier to work with. DON'T DO THIS (except if it won't come out of a spray bottle without it, and then water it down SUPER sparingly). Reducing the concentration of the bleach will extremely suddenly take it from "will give you a clear bright line" to "the fabric is very slightly paler if you squint in the right light"

The wetter the fabric gets, the more all the bleach will spread. So the more layers of bleach you put on the surface, the less crisp and more glowy the mark gets. In particular, cause spraying the fabric gets it fairly wet, I would always advise doing most spraying and stenciling last if you want to mix painting and stenciling.

Bleach obviously develops over time - depending on the fabric and the concentration you should get a fairly clear idea of how it's going to look after 5 minutes or so, but it will keep developing for a while and it looks a bit darker when it's wet, so you don't 100% know how it'll turn out until it's washed and dry.

There's two ways to moderate tone in bleach painting:

How much bleach you put on the surface (which you can control either by how much bleach is on the brush, or by layering up several rounds of bleach...remembering that the more you layer it, the blurrier it gets)

How long it sits (there's an upper limit to this - if it's been 10 or 15 minutes and it's still not as bright as you want you probably need to go over it again)

Because of this, you always want to start with the stuff you want to be brightest - so, on the ACAB design I started with the highlights on the lettering and the pig, the white squares on his hat, and his white fangs. Then I did the outlines, then worked down from brown to black.

Design notes:

You can't rely on getting crisp edges when you layer bleach on bleach, so I think it helps to leave some empty space around key details like lettering (like a black outline). One thing I've been experimenting with is masking areas off with cut out electrical tape or gently stuck-down card stencils that cover slightly more area than the design so I can work on a background without making everything a blurry mess

It's also very hard to rely on how dark or light an area will come out, so if you try to do bright white against dark brown, you might end up with a whole area of bright white. So again, outlines and empty space are your friends.

Bleach does spread and it is heavily affected by the weave of the fabric, so don't rely on getting tiny clear detail

Cool stuff bleach can do:

Spraying from a mister, spraying from a spray bottle, and just splashing/dribbling/throwing bleach directly onto the surface all give really different and fun effects and it's really nice to layer those up imo

Because of how viscous bleach is, you often leave drops and trails of bleach unexpectedly when you move your brush. this is a feature not a bug it looks Cool And Punk and you can use it to add interest

Different fabrics go different colours. Some go bright white, some go orangey/yellow - if you're really lucky, I've seen some t-shirts that go a really reddish orange and you get some cool bloody effects like that. As far as I can tell, fabrics with a higher cotton content are likely to go brighter (my denim jacket has gone almost bone white under concentrated bleach whereas most cotton mix t-shirts I've done go a fairly bright yellow/orange) while ones with a higher synthetic content may bleach a bit darker/greyer/murkier.

One other note is that bleach does damage the fabric's integrity a tiny bit. Not much, but if when you rinse it the back side of the fabric is more or less as bright as the front, you might want to treat the shirt with a little more care than otherwise - it's not a huge issue, but a few of the shirts that my partner made a few years back have started to develop holes in areas where there's been particularly heavy bleach.

[somediyprojects]

DIY Wooden Wax Seal

Project by RageHaus:

This is a wooden wax seal tutorial I created and used on my S'amuser Avec Le Français project.

Before you begin, make sure you have access to all of these items:

wooden dowel

wood burning tool with a fine tip

pencil

printout of design

xacto knife

sandpaper

tape

stain

old rag

vegetable oil

paper towels

sealing wax

matches

1. Prep the dowel by sanding the end you plan on using as the seal. Try to get out the little dings and scratches, otherwise they will show up in the wax impression.

2. Measure the exact diameter of the wooden dowel and design your seal. If you are designing a simple monogram, such as our RageHaus seal, you can easily design it in a variety of computer applications. Start by drawing a circle that is the exact diameter of the dowel with a thin stroke. Then arrange the letters within the circle. Keep in mind that you should keep the detail relatively simple unless you have a lot of experience carving small detail into wood.

3. Print the final design and cut out the letters with an xacto knife. Think of this step as making a stencil. Keep in mind that it doesn't have to be perfect, but you do want to capture the structure of the design.

4. Flip your stencil so it reads backwards and trace the image onto the dowel. Remember that your design needs to be backwards on the seal so the impression it leaves reads correctly. Tape the stencil onto the dowel and trace your design. Once you have a good trace, take off the stencil and fill out the design where you see fit. 

5. Carve out the design with the wood burning tool. They are readily available in most craft stores and come with a fine point tip that can capture small detail. As you carve your design, keep the depth you carve relativity the same for the entire design so you can create an even, smooth impression in the wax.

6. Seal the wood with stain. Wood is a porous material and to prevent the wax from sticking to the seal, you need to seal the wood with stain. Once you have stained your seal, put it in a warm place to dry overnight. You don't want to worry about getting stain on your hands or on your envelopes. 7. Gather the sealing wax, matches, oil, paper towels and an envelope. This process goes quickly and it is important that you have everything you need right in front of you. After you are sure your seal is dry, you can test it. I tried testing mine with candle wax at first, just to see if the impression was coming out correctly. However, if you seriously want to seal envelopes, then I would invest in proper sealing wax. You will find that it has a thick viscosity that creates a strong seal.

8. Have your envelope in front of you with the back facing up. If the flap you want to seal doesn't lay flat then you should weight it down. I used my xacto knife to do this. 9. Hold the sealing wax over the area you want to seal and light the wick. Give the flame a chance to strengthen before you tip the wax to begin dripping it. Once you get a good drip going, keep an eye on the diameter of the wax puddle in relation to the diameter of the seal. This will take practice figuring out how much wax you will need, so don't get frustrated if you don't get it on the first try.

10. Give the wax about 15 seconds to set up, in the mean while prep the seal for action. While I let the wax set-up a bit, I like to take this time to prep my seal by dipping the tip in oil. This gives you double the protection from having the wax stick to the seal. Blot the excess oil on a paper towel and make sure you wipe down the edges of the seal.

11. Press your seal gently, but firmly in the wax and let it sit. Let the wax dry completely before removing the seal. When you are sure that the wax is completely dry, start to wiggle the seal back and forth gently until you feel the seal release from the wax.

12. Voilà! A seal is made. With a little practice it will get easier. You can also use this impression to go back and fix anything you might not have noticed while carving out the design.

[madseance]

Cake mix? Cookies!

Problem: You have a box of cake mix in your pantry because one time, you felt ambitious at the grocery store, but not like “bake a cake from scratch” ambitious. Then later you remembered that baking a boxed cake is still kind of a pain in the ass, because you still have to use a cake pan, and then get it out of the cake pan, and level it off (losing cake in the process?!), and let it cool, and frost it... no. So now the box of cake mix is just sitting there in your pantry. Mocking you.

Solution: Make it cookies!

You will need:

1 box of cake mix. ANY flavour

2 eggs

Half a cup (about 120 mL) of cooking oil. I use vegetable oil if that's what I have, but coconut oil is also very good for this

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 350 F (~175 C) for a conventional oven, 325 F (~160 F) for a convection oven.

Mix all the ingredients together.

Roll the dough into balls about an inch? in diameter (I get about 2 dozen).

Flatten the balls slightly into disks (about as thick as a pencil).

Bake for about 10–12 minutes (a little less for a convection oven).

COOKIES!

Customisation options:

Once you realise how easy this is, you can buy cake mix to cookify on purpose. ALL THE FLAVOURS WORK. Take a moment to really imagine the possibilities here. When did you last have a strawberry cookie? Butter pecan cookie? Carrot cookie?

You can also add chocolate chips. Or other kinds of chips. Or nuts. Or candy. To ANY of those cake mixes. Possibilties²! Consider: orange cookie + dark chocolate chips. Chocolate cookie + peanut butter chips. Banana cookie + pralines. Pineapple cookie + shredded coconut.

If you also bought frosting, you can put that on the cookies. It's way less of a hassle than frosting a cake. YOU CAN MAKE COOKIE SANDWICHES. (Let the cookies cool first, and use room-temperature frosting, for a much easier time. Stir or whip the frosting first to make it even easier.)

If you've read this far, feel free to drop cookie + chip ideas (good or cursed) in the notes

[busymagpie]

I hope this isn’t too much to ask but if you find time could you give some quick tips on digital line work? I recently got started digitally with a huion tablet after doing traditional art my entire life and I’m very frustrated with my line quality! I can’t seem to get nice inking lines the way I can with a physical pen. I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t yet fully understand the medium or if it’s something to do with just the feel/interaction of a pen on a screen vs a brush pen on paper and I just need to get better used to the tool. Any insight would be appreciated. I love your work and it always inspires me to practice more. Thank you!!

I've had the same problem when I switched from traditional to digital. One part is definitely getting used to the other medium, because the feel of the tools is different an tablets don't have grip like paper does (there are screen protectors for tablet that imitate the feel of paper, but I don't know if that has any influence), but there are some things that make digital line work a bit easier.

Pressure sensitivity: Is key! Just like working traditionally you should be able to vary the line thickness via pressure of the pen

Stabilizers: Some programs call it "stabilizer" some call it "smooth". Not all of them are equal. I think Clip Studio has a pretty good stabilizer. Photoshop's "smooth" does feel weird, at least to me so that's why I don't use it.

Smudge Guard: A tablet's surface is pretty smooth and you will get your hand stuck to it. When you use a smudge guard to prevent this you can glide over the surface. Still not the same as paper, but it prevents you from getting jerky lines.

Rotating your canvas: Just like rotating a piece of paper to get to work at a comfortable angle.

Because I don't use a stabilizer, but I still want smooth lines I:

clean up my line work with an eraser and touch up lines later

use a pencil brush, which is more forgiving of small imperfections and is easier to use for my touch ups

That's what I've found worked for me and I think I've come to a point where I'm quite happy with my line work :) Also thank you 💕 And I'm so happy I can inspire you to practice more! :D Keep going!

[bumblebeeappletree]

All you need is a needle and thread! This is a very simple step-by-step tutorial for how to back stitch a basic back stitch seam.

First, cut your thread to length. Measure out three times the length of your seam. Bite the string so it gets a pointy cut. I find using scissors gives a blunt cut that's prone to fraying and is much harder to thread the needle.

Thread your needle by rolling the thread in between your thumb and index finger. Slowly reveal the tip of the thread. Rest your needles eye on your finger and push the thread through the eye. I thread the needle through while my fingers are squishing the thread. Yes it can be a little hit and miss, but just line up the eye and the tip of the thread!

Draw a pencil line to give a sewing line. I find it impossible to sew in a straight line! Also, if youre sewing on a curve, this is a perfect way to plan your route and get a nice seam.

Now, the neat, slow & steady method is to sew one stitch at a time. The quicker way is to weave multiple stitches. See what works for you. Also, different materials (stiff or thick) can sometimes be difficult for the multiple-stitch weave method.

If you need to take a stitch out, just pull the needle off the thread, and pull each stitch out individually using the needle for control. Then re-thread the needle and you're good to go. The stitches are easier to reverse than in knitting & nothing will fall apart, so don't be worried about taking out stitches.

To sew a back stitch, remember to turn the thread back on itself and seal up every one of the stitches.

Finally, knot up your seam so it doesn't fall out. Make a stitch, but before your pull it through, pass the needle in the loop to make a knot.

If you're looking for a practical project to hand-sew, I have a face mask tutorial that is linked here:

https://youtu.be/CAnVd_DOVQk

Need a wee hand to get started?

Sewing kit: https://amzn.to/3ehrrCZ

Fabric 'fat quarters': https://amzn.to/3th0Vxy

#HandSewing #SewingTutorial #Sewing #HowToSew