#I think I need a smaller brush for that fine of detail work | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rodolfoparras · 7 months

Note

What about the first time with Eddie? 👉👈

I imagine he’s a bit hesitant at first, but once you get into it he’s a lot more vocal and enthusiastic, even tries riding you

Nothing Compares

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Top Male reader

Content tags: 18+, MINORS DNI, anal fingering, riding, rimming, porn with feelings

A/n: pls excuse any mistake and ooc moments, I redid a huge part of it earlier today and I have been kind of working on this for days so I’ve become blind to the smaller details rip anyway than u sm for your request and I hope you enjoy it! (Also look at that banner I’m so proud)

“You know,” you begin, voice ever so gentle as you caress his bare skin “we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, I’m perfectly fine with just kissing or watching movies or whatever you’d want to do instead”

“I want to,” he says, tone firm and eyes full of confidence. “You’ve done so much for me, for my son, for us, I trust you,” he says before gently cupping your face and kissing your lips.

He only pulls back far enough to rest his forehead onto yours, noses brushing together as he once again repeats his words “I trust you,”

You look at him, eyes filled with tears before you blink them back and kiss him firmly on the lips

“I love you so much” you say in between kisses, feeling a flood of emotion bubbling up in your gut when you hear him giggle.

“I love you too” There’s a soft smile on his face as he meets your gaze, eyes swirling with emotion that you’re sure can be found in your own irises.

He says one last thing before he allows you to strip the clothes off the two of you.

“Just….you know.. go easy on me” he says, teeth nervously nibbling on his bottom lip.

“Always”

Eddie’s sprawled out on your bed, legs spread apart and knees tucked into his chest.

From where you lay you can see his dark locks splayed out onto his pillow case.

As you drag your gaze along his throat, you see the way his St. Christopher necklace spills onto his collarbones and the way it glimmers from where the light hits it.

You continue to trail your gaze down the valley of his peck and onto his abdomen where his hard cock lays.

Eventually your eyes land upon puckered hole, and you can’t help the thought that occurs.

Beautiful, so beautiful, you think to yourself before you swipe your tongue along the cleft of Eddie’s ass, eyes peering up at him to see the way his head lolls back, and he lets out a gasp. “Oh- oh God”

“You alright?” You say, voice sounding breathy and strained.

“Yes,yes I’m good, just- just keep going” he says voice sounding just as breathy and strained.

You deliver another broad stroke with your wet tongue before slowly circling his puckered hole, feeling his heels dig into your back as he claws at the mattress.

“Ah fuck!” He cries out, and lifts his head to meet your gaze. “Don’t- don’t tease please “

You only hum in response, before slowly working your tongue into the tight ring of muscles.

“God oh god! ” Eddie cries out, head trashing side to side, as his heels dig further down into your back.

Drool’s dribbling down the cleft of his ass, eager finger leaving marks on his skin and his musky scent engulfs your senses as you continue to lick into him.

Slowly but surely the tight channel becomes ever so unresisting under your tongue , and with each swipe, Eddie seems closer to losing his mind

“More, more more please i need more,” he sobs out, hands frantically clawing at the mattress.

But instead of doing as he says, you stop and pull away, leaving him looking absolutely bewildered. “No, no, no, why did you stop?!“

“Shh, sweetheart, I won’t leave you hanging, you know I won’t” you say, as you kiss his thighs in reassurance “Would you mind getting the lube for me? It’s on the drawer to the left”

You can’t help but smile at the way he almost jumps up to get the bottle, hair in complete disarray and sheets clinging onto his limbs, even almost falling face first onto the floor when he rolls back onto the bed.

You take the bottle from him, a small thanks slipping past your lips as you pour a generous amount into the palm of your hand “You still okay? We can stop at any moment” you say while warming the lube up between your fingers.

“No please don’t stop” he says almost too quickly and you can’t help but chuckle at his eagerness.

Your hands find his legs again, propping them up and tucking his knees into his chest before your finger finds his rim, and gently circle it.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut, body relaxing into the sheets as a breathy sigh escapes his lips.

“Mm that’s - that’s really nice” he says, voice slightly cracking as he speaks and you can’t help the endeared smile on your face as you look down at him.

Cute

You continue circling his puckered hole, relaxing the muscle as much as possible before sliding the tip of your finger inside him.

Immediately you feel goosebumps raise on his skin where you’re resting your hand on him , body slightly tensing as a shaky breath escapes his lips

“You okay?” You ask, stopping your movements complety to look up at him.

“Mm just- just- go slow yeah?,” he says body still tense as he runs a shaky hand through his hair.

“Of course“you say as before you gently work the tight ring of muscles, eyes glued to his and gauging his reaction.

He continues to take deep breathes, eyes squeezed shut and hands clinging onto the mattress but as soon as you’re down to the second knuckle of your index finger you hear soft moan rolling off of his lips “Mm ah- just just - just like that ”

“Feels good?” You ask as you you continuously massage the wall of nerves under your fingertips.

He looks down at you, eyes half lidded, and mouth agape while nodding his head “So so good, keep going please”

Slowly but surely you work a second finger into him, altering between grazing the wall of nerves and scissoring your fingers.

“Oh, oh god, please, please please” he whines out, almost grinding down onto your hand.

“Just wait a bit, yeah? I promised I’d take care of you didn’t I? Just let me do so yeah? I’ll take such good care of you I promise” You say while continuously moving your fingers inside him.

He almost wants to protest but agrees anyway, body relaxing into the sheets as he allows you to whatever you want with him

“Good boy” you coo before working a third finger inside of him, drawing more moans out of him and watching the way precum pools on his abdomen.

Eventually the last bit of patience trickles out of Eddie, body thrashing under your grip as pleas continuously tumble past his lips “Come on come on come on im ready please just please fuck me” he whines out, arm thrown over his eyes as his heels dig into your back.

You chuckle at his eagerness but gently slide your fingers out of him, watching the way he winces before a look of anticipation makes its way on his face.

You make quick work of getting the condom and the bottle of lube from earlier, pulse roaring in your ears as you shuffle closer to him, and hands shaking as you roll the condom onto your dick. But you stop completely in your step, hearing yourself take a shaky breath as you take in the sight of the man sprawled out your bed.

“Maybe I need a moment “ you say more to yourself, letting out a laugh before resting your head onto one of his thighs.

He chuckles at that, before you feel his hand trace soothing patterns onto your back. “Take your time” he says, sounding playful but endeared as well.

There’s a moment where the only sound that can be heard is the fluttering from the fan, along with the random assortment of noises coming from outside the window.

His hand is a welcome weight on your body, skin ever so warm as it presses against your cheek and slowly but surely you feel the tension bleeding out your body.

You slowly raise your head to meet his gaze, and as you do you see the way he’s nibbling on his lip while his eyes shift around the room as if preparing himself to ask you something.

“Hey hey hey, is something the matter?” You say with a confused look on your face while giving a gently squeeze to his leg.

Eddie shifts on the bed, Adam’s apple bobbing as he nervously swallows before he finally says something.

“Can I ,, I mean I’d like to you know…ride you,” he says, before he turns his gaze away, teeth sinking into his bottom lip and nervously nibbling on it again.

You blink at him in surprise, before you let out a groan, loud enough to slightly startle the other man.

“Good god Eddie you’re going to be the death of me” you say head burying back into his leg. You immediately feel the tension bleed out his body as a laugh tumbles past his lips.

“So is that a yes?” He says, still sounding a bit bashful while tracing random patterns onto your skin.

“Fuck, yeah, yeah that’s okay with me how do you want me?” you say as you scurry to get off of him.

“Eager” he teases, seemingly much more relaxed now. “Lay down on your back,” he says while gesturing for you to lay down where the headboard is.

“You don’t even know,” you say in response to his comment, not even wasting a second before you lay sprawled out on the bed with a pillow under your head.

He easily straddles your waist, hands resting on your chest to brace himself.

The unsure look bleeds back onto his face, hands fiddling on your chest as he chews on his bottom lip again.

“Eddie,” you say tone as firm as your grip on his hips. “I’m not expecting anything show stopping here. It’s just me and you spending some time together like we always do, just with a little less clothes on” you say with a chuckle but squeezing his hips to bring home your point. “And like I said if you’re not sure about this yet we can just do something else,” you say with a gentle smile on your face, hand reaching out to brush away the hair from his eyes.

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes following your hand before he grabs ahold of your wrist, voice as firms as his hold when he speaks “I want to but,” he pauses, and harshly swallows before he speaks again “I’m -you know uh new to this so please bear with me,” he says before he lines your tip up with his hole, and slowly pushes it past his puckered rim.

“Jesus christ!,” you grunt out, feeling as if your breath’s been punched out of your lungs.

Eddie takes a shaky breath, hands adjusting on your chest as he continues to lower himself.

“You alright?” You say through a strained breath, thumb gently caressing his hip.

“Yeah” he manges to say, brows pinched together and mouth agape as he continues to lower himself.

“Just like that baby, keep going, you can do it, I know you can” you say through gritted teeth, eyes fluttering shut and doing your best not to buck up into him.

Finally he bottoms out, your balls now firmly pressed against his ass, and he lets out a mewls at the feeling of being so stretched out around your cock.

“You alright?” Eddie asks you, throwing his words back to you, with a shaky smiles on his face while adjusting his hands on your chest.

“Jesus Christ, i'm more than alright, feels - ah feels so so good baby, you don’t even know how good you’re making me feel '' you say between labored breaths, thumb gently caressing his hip again “What about you, pretty ? How do you feel?”

“Feels, feels ah so full” he mewls out while experimentally rocking his hips.

“Ah fuck!” You cry out, head lolling back as you slightly buck up “dont- don’t think I’ll be able to last long- already- already feels so fucking good”

Eddie slowly starts picking his hips up, working himself up your cock only to slam himself back down again”Ah- ah God!” Eddie gasps out, back arching when he gets the angle just right.

“Fuck just like that Eddie, fuck yourself on my cock,” you grunt out, eyes fluttering shut as you buck up to meet his thrusts.

Slowly but surely he becomes more confident, his movements becoming much more pronounced as he loses himself in pleasure.

“Feels so so good” he moans out, head lolling back, moving so fast he’s basically bouncing on your lap.

Once again you can’t help but admire him, from the way his dark locks stick to his forehead, to the way his St. Christopher's necklaces dangles over your face, even in the way his defined abdomen glistens from the precum that’s smeared all over it.

“Close so close please” he moans out, and those words manage to snap you out of your daze as your hands tighten on his hips while bucking up into him again.

“Come on pretty you can do it, I know you can. Make yourself cum on my cock just like I know you can” you say before wrapping one hand around his dick and stroking him, that’s all it takes for him to starts unraveling, coming with a cry and spurting ropes of cum on both your abdomens, with you tightly following close by.

Once the two of you clean up and get back into bed, a comfortable silence falls over you as you bask in each other’s presence.

Suddenly Eddie bursts out laughing and as you meet his gaze, you burst out laughing as well.

“Fuck I love you,” you say through a breathy laugh before you pull the sheets over the two of you.

“Love you too,” he says as he places a kiss to your chest, before his eyes flutter shut and his breathing slows down.

Nothing compares to this, you think to yourself before you drift of to dreamland.

#first of all I’m so sorry for the wait also the first draft of this was like 4K Jesus and this one’s 2.5 anyway man thank u for reading this #anyways pls don’t hate this bye djdjdjdjfj #Eddie Diaz #Eddie Diaz x reader #Eddie Diaz x male reader #Eddie Diaz imagine #911 imagine #x male reader #911 fox imagines #x male! reader #top male reader #bottom male character #idk what tags to use I’m just hoping Eddie lovers find it #also kind of idk weird that one of my fav writers is requesting from me I’m still processing the fact that so many ppl have found my blog #and enjoy my writing lord djdjdjfj

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sacredsapling · 2 years

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A Bunch of Watercolor Tips!

I love working in watercolor, especially with lots of details, dramatic lighting, and vibrant colors. So, I get a lot of folks who ask me for tips and tricks...and here’s a big compilation of them!

P.S. Find my watercolors on Instagram and Twitter too :)

Understanding how the paint works:

The more watery the paint, the lighter it will dry

If you add a more watery color into a partially dry color, it will bloom (those spidery effects) outwards from the wet paint (the wet pain pushes the pigment of the semi-dry paint away

Some paints are “granulated” which means you can see the pigment in little spots (reds and blues do this a lot). This is okay, just roll with it! It’s a beautiful part of the medium.

More water means less control, but it’ll give you more of those unique watercolor effects like “blooms”

Brush tips:

Get one with a good point, as that will allow for clean lines (I use this in my art ALL the time!)

Lean towards using a bigger brush than you think you need. It’ll be more precise than you expect and that way you can paint a larger area before it dries. This allows for smoother gradients.

Synthetic and natural brushes both work well, but I find synthetic to hold more pigment and water, and to be more precise

Turn your paper as you work, so the brush tip is going along the edge of where you want to paint. Never paint with the middle/back of the brush as it won’t make a clean line.

For detailed spots, use a small pointed/round brush and not very watery paint. This’ll give you the most control.

Supplies tips:

Paper matters! So much! If there’s one thing to invest it, it’s good paper. I love Arches, but I’ve heard Baohong is great and cheaper too.

Hot press paper will dry quick and doesn’t allow for a lot of blending, and leaves crisp lines. It’s smooth, so good for lines.

Cold press paper allows for blending and dries at a moderate speed, but has some texture to it

Rough press paper has a lot of texture, but will allow for a lot of smooth blending

Student grade watercolors are totally fine, they just have a little less pigment to binder ratio--so you might need to use more paint to get a vibrant color. I found Cotman watercolors to be a good starting set (some people prefer pans rather than tubes, though)

Have a big broad palette, so you can mix lots of colors without them running into each other. I use a flat pan, and then have a smaller palette with separated spots for mixing larger color batches

The thicker the paper, the less it will warp (I love 300-400lb). Optionally, you can learn to stretch watercolor paper before painting to prevent warping!

Masking fluid can be SO helpful if you want to protect spots from getting paint on them (you can also use masking tape to cover larger areas). But fyi, these both almost always contain latex--so watch out if you have an allergy!

To use masking fluid, buy a “ruling pen” that you can dip in the fluid. It’s a weird metal contraption that can tighten and loosen to make lines. This way, you avoid ruining your brushes with the liquid.

Color tips:

You’ll keep your colors vibrant by using few layers. In the pieces I shared above, I used basically three layers max (besides a few deep shadows or tiny details)!

Don’t be afraid to blend while it’s still wet, by adding in a new pigment--just keep in mind it will bloom out if your new pigment is wetter than the color on the paper already

All layers are transparent, so keep color theory in mind. If you have golden skin and paint purple over it, you’ll get a more brown tone, since they are complementary colors.

Try not to use brown paints directly for skin colors (unless they are exact color you’re looking for). They tend to look too muddy, especially on darker skin. It’s more realistic to use a mixture of yellows (like yellow orchre or naples yellow), reds (like a nice magenta or rose) and blues to mix purple to darken the skin. This combo allows for more realistic highlights, shadows, and blushing/warmth!

Never use grays or blacks to shade darker skin (unless it’s a very intentional and careful stylistic choice), it almost always makes the skin look ashy and unrealistic

Use a spare piece of watercolor paper to test the colors you mixed first, to see if it’s what you want

Keep this in mind when having a light source: if the light (and things lit by it) is warm in tone, the shadows will be cool. If the light is cool, the shadows will be warm. So, anytime you make a gradient, think of how it’s lit and go from warm to cool (or vice versus) depending on your lighting!

It is actually okay to use colors straight from the tube/pan sometimes! Go for vibrancy. :)

Lighting tips:

Work from light to dark, as you can’t lighten watercolor well once it’s put down

...but if you do need to lighten/remove a color, try wetting it with clean water and then lifting it up with a tissue! I’ve also heard a magic eraser works (wild)

Keep a dry tissue nearby for the above reason

Think of watercolor like working in multiply layers. They are transparent coatings of paint over each other!

Want dramatic lighting? Check out this other tutorial I made!

Think through your lighting before you paint. Once you put watercolor down, it’s hard to go back...so mentally plan where you need to shade before you put your brush down.

For deep shadows, sometimes you will need to use a lot of layers, especially if you’re avoiding black (which can work, but it can also create a blah visual pit). Layers here are really helpful!

Misc tips:

Try sketching with a colored pencil, so it isn’t as see through! (I like Prismacolor ColErase)

Or...draw your sketch and then roll a kneaded eraser over it to lighten it, so the pencil isn’t visible through the paint

Explore mixed media! I’ve done pen line art (microns) and then painted, and I’ve mixed acrylic and gouache for highlights and effects after the watercolor is done too.

Let your work bloom sometimes! Roll with that unique beauty of watercolor.

It can look really cool if you mix totally different colors alongside each other. Play with what it looks like to have an orange bloom in a blue spot, etc! :D

Play with fun effects! Drop alcohol, salt, or add plastic wrap that you leave to dry. These (and more) can all look really cool.

You can paint in whatever style you want! It doesn’t have to be that typical watercolor look. Mine is really graphic and different, but it vibes with me!

Have a question? Feel free to send me an ask, or reach out on Instagram or Twitter! If you use these tips, tag me and I’ll totally check out your work too!

#art tutorial #watercolor tutorial #watercolor tips #art tips #watercolor #painting help #watercolor help #painting tips #color theory #color tips

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niuniente · 8 months

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Sorry if this is too much to ask! But do you ever think you to do a quick drawing tutorial? Or like, what brushes you use, the canvas size you usually use, and what you think may help besides "draw and practice every day" (because while that is solid advice I am curious about your thoughts)

I have little bits here and there but a one big info package sounds good :3 My way of working is a bit chaotic compared to (most?) many artists lol.

I use Fire Alpaca and my drawing tabled it XP Pen Artist 13.3 Pro (SUPER RECOMMENDED!!). My drawing canvas is 5555 x 7777 pixels wide. I like to draw in big sizes as when you resize an image smaller, its quality becomes better. Thus, I can draw extremely messy stuff and it still looks nice when resized. Because of this messiness and big canvas, I can sometimes draw with my non-dominant hand, too, and it still looks fine!

See here for more examples of how messy my stuff is before resizing!

I don't use any fancy brushes. My way of drawing digitally is to mimic traditional medium drawing as much as possible. The less the program does things for me, the better!

I use just the ordinary Fire Alpaca brush. I have no set size for the brush but I change it based on what I need - anything from 18pxl to 38 pxls. I think the average is around 24-26pxls. I have anti-aliasing on and my stabilizer is set to 33 (Global setting).

For a bucket, my settings are the following: Tolerance 27, Anti-aliasing on and expand on 1 (albeit I edit this one if needed).

For texture, I can use a Flat brush (you see this in blood a lot). I have a few round brushes for chains and other small details but I use them so rarely it really doesn't even count. For front views, I enjoy using Symmetry brush.

I use lots and lots of references! The best thing with references is that when you repeat a same thing with a reference, you will eventually learn how to draw it without one. References are every artist's friends! Always, always, always go for a reference and don't hesitate to trace stuff to learn and figure basic shapes for your stuff. (But trace other people art privately for learning purposes only, as everyone draws and paints with different lines and strokes)

I generally draw with a free hand without sketching, unless the pose is difficult. I always draw a head on its own layer so that I don't have to worry is the body right size to the head. I can edit both freely when they are on their individual layers. For layers, I use only multiply if needed.

Here's a video of my typical drawing process with a free hand (sped up). If the above link doesn't work, go here. You'll find more tagged as #niu_video

WHAT ELSE?

（￣︶￣）↗　Here's a tutorial how I draw white lines on black

（￣︶￣）↗　Here's a tutorial how I edit photos to black and white backgrounds

（￣︶￣）↗ Here's my Youtube channel with a video of how I use references. There are more examples on my Patreon in wip-folder.

#ask niu #tutorial #niu drawings

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ladamedusoif · 10 months

Text

Visiting: Chapter Three - Ghosts

(Moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter Summary: The gorgeous New England fall settles in - and so does Lydia, feeling more at home among her friends and colleagues at Barrow than ever. And then comes Evan’s Halloween party, with costumes, cocktails, and closeness on a couch…

Word Count: 5.7k

Rating: Mature; will become Explicit in later chapters.

Content (chapter specific): Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (she is 41, about to turn 42, and Ben 47 when the story begins); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; strong language; alcohol consumption; weight and body insecurity; reference to relationship breakdown; reference to chronic pain and implied autoimmune-related pain; references to serial killers in a Halloween costume context; briefly illegal shenanigans in the back of a car if you're liable to be concerned about this.

A/N: This is fluff. After the horrors of Kevin Lacroix last chapter, it was nice to write our gang in a more relaxed and fun setting (even if, as you’ll see, you could cut the tension with a knife).

This was originally one long chapter but will now appear as chapters 3 and 4.

(A subtitle for this chapter might have been: In Which Rose Works Out Her Tim Rockford Feelings. You'll see what I mean.)

The title of this chapter is taken from Laura Marling's song 'Ghosts', which resonates really perfectly with Lydia’s own back story: The ghosts that broke my heart before I met you.

I've included links to more thematic/featured songs in Further Author's Notes at the end, to avoid spoilers.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Taglist: @lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @cutesyscreenname, @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247, @love-the-abyss, @imaswellkid, @intheorangebedroom, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @littlemisspascal

“I’m giving you two weeks - that’s plenty of advance warning here. I need to make sure you two understand the assignment.”

Evan exhales and pushes his seat back from the round table in the staff lounge, where you are eating lunch with Ben on a random Tuesday in mid-October. Evan’s expression is one of deep concern.

Ben puts down his sandwich and brushes a couple of crumbs from his dark green pullover.

“Do we understand the assignment? For your Halloween thing? At your house?”

“For the Halloween party, yes. Are we clear on the theme? This is important.”

“Is this because David is coming?” Ben asks mischievously. Evan has been involved in an on-off “thing” (his term, not yours) with David, a drama professor based in Boston, for the last six months, and this party would mark his introduction to the Barrow circle.

Evan ignores Ben’s question. You stifle a giggle and stir your noodle soup. He’s spent the last twenty minutes issuing your invites to a Halloween party at his apartment, accompanied by detailed explanations on the importance of sticking to the theme.

“Cinematic Horror And/Or Serial Killers. It’s pretty broad, I think we’ll be okay.”

Evan raises an eyebrow. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Ben catches your eye and gives you a knowing look. “I have some questions, Evan. When you say ‘serial killers’, is that exclusively the killers themselves or are associated characters from the films an option?”

“Associated characters are fine. One of my friends from Boston is already dressing as Gale Weathers from Scream, though, so cross that one off your lists.”

Ben briefly looks confused, before returning to his lunch with a shrug.

“I also have a question, Evan,” you say, innocently. You can see Ben trying not to laugh as he takes a bite of his sandwich. “Fiction or non-fiction?”

Evan rolls his eyes. “What?”

“Well, do the characters have to be fictional, or can they be cinematic representations of real people as depicted in horror or serial killer movies?”

“Just stick to the theme. And you” - he points at Ben - “no niche literary or historical costumes.” He picks up his can of sparkling water and walks off.

You lean in, whispering. “I didn’t know this was so serious. I knew Halloween was a big deal here, but…”

Ben looks pensive as he finishes his lunch. “I’m still not entirely sure I understand what he means by ‘understand the assignment’.”

As the glorious New England fall settles in, making the Barrow campus a riot of copper and gold, you have that curious sensation of having been here forever while feeling like no time at all has passed. Your little community of friends and colleagues have, for the most part, made you feel like you were at home, not just “visiting”.

After the shenanigans at the beach away-day in September, you prove you can walk the walk as well as talking the talk. As soon as you got into work on the following Monday, you’d knocked on Ben’s door to volunteer as a tutor for one of the additional support workshops he was organising as part of the diversity and inclusion project across the faculty.

He seemed to appreciate your outsider perspective, regularly seeking out advice or feedback on how best to look after the students involved. You’ve never seen anyone look as pleased as he did to receive a printed and bound copy of the hundred-page report your institution had compiled a couple of years ago on support strategies.

He shrugged when you mentioned this, having watched him leaf excitedly through the document. “I’m just a nerd for this stuff.” You shook your head. “You care. They’re lucky to have you.”

You shouldn’t have favourites, really, not when you’re teaching such a range of classes, but the students in that particular workshop group are a joy: hard-working, insightful, kind, and funny. They have no sense of entitlement or expectation based on privilege. They come into each group meeting spilling over with things they want to tell you and the rest of the class: books read, movies watched, artworks discovered, songs played on repeat. Their intelligence and perceptiveness only underlines how toxic the attitudes of, ahem, certain colleagues are.

They seem to like you, too - though not as much as they like Ben, who is clearly a bit of a cult favourite. You overhear a group in your support workshop talking excitedly one morning about seeing him coming onto campus on his black-framed bicycle, two pannier bags attached to the back.

“He’s just so cute on his little bike, ohmygoooooood!” The other students had scrunched up their faces and made high-pitched noises to signal their agreement. “Protect this man at aaalllllll costs,” agrees another. “Did you see his little space tie at orientation?? He’s so baby and so old man at the same time, I just cannot with him.”

You daren't ask what they say about you.

Outside of work, the arrival of more of the belongings you’d had shipped over has helped make the once-spartan apartment into a home. The crocheted blanket you made sits on the back of your small sofa, ready to be pulled over you as you read or watch TV. The living area is dotted with trinkets from your travels and photographs, especially of your little nieces. A bright green Japanese kintsugi bowl, a gift from your sister a year after your ex-partner had left, takes pride of place on the low coffee table.

It might only be home for a year, but you’ve tried to make the apartment feel like you. Your framed print of a Raoul Dufy painting of Paris hangs on one wall, comforting pinks and blues in the abstract but familiar depiction of the city. You treated yourself to two small Diptyque candles at the airport duty free on your way to the US, and their scent acts as a reassuring comfort whenever you walk back through the door after a day at work. As has been the case everywhere you’ve ever lived, there are books and magazines everywhere, some neatly shelved, far more in random piles. You’d even managed to track down a cheap second-hand sewing machine at a local thrift store, and had convinced Ani to drive you to the nearest large craft store to stock up on fabric and patterns.

It’s become somewhat of a running joke that you are obsessed with the fall. You tried to explain that it was, in part, because it was so different to what you were used to.

“We just get meh.”

“Meh?” Evan repeated, sipping his coffee in the staff lounge one day, as you explain. “Meh?”

“Yes, meh. It gets dark too quickly. It’s kind of always…damp, and it makes my stupid fucked-up joints and body hurt. And we don’t get those crisp, gorgeous colours in the landscape. More like fog and sludge and rotting leaves and just: meh. Here, though! Campus is just like a picture book.”

“If you think this is good, you should see the lakeside trail just outside town,” Ben adds. “Best way to see it is by bike. Could be fun if you wanted to hire one and explore it?”

A week later, and you’re back on a bike for the first time in a long time, trying to keep your focus on staying upright while taking time to admire the incredible surroundings. The colours of a New England fall are spread across the landscape like an extraordinary patchwork quilt, all oranges and golds and reds and the occasional evergreen, and the blue of the lake provides a perfect contrast. You stop pedalling for a moment, resting your feet on the ground as you take it all in.

“Wow.”

Ben, a little further ahead, slows and comes to a halt before walking his bike back to you. He follows your gaze to look at the picture-perfect scene in front of you, as nature offers a final performance of spectacular colour before the winter snows arrive.

“It’s really something, isn’t it? Fall does not look like this where I’m from.”

You nod, awestruck. “Sometimes I just can’t believe I get to be here.”

Two weeks after Evan’s micro-managed invitation to his Halloween party, and you think - no, make that hope - you’ve created a costume that fits the brief. Ani is coming over to meet up before you head over together, and you put out a bowl of candy corn (a revelation to you, even if Evan never fails to remind you that “it tastes like crayons.”)

You’re adjusting your curly blonde wig, carefully teasing out some of the curls around the ends, and checking your drawn-on moustache in the mirror when your phone lights up.

ANI: SEE ME. SEE ME NOW.

You raise an eyebrow and go to the intercom panel near your front door. Someone is standing at the door of the building in a top hat and morning suit, curly dark hair carefully arranged around their shoulders and a pair of tiny dark glasses perched on their nose.

The curious figure is carrying a Barrow Farmers Market tote bag.

“Fucking hell.” You press the button to let Ani in, and leave your front door ajar. They swish into your apartment a few moments later, a vision in a dove-grey morning suit they’d found at a local Goodwill and a top hat borrowed from the student drama society. Ani had asked you to pin some grey fabric around the hat a few days earlier, but hadn’t revealed any more about their costume plans.

“Well?? Do you see me now?” They twirl around for your approval.

“That’s genuinely incredible. Vampirism really suits you.”

Ani grins, admiring themselves in the mirror that hangs near the front door before taking a seat on the arm of your sofa. “I look fucking fantastic, even if I shouldn’t be able to see my reflection. Any Mina Harkers at this party better watch out.” They look you up and down. “And you’re…?”

You stand up. In addition to the wig and pencil moustache, you’re dressed in a three-piece tweed suit (another Goodwill find, which you’d been able to easily tailor to fit with your trusty sewing machine) with a shirt and tie, topped with a white lab coat.

Ani still looks confused. You tap a name badge you’d made for exactly this eventuality. They peer at it, reading it aloud, and finally join the dots:

Dr F. Frankenstein (Fronk-en-STEEN)

“Oh, wow.” Ani shakes their head. “You must be the first person in Halloween costume party history to go dressed as Young Frankenstein before he becomes the crazy scientist. Evan is gonna have notes.”

You shove your hands in the pockets of the lab coat and make a haughty face. “It’s pronounced Fronk-en-STEEN.”

Ani laughs and stands up, picking up their bag (which contains two bottles of wine). “Okay, Fronk-en-Steen, let’s go see if anyone can outdo you for niche costume choice of the night. That pencil moustache is kinda hot, by the way.”

Evan opens the door dressed in a truly horrible dress, a messy grey wig styled in a bun, and wielding a toy knife. He looks in a foul mood, even discounting the Norman Bates-as-Mother costume.

Ani wheels around, ready to do their Dracula routine. “SEE ME. SEE ME - fuck! Are you okay, man?”

Evan scowls, stepping back to let you in. “I’ve got to take meds to get rid of that bastard chest thing I’ve had, and they specifically state no alcohol or other drugs to be consumed while taking them. So I’m stone-cold sober at my own party, while everyone else is enjoying my spooky margs.” He jerks his head in the direction of the crowd of guests.

You step over the threshold, both curious and reluctant to find out what a “spooky marg” involves. Ani remains outside.

“You gotta invite me in, dude.”

Evan rolls his eyes and brandishes the plastic knife. “Would you like to come in, vampire? You’re so lucky this is a toy.”

Ani winks behind their little glasses. “Nuh-uh! Stakes only!”

Evan’s apartment is a decently-sized mid-century two bed, and most of the party guests are milling around the open-plan living and dining area. In addition to the select group of colleagues who made the list, he’s invited a few of his friends from Boston and New York to come up for the night. You scan the room, hoping to spy the elusive David.

“Spooky Margs and a selection of other beverages are in the kitchen with some snacks. Help yourselves. And make sure to remind someone all night that they did not understand the assignment.” Evan points with his toy knife towards a familiar figure clad in a beige mac, who’s talking to some of Evan’s friends.

Ben wheels around at the sound of Evan’s voice. He’s wearing a white shirt, a 1970s-style striped tie, and a pair of vaguely vintage-looking grey dress pants. There’s what looks like a toy police badge clipped to his belt.

He’s hearing Evan’s admonition for what is evidently the millionth time since he arrived, and rolls his eyes. “I keep telling you, I did understand! Cinematic horror or serial killers!” He looks pleadingly in your direction. “Lydia was there. We asked Evan some clarifying questions, didn’t we?”

You nod, but Ani pulls a face. “Not convinced Columbo fits the brief, my guy. Did he get many serial killers?”

Evan nods enthusiastically. “See? SEE? Ani gets it. Fuckin’ Columbo, Ben.”

In the time they’ve been upbraiding him, you’ve been studying Ben’s costume more carefully, a smile of growing recognition dancing around your mouth. You clear your throat, and all three look directly at you.

“He’s not Columbo.”

“So who is he, then?” Evan asks, irritated. Clearly, the lack of spooky margs is having an effect on his mood.

You move beside Ben. “Mind if I show them the evidence, Detective?”

“Not at all, Doctor.”

The white lab coat must be imbuing you with some sort of scientific spirit. You begin to jokingly lecture Ani and Evan, pointing out parts of Ben’s outfit like he’s a specimen on display. Some of the other party guests turn to watch.

“To the untrained eye, Professor Morales’ costume may well look like a typical Columbo effort. But there are some vital clues that prove he is, in fact, not Columbo and is completely appropriately dressed for the theme. Exhibit A: the side parting in his hair, and the way it is styled - or, sorry to say this Ben, the way he’s tried to style it. Exhibit B: no cigar. Exhibit C: the contents of his pockets. Could you show these to the group, Professor?”

Ben nods with exaggerated formality and reaches into his coat pockets.

“An old street map of San Francisco. A pocket guide to codes and codebreaking. A pair of glasses - pretty sure these are not part of the costume. Colleagues, this is in fact Detective Dave Tosche, one of the leading figures in the Zodiac case.” You look to Ben for confirmation, your eyebrows raised expectantly.

“You’re so close.”

You chew on your lower lip before it hits you. “Ah! An important distinction. You’re Mark Ruffalo playing Dave Tosche in David Fincher’s 2007 based on a true story serial killer masterpiece, Zodiac. Serial killer, cinematic, he’s entirely on theme, he’s even from the Bay Area.”

You do a neat little bow. Ben laughs hard. “I knew you’d get it, Dr Fronk-en-steen!”

Ani rolls their eyes. Evan pinches his nose. “I swear to god, on your first day in graduate school they should warn you that if you become an academic you’ll end up working with fucking nerds for the rest of your life.”

The host’s irritation at his enforced sobriety aside, the party is relaxed and enjoyable. Evan has compiled an exceptionally well-curated playlist that mixes Halloween-themed songs and party bangers with random tracks from a ‘Spooky Sound Effects Vol. 1-5’ album he’d found in a thrift store. Evan’s friends are a fascinating and entertaining group of people: friends from college; former colleagues; people who work in fashion; writers, artists, and people who run tiny community theatres.

You’re swapping Paris stories with Drew, a 6’4” Boston-based art teacher dressed up as Shelley Duvall in The Shining, while finishing off a vodka and tonic (you are still building up to trying a Spooky Marg, disarmed by their lurid green colour).

Drew points to your now-empty glass. “Think it’s time for you to try Evan’s concoction, babe. Would you believe me if I told you it was actually pretty good?” he offers, raising his own glass of the icy green beverage.

You pull a face. “I guess I can’t know until I try it. Okay. Here goes nothing.” You cross to the kitchen in search of the green nectar, bopping gently to the strains of ‘Cuff It’ pumping out of Evan’s speakers. En route, you spot Ani in the open-plan living area, flirting outrageously with someone dressed as Tippi Hedren in The Birds, enormous fake bird sticking out at a rakish angle from their blonde wig.

Ben has had the same idea as you. When you enter Evan’s tiny kitchen, he’s standing by the counter - still wearing his overcoat - and pouring himself a glass of the frosty green goo from a large jug.

“Ohhhh, yes. Yes. This is good. You can try it first.”

“I thought you were a scientist, Dr Fronk-en-Steen? Scared of an experimental substance?”

You join him at the counter and give him a sceptical look. “As a good scientist, I’d at least like to know what’s in the experimental substance.”

Ben sips the drink cautiously and narrows his eyes. “There’s definitely tequila. Lots of tequila. And triple sec. And something…minty? And then an extra booze layer that I can’t quite place.” He coughs suddenly, eyes watering. “Yep. Pretty…pretty potent.”

You scan the counter and spot a bottle of crème de menthe and one of vodka tucked alongside the tequila and triple sec. “Detective, I think we have our answer. Oh well. I guess it’s designed to make us merry. Or spooky. Or just really, really unwell.”

You pour yourself a glass, clink it off Ben’s, and lean against Evan’s countertop. You’ve taken off your lab coat and jacket. Ben gestures towards your outfit.

“That’s a great costume, by the way. Inspired choice not to go for the obvious ‘mad scientist’ version.” He peers closer. “And that is an excellent drawn-on moustache.”

You beam, delighting in the fact that he’s so impressed by your efforts. “It’s weird, I’ve kind of always wanted to go to a costume party where I had a drawn-on moustache. Maybe I want to feel like an early Hollywood villain.”

He laughs. “Or is it because of Jeanne Moreau with the fake moustache and cap in Jules et Jim?”

Your mouth drops open. “Shit! That’s it. God, that would have been a good costume. Easy to do, as well.”

Ben nods in agreement. “But I think Evan would have actually tried to kill you for not - what was the phrase? - not understanding the assignment.” He takes another sip of his Spooky Marg, wincing slightly. “And thank you, by the way, for proving that I did what I was told.”

You look him up and down, taking in his costume. “It’s so obviously not Columbo. Where did you get all the bits of the outfit?”

“Coat and pants are from a bigger branch of Goodwill in the next town over. Shirt is just a white shirt. Nothing exciting there. Got the badge in a toy store. The map and code book are my own.”

Of course they are.

He holds up his tie. “This belonged to my dad. Authentic 70s size and stripes.”

You smile softly at that detail. “It is an excellent tie and no mistake. I’m just wondering about how far you took the attention to detail, though - didn’t Tosche have one of those shoulder holster things on for pretty much the entire movie?”

Ben blushes. “Uh…well. You know I believe in the details. And the accuracy.”

You tilt your head quizzically. “In what sense?”

“In the sense that I do care about the attention to detail, so I, uh…”

He moves to take off his overcoat. And there they are: a pair of brown leather shoulder holsters, albeit without any handguns (real or fake). Insane green drink aside, he really looks the part as an old-school hard bitten TV detective.

It’s also impossible to ignore the way the combination of the snugly-fitted shirt and holsters seems to exaggerate (or maybe emphasise?) just how broad Ben’s shoulders are.

Have they always looked like…that?

Either way, you’re impressed. “Wow. I mean…wow. It’s the whole package. No toy pistols, though?”

He furrows his brow. “I was struggling a bit with whether this fed into the more problematic aspects of how policing is presented in popular culture - what do they call it, ‘copaganda’? - , and guns for me are just…no.” He shakes his head. “Felt weird enough getting the holsters but, like I said - attention to detail.”

You nod. “You could just use yours to store snacks, or something. Might get a bit, um, melted, though. Body heat, and all.”

Ben laughs, and nods his head towards the living room. “Come on. Grab your Spooky Marg and let’s go see if Tippi Hedren’s been turned vampiric yet.”

Three Spooky Margs later, and you’re buzzed. Thankfully, so is pretty much everyone else - with the exception of Evan, of course, and a lone guest dressed as the Babadook who’s been sitting, motionless, at the dining table all night.

Wig off, you’re chatting and eating pumpkin spiced cookies in the tiny kitchen with David, who has proven to be charm personified (and gorgeous to boot). Hair neatly styled and wearing a simple outfit of slacks, shirt, and jacket, it took you a moment before you realised he was dressed as Norman Bates.

That’s one way to do couples’ costumes.

In solidarity with Evan, David has limited himself to one Spooky Marg for the evening, and is sipping on tonic water and lime. Evan sticks his bewigged head into the kitchen and beckons you and David to join the rest of the party in the living area. “Come on! It’s Spooky Lip Sync for your Afterlife time.”

You glance sideways at David, who grins. “Don’t worry. There won’t be any death drops.”

“Lyyyyyyyydiiiaaaaa!” Ben beams and waves frantically at you from the smaller sofa, gesturing for you to join him. You realise why he seems so eager to have you join him when you see what’s happening on the couch.

He’s pinned against one end, holding his head at an awkward angle to avoid getting hit in the face by the fake bird stuck in Tippi Hedren’s hair as they throw their head back and laugh while Ani whispers sweet nothings into their ear.

All the Spooky Margs in the world couldn’t make Ben Morales comfortable in this scenario.

Even so, he’s definitely merry, albeit in an extremely smiley, benevolent kind of way. He’s got a beatific smile on his face as you approach. “Lyddie, sit. Sit. Sit in the seat.” He motions as if he’s about to stand and give you his space on the couch.

You laugh and put a hand on one of his shoulders, gently pushing him back into his spot. “Absolutely the fuck not. I’m not sitting beside someone getting turned into a vampire, Benjamin.” You settle onto the padded arm of the couch on his left, leaning ever so slightly into him as you do so. “M’sitting on the arm of this sofa right here.”

“Mmmmkay.” He sips his lurid green drink and hums with satisfaction. Drew, his Shelley Duvall wig swapped for a longer, darker one, emerges from the hallway clad in a wafty, bright red dress.

“Pssssst. Lyd. Lyd.” Ben leans in to whisper theatrically in your ear. “What’s a Spooky Sync Afterlife anyway?”

Evan glares at him and fiddles with his phone until a tinkly piano melody emerges from the speakers and Drew starts to dance, lip syncing along to ‘Wuthering Heights’:

Out on the wily, windy moors

We’d roll and fall in green

He’s uncannily good, nailing each of Kate Bush’s dance moves as he mouths along. From your spot on the arm of the couch, you fling your arms in the air, waving along in time to the music and matching Drew word for word in a perfect lip sync.

When the song reaches the middle eight, Drew advances towards you and pulls you up to join him. Ordinarily you’d run for cover, but the Spooky Margs have relaxed your inhibitions just enough and you join in, widening your eyes and extending your arms as you beg Heathcliff to let you in at his window. As the song’s closing guitar riff starts, Drew wraps his long arms around you, playfully pretending to drag you off to some uneasy underworld before embracing you in a delighted hug as the other guests whoop and cheer.

You hastily retreat back to your seat as Drew takes his bow. Ben breaks off his applause and raises a hand to high five you as you settle back onto the arm of the couch.

You’re not quite ready for it, your centre of gravity thrown off by the slightly awkward seating position and the effect of the drinks. To your horror, you begin to topple ungracefully off the couch in the direction of Evan’s living room floor, closing your eyes and bracing for impact.

Strong arms catch you gently around the waist mid-fall and pull you back to an upright position. A slightly slurred, but reassuring voice: “I’ve got you.”

This is mortifying.

You open your eyes and turn to face him, wanting to cringe yourself out of existence.

“Um…whoops?” If the ground could open you up and swallow you now, that would be most helpful.

But Ben’s wearing that contented smile again, evidently trying not to laugh but with a look in his eyes that reassures you he’s not making fun of you. Not in the slightest.

You crack in unison, giggling like misbehaving children.

You look down to where your left hand is still resting on his bare forearm, his shirt sleeves rolled up and exposing the warm, lightly golden skin below.

He has arm freckles.

Lowered inhibitions or not, reality kicks back in. You move your hand away, concerned you’ve overstepped a mark.

“Sorry. Thanks for catching me. Sorry.”

His smile fades and he reciprocates, pulling back and blushing as he pushes his glasses back up his nose. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, I… Just didn’t want you falling.”

Another tiny crackle of electricity goes off in your brain, as if an unseen force is soldering together synapses that have long been out of use.

The signal, this time, is a little stronger, amplified no doubt by physical proximity and Spooky Margs.

You angle your body and reach behind you, catching hold of his left arm and moving it back into position so that it’s lightly bracing you, forearm against your back and hand holding you at the waist.

“’S just in case I fall again. Safety is paramount.”

Ani, left alone for a moment while Tippi Hedren goes to the bathroom, leans round and looks at you both.

“Could use a sholster holder for better counterbalance or some shit? Hold on to a sholster holder.” They start laughing at their malapropism. “Sholster holder. No wait, that’s not it. Sholster. Holder. No. Oh, fuck it.”

Ben looks up at you, coffee-brown eyes twinkling.

“I am kinda curious about the sholster holder,” you say. “Never seen one before.”

“Oh, well in that case…” He motions with his head and taps the holster strap on his right. You extend your right arm, stretching across his shoulders to rest your fingers against the leather.

The electrical current in your brain continues to pulse.

Evan introduces a lipsync by “Musty Springheeled”, who performs ‘Spooky’. Musty had been introduced to you earlier in the evening as a mild-mannered poet called Dani. They’re transformed now, enormous backcombed blonde wig and layers of black eyeliner complementing their long black vintage-style dress.

You sway gently to the music, careful not to overreach again. Not that you’d be likely to fall. Not with a large, warm hand at your waist and your fingers resting lightly on his shoulder. For better balance, as Ani suggested.

Musty extends their elegant arms in front of them as they mouth the words, hands passing back and forth in front of their face:

Just like a ghost

You’ve been a-haunting my dreams

But now I know

You’re not what you seem

You feel the caress of soft, wavy hair against your neck as Ben rests his head on your shoulder. Instinctively, you reciprocate, lightly shifting your head to lean against his.

Evan keeps an eagle eye on Musty Springheeled. Tippi Hedren has rejoined Ani on the couch, and they’re wrapped around each other and swaying along to the song, caught up in their own little world.

It’s only David, alert and observant, who notices just how contented the detective and scientist seem to be, nestled into one end of the sofa.

“Fuck it. I’ll drive you guys. Come on, nerds. Party’s over.”

Evan, still in his Mother Bates dress but wig discarded, is jangling his keys at Ben, who yawns and offers a thumbs up in acknowledgment before grabbing his mac.

There isn’t a cab to be had in Barrow, but Evan is determined to get the local guests home so that he - and everyone else staying with him - can go to bed. Some of the visiting contingent have already left, decamping to an AirBnB the next block over. Others are staying in Evan’s guest room or on his couch and sofabed.

Evan starts a head count. “Okay. So… that’s Lydia, Ben, Ani in the back, Dani up front. Right?”

Dani, still in their Musty Springheeled dress, nods. Ani appears from the kitchen, Tippi following close behind. “And Cass. Cass is, uh, coming with me.”

Who the fuck is Cass?

Tippi Hedren waves a tiny wave. “Hiiiii. I’m Cass,” they say in a quiet, sweet British accent.

Evan cocks an eyebrow at Ani, then realises the numbers don’t add up. “Lydia, Ben, Ani, Cass, Dani up front… fuck. Fuck.”

You pull on your lab coat and knee-length wool overcoat, eyes half-closed with sleep and Spooky Margs. “I can just walk, y’know? Not too far.”

“The fuck you aren’t,” Ben mutters. “I’ll walk. It’s fine.”

Evan rolls his eyes. “You live further away, Benjamin! Fuck. Make it make sense.”

David’s eyes flit between you, Ben, and Evan. “Who would be getting out first?”

Ani and Evan point at you in unison. You raise a hand, sheepishly. “I mean it, it’s close.”

“I mean, desperate times etc. So,” David sets out his proposal, “Ben, Ani, and Cass go in the back. Lydia sits on Ben’s lap for the short journey. You drop Lydia off, you’re good for the rest of the journey.”

Your eyes widen. “I don’t think that’s legal!”

Evan rolls his eyes. “Of course it fucking isn’t legal. But I want you fuckers to go home.”

David turns to Ben. “And you don’t mind having Lydia on your lap for a few minutes?”

Your face heats. A side effect of all those Spooky Margs, you think. Ben’s ears have turned pink, too. Definitely something in the drinks. Crème de menthe has a weird effect.

“Sure. Sure! Mmmhmm.” Ben nods quickly. “But only if that’s okay with you?” He turns to you.

There’s something endearing to you about the fact that, even with several extremely strong cocktails on board, even being more buzzed than you’ve ever seen him, and having spent most of the night holding you steady on the couch, he still wants to check that you’ll be comfortable.

You nod. “Just a bit worried I’ll be too heavy, is all.”

Ben scoffs gently and shakes his head to assuage your concerns.

“Oh, thank FUCK.” Evan exhales with relief. “Nerds! Come on!”

It must be twenty years since you’ve been in a car like this, perched on your friend’s lap on your way home from a party. You try to hold yourself up slightly, worried despite yourself about what Ben might think if he had to feel all of your body weight on his (strong-feeling) thighs.

You’ve never been small, not as an adult. As a student you envied those tiny, petite friends who always seemed to appeal to men and women alike, their compact, light frame fitting perfectly on the lap of whatever lucky person they were flirting with at the party. They never had to worry about stuff like this, right? Too busy being picked up and carried around by boys desperate to assert some kind of masculinity, who never cast a second glance at the unappealing, taller, serious-faced friend.

That said, even if he did think you were disturbingly heavy, Ben hadn’t given you the slightest indication since you’d clambered into the back of the car and settled yourself around him carefully, balancing yourself by resting an arm over the back seat. He arranges his arms firmly around you.

“Like a human seatbelt, Lyddie.” You giggle sleepily.

He murmurs. "I've got you."

Evan drives carefully, the Barrow streets mostly deserted save for occasional groups of student revellers in costume. Ani is leaning into Cass, ostensibly examining the fake bird still sticking out of their carefully-coiffed hair, but in truth taking the opportunity to rest a hand on Cass’s knee.

In the relatively cramped confines of the back seat, you have to lean your head on Ben’s shoulder to avoid thwacking your skull off the car roof. The scruff on his jaw brushes lightly against the top of your forehead. His breathing is steady, and oddly calming, but there’s this…frisson running through your body at the same time.

It’s been so long since you’d been this physically close to another person, the odd hook-up aside. No wonder it feels so good. Anyone would feel the same if they’d been a bit touch-starved.

Right?

“So I guess this experience is fairly standard for the visiting professor?” you ask. He laughs, and you can feel it resonating against you from his chest.

“Ohhh, yeah.” He pauses. “For the nice ones, anyway.”

Evan pulls up at the kerb outside your building. You open the door and unfold yourself carefully from your position on Ben’s lap, until you’re eventually upright. You wave cheerily and turn to walk to the main door of the building, smiling happily.

You’re only a couple of steps away when the car door opens again. You look over your shoulder, instinctively.

He’s standing on the pavement, hands in his coat pockets, looking down at the ground for an instant before meeting your eye.

“Hey, Lydia?”

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more)

Further A/N:

Huge thanks to lovely @lunapascal and @julesonrecord for thoughts, excited responses, and reading parts of this in draft! And for introducing the word "frisson" into the equation... sigh.

The idea of Lydia on Ben’s lap in the car came from @cutesyscreenname, and this got me thinking A LOT about physical proximity for these two nerds and what it might unleash…

Costume references: Ani as Gary Oldman in Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992).

Lydia as Gene Wilder as Dr Frederick Frankenstein in the earlier parts of Young Frankenstein (1974). "It's pronounced Fronk-en-Steen."

Ben as Mark Ruffalo as Dave Tosche in Zodiac (2007) (that's him on the left, obviously). (Bonus: SHOULDER HOLSTER SUPREMACY)

Evan as Norman as Mother Bates in Psycho (1960)

Cass as Tippi Hedren in The Birds (1963)

This is the specific performance of 'Wuthering Heights' Drew does at Evan's party (this is one of my absolute favourite songs, ever, and I would have been just as into this as Lydia is):

youtube

'Spooky' by Dusty Springfield, lip synced by Musty Springheeled/Dani:

#visiting fic #visiting masterlist #mr ben snl #professor ben x OFC #mr ben #professor!ben x ofc #pedro pascal character fanfic #professor!ben #mr ben x ofc #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #Spotify

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heureusite · 1 year

Text

astro observations 2: the reasoning behind the aspects

i can’t sleep. aquarius moons tend to be anxious, especially before their first saturn return, and leading up to the second. we release this the best through either outwards expression or outwards experience (examples include writing, like i’m doing, or research/knowledge-seeking - even scrolling on social media counts) from what i’ve seen. the collective brain cell? aqua moons = orange cats.

sextile, the smallest angle (among major aspects) which is measured at ~60 degrees (refer to my degree rules to find these within your chart as per my observations) is ruled by venus. this is an easy aspect, not because it is lazy and smooth sailing, like a trine, but rather that issues are dealt with head on, and can be resolved with respect to any differences. it’s where both need to start a project, so one buys items, the other sets up an room and determines the basic process and a timeline, and the execution is done by both. make of this what you will - between two people or even two objects in one chart.

next up - square, measured at ~90 degrees is considered a difficult aspect. this is because of the fact that while any ideas are very different from each other, the application of these ideas are executed similarly (one wants to paint a picture with watercolours and the other wants oil pastels, but both plan to paint the same picture in different styles - one baroque and the other rococo as an example) and this will lead to arguments as each will think that their idea is correct and the other is not stupid, just misguided.

now for an easy aspect. picture fishing on a boat during a beautiful, colourful, sunset, with tiny, whiny mosquitoes and the sorrowful call of a cormorant nearby. almost all the quota for fish is caught, and the air is relaxed, but not fully - the fishers have had an argument over net size, but chosen to agree to disagree - one has decided to use a smaller net and the other uses a larger one, and they talk about something totally unrelated - not speaking at all about the nets, or the fact that both did an equally good job of catching the same amount, but different kinds of fish. a variety if you will. this is the energy of a trine, measured at ~120 degrees. who is it ruled by? jupiter, the planet of luck - both the fishers made their quota by sunset after all, but still chose to brush the argument and any hard feelings away - and all was fine.

next is the opposition, which, as it sounds like, is measured at ~180 degrees, and is a hard aspect. here we have long term best friends - different in appearance, differing personalities - until you realize that their outlook on life is remarkably similar. these two will constantly bicker, but go out for lunch with each other every week, and talk every day, even if it’s to bicker even more. they understand that a little struggle and disagreement is necessary - but unlike the trine, these two agree to disagree not for the sake of peace, but because they already understand the other to an extent - their reasoning makes sense, and can be agreed in some contexts, but not this one, and that’s okay… but why? please explain with the details.

finally, the conjunction. this occurs at ~0 degrees, or 360 degrees using the mathematics. this is the relationship within one’s mind, between two factions within a unit, of a fast current and a slow current within the same river. this is war and peace… of oneself, always resolved through teamwork. enemies to lovers? no, this is two who chose to work together, without reluctance, for a specific purpose, and ended up as lifelong friends or partners. two individuals - but with the same purpose and methodology.

#astro observations #astro notes #astrology #astrology observations

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fire-emblem-drabbles · 1 year

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What Kind of Man, Indeed

Pairing: Lucas (@needleanddead oc) x reader

Prompt: I had the weirdest idea but it totally worked out

Description: In the woods, people hope to find a few things: freedom from modern life and the stress that came with it, time to relax and spend with family, what have you… You, however, find a chicken. Confused and a little concerned, you decide its up to you to protect her.

Rating: sfw

Content Warning: Explicit mentions of blood, and murder; does not go into detail. Lucas is referred to as a murderer and killer (because he is), and reader is patronized by Lucas p much their entire interactions.

Word Count: 2830

Notes: Hiiii nat remember when I told you I wrote a Lucas fic <3333 found this finished but unedited in my stuff and whoo boy it needed some work (concept was done very poorly but we figured it out boys) and I'm SO excited to bring this to you guys now!!! I really like how it came out!!!

You lived away from your family, and it wasn’t often you could get the time off work to come home and see them. You had a week off from work to come up and spend some time with them. That, of course, had to start with a little family camping trip. You hadn’t gone in so many years, but the promise of cold lake water and sweet pine trees had you agreeing.

You actually hadn’t been to this particular site before. This was a smaller trip with only four of you (you, your parents, and your aunt-- the only people who could get 3 days off in a row to go) so the four of you set off with just your parents camper and your mothers car to enjoy yourself.

So much had changed since the last time you went camping, yet you couldn’t help but feel nostalgic as you sat around the fire with everyone. This time around, you were even old enough to be drinking with your parents if you so chose. You decide against it on this particular night, instead watch your family with crinkled eyes and full heart as they chatted and drank and ate all in high spirits.

“I think I’m gonna walk for a bit, anyone want to join me?” You couldn’t help but stand and stretch, wanting some time away from the sting of the campfire smoke. Your dad turns to speak to you.

“We’re all good, don’t go far though it’s getting late.” He warns you, taking another swig of his beer after he speaks.

“I won’t dad.” You smile at him, and make sure to grab the flashlight. “I got the flashlight, and my phone, and you guys are making enough noise to scare away anything that might hurt me.” You joke. “I’m only going down to the lake after all.” He nods in satisfaction, leaving you to it as he turns back to your mother and aunt.

You leave with no issue, taking the barely seen path that would lead to the lake. During the day the walk didn’t long at all, hardly 15 minutes. When that passes and you don’t have any sign of water, you know you’ve made a mistake somewhere. You pause, taking a look of your surrounds.

You can’t see the light of your families fire anymore, but their laughing and cheering can still be heard fine. Your other directions just show more woodland, with tall pines and short brush and no sign of water.

“Oh geez…” You can’t help but let out a sigh, scanning your surroundings with your flashlight once more. Even the sounds of the night were beginning to blur together-- the loons in the distance, the cicadas in the trees, the clucking of chickens….

“Wait.” You scanned over the area you just passed over, one that had signifigantly less brush in it. As you pass over the area slowly this time you can’t help but stare at the creature caught in your brights. “There’s no way that’s a chicken.” You say aloud. Still, you move in closer to the bird. It’s not at all bothered by your presence, instead mulling around your feet as if it weren’t in any danger out here at all.

“Who dumps a chicken this deep into the woods…?” You look down at the bird by your feet, unsure what to do about it or your own situation.“Ma’am, are you aware how late it is? What on earth are you doing out?” You squat down beside the hen, not knowing what else to do.

She clucks once, and merely turns her head. You admire her a moment, seeing that she looked well fed and taken care of, which makes it even weirder than she was out here alone. Still, she’s smart enough to realize that you’re big, and you could scare away predators-- another trait that tells you this was someones pet or livestock.

“Can I pick you up?” You ask, as if she could answer. Even though you’re also lost, you would feel bad if you just left this chicken to fend for herself.

You give her a hesitant pet, which she doesn’t seem to mind. You pick her up with careful hands, having never really held a chicken before, but she settles rather nicely in your arms. In fact, your cat struggles more than this when you hold him.

“Well, okay.” Chicken tucked under your left arm, and flashlight held in your right, you rise to your feet once more, deciding to just turn back the way you came and go to the lake when it was light out.

No sooner then you do does a piercing scream run through the forest. It makes your blood run cold; it sounded just like your mother. You turn to that direction, aimlessly charging in the direction you heard it. Your heartbeat only picks up more as you hear more screams-- surely your aunt and your father.

You don’t know whats happening. You haven’t been this scared in your life Was their a large animal back at your camp? A bear, a cougar? And was everyone okay?

You apparently hadn’t wandered off too far because within minutes, you can see the color of your fire. You pick up the pace, heart jumping into your throat as you hear signs of a struggle. You turn off your light as you approach, and try to figure out whats happening. You can’t help but feel you need to remain quiet.

When you can finally see whats happening, tears spring to your eyes. Close by, you see your mother laying on the ground. She’s covered in blood from a wound you can’t immediately see. It doesn’t look like shes breathing. Beside her, your aunt; she’s bloodied as well, slumped over as if trying to help her before being struck down herself. Behind their forms, you can see two men. Your dad was the only one one this trip though-- your brothers and cousins couldn’t make it.

Maybe that was for the better.

Your dad is hurt you realize with horror. He’s got a large cut on his left arm. But still, he’s fighting off whoever it was that invaded your sanctuary. He’s struggling for the ax in the mans hand. You can’t move, can’t take your eyes off the fight in front of you. When it seems your dad gets a grip on the weapon, it slips out of his fist-- the blood that ran off his arms making his hand slick.

He falls to the ground, splayed back on his back by the fallen forms of your mother and aunt. You wince and hold the chicken close to you as your fathers scream is silenced by the sickening sound of an ax cuts through his chest.

Again and again and again and again. Until, with one eye daring to peak open, he doesn’t move, doesn’t scream. Silence fills your campsite, where even the crackle of the fire seems to die down in the horror that just took place.

The mystery man—your families murderer—stands up straight after the job is done, pushing back graying hair. If he notices the blood on his face, in his hair, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t notice you, you think.

That is, until the chicken, the dumb chicken you randomly found in the woods, makes a noise of discomfort at how hard you hold her. You gasp and hurriedly lessen your grip but the damage has already been done.

Crazed eyes turn to you. You’ve never seen blood lust in someones eyes like this before. Even from several feet away, across the fire, it has you shivering. As he watches you now, your feet are still stuck to the ground. You speak before you can think not too.

“You… you killed my dad. My mama… my auntie…” Your tears make it hard to see but you swear, the look of rage is immediately swept off his face. “W-why?”

Suddenly, your knees can’t support you. You fall down in a heap. To your horror, the man is approaching you. He doesn’t have his weapon raised, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. He’s speaking to you, you realize. He didn’t make hardly a sound while butchering your family, but now that he sees you, he speaks.

“You found my girl…” He crosses over to where you are easily. You didn’t notice how tall he was until he’s upon you, squatting down until his towering form in right in front of yours. He reeks of blood, of sweat and fatigue.

“Where did you get to, Dolly?” He ignores you a moment in favor of the chicken you held. She wiggles out of your now limp grip, eagerly running to the man. He sets aside his weapon and pets the chicken affectionately. The sight of him coddling a chicken while covered in your families blood has to be the picture of irony.

It fills you with a hatred so vile, so sickening, all you want to do is attack him—tackle him to the ground and demand he answer for the lives he’s taken. But you can’t even move from the spot your frozen to. Even your throat, seized with your grief, can barely let pass your sobs. You’ve never felt so powerless, so weak in the face of true evil.

“Why did you do this?” You’re unsure how you manage to speak the words, twisted by pure emotions going through you. You don’t know why you’re not dead, too. “My parents… my…” Instead, you weep into your open hands. What else was there to do?

“Oh darlin…” His voice is so, so gentle. He reaches out, places a bloodied hand on your shoulder. You can’t help but shudder in disgust as you feel the blood of your family touch your skin.

“P-please don’t t.. touch me…” You don’t know why you bother begging or bartering with a killer, but your words don’t stop as you pull your face up. “J-just kill me. I-I… I can’t…!” You again cry out, uncaring if he saw you. This man, this killer, makes a soft, sweet coo at your words. He moves even closer to you, until he’s pulled you into his arms. You don’t how the strength or will to push him away.

“Now why would I hurt something as sweet as you?” His words make you want to cry even more. You try to even your breathing, to fight him, to hurt him, to do anything. But you just stay limp in his arms, crying and gasping and trying to get your breathing back to normal. All you can do is cry, cry into the arms of your families killer.

It takes several minutes for you to stop openly bawling. You’re so embarrassed, so upset, so angry. In that time, this man, this killer, has pulled you into an awkward hug, holding you tightly in his embrace. He tries to console you, using gentle words and sweet tones to tell you that you’ll be okay, that you’re okay, that he won’t hurt you. When you finally feel well enough to speak, you pull away from him. He keeps you in his grip, but allows you the freedom to look up at his face and speak.

“Why won’t you kill me?” Your voice is the clearest it’s been since you’ve come back to camp. You surprised you can talk with him, look at him without crying. Without screaming or yelling. “Why am I different?” Tears still glisten in your eyes, still streak down your cheeks.

“Don’t worry about that.” His tone is so dismissive. As if he’s had to answer this question so many times before. “You’re…” He pauses but shakes his head. “It doesn’t really matter. I should get you home.”

“Home?” The word feels hollow in your throat. You didn’t have a home anymore-- not with your family dead.

“With me.” He smiles at you, as if he has any right. Like he’s doing you a favor. You don’t think you could hate someone as much as you do him.

“P-please don’t do this.” All you can think to do is beg. You feel pathetic.

You think he likes that.

“You don’t have to worry about anything darlin. I’ll take care of you.” It’s as if he doesn’t hear you. Maybe he hasn’t this whole time-- maybe he saw you as helpless and pathetic as the chicken milling around the two of you. Maybe to him, your just the same as a helpless chicken lost in the woods. Out of place, and needing someone bigger and stronger to protect and guide them...

He helps you to your feet. Your legs are still unsteady—none of you really feels solid. Still, before you can crumble to the ground once again he catches you against himself. You think you might hate yourself more than you do him, for having to rely on him like this. As you lean into him, and look into green eyes, you can’t help but ask.

“...What’s your name?” It shouldn’t matter, but it does right now. You needed something to ground you—a name you could connect all these emotions with. He seems pleased that you’ve become interested in him. Or at least, disinterested in what happened here.

“Call me Lucas.” His name shouldn’t be so simple. So mundane.

“Lucas…” He perks up at hearing his name come from your lips. You want to ask more, but your questions have all been ignored. Redirected. Still, your lips move to speak. “Why are you doing this?” You’ve never felt so small as you do with him guiding you into the woods, supporting you with one gentle hand and carrying his lost chicken with another just as slight touch.

“...You looked liked you needed some protectin, is all. What kind of man would I be if I left you alone like this?”

What kind of man indeed.

You don’t speak any more as he leads you away from the camp you and your family had made. Lucas is all too happy to fill the silence, navigating the woods with no need of any light. You’re not surprised when he takes you to a small cabin in the woods. You don’t know how long the walk was, but it couldn’t be too far from where your family had set up for camp. It makes you wonder.

Were you even the first group of people Lucas had come across in the woods? ...Would you be the last?

“I don’t think I ever got your name, sugar.” You don’t know how you found yourself in the small cabin. It feels like your grandmothers house. Cluttered but comfortable. The anxiety you feel here is far different, though. When you don’t answer, he just sighs.

“You must be tired… I’ll let you take the bed.” Along the way, you’re able to find your feet. Lucas leads you to a room that is rather bare bones-- a dresser, a bed and not much else you can see in the dim light. Still, it looks lived in. He a stands beside you a moment as you take in the room.

“Ah, you can’t sleep in that. I’ll fetch you something—just stay here.” You watch wordless as he goes. You can hear him shuffle around a moment, opening a closet or a drawer. As he said, he’s back before you know it. Holding a large shirt and another blanket.

“It gets cold here at night, but you probably already knew that.” He hands you the two items with a little smile. He acts as if he’s done this all before. “I’ll leave you to it then… I’ll be out on the couch. Just holler if you need me.” He gives you a final once over before leaving the room. The door locks with a deafening click behind him.

You don’t change into the shirt. The blanket he gave you sits folded on the edge of the bed. Even as you sit gently on the bed, and take a deep breath, it doesn’t feel real.

This place smells like him. Like iron and sweat, of campfires and something sinister. You don’t know how he expects you to sleep. When you close your eyes, all you can see is the piled bodies of your loved ones. Carelessly left to rot in a place where all they wanted was to relax. Left in this room alone, you can’t find it in you to be scared any more. You want to scream and yell and throw a fit, you want to go back to your families corpses and beg them to come to life.

You want Lucas to hurt like you do.

But, you’re not that kind of person. You’re someone who needs protecting. And Lucas was gonna do that for you, whether you liked it or not. Precious thing like you can’t do much about it, anyways.

#oc x reader #murderoc x reader #yandere x reader #he's not really in this but just wait #lucas x reader #needleanddead #hiiii nat I love you!!!#and your old man!!!#murder canibal pepaw can get it!#oh reader don't even know #gotta ask to borrow other peoples ocs more often I love this

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puttlesculpts · 4 months

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Step 4: Boot plate/knee cap & Pants. Blender pt 3

The boots are done! Used a plane and extrusion to make the plate and the knee caps. Got to experiment with the Shade Smooth some more as I wanted to preserve a crisp line down the middle, but to be otherwise smooth everywhere else. The knee caps were more of an investment than was probably necessary and I was struggling to get the shape right, but decided I no longer cared about perfecting a detail that didn't really didn't need to be knocked out the park as far as 1:1 recreation goes, which freed me up to move on.

BUT before I did, I was looking up tricks to making belts/straps and discovered the world of Blender brushes! I will probably try to make my own belt, but also, I would like to get acquainted with this new tool. I'm actually very relieved since it looks like the surface brushes will go a long way in supplementing/finishing whatever I sculpt, since I currently lack the finesse to do it all on my own.

Speaking of fabric...

I started working on the pants! It was a very welcomed change of pace lol. I wasn't sure how to approach these since they would ultimately be one piece rather than two separate ones, so I did my best to build without modifiers and to mirror on the x-axis instead. It took some getting used to but I learned that things that aren't NEAR identical will simply not be mirrored in this way, but I was actually fine with that since I don't want these too be too symmetrical. I also thought about making the top + legs as separate pieces but ended up extruding it all :^) (thus successfully putting off learning how to smoothly merge two objects by at least 1 session).

I'm really happy with the progress so far, especially on the left leg where you can see the results of fabric/folds! This was another step I fully intended to do with epoxy after it was printed, but I started to experiment with things and I think it looks pretty good. I sampled what it would look like with smoothing and it wasn't GREAT, but definitely workable. So the plan now is to block in the major shapes, establish some weight on the fabric, and supplement texture + smaller creases + details with brushes down the line.

Week 1 recap: Three blog posts and three progress check-ins. I'm really enjoying this entire process so far and am pleasantly surprised by how much I am currently able to accomplish in a medium with a fairly difficult learning curve. All about baby steps at this point.

Up next: Finish the pants, then either gloves or straps!

#blender #sculpting #progress #i'm also using a tablet now and it's much better that the mouse lmoa #my fingers were getting so sore

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shares-a-vest · 1 year

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Overdue Library Books, Clay Bunnies & Paintbrushes

Robin, Steve, Erica and Dustin spend a weekend making Easter decorations and crafts. Just some sweet, Scoops Troops nonsense for your weekend.

Characters: Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Erica Sinclair, Dustin Henderson (Scoops Troops!!! 🍦🍧🍨🍦🍧🍨)

Word Count: 2.5k

tbh, i have no clue how the easter period works in America (if school is off or how public holidays work, if any). so i've kept that stuff vague. it kinda doesn't matter here anyway, this is just silly friendship-focused stuff.

“What's with the bag?” Erica asks from the backseat, her voice a mix of nosiness and curiosity.

Robin turns, crinkling the paper bag in question she’s been cradling since Steve picked her up from the dollar store.

“Craft supplies,” she shrugs, now face-to-face with the youngest Sinclair.

“Interesting…” Erica muses, looking her over.

Robin frowns, weirded out by whatever it is Erica is thinking and turns back to look out at the slowly-emptying Hawkins Elementary parking lot. Sinking a little in her seat, Robin shoots Steve a look.

He promptly starts up the car, grumbling. They were already stuck with Dustin for the weekend. Claudia had called Steve a few days ago, saying she wanted to go visit her sister for the weekend, sans her son. And of course, Steve not being immune to Claudia Henderson’s sweet mom-voice, agreed. And, depending on how this carpooling afternoon goes, they might end up with a full-blown babysitting schedule.

Robin sighs, holds her precious craft supplies to her chest and stares out the window...

At least, she attempts to for all of three seconds because Erica decides to lean into the front cabin, craning her neck to look in the bag.

“Seatbelts, please,” Steve commands, pulling out of the parking space and offering his bitchiest pout to boot.

Erica snatches up the bag, retreats and clips in her seatbelt. Robin lunges, her reflexes non-existent. But her seatbelt yanks her back into her seat.

She huffs and folds her arms, settling for leaning forward impossibly close to the rearview mirror, ignoring Steve’s incoherent protests for blocking him as she watches Erica plucking items from the bag.

Eric sets out the wares on the currently-vacated lefthand back seat, pulling out Easter crafts and supplies. Pastel-toned card paper, scissors, cheap paint pots in various colours, tubes of glitter and paintbrushes - enough to last the weekend, doubling up on everything so Robin doesn’t have to fight with Steve over any of the items. The guy paints at a snail’s pace. But maybe that wouldn’t be the case if the dingus would actually wear his prescription glasses…

She frowns when she notices Erica's expression shift from curious and judgemental.

“I'm close to the library,” Steve says, a warning that means, clear the backseat - Dustin Henderson is about to enter like a tornado and will ruin anything occupying his seat.

“You need thinner paintbrushes,” Erica offers, gathering up the items and efficiently arranging them in the bag.

Steve pulls into the Hawkins Library parking lot and kills the engine. If Henderson isn't waiting, it means he has lost total track of time and needs to be dragged out of the place (which is Steve's job because Robin gets distracted when surrounded by endless books). As if on queue, Steve unclips his seatbelt and pops open the driver's door.

“I'll be back,” he sighs, exiting the car.

“I'll bring you some,” Erica says, cutting through the sudden silence of the Beemer.

Honestly, it makes Robin jump. She might have also forgotten what they were talking about because she's wracking her brain trying to remember when she had to return her algebra textbook (not that she got any use out of it anyway).

“Huh?" she grunts, bracing herself for a chastising for not listening.

“Paintbrushes!” Erica clarifies and sure enough, her signature you’re-an-idiot tone is there. “If you are going to decorate eggs, you need smaller paint brushes for fine details. I'll bring you some. You're staying at Steve's house this weekend, right?”

“...Yes?” she replies (asks?), weary.

“I'm telling you,” comes Steve's annoyed voice. “This bag won't fit in the backseat, dude!”

There's more incoherent squabbling as Steve opens the trunk and a noticeable weight sinks the car momentarily.

“All set for the weekend,” Dustin chortles, all but throwing his bag at the back of Robin's seat as he and Steve hop in the car in such perfect sync that Robin and Erica both giggle.

“Yeah right,” Steve says, now in maximum grumpy mode.

Dustin jostles Robin's seat as he loudly asks, “Did you pass your algebra test?”

“Barely,” she laments as the library disappears behind them.

“What!” he shrieks. “I basically gave you all the answers.”

“I'm sorry that I don't like, get mathematics, Dustin!” she snaps, remembering that her textbook is in fact, grossly overdue and will now have to wait until Easter weekend is over.

***

Robin shuffles to the Harringtons’ front door, barely conscious. It’s way too early for Erica to be here, tapping on the door at an enthusiastic speed on a Saturday morning. It’s only breakfast time! She stops rubbing her eyes long enough to catch the time on the gigantic antique clock in the foyer. Okay, so maybe 10am is too early for Weekend Robin.

She opens the door to find Erica beaming, holding a large fabric bag over her shoulder that is clearly weighing her down that she is only barely offsetting by leaning the opposite way.

Robin winces, blinded by the morning sunlight as she squints, looking for any signs of Lucas in tow. She sighs, relieved - partly because Steve always ends up switching between shooting hoops with Lucas, watching whatever sport is on TV and playing video games if he comes over. It’s Steve in peak-jock form, a state that Lucas wholeheartedly encourages while Robin tags along.

She catches sight of the Sinclars’ car - or more, she almost collapses from the pain of sunlight reflecting from the car’s hood directly into her eyeballs.

“I brought paintbrushes,” Erica announces, hobbling inside as Robin waves vaguely in the direction of Mrs Sinclair.

She closes the front door, turns and runs straight into Dustin, who’s peering down at the bag Erica has seemingly dumped in the foyer before disappearing entirely.

He smiles and Robin thinks that if she rolls her eyes at the kid one more time, they might stay stuck in the back of her skull.

It turns out the truckload of books Steve had to haul in and out of his car three times over the past few days was some new egghead venture of Henderson's, whereby he intended on assessing precisely how cold Steve’s house could get at night - some new experiment assessing temperatures in Hawkins… Or something. He'd explained it last night over dinner when he turned his nose up at her signature vegetable lasagne. And then when he finally stopped talking he insisted on listening to his Dune audiobook on tape (an action that he sold as being a matter of urgency), aloud via the Harrington’s stereo system he's likely now paused for a brief moment in order to ask for something.

“What?” Robin asks, cocking her chin as she sizes up the dork who hasn't changed out of his pyjamas in two days.

Dustin sticks out his bottom lip, looking all too innocent as his curious brows disappear under his cap (yep, he also wears his baseball cap indoors, in his goddamn pyjamas). Robin swears it is glued to his skull.

“Are we doing arts and crafts now?” he asks, rocking back and forward on his socked heels.

“So you're gonna do that too?”

“Obviously.”

And nope, it wasn’t so obvious.

“Robin!” Erica calls, her voice laced with impatience.

Dustin gestures for Robin to take the lead and if she had better protection than her holey rainbow socks on the varnished floorboards, she'd stomp her feet.

“Steve!”

***

Okay, so maybe her annoyance wasn't entirely justified because Henderson is patiently watching as Steve and Erica lay out all their craftables and accessories on the kitchen table. The coffee table is of course out of action due to ‘Project Curtain’, named so because Dustin’s hypothesis is that the sheer amount of drapery throughout Steve’s house is the primary cause of a nighttime temperature drop.

“Alrighty, now your bag,” Steve declares, lifting Erica's lofty bag with ease.

Erica kneels on the kitchen chair separating them for a better vantage point.

“I brought all my paintbrushes and my lamp I use when I'm making my DND figurines.”

“Oh... cool,” Steve says, making a face that Erica mirrors (with added glare) that leaves him blurting out a defensive, “What?”

“Don't you want to make your egg decorations nice?” she smirks.

“Who cares?” Dustin quips, sticking his head in between them. “What, is Steve going to gift a bunch of painted eggs? Very romantic. I thought Maggie dumped you…”

Steve rolls his eyes and Robin can't help it. After two days of this, she’s had enough. She drops her spoon in her bowl of cereal and gives Dustin a solid elbow to the side earning a hearty yelp. Payback for being a mooching pain in the butt who doesn’t even pay much attention for a self-proclaimed ‘genius’. Although maybe Robin shouldn’t clarify that Steve went on one disastrous dinner date with Maggie and never called her back. It would probably lead to relentless teasing, possibly the only thing that could drag Dustina way from Project Curtain right now.

She sighs. Steve’s done a lot of that lately, but best not to get into it right now because Steve and Erica are engaged in some sort of glare-off.

“What?” he asks her again. “I'm not allowed to so much as look at your DND things. Sorry if I'm sceptical about you allowing me to actually use your nerd equipment.”

“It isn't nerdy, it's creative.”

“Erica, you are a nerd!” Dustin chimes, a matter he insists on clarifying every single time Erica protests.

Why can’t this group accept it? They are all nerds. Hell, every person in this kitchen has agreed to spend their weekend delicately painting little Easter bunnies and fashioning decorations just for the fun of it.

“Whatever,” Erica shoots back before giving a sickly sweet smile at whiplash speed.

“Are you going to help me?” Steve asks, raising a sceptical brow.

“Only if you wear your glasses,” Erica retorts.

“Better do what she says, Steve,” Robin adds, slurping up her cereal.

Again, a silent standoff.

It only ends with Steve huffing as he exits the kitchen to fetch the much-argued-over glasses he refuses to wear.

***

Sure enough, Erica willingly gives over her lamp to Steve - even gives a demonstration of her painting techniques. But as Robin suspected, she and Steve both totally suck at painting, even with a lot of help. She quickly got frustrated with not being able to mix the right shade of lavender and switched to the childish packet of paper flower cut-outs she had bought.

Dustin meanwhile, chose to periodically move between Project Curtain (shouting his temperature checks each time) and painting eggs with such expertise, Robin wishes she could smash them into eggy gooeyness with her bare hands, free of consequence.

“Goddamn it!” Steve curses once again.

He shakes his head and mumbles incoherently as he shoves Erica’s lamp-slash-magnifying tool out of the way. He sets his paintbrush down and pinches his little clay rabbit between his glitter and paint-covered fingers, frowning as he looks over the great smear he'd inadvertently made right on the poor bunny's backside.

“Don’t worry,” Erica sings, kneeling up on her chair to reach across the table and take the figure from him. “Just let it dry and we can fix it.”

She smiles and honestly, now Robin is suspicious. Steve has spent the last (Robin checks her watch) four hours - with copious snack breaks - meticulously painting a clay rabbit black and red, with silver eyes and glitter details, a gothic-metal-looking springtime creature that could only be fitting for that one particular dork her platonic soulmate has been pining over since Spring Break.

And Erica Sinclair is being way too nice about it.

Erica who glares and pouts. Erica who eviscerates everyone in her general vicinity with scathing words that have no comeback. Erica who, since the whole Scoops Troops vs. Starcourt Mall Secret Russians-thing, has used pretty much every encounter with Robin and Steve to coerce them into doing whatever she wants (and getting free anything - though mainly ice cream) in the name of some alleged child endangerment.

“It looks fine,” Robin insists, barely looking at her best friend and far too focused on Erica carefully setting down the half-painted clay rabbit on some newspaper.

“You know…” Dustin pipes up, momentarily abandoning his da Vinci-quality egg. “For a supposed calming activity, you sure do curse a lot.”

Steve removes his glasses to rub his eyes and folds his arms, shooting Henderson that look he only reserves for his young friend.

“I just want it to look nice,” he mumbles, a look of disappointment washing over him as he slumps back in his chair to stare at the bunny.

“Yeah, because a rabbit demon-spawn is gonna look all cute a cuddly - ERICA!” Dustin dives to the floor, scrambling for his hat.

There goes Robin’s long-held hypothesis.

***

“Alright, spill Sinclair,” Robin whispers the second Steve charges into the living room to once again yell at Dustin.

Erica sighs, setting down her ice cream bowl. Of course, hosting both Erica and Dustin meant customary homemade USS Butterscotches all around for dessert. Desserts that they joined forces to demand as soon as Steve was finally done with his demonic bunny.

“Henderson, I swear to God, if you set the curtains on fire!” Steve warns, followed by indecipherable whining from Dustin.

“What?” Erica asks, frowning and propping her chin on the back of her hand, looking as guilty as she has done all damn day.

“Let me rephrase,” Robin begins, tenting her fingers and pouting. “Why are you voluntarily hanging out with us? On a weekend? And actually having fun? And being nice to Steve even though he can’t paint for shit?”

Erica drops her spoon, leaving it to clang and teeter in the bowl. And yeah, the slight waver in her usually confident demeanour sends a pang of regret through Robin’s chest.

“First off, I actually enjoy spending time with you and Steve,” she says after a long pause. “It's fun but not super nerdy. Beats tagging along with Lucas while Will stays over for the weekend anyway. Although, I could have done without Dustin.”

She rolls her eyes as the sound of flapping curtains wafts in from the living room.

“Agreed,” Robin nods matter-of-factly.

“And all this,” she gestures to the end of the table where all their craftables are lined up in various states of completion. “I'm really good at. And you two could use some help. Even though I know you can sew and stuff.”

“Yeah, painting isn't my strong suit,” she chuckles.

“Plus,” Erica says, drawling loudly before sighing. “I enjoy helping you and Steve try to impress Nancy and Eddie with the silly little things you make them.”

She reaches across the table for the chocolate syrup Steve has monopolised since they’d started out on making dessert.

“We’re really that pathetic, huh?”

“Just the facts,” Erica quips, punctuating her signature phrase with a hard squeeze of chocolate topping (her third helping) onto her remaining dessert. “You should really be asking for my help more often.”

Robin narrows her eyes at the young Sinclair, a fond grin growing.

“... You're my favourite.”

She drops her spoon, leaving it to clang against the ice cream bowl so she can grab Erica in a tight hug, squishing their cheeks together.

“Get off me!” Erica giggles.

#erica is robin's designated child thanks for coming to my TedTalk #this ended up being longer than I anticipated - i didn’t get to finish it yesterday (hence some similarities with the ficlet i posted)#kinda didn't know how to end this???#platonic with a capital p #scoops troops #steve harrington #robin buckley #erica sinclair #dustin henderson #lily writes a fic #platonic stobin fic #stranger things fic #st: easter edition

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squiretinnion · 6 months

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hi okay i have begun my journey into Painting The Little Guys and it is. Less straightforward than i was expecting for some reason. what is a wash. how do i drybrush. how do i know if i need to use primer or not. you do not have to answer these questions but i would greatly appreciate resources/advice for someone who has not picked up a paintbrush since middle school 🥺😭

Hi!!!

I am sorry if this is insanely long but here we go... The foundations of the little guys is your main thing I think, if you have resin guys you should give them a lil dish soap bath first but if they are plastic ur good. Priming is in my book essential for them, easiest once they are built but if ur a rebel like me I prime when they are still on sprues 😅 any ol primer is fine, you don't need expensive stuff for this, I use an off white or black cheap spray paint, just gets em a nice even base to work with!

Drybrushing! Is super cool to do, you should use a chunky round brush working from your darkest shade to lightest, get a little paint on a palet of anykind (mcdonalds napkin coz they got that shine so the paint just doesnt soak into it, or an actual palet😅) and like circularly work it through the brush so only a little paint is all over the bristles then just gently working it with a tiny bit of paint at a time over the model in circular motion,,, i will say its better for detailed larger models or scenery bits, love it for big walls, and its a little harder on a smaller more figure scale to get into little nooks and things but its a cool effect!

Washes are the best especially for folks newer to model painting, same with contrast paints! once you have ur lil guy painted with all the colours you want, and its all dry, thats when you do the wash, i use a darker wash to add shadow super quickly, just cover the areas wanted, itll be super runny and thin so you just spread it where you want and dont need much, but you can get cool washes i have ones for mud blood and oil haha, easy shadows and effects, but you can get all kinds and glowy ones and things😉!

You can also get effcts paints like that if you wanna go all out, mostly muds and snows and stuff for terrain 🙂

A good miniature brush is worth it i would say too, look after your brush babiez!

Citadel paints are well known for a reason lol but any miniature paints are good!

I absolutely will answer any and all questions if you need anything! I love my lil plastic guys ❤️

#sorry if this is incoherent #🫣

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minty-mouths · 2 years

Text

Great Host

It was not long after class ended.

Kokurano hastily ushered to Yugi "Ah! Yugi!! You'll get an ikea discount in your grandpa's next newspaper!" Scrambling to get away from him.

…

Ryou decided to tackle the homework later with Yugi.

He'd much rather be working on his DM props, this time a sparrow based gryphon enemy figure.

It's going to be awesome.

Lost in his project hours passed already, when he checked the time. Oh! Yugi would soon pick him up at the fountain two blocks away, to study together at the park!

Ryou hurriedly washed his brushes and sorted the acrylic color back where it belonged.

He scooped up his keys and shoved homework into his small casual gym bag, the one with a monochrome striped sand worm design. He was pretty fond of it.

“Where do you think you're going?”

“None of your Business”

The damn spirit again. Sigh. Must they start a discussion as he is about to leave??

“Another friend, oh? You have many more figures to craft! Always on your appointments, what do you have a home for?”

“It's my hobby and I can make more some other time” Ryou crossed his arms over the ring. “Try handcrafting something yourself for once!”

I've been granting your wishes and now you abandon your post? Do you think you'd want to trade with me huh??

“…Fine”

Lets see how much others love your huge stupid hospitality

Who do you think you are restraining here?

If the Spirit weren't physically nonexistent right now, they would bite their lip to not completely trash his host. He watched and faded as Ryou did a last lookover over his flat.

Stupid spirit…what nerve has he to command me around hes not my dad. Ryou mumbled internally.

His gaze was caught by his craftings seeming amiss.

Ah, a figure has rolled under the table it seems, just gotta pick it up and off I go..

Bakura crawled under the table reaching for it and of course hitting his head on the way out.

Oof.. Strange, did he hit his head hard enough that the figure seemed smaller? Nah maybe he was just too concentrated on the details while working on it. It's only natural to get lost in your art.

He crawled out backwards lifting himself by his chair.

When he got up he dropped the figure onto the table sitting down.

but it felt uncomfortably low. Did he accidentally push the lever of his office chair? One more second..

He frustratingly got up and fiddled with the lever.

No way is it stuck that deep now?It could go down but not much higher than a few hours ago. He really liked this chair.

Not only that but his table barely reached his upper thighs.

his posture couldn't be THIS bad.

He must be tired or dizzy or something, this is ridiculous.

When he hurried to the kitchen to get something to drink, he hit his head on the doorframe.

something definitely wasn't right,

Was the spirit doing this? But how..?

The floorboards creaked as the doorframe slid lower from his sight.

Soon he had to kick his furniture out of the way to not destroy it, as the couch creaked beneath his mass in heartbeat like spurts and his back hit the wall.

There was a ring from his door.

Great who now? He can't let himself be seen like this!!Just thinking of getting even more attention than just the students at school ugh… he frowned. Especially not from the landlord spilling elderlies!

The flat contract doesn't allow giants!

“Ryou are you okay in there? Do you need help moving heavy stuff? I can try to aid!” called a familiar voice. Yugi!

At least it wasn't the mailman or something, God.

He might be able to help.

Ryou was fiddling with the rattling door chain pinching his skin at least a dozen times in the process.

The pained scoffs paid off as he hid behind the door as best he could. Those sounds of struggle did not go unnoticed by Ryous classmate.

Was Ryou having a panic attack, is that why his hand is so unsteady at unlocking? Yugi thought to himself.

He began to worry Ryou might collapse before he could open the door or something, as he wasn't responding and breathing pretty hard.

Finally the handle turned and Yugi gingerly invited himself inside, closing the door behind him., rushing into a storm swept room, devoid of the flats owner.

Ryou sat huddled together in the corner behind the door at his best attempt not to overwhelm his small guest, ironically. Yugi's eyes trailed upon the weirdly shaped furniture….weirdly shaped huge BREATHING furniture…

They both looked at each other no different from deer in the headlights.

Yugi double checked whether he closed the door behind him, not after doing three double takes, (Ryou was almost certain he wanted to run)but it was more likely to make sure no neighbor strolled by.

Yugi certainly couldn't deny his surprise as he saw his friend had grown.

First things first Ryou needed to calm down, he probably was in a more distressing situation than himself. Ryou in fact has not stopped expanding, and he seemed to have an odd breathing rhythm. Probably because of his lung capacity multiplying and such percentually depleting itself of oxygen. Yugi came closer to ground him but hesitated when he stretched his neck to look at his friend's face. He was clawing at something around his neck, constricting his air pipe.

Yugi leapt onto onto his thighs cursing as he had difficulty climbing up onto his shirt, from both the plush surface as well as his cursed disdain for exercise, hanging onto the stronger stitched rims, and reaching for the thin tight rope with his short arms.

Ryou noticed what Yugi tried to do and shakily steadied him with his hands, as Yugi pushed just a bit further into the skin of his neck and bit vigorously on the rope. He bit into the string as it bit into Ryou.

It snapped.

And he bounced off Ryous' toppling kneeling body, finally regaining his senses beside the shelf, as dull pain decorated his head from fallen over books.

Ryou inhaled bagfuls of oxygen.

The ring bounced off onto the floor where it clinked dully.

He glanced between Yugi, the ring, then Yugi again.

It seems the growing stopped.

The Yugi beside his hand didn't seem to dwindle any further at least.

As if on cue a Shelf toppled down right where Yugi stood, thank god for his reflexes snatching the highschooler.

His thumb brushed over Yugi's cold puzzle, as he unveiled his hand to give Yugi some room to breathe.

“ Jeez its dangerous in here.”

Thats a Yugi thing to say after almost being squashed. He couldn't help but smile.

The furniture that did not topple over was cracked.

How untidy for a host.

His eyes caught Yugi's waving hand “..So,..”

Ryou had to laugh but locked it behind a smile:”Hey.. sorry for this mess”

He sighed:“Thanks for checking up on me, I really appreciate it.”

Yugi hugged Ryou’s arm, the same one which changed from tense to Ryou repicropating the gesture by awkwardly putting his giant palm on Yugi's back, utterly engulfing him reassuringly.

__________________________

#mints writings #ygo g/t #g/t #g/t writing #yugioh g/t #GIANT/tiny

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ruin-iii · 2 years

Text

Left Behind

In a time epochs past, this gentle midsummer morn would herald efforts better suited to the spring. Not in Coerthas — this land only has a thousand winters to come.

They’ve stuffed collapsed furniture, wrapped ornaments, and folded clothes into piles of crates and bags. What would normally be the work of those with calloused fingers is not affordable for their two pairs of delicate hands, empty if only to check the lightened weight of their pockets.

“Etraux?”

“Yes, dear.”

“I found this in the attic, come see!”

Despite her bidding, it’s her who bounds down the stairs. She has hefty steps but sprightly legs, especially considering they carry two. Her babe is on the way, any sennight now; one should wonder if she will keep the immaculate posture she holds against all odds even in labor.

“Careful, careful,” Etraux chides. He comes up a mere two steps to meet her at her rate.

“Shush, I’m fine! Look.” His wife nearly shoulder-checks him as she swivels about on the stairs, showing him her buried treasure.

It is a modest portrait to be hung over a working desk or bedside table, though the frame itself expands its breadth, marking an image of pride with intricately worked brass.

Within these four walls, a younger Etraux is depicted in broader strokes than his more recent portraits. After all, there is only a smooth swatch needed for the tones in his skin — no creases, no darkened shades to accommodate for. His hair, a swathe of chocolate — unseasoned, no longer requiring the salt and pepper with which artists would have to bring out their smaller brushes and flick in the graying hairs. A cheekier painter would perhaps charge him for his age, but the oft hyuran artisans know better than to earn the ire of their elezen elders. Not to mention it’s a trade of detail. Where they would have needed to represent the hairline fractures in his complexion, they instead shade dimples at the corners of his smile, and a brief swipe of white makes for teeth. It’s a smile he’s practiced for many portraits.

On his reflection’s lap sits a young girl not older than six cycles, dressed in her sennend best. The still image is purged of the fidgeting he remembers her for, never sure how to cross her arms, kicking her legs against his until he laid them still with a hand. Yet the painter is willing to assign the young girl particular detail, eager to capture the lopsided crease in her attempt at a placid smile, the crumple of her skirt beneath her nearly balled fists, and far from least, the unusual creases in her half-elezen ear — where a hyuran ear would end in a point, and the folds would warp to accommodate it.

Young Imogen Lafontaine.

Etraux takes the portrait into hand and examines it as his dearest traces her fingertip along the long-dried paint.

“You never told me you had dimples. Perhaps you’ve lost them? I’ll have to put you on a strict smiling routine, then.”

Her banter is merely met with silence, until she breaks it once more.

“What’s the matter?”

“Did you want to bring this along with us?”

“Well… only if you wanted to. It’s your portrait, after all.”

“I do not know if I—...”

It’s the crack in his voice that kills his momentum. Why? He doesn’t feel particularly torn up by the portrait, nor held at knifepoint. The silence that befalls him is of bewilderment and embarrassment, not a loss for words. Yet his lover rubs his back as if he were a whining babe all the same.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“I am fine,” he insists.

What better to respond to a bold-faced lie with than nothing at all? It is only Etraux who has to examine the truth in his words, and address them with haste; he does all the work for her.

“I know you enjoy keeping what all we find, Sylvie, but... I do not think I would want to see this every sun,” he says flatly. “That is all.”

“No worries. We can leave it here.”

Sylvie takes the portrait from his hands, setting it in a pile of belongings they had similarly discarded — ill-fitting clothes, old ledgers from epochs past, books that were not interesting past their blurb. Etraux sits beside them, his eyes still fixated on little Imogen’s face.

“Perhaps you would think me wishful, naive to say this. I would not blame you. There are times that I find myself wondering where she is, and if she is okay. I know full well what I do not know, and cannot know, and it is this. Only her youngest self is safe. That is all I can take solace in. There will come a time where all else, everyone else, is not known either, and that alone…”

He doesn’t say it, but she knows.

It scares him.

“I am sorry. I know you like the portrait.”

Sylvie cups his face, tilting his downcast gaze up towards her.

“It’s a great novelty, sure. But the brush work isn’t amazing, if I’m being honest.” She takes the portrait, and flips it over, face down. “We’ll just have to commission a new one for yourself and young Allert.”

In a rare instance, he smiles. “Of course. That sounds lovely… Myself, Allert, and yourself.”

She taps her index on his nose affectionately. “You can never know what evades your eye or your time, my love.

‘So please, don’t hurt your heart wondering where your daughter is. Be here, with me. Be here, right now.”

⸻

When the Calamity had struck Ishgard, Imogen had thought there would never be a night colder. She had been mistaken — the Empire, oppressive and dark and dreary, is not merely a reflection of the Holy See. The Holy See is a pale reflection of it. The moon to its sun. Rather, the shadow to its utter darkness.

She bundles up in her poorly insulated coat, the cloth that her astroglobe was once cradled in now serving as a shawl for these chilling nights. Until now, the implement had only ever been used for party tricks and home practice. Now, it’s earned its fair share of nicks and chips, worn in a battle it was never built for.

Gale’s words remain a fixture in her mind.

“Rebuild. What else can they do? Would you leave your people if you had the chance to help them?”

A pointed, horrible question — one which she realizes they might not even understand the implications of, yet it’d hurt her nonetheless.

There is less pain in not knowing. Of this, she is certain. Between looking ahead and looking behind, she would much rather be the one leaving.

If only the Garleans could see it this way, too.

#ch: imogen lafontaine #ch: etraux de lafontaine #a: unsung prompts

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darlingpwease · 10 months

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Well... I mean yes, I do, I feel a bit called out tbh-, but still not sure about being a tsundere. Well, all of them is a stretch but idk sghjkdf– Yes, you!! You know what? I take it back. /vsrs /not affectionate

I have no idea what you're talking about. Dove the closet is very small, it'd be very cruel to take them there... /j /t

Ah, I'm definitely jealous... I'm doing so now,, I'm enjoying it :P I- 🧍WHAT– WAIT, hold on, pause, wait a minute, hold on a moment,,, excuse me?? You're taking ours, where?? Yes, maybe, but "panna cotta" has stuck :)) And I don't melt, but,, well,, I do crash,, that's for sure. And explode. And die. You've killed me a couple times. /t /pos ...hm.

Despite not looking I've somehow become blind in that general direction oh no :// Looks like I can't be locked up ┐(シ)┌ Underpainting is one I like!! How an artists uses/views it depends on each person, but it can be used as kind of a guide for future paint layers in a painting, and can also help show values in the work. There's another technique that I find cool, called dry brushing, but I haven't used that yet. I've seen people use it on figures to help with shading and that stuff without having to take the time to actually add those details manually lol. ( ´ ▽ ` ) YAAYYY tyty <33

/... ┬┴┬┴┤(･_├┬┴┬

/Ah, okay,, I hope to see your discoveries~ ...>:O *gasp* DOVE /t

-panna cotta

*raises the microphone* tell us what it's like when people around you have normal emotional expression while you keep everything to yourself and are afraid of strong emotions, we listen to you /t /j /nsrs as you should cuz it's calling out post /t okay, fine, but I really love it because you react to names either by ignoring or by being shy, and it's always very funny and cute sjdhhdhdhdh noooo!!! you are bully!!! bad pamna bad 3;<< heheheh awwww you're acting like a tsundere even now~ "I'll take the words away because you indicated that I care about you so I'll defiantly pretend that I'm not" such a classic archetype /t /affectionate<3

🙄🙄 oh gosh what did I expect from a pamna who refuses to admit that he's a little liar I pack up and leave with the writebabies we're all leaving writebabies get ready--- they are small too!!!... besides, why is the closet small? do you have a small closet?? gosh, my closet can easily accommodate me with siblings, but yours can't accommodate a dove with babies??? babyboo do you mean to say that you are like a soldier smaller than this innocent dove???? how little sleep do you get if you don't grow up????? /t /nsrs

hehehe~ I think this is what people call "karma", dear~ little pamnas deserve it when they don't give writebabies a good example<333 /t /j /nsrs cuz no one deserves these tiny bloodsucking trashies<///3 hehe, enjoy as you deserve, cutie❤︎

now they are my writebabies, not 'ours'!!!

okay, then you'll be a waffle cake~ I love waffle cakes~ >:33333 you stay with me even though 'I've killed you several times' even though you won't admit that you love me and after that you're not a tsundere??? tsk tsk is so vague~ /t /j /nsrs

... don't worry, I'll take you in the right direction~ after all, seniors need help~ <33333 uWu oWo <33333333 mmm, 'I haven't used that yet'~... do you use underpainting when you paint pictures? and then let's immediately talk about the artist whose paintings seem to you the most "deep" in meaning — not taking into account the history of creation, but precisely according to your personal, emotional feelings~ what touches your soul<3 mwah mwah~♡

/ MWAH♡

/ get used, dear, to a cruel world where I will either eat you or bite off a piece of you😋😋😋 /t /hj

#[📂] — voice from under the bed #❖.my jewelry #✮.panna cotta <3

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fmp2halimekaraca · 1 year

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Art Process- Paper Planes (2)

I felt like some of the smaller details felt a bit clustered and muddy, especially the plants, and so I decided to add some more highlights in order to bring them forward a bit.

To make sure that everything remained within the colour range that I wanted, every time I added a new element to the painting, I then played with the hues, saturation and brightness of the said element until it blended harmoniously with the surroundings.

Things that required more dimension, such as the satellite dishes were a bit trickier to mix in the composition since they had to look in a very specific way in order to be readable enough. I had to tweak and change the colours a lot before finding something I was satisfied with. I was pretty concerned that in the end they wouldn't look accurate enough but I asked my teachers and some of my classmates and they assured me that they were fine. This made me realise why it is so important to ask for an outside opinion from time to time.

I then started working on the other building. To quicken up the process, I downloaded a brush set that had all sorts of different city related pattern brushes (windows, bricks, railings, etc) and played around with some of them.

Since I intended to blur out most of this building, I didn't need to add that much detail but rather just suggest the existence of details through rough shapes and quick brush strokes. Zooming in really shows just how sketchy and unpolished some parts in the distance look but putting too much effort into something that is supposed to be so far in the background would be an ultimate waste of time since and would ultimately destroy the depth/distance effect.

While looking at some city photos, I noticed that most of them had billboards, generators, wires, ventilation systems and even unfinished metal structures. I thought these would add some more realism and really amplify that feeling of living in a busy, messy city.

I decided to make the lighting even more dramatic by adding some pure white on the edge of the upper building. This created a very nice contrast with the shadows underneath the awning. I wanted to emphasise the sun hitting everything and creating that cosy and peaceful atmosphere I was after.

I then started working on the little kid and the paper planes. I tried to position the planes in a away that would suggest both perspective and depth, with the bigger planes being in the foreground and the smaller ones in the background.

Since I got inspired by the style of Kentucky Route Zero , where none of the characters have any facial features, rendering the little kid didn't take long.

I started with the base colours. I tried to go with a very generic looking character which I think worked in my advantage. It meant that this character could be interpreted in any way which could allows the viewers to project and relate with the situation even more.

I then used the blending mode ''HARD LIGHT'' to add a dark shade of brawn over the base. This made the colours blend in better and made the character look as if he was actually inside the dark apartment.

After that, I used the same blending mode to add a saturated red on top for the parts where the sun would touch the character. To make the character seem a bit more 3D and soft, I blended some of the edges. I absolutely love how this turned out and I am really glad that I managed to convey so much dimension with so little detail.

I have looked at a few videos of paper planes flying and they are quite chaotic and so I wanted to incorporate that aspect in my illustration as well since it worked well with the theme of ''being free''.

I went on Sketchfab and searched for a simple plane model that I could analyse and rotate. I found the perfect model that was cartoonish enough to fit with my art style but still widely recognisable. I tried to be as random and organic with my screenshots as possible. The different angles could suggest that the airplanes were thrown at different time intervals and were affected differently by the wind or other similar factors.

Painting the planes was surprisingly easy and enjoyable. Once I understood the shape and how the shading would change depending on the angle, it was just a matter of positioning them right.

Thinking of them as three dimensional objects helped a lot. I thought about making them an unusual colour like blue or pink to emphasise the magic vibe but in the end I thought that was too straight forward. So, I decided to stick with yellows and oranges which I think was the right choice since this works a lot better with the colour pallet and doesn't distract the viewer from the illustration as a whole.

The planes that were the farthest away I blurred almost completely and this really helped create the illusion of distance.

As some final touches, I did some colour correction, bringing everything to a pink-ish orange hue . The newsprint and graffiti spray textures helped this illustration immensely in both aesthetical and practical ways. The texture around the planes and the building offered an almost blurred effect that acted as an indicator for the sun light touching and reflecting those areas.

The other random lines and brush strokes offered dynaic visual language that is very similar to the work of Devin Elle and Mielgo.

I later also took the decision of adding a white border around the piece and some writing as well in an attempt of making this look more like a poster.

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linedwithtangents · 3 years

Text

my gf bought me gouache paints as a “you finished your thesis” gift and I have been having the time of my LIFE learning how to use them :-)

#the trees are all a little goofy but. we live we learn #I think I need a smaller brush for that fine of detail work #anyway not spn but I just wanted to share :)#my things

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togrowoldinv · 2 years

Text

Truth Be Told

Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader

You and Wanda get assigned on a mission together, and you dread it because you think she hates you. It turns out that might not be so true.

Masterlist

“I’m not going on a mission with her!” you hear Wanda say as she steps out of the elevator with Natasha and Steve.

“Sorry Wands, this is just the way it has to be,” Steve apologizes and places a hand on her shoulder. Nat just smirks at Wanda’s antics.

“This is so stupid,” Wanda grunts out as she moves to the conference room to sit down.

“Wanda,” you acknowledge her from across the room. She doesn’t even so much as direct her eyes towards you.

“Thanks for coming down, y/n. We wanted to brief you on the situation upstate that we need you and Wanda to handle,” Steve explains, and you nod.

“It’s a pretty simple in and out op. You’ll make it back by early morning if you do it right,” Natasha says. They tell you the details of the mission and you get up to go back to your floor to prepare.

“Be ready to leave in 30,” Wanda says, speaking to you for the first time today. “I won’t wait around for you.”

“Got it, Maximoff,” you reply shortly.

Your relationship with Wanda has never been good. You joined the team about a year after she did, and you expected her to show you the ropes, but she never did. You were upset about her avoidance of you for months, so you kept trying to get to know her. She wouldn’t let you in no matter how hard you tried.

Now that you’ve been on the team for a few years, you are more than practiced in smaller group missions like this one with Wanda. But you can’t say you’re excited to spend alone time with her. It is no doubt going to be uncomfortable. Still, you make your way to the lobby and meet Wanda.

“Do you have the car keys?” you ask Wanda, and she holds them up, but doesn’t respond. You reach for the keys, and she pulls her hand back. “What are you doing? I have to drive. You don’t have a license, Maximoff.”

“Fine,” she says and hands you the keys. Your fingers accidentally brush and your breath hitches. Her cheeks blush a light pink and she looks away quickly.

Once you get about an hour from the mission location, the car starts making weird noises and you pull over at the next exit. You get out to observe what’s happening under the hood, and Wanda follows after you with a sigh.

“It’s a belt,” you deduce after examination. “We can’t drive until we fix it.”

“Are you sure? There has to be a better solution. We’re going to miss this op,” Wanda says.

“Yeah, pretty sure,” you reply and shut the hood.

“Der’mo,” Wanda curses and you snort a laugh out. “It’s not funny, y/l/n,” she says.

“I mean it’s a little funny. Us two gals who don’t care for each other’s presence being stuck out here. It’s ironic if nothing else,” you explain, and she almost smiles. But she seems to remember that the two of you aren’t friends.

“So, we call for backup?” Wanda asks, her tone annoyed.

“Yep. I can diagnose the problem, but even if I had the part and the tools, I lack the skill to fix it,” you respond. “Unless you can use your magic or something to fix it?”

“That’s not how it works, y/n,” Wanda rolls her eyes at your suggestion.

“Fine. I’ll call for backup then,” you get out your phone to call Natasha. She says they can be there in two hours and to hang tight.

Great, two more hours alone with a woman who hates you. You wish you could hate her too, but honestly you find yourself very attracted to the woman. Even when she is borderline mean to you.

Wanda sits down next to the car on the curb, and you go inside the convenience store you are parked at. You buy some snacks and drinks, not knowing what Wanda would want, if anything, but you try to guess.

“Hey, you want some?” you ask Wanda when you go back to the car, holding out a bag of chips and a flavored water. She takes them from you with a nod. You sit down next to her on the curb and snack in silence for some time before you break the silence.

“Wanda, can I ask you a question?” you ask, and she doesn’t answer, but you continue anyways. “Why do you hate me?”

Wanda turns to face you with a shocked expression written on her face in reaction to your boldness. “Why do you think I hate you, y/n? I-” she begins, but she can’t seem to find any words.

“You just never speak to me, and you didn’t want to come on this mission. I think I’ve given it a pretty good shot at being your friend, but you have never seemed to want that,” you explain, and she looks down at the ground, fiddling with the rings on her hands.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” Wanda says, but you don’t know exactly what she means.

“Well, I am hurt that you don’t want to be my friend,” you reply.

“Not hurt like that, y/n. I don’t want you to hurt like that either, but I meant physically. Everyone that I love dies and I don’t want that for you,” Wanda confesses. Your brain hangs on the word love.

“Wanda, that’s not- the terrible things that have happened to you are not your fault. You have to know that. Your love isn’t the cause of death for anyone,” you say, trying to articulate what you want her to know is true.

“Isn’t it though? My parents, Pietro, Vision. They all died. And I loved them all,” Wanda says, her eyes staring straight ahead. You reach out and grab her hand lightly to get her to look at you.

“You are not the reason all of those people were taken from this world. Wanda, you giving love to those people is what made their lives so good,” you try to get through to her.

“I shouldn’t have treated you so badly, y/n. I just knew at the first sight of you that I would love you if I let myself get close to you,” Wanda says, her tone apologetic. “Truth be told, it didn’t work.”

“What do you mean it didn’t work?” you ask her.

“I fell in love with you anyways,” Wanda says, and you look at her with wide eyes.

“You did?” you ask and Wanda nods. “Wanda, I fell in love with you too.”

It’s her turn to be shocked as you move close to her. Your hand caresses her cheek and you pull her in for a soft kiss. That’s when you hear a woman clear her throat and you both pull away to see Natasha standing there.

“How long have you been here?” you ask, standing up to try and avoid some awkwardness.

“Long enough. Glad you two kids figured it out. Let’s get you both home,” Nat says and gestures to the car.

“What about the mission?” Wanda asks and Natasha just chuckles.

“Natasha, explain yourself,” you say and exchange a look with Wanda.

“There was no mission,” she says. “And we knew the car was going to crap out on you.”

“What? Why would you do this?” Wanda asks and you nod, also wanting to know.

“We needed you two to start acting like a team. The romantic thing was a hunch I had, but we all wanted you two to at least start being friends,” Natasha explains casually. “And since I came upon you two smooching, I’m assuming it worked,” she smirks.

“Are you going to tell everyone else?” you ask her.

“No way. Your relationship is yours to tell. But I will be telling Steve ‘I told you so’ because he didn’t want to try this method of making the two of you talk,” Nat responds as you all walk to her car.

“Thanks, Nat,” you reply, and Wanda interlocks her hand with yours.

“Yeah thanks, Nat,” she says as she opens the car door for you. You settle in the backseat as Wanda and Nat take the front.

“Shall I play love songs for the ride home?” Natasha asks and you only laugh.

“You’re never going to let us forget this, will you?” Wanda pretends to be annoyed, but she secretly loves that Nat approves of her relationship with you.

“Nope,” you see Nat smirk in the mirror, but you are more focused on how Wanda’s eyes look up to meet yours. And for the first time, you see her guard is down with you and you can’t help but smile so wide that your face hurts.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel x reader

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